Chapter Thirteen
“You haven’t said a word since we left your parents’ home,” Devon said, as they walked through the imposing lobby of The Mandarin hotel after checking in. To the left, a few other guests strolled. A couple of them contemplated the hand-blown glass swan sculptures displayed on a heavy oak round table, and accented by soothing golden lighting.
“I’m still digesting everything,” she said, and glanced at him. Was it wrong that a part of her didn’t want to find out who kept stealing money from the company? That even though she had gone over possibilities with him at the office and given him some ideas…she didn’t want what they had going on between them to end? The moment they found the thief, he wouldn’t need her anymore. Sexually, she needed him more than he did her. After all, what could she teach him he hadn’t already mastered? Not in the bedroom. But maybe she could teach him how to let down his emotional guard and let someone in. Someone like her.
They reached the elevators. She walked into the first open door, but when she turned to push the button to their floor, Devon still stood outside. His confession from the other night rang in her ears. Not fond of elevators. No wonder she never saw him on the elevators at Wilder & Co. “Join me?” she asked, tilting her head as invitation.
“Of course. I’ll meet you upstairs,” he said.
“You’re not climbing a million flights of stairs, Devon. Come in.” She stretched out her hand. She could just listen to him, and embark alone. But her feet didn’t move, and she decided to address the frustration clogging her throat. Frustration for not being able to be for him what he was becoming to her. “After the crappy day I’ve had, if you’re gonna get all tired and sweaty, it won’t be from exercising, handsome,” she said, trying a lighter approach.
He stared at her. The doors were almost closing, when he shoved a hand to keep them open and got on the elevator, next to her. If he had helped her face a part of her past she feared, why couldn’t she do the same?
Even though the confined space was the size of a foyer, and jazzy songs flowing quietly from the speakers filled the space with elegance, there was still something else in the air. She studied his profile. His full lips were pressed into a razor-thin line, and beads of sweat trickled down his forehead. She wasn’t sure if having no one else in the elevator with them was a good thing or not.
“Remember what you told me in Denver?” she whispered. “That I was gonna kick ass and you would watch it? Now I’m watching you too, Devon.”
He didn’t move, and his face was like black marble. She held his hand in hers, and noticed his palm was clammy. Biting back a smile, she squeezed his hand, trying to give him some solace. The guy probably hated her. Way to go, Elena. “What are you thinking about?”
He gave her a sideway glance. “Balloons. Isn’t that pathetic? When I was stuck… I kept visualizing them… Somehow that calmed me down a bit.”
Her throbbing heart floated up her throat, and she had to bite her lip to keep from spilling just how much she cared for him. She nudged his hand, and when he gazed at her, she fingers traced his jaw. “There is nothing pathetic about you, Devon Wilder. Do you understand me?”
He watched her in silence, and for a moment their eyes locked. Her pulse fluttered, and a familiar warm wonderful sensation coiled in the pit of her stomach.
Devon parted his lips to speak, and she bobbed her heard toward him, foolishly hoping good words escaped his mouth. Nice words. Love words.
However, he cleared his throat, and shook his head, breaking the stare. When the elevator reached the floor with a soundless bump, he asked, “Aren’t you mad at me for stirring things up at your folks’?”
Why would she be mad at him? “No.”
He opened the door and gestured for her to go inside first. “Good. I’m sorry about how it all went down.”
I am not sorry.She’d mused in silence over the fight at her parents’ townhouse all the way to the luxury hotel. A tiny part of her had hoped her brothers—especially Raffaello, known for his short temper—hadn’t beaten Timothy into a pulp. She wanted to believe that her parents wouldn’t be angry with her for leaving their house. And choosing to stay with Devon—in every sense. Then she’d told herself her that she wasn’t responsible for her brothers’ actions, and she had a right to make grown-up decisions.
Nope.Still not sorry, she reiterated to herself while glancing through the suite’s floor-to-ceiling windows that gave her a breathtaking, panoramic view of Central Park.
The ginormous room had been decorated with an amazing combination of deep chocolate sofas and dinner table, which contrasted with reds and brushed-gold of artifacts and accessories. After she removed her shoes and kicked them to the side, the handcrafted rugs caressed the soles of her feet.
For a moment, all that luxury distracted her from everything else. But not from him. Never, from him.
He stood against the arch of what she imagined led to the bedroom with his arms crossed and his gleaming eyes locked onto her.
“Wasn’t this view worthy of you getting inside the elevator?” She pointed at the thousand little lights glittering below them. To her surprise, even though they were in the city that didn’t sleep, the suite was quiet. Like the view was part of a movie, but in no way connected to the energy enveloping them.
He gave her a small smile. “It certainly was.”
“But you didn’t like going in.”
“It’s not that I can’t go in if that’s the only way. It’s the memories flashing in my brain whenever I’m forced to ride in one,” he said casually, and rolled up his sleeves.
She let out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding for so long. “Sorry. I meant to help.”
He shook his head, and walked up to her. “Don’t you be sorry. I’m the one who feels bad for somewhat outing you to your family.”
“No. That was long overdue.”
Leaning forward, he placed the smallest kiss on her lips, only to disengage and return to his original place. “I’m proud of you.”
