Worth the Risk(73)
“Like solitaire or like making a bazillion dollars?”
He just smiled. “Somewhere in between. I ordered us some breakfast.”
“I should get dressed.”
“No.” He tightened his grip on her foot. “I told you. I like you in a robe.” He gave her a hot look and she decided to stay where she was.
He glanced over. “You look happy.”
“I am. I slept.”
His brows shot up. “Is that so? Well, I’ll have to make sure you sleep more often.” Raising her foot to his lips, he gave her toes a quick nibble, then a squeeze.
She dropped her head back against the plush arm of the couch and moaned as his skilled fingers worked her feet. Just the two of them, sharing a sunny morning. She’d wanted normal. Was this it? Would she recognize it?
Whatever this was, it was pretty damn good.
She decided to take advantage. It was so rare that she ever looked at him when he wasn’t already looking at her. He really did have the most exceptional face and she knew his body now, every strong, sleek line of it.
“You keep looking at me like that, Goldilocks, and I’m going to rub more than your feet.”
“Promise?”
His brows arched in surprise. She surprised herself, flirting and taunting a wolf so soon after she’d left his den. But now that the fire had been lit, she craved more of his touch. Her stomach fluttered when he closed his laptop, moved it and his mug to the table.
With her feet still in his lap, he leaned over her, his hands on either side of her head. He didn’t look at her with pity or concern, or like she was broken. More like some kind of phoenix that had risen from the ashes, beautiful and strong. The victor, not the victim.
“You’re going to need to put that coffee down before it gets spilled.”
He relieved her of her own mug, then pounced, going for her neck first, and she burst into a fit of giggles and squeals when he rubbed his whiskers and nipped at her throat.
A knock at the door interrupted their play. He groaned and slowly rose from the couch. “Whose idea was it to order breakfast?” His lips quirked and laughter shone from his eyes as he pointed at her. “Don’t think you’re saved.”
Still smiling, she sat up and reached for her coffee, never imagining she could be so happy, so carefree with a man. Two newspapers lay on the low table in front of her. The Wall Street Journal and Daybreak Las Vegas. She chose the second and flipped through to the social section. “Let’s see what’s news in Vegas this morning.” She turned the pages and froze.
The news in Las Vegas was her.
A split photo in full color covered half the page. On one side, Blair Sinclair in Stephen’s arms, on the other, herself, sprawled on the floor, her face bunched in an ugly cry. The headline read: Beauty or Beast?
Her eyes quickly scanned the text underneath.
Beauty or beast? It seems that’s just what millionaire playboy Stephen McKinney has to choose from, and the beast certainly came out last night.
She skimmed the information on both of them, more about him and Blair than about her.
Since McKinney was seen leaving with a visibly shaken Walker in his arms, it seems, at least for now, he’s chosen the beast.
Her chest squeezed painfully. Unlike the struggle to breathe in a panic attack, this felt more like her heart breaking. The paper bunched in her fingers. Leaving her coffee, she spun and escaped to the bedroom.
She shouldn’t be here. He didn’t need the mark on his bio and she didn’t need to risk the ultimate heartbreak. It was right there in black and white and color. What he liked and what she would never be.
“Hey, babe.” Stephen’s voice followed her. “They forgot the syrup. Doesn’t happen often, but it does happen. They’ll be right back. Hannah?”
Biting her lip against the tears, she stuffed clothes into her bag.
“Are we playing hide-and-seek now?” She heard the smile in his voice. Heard him stop in the doorway.
“Hey. You getting dressed?”
She yanked on the outside zipper of her overnight bag, fighting to swallow around the knot in her throat, bracing against what Stephen would say. Or more likely wouldn’t. He was too much a gentleman for that.
He stepped farther into the bedroom and all playfulness was gone. “What are you doing?” He picked up the paper she’d dropped on the bed. Didn’t take him long. “Son of a bitch!”
He was furious, of course he was. And embarrassed. Sorry he’d taken her? This was the second time she’d freaked out on him. Because she was a freak.
“Hannah. Stop.”
Damn zipper. She pulled again harder. Those weeks chained up had changed her, tainted her. Maybe ruined her. There were things she could do. Things she could be. And there were things she could never do and never be.