Page 27 of Princessa
Chapter 17
All the signs were there.
The fidgeting. Toying with different necklaces. Even the decaf coffee. I should’ve known it wasn’t justnerves.
Pulling a T-shirt over my head, I snatched the keycard from off the table by the door and raced out of my suite. I didn’t give a fuck about being barefoot in pajamas, that my hair was probably a mess, or that going to Arabella’s suite—the two of us alone—could end up being dangerous.
But she needed me. Anxiety that leads to a panic attack is no joke.
When she told me her suite number, I quickly surmised that Arabella, the fascinating beauty who invaded my dreams, the one I fantasized about while in the shower every morning, had been residing only ten doors down from mine this whole time.
Too close for damn comfort.
In less than two minutes, finding my way to 12155—Presidential Suite East from where I was in 12145— Presidential Suite West was a snap.
Heart racing, I rapped my knuckles on the door three times, then three more, with a sense of urgency. Seconds later, the sound of locks clicking open eased the burning in my stomach. The door flew open and before I knew it, Arabella’s arms were hooked around me in a hug, her face buried in my chest.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have texted you this late.” Dressed in a blue T-shirt, a pair of shorts tight enough to reveal curves, and down-to-her-back disheveled hair, she somehow made frazzled look sexy as all hell.
“Don’t ever apologize for reaching out to me.” Arms bracketing her tight, I pressed a kiss to her head. “Are you feeling better?”
She nodded and muttered, “I am now.”
We stood in the doorway, bodies nearly molded against one another in an embrace that seemed to comfort her. Hell, I would have been willing to stand there all night if it soothed her anxiety away, but after a few long beats she stepped back, grabbed hold of my hand, then led me inside.
Arabella’s suite had the same layout and furniture décor as mine, only the color palette was softer, possessing a more feminine quality, like she fixed up the place to make it more to her liking.
Following her lead, we ended up in the living room, and still holding my hand, Arabella eased down onto the sofa. I did the same.
“Would you care for something to drink? Tea? Coffee? Hot cocoa?” There was a quiver, a minuscule trace of discord in her voice, as if she were still battling something, trying to hide remnants of the lingering panic attack.
I shook my head and brought her hand to my mouth, and even though my lips barely grazed her skin, the lip-to-skin proximity caused her to flinch. “You should try and get some rest. I’ll be more than happy to stay if you’d like? Right here on the couch—”
“Do you think you can hold me? You know, while I sleep?”
Pretty sure she heard me gulp the bolder-sized curveball she tossed.
Was it possible to just hold her? If I’d asked one of those Magic 8 Balls that me and my buddies played with as kids, the answer would’ve read,Don’t fucking count on it, dude.
“Um, sure,” I stammered, as though I were the nerdy guy who just got asked to prom by the hottest girl in school—not that I could ever relate. “If that’s what you’d like me to do.”
Inside her bedroom, on a comfy king-sized bed with far too many pillows, Arabella lay nuzzled in my arms, head resting on the side of my chest where my heart quaked. With the lights off, the only illumination was the tiny moonlit glow that made its way in from the partially open curtain. Being there for her made me feel more majestic than a prince—right then, I was a knight in shining armor.
“So”—I pressed a kiss to her head, taking in the aromatic scent of her flowery shampoo—“what was it that brought on a panic attack?”
“Stress, I suppose.” Her voice was softer, more calm than it was when we were sitting on the sofa.
“Stress from…?”
I felt her shoulder rise and fall and could almost imagine her squeezing her eyes closed. “Could be living in a new city, wrapping my head around event planning, or this dashing prince who I stumbled across a couple of weeks ago.”
Heat-laced guilt singed me from throat to face and for a minute I wasn’t at all sure words would find their way out of my mouth. “I don’t want to cause you stress or rattle your nerves to the brink of anxiety.”
She rubbed my chest in a circular motion, the tingling sensation hard to ignore. “Actually, being around you quells my nerves.”
“Then I guess I’ll have to hang around you twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.”
She snorted at my mockery. “Fabulous idea, but I can’t cart you around everywhere, tell people,Oh,here’s Grayson, my emotional-support prince.”
