Behind Closed Doors (Behind Closed Doors #1)(22)

“There are security cameras and the building locks.”

“So you’ve thought about it.”

“Yes.”

Honest again. For a girl who’s known lots of lies, this honesty thing he’s got going on is winning me over. “You could pay someone to get rid of the security feed.”

“You’re right, but if you stay here, what are you going to do to prevent that? Sleep at the storage unit?”

He’s right. I can’t, and I wouldn’t, when what he wants is on my bed, in that box. “I could call the police.”

“That could cost me my life, and my father’s as well.”

That is a possibility. I inhale and let it out. “I won’t call the police while you’re gone. I’ll wait until . . .”

“Until what?”

“Until I understand what’s going on more fully.”

“Until you know me and hear my story and believe it and me. That means spending time with me.”

“No. I mean yes, but that doesn’t require I go to Vegas with you.”

“The sooner you get to know me, the sooner this is handled for both of us.”

Why am I not saying no? “This is crazy.”

“And sometimes crazy is exactly right.”

And insane. And dangerous. And . . . insane. So why am I even considering it?

“You want a reason to trust me,” he says. “I want to give you one. Or ten or twenty.”

“I promise you, I won’t hand the unit to the police or Stephanie or—”

“Damn it. No.” His fingers flex in my arms. “That’s not why I’m asking you to come with me. I could just have a private investigator watch you.”

“But that wouldn’t stop me from calling the police. And despite my telling you I won’t, you don’t know me any more than I know you.”

He doesn’t deny my statement. “Come with me to Vegas. Hear my whole story and then decide what to do.”

“In bed,” I say skeptically.

He releases me and steps back. “I’ll get you your own room.”

I laugh at that. “Oh, please. Let’s not pretend you’re going to save my nonexistent virtue. Just be honest with me.”

“I’m being as honest as time allows.” He glances at his watch. “It’s eleven o’clock. I have to be at a table at five o’clock. It’s a television show that I’m contracted for, and I have to be there on time. Come with me.”

“I don’t have a plane reservation. You don’t have time to deal with that.”

“I chartered a private jet.”

“If that means small with propellers, I’m out.”

“No propellers. It’s a jet plane and a smooth ride.” He arches a brow. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of flying.”

“I am afraid of flying.”

He steps to me again, those really amazing hands of his settling back on my arms. “I’ll keep your mind off the flight.” He softens his voice and says again, “Come with me. You can decide on the room when we get there.”

“When do you get back?”

“When do you need to be back?”

“I didn’t say I was going.”

“When do you need to be back?” he presses.

“Tomorrow night.”

“Then we’ll come back tomorrow night.” He cups my face. “Look, Skye. What do you have to lose? Tell Molly next door you’re going with me. She’ll blab to everyone, and you know that will make you safe.”

“I’m not afraid of you.” It’s the truth. I just don’t know if that makes me right or stupid—but he’s given me insurance by suggesting Molly. That matters.

He kisses me, hard and fast, and settles his hand on my waist. “Say yes, and then go pack.”

Life is short and I’m barely living it, while he fears his life may soon end. If I can stop that from happening, I have to do that. My decision is made; I’m going to gamble for the second time in two days. “Yes. I’ll go with you.”





CHAPTER SIX


INSTANT APPROVAL LIGHTS Jason’s eyes at my acceptance of his offer, warmth radiating from their depths, and it pleases me far too much, but I tell myself this is an adventure. A long overdue adventure I deserve, and I have a chance to do some good in the process. I can either save this man and his father or save . . . someone else. I don’t want to think about what that would mean about Jason. I turn, fully intending to rush up the stairs to my bedroom and back down. I’ve managed all of one step when his fingers intimately wrap around my waist, branding me through the thin teal silk of my blouse, his big body framing mine as he leans in close and whispers, “Thank you.”

There is a low, raspy quality to his voice that tells me he’s not thanking me for coming with him but rather for daring to trust him. I don’t know how to reply, and I don’t get the chance. He releases me and smacks my backside, just hard enough to create an erotic sting that reaches beneath my black slacks to my skin, and I yelp in response. “Hurry,” he urges. “Our plane awaits.”

I race up the stairs, my legs a bit wobbly in my high heels, the tingle of his palm on my backside the only thing controlling the panic “our plane” creates in me. And instead of my mind going to some sexy, erotic place, it betrays me, going to me hiding in a closet in darkness and fear, a place I don’t go. Ever. And yet the idea of flying has superseded the idea of a hot man smacking my backside for just a few beats, and I’m there in the past, huddled in the corner and crying.