Love in Lingerie(8)

“Your card has been declined, sir.” I stop somewhere in the Ds, and turn my head to him. “What? It’s an American Express. Run it again—“ Oh. In my haste to stop the bitch from a Trey Marks sponsored shopping spree, I had reported all of my cards stolen. The American Express representative had gone through the pending transactions with me, and I had authorized the hotel’s hold on the room. Their initial authorization had probably not been enough to cover the damn furniture, this new authorization rejected.

Fuck. “I’m sorry. I just had all of my cards canceled.” I run a hand through my hair and try to think. I hate the look on this asshole’s face right now, that mix of pity and contempt, his thoughts as clear as the smell of shit that I have stepped in. You can’t afford to be here. You don’t belong here. Words I’ve run from for a decade, fought through, moved past with my fucking Tesla and penthouse, my company that I can barely keep afloat. I look down at the phone book and fight the urge to smack it across the man’s knowing face. “I’m calling someone to pick me up. They’ll pay for the items.”

I turn another page, my options reducing.

If this night were lingerie, it’d be a leopard print satin set. Trashy and destined for ridicule.





chapter 4

Her

It’s my car’s first visit to a Ritz Carlton, and I pull up carefully, worried that I might bump into a Rolls Royce or a priceless planter, the deserted drive giving me a little peace. I come to a stop before the valet, who eyes my Kia in the cautious way that someone might avoid a bum. There is a knock on the passenger window and I startle, glancing over to see Trey. I roll down the window, watching his hand steal in and take the leather portfolio off of the passenger seat. “Is this it?”

I nod. “Yes.”

He doesn’t explain why he needs the company’s checks at one in the morning, or why he’s wearing a bathrobe. “I’ll be right back.” He walks off with the portfolio, and I notice his bare feet. In the last two months, I’ve seen several sides of Trey Marks. This is, by far, the oddest.





Ten minutes and five bucks to the valet later, I pull away from the hotel, the check folder in Trey’s lap, the top of one muscular thigh visible under the edge of his robe.

“Where are we going?” The streets are empty, amber streetlights illuminating half moons of asphalt, the bright glare of road construction up ahead.

“Good question.” He lifts up a hand and rubs at the back of his neck, a scent of soap drifting over. I’ve never been so close to him, his elbow bumping against me, his knee close to the gearshift, my movements careful not to touch him. He shifts in the seat and his robe opens further. I get a glimpse of more thigh and flick my eyes back to the road. I don’t think he’s wearing underwear. The questions mount.

He turns his head, and I feel his eyes on me. “Does your fiancé live with you?”

“No.” I think back to our disastrous Mensa meeting, the stilted goodbye. Good thing Craig hadn’t spent the night. I could explain a lot of things, but a call at one in the morning would be difficult. “Why?”

“I don’t have my keys. Maybe we can find a hotel, one that will accept checks.” He falls silent, and I attempt to put together the pieces of what he is saying.

“You need a place to stay? Tonight?” I look over. “Is that the roundabout point you are trying to make?”

“I don’t want to impose.”

I smile despite myself. “You woke me up in the middle of the night and dragged me downtown. Letting you crash on my couch is minor. Yes, you are welcome to stay at my apartment. Assuming of course, that you behave.”

He drops his head against the headrest, a low chuckle rolling out. “Trust me, Kate. You have nothing to worry about.”

“Thanks.” The word comes out tart and offended, as if I want to be pursued, and I struggle to recover.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He looks down at his lap and adjusts the white terrycloth. “It’s just been one of those nights that makes you want to swear off sex forever.”

“I’ve got to admit, you’ve piqued my curiosity.” I get on the on-ramp. “Girlfriend problems?”

“Something like that.” He reaches over and adjusts his air vent. “Can you turn the heat on? I’m freezing.”

I glance toward him and turn a dial, increasing the flow of hot air. “Where are your clothes?”

“Good question.” He leans forward, holding a hand to the vent. “In my car, along with my phone, watch and wallet. And my condo keys.” He frowns. “Can I borrow your phone?”

“It’s in my purse. Down by your feet.” I tell him the unlock pin and watch as he pulls up the internet, does a quick search, then places a call. I get off on my exit and eavesdrop as he speaks to someone in his building, instructing them to deactivate his key fob.

He ends the call and returns the phone to my purse. “Thanks. I wouldn’t have bothered you, but you’re the only person I know who is still listed in the phone book.”

I grin, the precaution one that Craig had insisted on, and I had always deemed a nuisance. “No problem.” As irritated as I had initially been with his middle-of-the-night call, this was turning into one of my most exciting nights in years. “So … is your car back at the Ritz?”