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“I’ll cover it.”
With an ungracious snort, she shakes her head. “No thanks. The last thing I want is a favor from you.”
“I’m giving you a choice: either grab your things and get in the truck, or I’ll do it for you. And by that, I mean I’ll throw your kicking and screaming ass in the truck, and leave your belongings here.”
Stubborn will flickers across her face, and I’ll be damned if she isn’t about to challenge me again. “What about my truck?”
“We’ll have it towed to a station. My treat.” With Aric snooping around, the better idea would be ditching the truck and its traceable plates.
The longer she stands outside my door, practically pushing her tits in my face, the harder it’s going to be to keep my dick tucked inside my pants.
“Fine.” With a stride that’s more anger than determined, she heads back to her vehicle to gather up her things, and I take a moment to cup the bulge between my thighs. Every night, I watch half-naked beauties seduce men like their lives depend on it, and in some cases it does, but something about this one has got me wound tight. Every time I’m around her, it feels like my composure is about to snap like a rubber band.
After slipping her backpack over her shoulder, she yanks her sleeping bag from the cab of the truck, tugging hard when it doesn’t give at first.
When she anchors her foot against the driver’s seat, I shake my head, knowing what will come. Sure enough, one hard tug sends her flying back onto her ass.
Amusement escapes me on a somewhat callous chuckle.
Angrier than a hornet, she storms toward my truck, and I have to clear my throat of a laugh, at the sight of her furrowed brow and bunched shoulders, over which she has her sleeping bag slung. By the time she throws back the passenger door of my truck and climbs inside, the girl is dripping sweat and probably so irritated with life, she could punch something.
“All good?”
My question is met by an expression that I’m certain would render me dead on contact, if she were capable of shooting bullets out of her eyeballs.
“Wherever you’re taking me. Just drive,” she says, setting her sleeping bag in the backseat, alongside her backpack.
“You left your truck door open.”
A moment of tense silence, and she climbs out of the passenger seat, stalking back toward the truck. One hard slam of the door sends some random piece of metal flying outward from the front of the vehicle, and I snort a laugh into the back of my hand.
Without bothering to investigate what she broke, she tromps back to my truck and climbs inside. “Not a word.”
* * *
The hotel is the best on the island. Five star, and one most frequented by celebrities. Probably the safest place I can drop her off, seeing as it has its own doorman and security up the ass. While my conscience will sleep like a fucking baby, my libido will keep me up all night. Of that, I have no doubt.
She waves the card reader over the door, and at the hard click, she smiles. “Huh. That’s cool.”
“That’s also old technology. You’ve never stayed in a hotel before?”
“No. Plenty of motels. But no hotels.”
Having offered to carry up her bag when she refused to let the bellhop do it for her, I throw the thing over my shoulder, following her into the room. It’s instinct that has me performing a quick scan of the place--the closet, the bathroom that boasts a large shower with three massaging showerheads, the massive king-sized bed, where I would’ve fucked her twenty different ways, and the balcony that overlooks the gulf.
The girl follows suit, inspecting the amenities. “Fancy, this place. I’m surprised they even let me through the door.”
“It’s not you they let through the door. It’s money. If you have it, they don’t much give a damn how you look.” I paid for the room in cash, an arrangement I had to make with the manager, but the added tip left him all too happy to oblige. I also left a credit for any meals she might want to order.
“But I don’t have the money, Thierry. You do.”
It isn’t right, the way my name on her lips strums a perfect chord, like a melody I could listen to on repeat. I wish I could heighten its pitch a notch, but knowing she’s not just some passing tourist on a short visit puts her in the same category of things I avoid at all costs, like public restrooms and cheap domestic beer.
I toss her bag onto the bed, which incites a gasp from her.
“Careful! There are important things in there.” After rifling through its innards, she retrieves a music box from inside and sets it on the nightstand.
Brow quirked, I watch her pet the thing like it’s her precious. I’ll never understand what makes this girl tick, and I guess, to some degree, it’s probably best I don’t.
