Alex didn't pull away when Beth slipped her hand into his as they waited for the elevator. She curled her fingers around his, but didn't try to pull him close. She just stood by his side, her warm palm pressed against his. There was nothing possessive or demanding in her touch.
How long had it been since he held hands with someone? The simple reassurance of human contact—that was what she wanted. And that was the least he could give her.
The very least.
His mind had strayed a few times during their conversation to the other kinds of soothing he could offer her.
She had opened up to him without any urging on his part. Maybe tomorrow she would blame the martinis, but Alex knew alcohol had nothing to do with the words that flowed out of her. She wanted to talk. She wanted to talk to him.
And, surprisingly, Alex found that he wanted to listen. He enjoyed sitting across from her, watching the way her nose crinkled when she talked about a part of her past that she wasn't proud of.
Alex knew secrets. He knew how people held onto them, usually only parting with them after it became clear that there was no other option. Sometimes not even then.
But Beth had told him willingly. She’d chosen him to be the one to lift her burden, and he was happy to do it.
It was cute, in a way. She thought that her secrets were great and terrible. But Alex knew better. He'd seen the very worst that humanity had to offer. He'd shone light into the darkest corners of humanity. He knew the horrors that could be found there. Listening for half an hour to Beth's very human failings seemed charming in comparison.
She was a little wobbly on her feet as they stepped into the elevator. She hadn't eaten much at dinner. No more than a few bites, and she’d downed those martinis pretty fast. She wasn't drunk, not exactly. But Alex didn't think she was in all that much pain either.
Alex felt a pull on his arm as the elevator rose past the second floor.
“I'm on two,” Beth said.
“Not anymore.”
The doors opened, and he walked down the hall. Her hesitation was obvious. She walked a step behind him, dragging on his arm, but she didn't let go of his hand.
She trusts you. God only knew why, but she did. He rationalized that he wasn't using her—no more than she was using him. It was a mutually beneficial situation. And she was smart enough not to ask too many questions.
Hopefully, there wouldn't be any reason for her to.
But he had meant every word of his promise. He wouldn't hurt her. More than that, he wouldn't allow any harm to come to her. Even the idea made him sick.
Alex didn't dig too deep into the reason behind the emotion. He had taken her on as his responsibility. And he liked her. That was all.
Her expression was openly skeptical when he stopped at the door in the middle of the hall. He swiped the key and held the door open.
“What the...” she said, stepping in before him. There was no hesitation in her now. He let her hand go, and she walked into the suite.
The door closed behind him, and he tossed the key on the table.
She went to the wide window that made up the far wall of the room. She threw open the drapes, exposing a panorama of the bay. Across the water, the lights of San Francisco glistened. She stood there for a long time with her back to him. The line of her shoulders relaxed a little, enough to tell him that she liked the view.
So did he.
“It's gorgeous,” she whispered. She turned her face toward him. “This was your errand.”
Alex nodded. That, and other things. He’d also seized the opportunity to take a quick look around Isobel Munoz’s room.
“I had the staff move your things.”
“Why?”
“I didn't like the view in your room.”
Close enough. He needed a clear view of the parking lots. This room gave him the widest vantage. He could see both the visitor and housekeeping access roads in to and out of the hotel. She could stare off into the distance all she liked, but his interests were a little closer to home.
“No, I mean, why move my things? I can't afford this room. It took me months of saving to afford the one I'm in right now.”
“Don't worry about it. I took care of both rooms.”
She turned around. Her mouth hung open wide. She stuttered for a moment before she found the words.
“You can't do that,” she said.
“I just did.”
“But you can't,” she repeated. “Paying for my drinks is one thing, but if I let you do this then you're not the gigolo. I am.”
“Excuse me?”
She plopped down in one of the chairs, her feet coming off the ground.
“Isobel might think that you're a man whore.”
“Really?” He crossed his arms as he leaned against the wall. He'd had many covers since moving from the Navy to the CIA, but this was a new one.
“She came up with the idea on her own. I just let her believe it. What else could I do? I couldn't let her know what you really do, you know?”
Yeah, he knew. Only too well.
She looked around the room. “It's certainly bigger than my old room.”
He nodded.
“And that sofa over there will make things far less awkward when it comes to sleeping arrangements.”
“That does seem like an important thing to consider when sharing a room with a gigolo.”
She shot him a glare, kicking off her heels. She looked at the wide bed in the room behind her. Then back at him. The war in her head showed plainly on her face.
“Can I see the bathroom?” she asked, as if her answer hinged on it. As if her answer mattered at all.
Regardless of what he felt for Beth—and he wasn't sure he knew exactly what those feelings were himself—she had become an important asset in his mission. He simply couldn't allow her to leave his side.
“By all means,” he said.
She tiptoed to the door in the corner. He stayed a few steps behind.
She let out a long sigh when she looked inside.
“There's a real tub, Charlie. One of those claw-footed ones. I've always wanted to have a bath in one of those.” She gave him a guilty smile, like she didn't like the thought that she could be bought with the promise of a nice hot soak. “Always.”
He leaned on the doorjamb next to her. He had to admit, the thought of her in that tub stirred him as well.
“Maybe, just one night,” she said. “We'll see how it works out.”
“Sounds fair.”
He wouldn't tell her that he’d already given up her old room, and there was no chance of getting it back. The Kensington was booked solid this weekend. He'd had to use every trick he knew to snag this one.
She walked past him to the massive oak armoire that stood in the corner of the bedroom. She opened the door and made a little sound of pleasure at seeing her clothes already hung up for her. She pulled out something short and silky. A nightgown. She stopped and swiveled around.
“I do get the bed, right?” she asked.
“Of course,” he said and swallowed hard. He glanced back at the couch about twenty feet away. The longest twenty feet Alex had ever seen.
Chapter 4
The Wedding Trap Page 6