At Any Price(33)

I was having trouble remembering to breathe and he wanted to know why I was shaking.

“You nervous about tonight?” he finally asked after a long pause.

I looked up and met his scrutinizing gaze. “Perhaps.”

But that wasn’t the truth. I wasn’t nervous. I was already dreading the drop into reality. The return to normalcy afterward. And the fact that I’d never see him again. How insane. I didn’t even know if this was something I’d enjoy yet. For all I knew, I’d hate every second of it. But that’s not what was on my mind at that moment. Instead, all I could think of was how much I enjoyed being in his company, trading banter, smelling his smell.

And I already knew that my plan to guzzle wine and lie back and think of medical school had gone up in smoke. I doubted this man would allow me to lie back and think of anything else but him.

We danced only two more before he collected my wrap and the car came to take us back to the hotel.

After all the joking and laughter earlier, the air between us had grown somber, tense. Weighted with the expectation of what was to come. My insides clenched, just below my navel. I was becoming aware of some new, inner fire. It felt like a candle inside a lantern, glowing bright and hot. It was as if my body was already preparing me.

The entire ride back—less than ten minutes, actually—Adam did not touch me or speak to me. He stared out the window, one hand resting on his knee. He was distant, tense and definitely not present in that limo.

When we entered our suite, he placed a hand on the small of my back, guiding me inside. Every nerve in my body instantly jumped at the contact, as if he’d shocked me. The muscles beneath his touch tightened and my breathing rate jumped.

The lights had been turned on and then down, to an ambient glow. A bottle of wine rested in the place of the champagne of earlier that evening. He pulled his hand away and went to it.

“Wine?”

I cleared my throat. “Anything stronger?” I joked. I actually rarely drank hard liquor, but his reaction to my light joke startled me more than anything else. He wore a dark scowl before his features went blank again.

“They don’t stock anything hard when I’m here, I’m afraid,” he said in a neutral voice.

So he didn’t approve of drinking. “But you drink wine and champagne.”

“Yes. Sometimes. On special occasions. Or a glass with dinner when it’s called for.”

I took the glass of deep plum Cabernet Sauvignon that he’d poured. “Sounds like it’s very personal to you,” I said, echoing his own words back to him.

He took a small sip and settled the glass on the bar, leaning on the hand braced there. “It is. My mother is an alcoholic.”

I nodded, instantly regretting the question. That would explain why he’d come to live with his cousins at such a young age. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

He shrugged. “I haven’t seen in her in years. She lives her life and I live mine.”

“Are you afraid that if you drink the hard stuff, it would happen to you, too?”

He looked up. “It’s a disease and addiction has a genetic component to it.”

Like cancer. I nodded. Suddenly understanding him a whole lot more from the last few minutes than I had in the entire day we had just spent in one another’s presence.

He picked up the glass and reached out a hand. I hesitantly placed mine in his. “Come. There’s something I want to show you.”

I snorted. “Isn’t that someone’s cheesy line to get a girl into the bedroom?”

He laughed. “Not mine.”

He led me up the staircase and to a closed door just before the bedroom. I hadn’t noticed it before, when I’d come up this afternoon. He opened it and we were immediately on a rooftop terrace, looking out over one of the canals. Here on the top floor, we could see the roofs of Amsterdam and twinkling lights stretched out before us. The tiny cars in the distant square jockeyed for position around a complex traffic circle, their headlights glowing bright yellow and white.

A chilly spring breeze danced about our hair and shoulders. I went to the rail and he moved behind me, adjusting my wrap over my shoulders. His hands lingered there long moments before slowly slipping down my arms. I suddenly forgot about the gorgeous view in front of me.

He was touching me. Like he meant it. Like he wanted it. I gasped for breath and his hands fell away.

“I remember the first time I saw this city,” he murmured, still behind me, gazing out at the view over my head. “I had just sold my first code. Took the summer to travel across Europe and started here. Still had about a year until college. I wasted a lot of time that year, but it was the most memorable of my life.”