Straight Flushed (Hot Pursuit #1)(70)

He turned his head and smiled, and I forced a smile back. “You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just getting hungry is all.” I needed to get out of the room and escape. “You want to get cleaned up and head downstairs?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.” His voice was low, as if pulled from the edge of sleep.

“You want to shower first? I’ll probably take longer.”

“No, you go ahead. I think I’m going to lay here for a few more minutes. Go and take your time.”

I stood from the bed and walked toward the bathroom. I turned and looked at him over my shoulder. With his arms supporting his head, his eyes roamed low over my backside. He twitched his brows and flashed me a smile.

I took my time showering. When my skin could no longer feel the sting of the hot water, I emerged from the cage. I shut the water off and wrapped myself in one of the preheated white, fluffy towels. In the bedroom, I heard talking. Maybe Stephen had decided to order some express room service and changed his mind about heading downstairs. I quickly tried to come up with the way I’d talk him out of it. As I dried my skin, listening with keen ears and thinking, I slipped on the monogrammed hotel robe hanging on the back of the door. I tried to catch snippets of what he was saying, but it was all a slur of sounds too low to distinguish. Unmistakably though, he was irritated.

I cracked the door and crept out of the bathroom. Stephen was looking out the window still shirtless but wearing shorts. “I know,” he said in a loud whisper. As I walked, I didn’t watch where I was going and I ran into my chair. His head snapped around when he heard me and his lips contracted. “I have to go… Yeah, later,” he said and disconnected the call.

“Who was that?” I asked.

“No one,” he said, with a dismissive shake of his head. He shoved his phone into his pocket. “I’ll be out in a few minutes.” He breezed past me into the bathroom and shut the door.





Twenty-two



The entire time Stephen was in the bathroom my stomach was unsettled. As I dressed, I replayed what I’d heard. The tone in his voice when he was on the phone, and the look he had as he passed me on the way to the bathroom, didn’t sit well. Something was off, and I couldn’t put my finger on it.

I sat on the edge of my bed finishing my makeup, mulling around possible explanations from concealer to lip gloss, when Stephen came out of the bathroom. He stood at the entrance to the room with his clothing clutched in his hand. Despite the water glistening off his chest and his towel precariously tucked around his waist, thoughts I didn’t have time to entertain entered my brain. I needed to know who had been on the other end of that line.

Stephen’s eyes met mine, and their chill was felt from across the room.

“Who were you talking to?” I asked, twisting the cap on my lip gloss. When I was answered with silence, I probed further. “You seemed kind of irritated by whoever it was.”

He crisscrossed his arms over his chest and scratched his shoulders, contracting every muscle in his six pack. “It was no one.”

“I need you to tell me.” I smiled, trying to coax it out of him.

He huffed. “It was a private call. I’d like to leave it at that.”

Secrets would not work. With so much at stake, there couldn’t be any surprises for his safety and mine. If it was an ex-girlfriend, or if he was ordering a pizza, I had a right to know.

I shook my head. “I can’t leave it at that. I need to know who you were talking to.”

He pursed his lips then he exhaled a large breath through his nose. “Fine. I was talking with my mom.”

“Your mom?” I smirked. “Really?”

“I was checking in with her. Happy?” He shrugged.

I squinted. I wanted to believe him, but it was rather Boy Scout’ish of him. “Mind if I take a look at your phone?”

“What?” he asked as if I’d slapped him across the cheek.

“I want to check, that’s all.”

“You think I’m lying?”

“I wouldn’t say that exactly, but when my gut tells me to look into something further, I do. May I see your phone, please?” I asked, holding out my hand.

He tossed his clothes on the foot of his bed and fished out his phone. He entered a passcode and pulled up his recent calls. He showed me the screen and the word “Mom” was displayed as the last caller.

“Thanks,” I said.

“Don’t mention it.”

His towel dropped to the floor revealing everything. He dug through his bag for clothing then dressed in silence.



. . .



We slid onto two tall cream colored stools around the large octagonal, lacquered bar in the hotel lounge. The bartender walked up and offered us a couple of menus. He and Stephen struck up a conversation about the variety of alcohols they offered: vodkas, whiskeys, and wines. It didn’t matter what Stephen chose, I was working so I was going to have H2O on the rocks.

I glanced at my surroundings as the men deliberated over what drink was better. A sign to the restaurant connected to the hotel was on the wall, Orchids at Palm Court. I’d completely forgotten it was a part of the hotel, and a memory awakened.

Early in my relationship with Gabe, he’d brought me to the five-star restaurant for a romantic dinner. I’d never been to a restaurant as ritzy. Jeans and T-shirts not only would have been laughed out of the place but wouldn’t have been allowed through the door. Women wore expensive dresses, men were in custom suits, and waiters were clad in tuxedos with tails and towels draped over their forearms.