Connected (Connections, #1)(26)

He’s full out chuckling now. “Hmmm . . . you should see the picture I have in my head right now, no pun intended.”

Pouting my lips, I raise my eyes in an upward glance, not quite rolling them. “I’d rather not.”

“That look was hot,” he says after making a slight groaning noise.

We stop at a red light and my giggle fest is over. As I glance over at him and he’s looking at me, I wonder if he can see into the future because the look he’s giving me tells me he sees what I see.

His phone chimes again from his pocket, and he continues to ignore it. He slowly reaches over, grabs a strand of my hair, and very slowly tucks it behind my ear, sending shivers down my spine. Circling his index finger around my ear, he lightly tugs on my lobe, sparking a heat within my body that I have only felt once before. My body starts to quiver again. I look up to meet his now hooded eyes and decide to just come out and ask him if he remembers me because his movements and gestures are the same as they were that night so long ago. Before the words can come out, horns start honking and blowing. The light has turned green and I close my mouth.

As we enter the Palms Place Hotel and Spa driveway, he continues to tell me about his new album, but I’m having a really hard time concentrating on anything other than his physical being.

He stops the car and peers over at me. “Dahlia, did you hear me?”

Blinking at him, I shake my head. “Sorry, should I be taking notes?” I have no idea what he just said, and the funny thing is I really am interested in his new album and not only for work purposes.

Frowning at me, he nods his head. “Yeah, this is really important stuff.” Then grinning mischievously, he counters with, “I asked if you have ever stayed here before?”

My door opens and the valet is standing there. River meets me on the sidewalk and continues his teasing. “So did you get that down?”

I pout my lips and roll my eyes. “No I have never stayed here.” I give him a smirk and add, “Smartass,” just for fun. With a little more boldness than I intend, I say, “And don’t say it.”

Cocking his head to one side he asks questioningly, “Say what?”

“That my look was hot.”

“First of all, what makes you think I was going to say that? And secondly, it was!”

A greeting from the doorman helps distract him. I’m grateful as he nods his head and says, “Hi,” especially since I knew what he was going to say because he said the very same thing to me not only today but also the night that we met.

With our hands connected, we walk through the lobby of the hotel. The lobby is soothing and quiet in contrast to most Las Vegas hotel lobbies with their bright lights and dinging slot machines. The peaceful sound of water surrounds us, and the gleam of the floor is almost blinding. Everything about this place is tranquil.

As we wait for the elevator, I realize he’s still holding my hand, and we’re no longer in transit. We are standing still, holding hands as he looks at me with his powerful green eyes and rubs circles on the top of my hand with his thumb.

He’s explaining that he likes staying here because it is close to everything, but quiet, not all of the hustle and bustle of casino hotels. I can see what he means. This place is like nowhere I have ever been. I feel like I’m in another time and another place. The more I stare into his eyes the more I feel I am.

Dropping my hand as we approach the elevator, he reaches for his wallet and takes out his room key. Upon entering the elevator, he puts his room key in the key slot and pushes the button for Penthouse A. I’m relieved that he doesn’t have a single room like mine, because what am I supposed to do while he showers, sit on his bed and drink?

As we ascend, he leans against the elevator door with his foot on the wall, his hands in his pockets, facing me. He smiles slightly, and I can see traces of his dimples. Then out of nowhere he breaks out in song, singing an ode to the t-shirt I wore earlier today. Watching him as he sings Lola, he seems lost in the song. He’s so attractive, and watching him sing makes my breath quicken and my insides tighten.

When he reaches the lyric that mentions Cherry Cola, he grins crookedly. His tone is amazing, and I just close my eyes and listen, trying to control my breathing. He stops singing before he gets to the next line about sipping champagne.

I’m hyperaware of his closeness without even opening my eyes. He strides to stand directly in front of me, and his breath is noticeably quicker. He takes my hand and kisses it before leaning into my ear and whispering, “Do you like Cherry Cola?” The elevator doors open, and the connection is lost.





SOMETHING MORE


I know there is something more

We don’t even know what we’re fighting for

I have to ask why then

Because I don’t understand

I know there is something more.





I can’t stop thinking about everything that has already happened today as we exit the elevator. River grabs my hand and leads me down a magnificently decorated hallway. The floor is checkered in different white toned tiles, the walls are a spa-blue with creamy-white colored picture moldings equally spaced apart, each housing different photographs of the desert, secured by glass panels.

Walking down the hallway, I begin to wonder about the something more as my mind fades back to the question I asked myself so long ago. Does love at first sight really exist? It’s an interesting question. If you had asked me that question five years ago, I’d have said absolutely not. The love Ben and I had for each other evolved over our many years as friends. I can’t even remember when our love went from the love between two friends to falling in love.