His attitude improves predictably. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
I wave off the apology and tuck the bill next to the pocket square on his uniform. Then I hold out my hand. He drops the screwdriver sheepishly into my palm, and I slide it into my pocket.
“I’ll make sure she gets it.” It’s not like I would deprive Adair of a good screw.
He disappears back to the elevator, and I’m left wondering what’s taking her so long.
Finally, she emerges in the dress she wore last night. Her hair is still loose around her shoulders, artfully mussed from where I held it minutes ago. I stare for a moment at her full lips, which look even more inviting than usual. It only takes me a moment to see what she’s been up to.
“Sorry,” she says, smoothing down her dress, and I see she’s artfully pinned it to the side. “My dress is torn, and I don’t have anything else to wear.”
I tore her dress last night. I also tore her underwear, but I hadn’t given those back to her to fix. If she doesn’t have anything else to wear…
Backing her against the door, I run my hands over the soft curve of her hips. There’s definitely nothing more than one silky layer of fabric between my hand and her skin. “Fuck, Lucky. How am I going to concentrate knowing you’re walking around without your panties?”
“Maybe it will teach you not to rip them,” she says as I press the call button on the elevator.
I arch an eyebrow. “That’s what you think I’m going to learn? Hate to break it to you, but knowing you’re bare down below only provides an incentive to keep ripping your panties off you.”
She swallows, a rosy blush painting her cheeks. “Don’t get ideas. I’m hungry.”
“Me, too,” I say meaningfully, trailing a finger across her stomach.
She shudders, her eyes closing for a second, before shaking her head. “Food, Ford, unless you want me to waste away.”
“I don’t want that.” There’s always dessert, I remind myself. “Do you want to eat here or go somewhere else?”
“I’m starving,” she says. My eyes glint mischievously and she holds up a finger in warning. “Don’t even think about it, Ford.”
The elevator doors open as soon as I press the call button, and I hold my arm across the threshold. “After you, Lucky.”
“How did you find me?” she asks.
“Luca is staying down the hall from you,” I explain.
“So much for privacy,” she grumbles. Adair presses against the far side of the elevator, holding the rail like a life raft, as if the small distance can protect her from wanting me. I can’t have that. I run my tongue over my lower lip before biting down on it, hoping she can read exactly what I’m thinking in my eyes. She manages to look unfazed, but I can’t help noticing her knuckles are white.
Maybe she needs a little break before she implodes from self-denial. “I accepted a delivery on your behalf.”
“A delivery?” she repeats in surprise.
I pull out the screwdriver. “Maybe I’m wrong, but I think they have a maintenance staff to fix things.”
She hesitates, staring at it. I can tell she’s torn between explaining why she needs the screwdriver and wanting to punish me more for the misunderstanding about Sutton. Now who’s keeping secrets? She tries to take it from me, but I hold it back. “What do you need this for?”
“I have things that need screwing.” She crosses her arms defiantly.
“I can help with that.” I don’t try to hide the suggestiveness of my tone. She walked right into it.
She snorts but won’t allow herself to laugh. She swats at the screwdriver, but I hold it higher. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Ford. There’s a stuck drawer in the suite.”
“That’s all? Disappointing. Of course,” I say thoughtfully, “I wouldn’t mind helping you unstick your drawers.”
“I’m sure you wouldn’t.” Her mouth twists with the effort of holding back a giggle. She knows better than to reward this behavior, especially since she’s planning to grill me with questions over dinner. I know when Adair is on a mission.
The elevator comes to a stop and I glide out, screwdriver still in hand. “All you have to do is ask.”
“I don’t need your help,” she repeats.
I lean closer and whisper, “Bullshit. If you need help with a screw—”
“Well, you are a big tool.” She manages to keep a smile off her face, but her lips twitch at the corners.
I’m about to remind her about the size of my tool and its many uses, when we pass a man in a suit at the front desk. His head turns just enough for me to see his profile. A jagged scar runs from his temple to his cheekbone. I stop.
He doesn’t belong here. Noah Porter.
I know it’s him without bothering to get a good look. Some faces you don’t forget, especially the ones with scars you gave them. Instantly, my training kicks in. I know where all the exits are, exactly where to duck for cover, and how many bystanders are likely to die if weapons are drawn. But there is one new variable I never considered—never needed to consider—before today.
Adair.
I can’t calculate her reaction. I don’t have a plan that includes her. Partly because, until this moment, I thought I was a step ahead of my problematic acquaintances. But also because I hadn’t planned on needing to protect her.
There’s only one option. I need to get her out of here without drawing attention to us.
“Let’s go out,” I say, taking her elbow and steering her back in the direction we came from moments ago. “Or, better yet, let’s order room service.”
“I think we should stick to neutral territory.” She tugs free of my grip, shaking her head. Of course, she thinks this is about getting her back into bed.
Actually, that
