Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59395 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59395 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Which is true. They just shouldn’t.
The truth is that I’m not sure what to expect from Tyler. I’m not even sure what I want to happen. But his apology sings a new song in my mind now, the lyrics dark and tormented, written by a man battered by anger, remorse, and guilt. This is the song of a man who is haunted by demons, some of his own creation, and others by his own father. These demons hold swords meant to cut him down to a lesser being.
But as time stretches in the wake of his phone call, I sense none of what I anticipated in Tyler at all. We finally bypass the traffic and arrive at the Four Seasons after ten o’clock. The driver pulls us to the front door of the hotel, and an employee opens Tyler’s door, but not mine. This time when Tyler exits the vehicle, I follow and when he offers me his hand again, and my eyes meet his, it’s as if a magnetic force as alpha and demanding as Tyler himself, drags us together. It’s a force I cannot resist and therefore there is no hesitation in me. I press my hand to his, warm all over with his touch, with the intimacy of the moment. His large fingers close around mine, and he holds onto me, walking me to him. When I’m in front of him, close enough to lean into him but far enough that our bodies do not touch outside of our hand, he tilts his head down, inhaling as if he just wants to breathe me in.
A shiver races up my spine, and I can feel him in every part of me. “Bella,” he says softly, “you need to know—”
“Your tickets for your bags,” the doorman offers, cutting off what he might have said.
I am left hanging on a limb, waiting for what feels like a confession, or maybe it’s simply a warning about him and sex for sex. I can’t know. Tyler releases me and turns to the other man. “We only have a few bags. I’ve got them.” He palms the man a tip.
I grab my purse and roller bag, but Tyler claims my larger bag as well as his own items, maneuvering the load toward the door and then into the lobby. “I’ll check us in,” he says, indicating a couch. “You wait.”
I nod because I can’t seem to find my voice. It, and every part of my body, is presently being ravished by a wild and wicked mix of nerves and lust for Tyler Hawk. But I’m not going to sleep with him, I tell myself. It doesn’t matter that the heat is burning us alive. I have to think about the damage to our work relationship. His sex-is-sex motto works for him, but it’s never going to work for me. Of course, everything about me and relationships is confusing right now. I want one, but I don’t believe in love. So, what is it that I really want? Do I even know?
Tyler Hawk.
I want him.
In a futile effort to distract my mind from my boss—and he is my boss—I glance around the hotel, with all its glitz and glamour, but I’m unaffected. I mean, yes, it’s gloriously decorated, and the hotel is favored by talent and executives for business meetings, but I’ve seen it all before. I’m also not impressed by Hollywood in general, but then it’s not all that unfamiliar to me. Not only is Nashville its own version of Hollywood, but I also grew up in the world of NASCAR, and cameras and my father’s fans were just always a part of our world. I’m comfortable around fame. And being comfortable in this world has served me well. I’m not asking for an autograph, but rather a signature on the dotted line.
Tyler finishes up at the registration desk and joins me, offering me a room key. “You’re all set. Go get some rest. I’m going to grab a drink and then do the same.”
It’s a dismissal, but it doesn’t read like what he really wants, though I don’t know what to say either. “Okay,” I say. “Goodnight.” This is the right decision, I tell myself. It’s the right decision. I grab my bag and turn away from him, walking toward the elevator. Oh God, I want him to follow, and I can feel his eyes on me, but not the warmth of his body. There is emptiness in my wake. He’s not following me.
With a lurch of my stomach, I reach the elevator bank and punch the button, but I don’t look in Tyler’s direction. I don’t want to know that he’s not there. The doors open and I step inside. It’s a fast, lonely ride, and when I reach my floor, I hurry to my room in desperate need of a private place to gather my emotions. I unlock the door and step inside to what is a stunning suite, and not one of the lower-end ones. Tyler gave me what has to be a next-level Presidential Suite. So what room is he in?