Need You Now (1001 Dark Nights)(13)

Glancing at my watch and realizing it’s almost five already, I feel the urgency to return to the hotel and decide to lug my bag downstairs on my own rather than go get help from the driver. A daunting task as I stare at the seven floors of narrow steps from my apartment door. The building might not have an elevator, but in the five years since my grandmother passed and left it to me, I’ve often happily grinned and beared the sometimes rough climb to my door.

I manage three floors before I’m not only panting from the effort to keep from tumbling the rest of the way, but have also scraped my leg from knee to ankle. Leaning on the suitcase, I try to catch my breath. The sound of hurried footsteps has me cringing, wondering how I’m going to let someone by when my suitcase takes up the entire narrow path, when Jensen appears at the bottom of my present level.

“Woman,” he reprimands, loosening his tie on the word. “Why didn’t you call the driver?”

“I don’t have my phone and I didn’t want to keep you waiting. How did you even get in here? The door requires a code.”

“Your neighbor liked me more than you seem to.”

“You must have been nicer to whoever he or she was than you were to me this morning.”

“Nice is overrated,” he comments, quickly taking two steps at a time, closing the distance between us with such effortless grace that I am breathless all over again when he stops in front of me. “Nice is for pussies.”

I gape. “That was—”

“True,” he supplies, his eyes dancing with amusement, the hard shell he’d worn all day softening unexpectedly as he adds, “And as you can see, I wasn’t about to wait on you to show up. I thought you might have changed your mind about the trip.”

“Regardless of your earlier accusations, I’m good for my word. I said I’d go and I’m going.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes. It is, but for the record, I don’t remember being given a choice.”

“There’s always a choice, but you’ve made yours and I’ve made mine. You’re coming with me.” He reaches for my bag and our hands collide, electricity darting up my arm.

I jerk my hand back as if burned. His lips quirk in that sexy way I’d noticed at the bar, as if he knows how he affects me and likes it. “I’ll take the bag.”

“Thank you,” I murmur, crossing my arms in front of my chest. “That’s nice of you.”

He arches a brow. “You calling me a *?”

“You can fire me. I won’t call you anything.”

“You don’t work for me. I’m just a consultant.”

“Who could demand I be fired.”

“The last thing on my mind where you’re concerned, Ms. Woods, is terminating your job.” And with that coded, softly spoken comment delivered, he gives me his back and starts down the stairs, leaving me reeling and staring after him.

He stops at the next level, casting me a look over his shoulder. “You walking, or do I need to carry you, too?”

I blanch. Carry me? Is he teasing me, and if so, what is happening? Where is the man who treated me like the enemy just hours before? “I don’t need to be carried,” I declare indignantly, marching toward him. He moves along as well, and judging from the low rumble of sexy laughter he leaves in his wake, my reaction pleases him. I don’t understand this man. I really don’t.

We reach the exit and Jensen buzzes in the driver, who comes in so he can grab my bag. Jensen holds the door and motions me forward. I move past him, so close I can feel his body heat and smell his wonderful, masculine cologne.

Stepping outside, I’m surprised to find the town car replaced by a limo but don’t ask questions. More space is welcome with Jensen around, and when he holds the door open for me, I happily take advantage of it, sliding all the way to the other side of the car. I’ve just settled into place and dumped my purse and briefcase beside me when Jensen erases the distance between us and claims the seat directly across from me, his back to the window separating us from the driver.

“I believe you wanted this,” he says, reaching into his briefcase and offering me my cell phone.

“Yes,” I say, taking it, my pulse leaping at the possibility of what I might find in my text messages. “Thank you.”

He knocks on the window behind us and the car starts moving. “I took the liberty of keying in my number. Hope you don’t mind.”

Yes, I mind. What has he seen on my phone? “I needed your number,” I reply noncommittally.

“Nice dodge there, Ms. Woods. And nice to know you have the skills to navigate a conversation diplomatically.”

“I thought nice was for pussies,” I say, the automatic retort overcoming my dislike for the word choice.

“So it is,” he chuckles, a dark strand of hair touching his brow.

I don’t reply, too distracted by my phone, and unable to resist anymore, I glance down at my screen, punching a button to get to the text messages, reading the one from Katie that arrived last night. I’m calling in sick and going to Texas with David. I need to know if he and I are real. I’ll call you when I get to Houston.

I glance up at him. “You saw my message from Katie, didn’t you?”

“Not intentionally. The phone was on the floor and I reached down to get it as it came through. I take it Katie is an employee of the hotel?”