Page 35 of Scars of Silk
I’m ready with a comeback: my bed is all she needs; something shite and corny. But her expression and her question make me pause the stupidity about to come out of my mouth.
From the corner of my eye, I can see the white PVC front door to my house—my dad’s house.
“Wait right there.”
Without another word, I step back into the house and switch off the TV. Then I run up the stairs and grab a change of clothes.
She’s still there, engine still running, her eyes staring at something far away. I slip into the car and she pulls off, neither of us saying a word.
We are still in silence at the check in at the Metropole. It’s as fancy on the inside as I’d always guessed, an elevator taking us from the underground car park to the lobby.
“You’ve only paid for one occupant.” The woman behind the reception desk looks at us through the lenses of her glasses.
Sienna just hands over a shiny credit card which the woman takes and swipes before handing over two key cards. “The restaurant serves dinner until ten p.m. Breakfast is from six thirty till nine thirty. Room service is available twenty-four hours. If you have any queries, please call down and we will help as best we can.” The woman’s attention slides over to me. Her stare—which is as subtle as a sledgehammer—glancing over my bruises and ink. There’s a lot of both for her to see.
“Street fight,” I tell her, and I catch Sienna’s lips quirking at the edges. It does something to me on the inside. I get this small swell in my chest, some place around my ribcage, when I know I’ve made her react to me.
She grabs the cards and walks for the lift, leaving me to walk behind, my eyes unashamedly watching the sway of her long legs. She’s getting a lot of attention; the passing bellboys and staff cast her glances, but she’s oblivious. One guy even steps up. “Can I help you with your bags, Miss?”
Fuck off arsehole.
“No need.” I elbow him out of the way and grab at her bag. She gives it over almost in a dreamlike state. She has no clue at all as to the reaction she creates in the opposite sex. She reminds me a bit of Faith in that way.
Give it up, Dan. For God's sake, give it up.
We wait for the lift and get in; Sienna pressing all the buttons and doing the thing with the card. You have to put the card in to get the lift to move. It’s been a long time since I stayed in a hotel, and I don’t think a two star in Ibiza really counts.
“Are we going to talk about why you were crying?” I ask as soon as the doors shut. “Specifically, why you were crying sitting in your car outside my house.”
Those wide, almond-shaped eyes blink up at me. Her lips part but she still doesn’t say a damn thing.
I lift my brows and wait, crossing my hands across my chest. We watch one another. The air gets tight, hotter, tangible almost.
When the doors open, I grab our bags and follow her to room four hundred and eleven.
It’s a nice room, clean and spacious. There’s a big TV mounted on the wall opposite a bed so large I could lie sideways in it.
She chucks the key cards on the side and then turns to face me, blowing a strand of her fringe off of her face.
“Are you going to say anything at all?” The more I speak, the more of an idiot I feel. Does she even want me here?
“Fuck me.”
What did she say?
“Fuck me,” she repeats.
“I thought it was a onetime only deal?”
“You wouldn’t be here if you thought it was.”
That’s true, I think. I don’t know what I’m doing here.
I step closer. Her eyes, they stare at me, every move. Her lip pulls in between her teeth and I know I will give her what she wants. She’s just walked through a hotel of men who would have fallen at her feet. And I’m the one she said that to. Fuck me.
My hands slide into her hair, cradling the nape of her neck until the weight of her head rests in my palm and I can tilt her mouth to mine.
She tastes warm and sweet. A river of energy floods from my lips down to my dick. It stiffens, twitching at the mere taste of her. “You know I’m injured here,” I murmur against her mouth.
