Millie gave a quiet laugh. “I’m not sure the ‘in the flesh’ thing is a good idea anyhow. You’re used to women a few boy bands younger than me.”
“Don’t.” He jerked his head sharply. “Don’t say that kind of thing.”
“Truth.”
“You’re beautiful, Millie. Desirable. I desire you,” he added for emphasis.
“Thank you.” She gave him a smile that edged toward wicked. “I desire you too.”
“Your confidence is one of the sexiest things about you.”
She inclined her head, pleased to have evolved to a point where others recognized and appreciated her independence. “Thank you again.” A flush warmed her cheeks, then burst into flame the second she told herself she was too old to blush when a man paid her a compliment.
“One of the many things about you that I find irresistible,” he murmured. To her delight and mortification, he ran a knuckle over the curve of her cheek.
“And I find your moral fiber very attractive, even if I am cussing you in my head right now,” she said in a husky tone.
“The Merryton Hotel,” Manny announced. Without another word, he darted into the drop-off lane and jerked to a stop. He popped the trunk and threw open his door. A uniformed bellman reached for the back door, and Millie jerked upright.
Fear, unwelcome and irrational, gripped her as she eyed Ty. He was leaving. Getting on a plane and heading to the other side of the country for six long weeks. Desperate to hang on to the quasi-intimacy of the past week, she searched his face, eagerly cataloging each feature as she drank in the overall effect. “I don’t want you to go yet.”
He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “The last thing I want to do is leave now, but I can’t stay here. This past week has been heaven and hell.”
She gave a mirthless laugh. “I know exactly what you mean.”
Lifting her hand to his lips, he kissed her knuckles as Manny tapped on the lid of the trunk to spur things along. “I’ll call you. I’ll wanna get the scoop on the Wolcott water polo team’s plans for making a splash this season.”
This time, she blushed deeply, but more with pleasure than embarrassment. Swallowing a sigh, she accepted the doorman’s gloved hand and swung her legs from the car. “You have to admit, that was a good headline.”
“Damn straight it was.”
They shared a long look. “Safe travels, Ty.”
“See you soon, Millie.”
* * *
Unwinding the towel she’d wrapped around her hair, Millie tossed the heap of wet terry cloth onto the lip of the tub. She padded into the bedroom wearing nothing but boy-cut panties and a pair of rainbow-striped, fuzzy socks Kate said were supposed to be infused with shea butter.
The socks were nice but not exactly the kind of infusion a girl thinks about when she’s been burning through the double-A batteries a lot faster than she’d like. Reaching into her bag, she extracted a washed-thin Warrior tank top three sizes too big and slipped the soft cotton over her head.
Pulling her phone off the charger, she checked to see what she’d missed in the forty minutes since she plugged the darn thing in. A dozen or more media outlet apps boasted alert notifications, but she only clicked on the icon for National Sports Network headlines. A quick glance at NSN showed nothing to send her rushing to check the other sites. The scandal of the week had pretty much petered out. Greg Chambers hadn’t managed to bait Ty into a fight, so the gist of the interview had been boiled down to a few sound bites and a still of Ty smiling broadly and looking far too fit and handsome to be anyone’s cuckold.
She found a couple of emails in her inbox, the most important one a sale notification from ShoeIn. A text from Avery confirmed the date and time for Kate’s post-honeymoon debriefing at Calhoun’s Bar and Grill the following week. And one missed call from Tyrell Ransom.
Her thumb tapped the callback option before she even had a chance to check the clock. Three minutes after eleven. He’d be boarding soon. One little phone call should be safe enough.
“Hello.”
His voice was warm and deep and put her in the mood for Barry White music and lamps draped with gauzy scarves. “Plan on visiting any brothels while you’re in the great state of Nevada?”
He laughed. A full, rumbling laugh that did little to dispel the red-wallpapered room she’d conjured in her head. “You never know. If the casinos don’t have any good headliners…”
She could see the whole setup perfectly. Of course, her version was highly romanticized and most likely television inspired. Reality was no doubt a fairly businesslike concern, but this was her trip down the rabbit hole. If she wanted piles of pillows, sheets made of satin, and heavy velvet drapes on the four-poster bed she had him tied to in her head, who could tell her no?
“Boarding soon?”
“Let’s get back to the brothel thing,” he teased.
“Not the kind of headline I want to spin. Besides, it’s been done. Promise me you won’t do anything reckless.”
Ty sobered instantly. “My dad is flying out, remember? I’ll probably be playing thirty-six holes of golf each day and listening to the old man heckle me about my slice.”
Dropping onto the bed, she leaned back against the headboard and pulled her knees up under her shirt. “Shift your weight before you start your downswing.”
“You golf?”
“Some,” she replied, relishing his pleased surprise.
“What’s your handicap?”
“The shoes,” she said without hesitation. He laughed again, and she beamed, delighted to have found their easy rhythm once again. “Pick up any good trinkets in the gift shops?”
“I’ve been hanging out in the Captain’s Club.”
“Free drinks?”
“Coffee.”
She nodded. “Good boy.”
“I’m no boy.”
“Man,” she corrected, allowing a sly smile to color the words. “Big, strong, handsome man.”
“Much better.”
“So your dad will be keeping an eye on you. That makes me feel much
