Deep Under (Tall, Dark and Deadly #4)(23)

“Then I don’t have a question,” I say, and then amend, changing the subject. “Actually I do. What time is it?”

He arches a brow. “What time is it? That’s your question.”

“Yes. It is. I think I might have seen a note that the gym closes at nine.”

He glances at a black Gucci watch with red stitching and then back at me. “It’s going on nine now.”

I sigh. “No run tonight.”

“It’s seventy outside despite it being February,” he says. “We can take an outdoor run, but be warned. The humidity here in Texas, even this time of year, is a bitch until you’re used to it.”

“I could take the humidity, but I don’t want to deal with any game Juan or Ricardo might play with us. Not tonight.”

“I can handle Juan and Ricardo if you want to run.”

“Thank you, but no,” I say. “I don’t want you to have to handle them.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive. And honestly, I’m starving. I haven’t eaten since about six this morning. I’d have crashed and burned on the treadmill, anyway. Are you up for room service?”

“One hundred percent in,” he says, “and we need to talk through your plans for the next few days anyway.”

“The menu is probably in the living room,” I say, and despite making this suggestion, I’m suddenly, ridiculously nervous about sharing a meal with him.

“The living room it is then, sweetheart,” he says, and the “sweetheart” endearment manages to do that funny thing to my belly that I experienced earlier.

Afraid he’ll notice, and that I’ll fail some test he says he’s not giving me, I turn away, entering the hallway, where I walk toward the living area. And I know the moment Kyle is behind me, his presence heavy, but I wouldn’t describe it as uncomfortable. In fact, everything about him is a little too comfortable, too automatically familiar and safe, and I remind myself that making everyone feel this way could be his gift, thus rendering them vulnerable. Thus justifying his million-dollar payments.

I hear the sound of his phone ringing from behind me, and I reach the living area, where I cross to the desk and open the drawer to find the menu that I flip open, focusing on the food choices, not the man I hear speaking to someone on a call I can’t quite piece together as anything that makes sense. I stop trying. I scan a bunch of fancy dishes that look less than appealing.

“How does it look?” Kyle asks, stepping to my side and when I face him, I find him standing so near, I’m staring at his chest.

“Good grief,” I say, and taking a step backwards, my neck stretching to even make eye contact, I quip, “How tall are you?”

“Six-foot-four and two hundred and twenty pounds.”

“And Ricardo’s like five-foot-eight,” I say, picturing him trying to act tough with Kyle, and finding it quite amusing, “and you’re big and intimidating. Maybe I do see why you’re getting what you want.”

“Intimidating?” He arches a brow. “Is that what I am?”

“You’re huge,” I say, setting the menu back on the desk. “I’m pretty sure just your size alone would be intimidating to most people.”

“I’m not asking about what I am to most people,” he says, his tone serious, his expression unreadable. “I’m asking what I am to you.”

“You don’t intimidate me,” I answer truthfully, thinking of the comfort level I feel with him.

“No?”

“No.”

“Good,” he says, his voice low. “I don’t want to intimidate you, Myla.”

“Because if I’m scared, you’ll never see the real me.”

“That’s right,” he says, “but we’ll keep it between us. That way we both win.” He doesn’t give me time to question that or argue, tapping the menu. “Did you look at the menu?”

“I did,” I say, reluctantly letting him move us away from the topic of trust, where we’d been headed. “And it’s limited, which kind of stinks since we’ll be staying here for a while.”

“Luckily we’re in my hometown and I can tell you that we have the best pizza on the planet a few blocks up the road, and they deliver.”

“On the planet? That’s pretty extreme.” I smile. “And I’m sold. Let’s get the best pizza on the planet.”

“Made to order,” he says, grabbing the phone receiver. “What do you want on yours?”

“Pepperoni for me.”

“Good choice,” he says, punching in the phone number that he’s clearly memorized, while I sit down on the sofa, my palms flattening on my legs, nerves fluttering in my belly with a sudden realization. I’m alone with Kyle, and while yes, he’s a bit of a drug I can’t seem to completely resist, he’s also an outsider. The only person who isn’t part of Michael’s direct entourage that I’ve been around in a year. Tomorrow I’ll be at my new office, with other outsiders. It’s taken a year, but slowly, I’m gaining freedom I can’t afford to lose.

“Thirty minutes,” he says almost instantly, crossing to sit down on the leather chair next to me, his elbows resting on his knees. “Just enough time for us to get that plan together for the immediate future, starting with tomorrow. Where are we going and why?”