That douse of cold water woke her up. She’d known he was driving to Dallas to meet Kyla, but it had always been later. Now it was now. “Is Kyla staying at this hotel, too?”
Lord have mercy, was she that daft? Of course Kyla was staying here. Probably in Kris’s room. Just because they weren’t getting married didn’t mean they weren’t sleeping together. She should have asked more questions a long, long time ago. She should have said no to the offer of a room.
As she weighed the mortification of sharing a hotel suite with the lovers versus another night on the street, he shook his head. “She’s from Dallas. She’s staying with her mom.”
Breath she hadn’t realized was trapped in her lungs hissed out. Kris and Kyla weren’t involved. She’d stake her life on it. Regardless, he wasn’t like that, looking for opportunities to humiliate her, and she was ashamed for even thinking it. He wanted to rescue her. Again. But without expecting anything in return. He was an all-around decent guy with hands skilled enough to make a girl lose her religion. A guy whom she did not have to say goodbye to for at least another night.
It didn’t matter. The Rescue of VJ Lewis wasn’t the title of a romance novel, and the extra room didn’t mean anything other than a place to sleep. Space he thought nothing of offering because Kris was generous to a fault—as long as it didn’t require him to give up anything emotionally important.
The chic clerk at the front desk greeted Kris by name, drew attention to her cleavage and dismissed VJ in one shot. VJ was too busy trying to hide the bruising on her face to have much energy left over to care. Kris slid a black credit card across the marble desk and smiled back at the tramp.
“How many keys, Mr. Demetrious?” Tramp asked.
“Two,” he said and nodded to VJ. “Ms. Lewis is helping me with preproduction on my new film, and we have a lot of work to do.”
“Of course,” she said with a fake smile and tapped on the keyboard in front of her. She handed Kris a small envelope, carefully touching her fingers to his before releasing it. “Enjoy your stay.”
VJ followed Kris to the elevator. Once inside, she glanced at him. “Smooth. Do you often squirrel away women in your hotel room under the guise of ‘helping’ with your movies?”
God on High, did she really want to know the answer?
Kris just laughed. “First time. Usually the hotel staff is pretty discrete. Have to be with so many headline-grabbers under one roof. But why invite someone to create a story where none exists?”
And didn’t that bit of truth hit the barn broadside? Yep, no story here. He needed Kyla to make his movie, and VJ couldn’t stand in the way. It meant too much to him. And she owed him an immeasurable debt. A step back from romance instruction and flirting and trying to claim his buried heart was the least she could do. Even if it made her eye sockets burn and her throat scratchy.
The top-floor suite defied description. She didn’t want to touch anything lest the magic wear off. Espresso-stained modern furniture dotted the living area and splashes of sage green, beige and dark purple accented the uptown theme. There was a cozy dining-room table on a raised dais with a half circle of windows beyond it offering an unbroken view of downtown Dallas skyscrapers, all lit for the night in winking splendor. A small area with a sink, microwave and refrigerator occupied the space next to the table.
Small being relative. Her kitchen at home was half that size.
The last time she’d stayed in a hotel was the after-prom party, of which the remarkable highlights were Walt throwing up eight wine coolers on her dress and Pamela Sue helping clean it up in the tiny bathroom. This was...not even close.
As promised, two doors, one on each side of the room, led to the bedrooms. “I’m going to sleep for about ten hours,” she said.
“This one’s yours.” Kris guided her to the room on the left and opened the door. “Do you want dinner?”
“Not really. You’ve done enough for me already. I can’t ever repay you.”
She turned to enter the room so she could collapse but he stopped her with a solid grip on her arm. “VJ.”
She kept her back to him.
Not now.
She might break into a million pieces if he said something sexy. Or nice. Or in Greek...
Actually, it didn’t matter what he said, her fragileness was due to being at the threshold of the rest of her life and scared to death. Scared she couldn’t hack life outside of Little Crooked Creek. Scared she’d made a mistake in getting into the Ferrari this morning. Scared she’d never find anyone else who lit her up inside like Kris did.