My Last Resolution(12)

I shake my head and pull my hand away from his. “There’s another woman over there who looks like she flew solo. Maybe she’ll take you up on your offer.”

“This offer’s exclusive to you.” He takes my hand again.

I can’t help but laugh. “You’re clearly not catching my hints so let me help you out: I don’t know your last name, I don’t know where you live, where you work, what you like to do on the weekends, how you spend your spare time, your phone number, your age, and most importantly I don’t know why you think that I’m still going to come home with you.”

He slowly lets my hand go and sighs. Then he smiles and stands up. “My last name is Taylor. I live on Newbury Lane, house number seven. I work at Taylor and Associates—a law firm I started recently. I work on the weekends, and in my spare time I work even more. My phone number is 555-9870, I’m twenty nine, and I think you’re coming home with me because you want to—because you’re intrigued.” He picks up my bag and slings it over his shoulder. Then he reaches for my hand. “Was that everything or do you need to know more?”

Chapter 4

Somehow my brain has managed to fall out of my skull because I’m currently sitting in the passenger seat of Blake’s black Mercedes.

We haven’t said a word to one another since he started driving, and I’ve been keeping watch for the first snowflake. I’m trying my hardest not to think about the fact that after he listed all those facts to me, I couldn’t get a single word to come out of my mouth.

Half an hour later, we pull into a picturesque neighborhood that’s bordered by a lake. In the darkness, I can make out icy white rails that surround the water and what appears to be a private shopping center on the other side.

Blake slows the car and presses a button on his sun visor, making the door to a three door garage open. As he pulls inside, I look over at the other two cars: A beautiful grey BMW and a dark green convertible.

“Did you pack pajamas?” He opens my door and clasps my hand.

No... “Of course I packed pajamas. Why?”

“It doesn’t look like you packed much. I was going to offer to order you some with our pizza.”

“Order me some?”

He nods and opens the door to his house, still holding onto my hand. “It’s one of the benefits of living in this type of neighborhood. You can order anything, and the stores are accessible after hours.”

“How many people stay here?”

“A couple hundred.”

“Should I assume that they’re all wealthy?”

“Probably.” He smiles. “Let me show you to your room. I’ll order the pizza afterwards.”

As we walk past the living room—a room with a slow burning fireplace and all white furniture, he tells me that he’s been living here for about two years. He’s supposed to attend monthly meetings with the neighbors and show his face at the huge holiday parties, but he never has the time.

“This is my room.” He opens the door to a massive beige room with floor to ceiling windows and a balcony, and I have to prevent my jaw from dropping. I’ve only seen another room that was halfway as nice as this, and that was on some reality show I saw last month.

“You can sleep here tonight.” He places my bag onto the bed. “The bathroom is behind the door to your right.”

“I thought you said I could stay in the guest suite.”

“I think you’ll like this room better.”

“Okay, either you’re delusional or you don’t understand plain English. I told you that I wasn’t having sex with you, and I wasn’t sharing a room with you. What part of that don’t you understand?”

“I’ll be sleeping in the guest suite tonight.” He smiles. “But you’re more than welcome to join me if you don’t like this room.”

I roll my eyes. “This will be fine. Thanks.”

“Are you sure? I’m more than willing to fulfill all of your needs.”

Silence.

What the hell am I supposed to say to that?

“The pizza usually takes about twenty minutes.” He opens a closet and tosses a few blankets onto the bed. “If you need anything else just let me know.” He walks away and closes the door behind him.

As soon as I hear his footsteps trailing down the hallway, I start to look around.

There are a few photos hanging on his walls—mostly ones that feature him and a small brown-haired girl. Her eyes are a stunning green like his, and her smile is just as infectious. I would assume that she’s his daughter until I notice a small note scribbled at the bottom of one photo: “I love my Uncle Blake!”

How cute...

Curious, I step into his massive walk-in closet. All of his suits and ties are organized by color, and his shoes are perfectly arranged inside clear boxes that bear designer names.

I open all of his dresser drawers in search of something that will prove that he definitely has a girlfriend—a picture, a cami-shirt, an earring, but there’s nothing. Only more organized ties, and condoms. Lots and lots of condoms.

The last two drawers are stocked full of them, and they all boast “XXL” on their wrappers.

Right...

Rolling my eyes, I head into the bedroom and flop onto the bed—quickly calling David.