Except this close together, the tension had a distinctively magnetic quality. She was pretty sure that even closer, the tension between them would burn.
Which is why it hurt when he closed his eyes and shut himself off, as if telling himself no.
She got the message, too, and stepped back. She hadn’t brushed her teeth yet, so she supposed it was a good thing they hadn’t locked lips. “I’d better grab a shower while I can.”
The phone buzzed, and Steve picked up the line and listened. “Yes, that’s fine. Send it on up.”
The food.
“I’ll be just a minute,” she said. Although she had no intention of hurrying.
She was going to let the water and the steam wash everything away, including hopefully, her screwed-up feelings about Steve. When she came back, she’d come back new, focused on what she had to do.
When she came back, she’d be saying no, too.
***
A cart laden with covered dishes came rattling out of the elevator, pushed by a uniformed waiter. He positioned the cart near a circular dining table with the view of the city, and began unloading the dishes and condiments, while setting silver at the same time. It took him two minutes to prepare the table.
When Steve approached with tip in hand, the waiter began a rundown of the dishes.
“This morning we have Belgian waffles with extra strawberries, bacon, and country-fried potatoes—” Maisie’s breakfast “—as well as a mushroom omelet, with a side of beef heart tartare. Coffee and orange juice, as well.”
Beef heart tartare? Raw heart to start the day, huh?
Steve was smiling when he paid the waiter and declined his offer to stay and serve. Maisie just couldn’t resist ordering up a little something extra for him. Had probably tried to find the most outrageous thing on the menu. Or had requested something special.
And for her mischief, he really wished he’d kissed her. He’d probably still be kissing her now, which was much better than waiting alone by a table set for two. He wasn’t going to eat without her. Didn’t want to. Strangely, the room seemed too big without her in it. Too quiet.
He stood in his mask, like an impostor in his own life.
He hadn’t kissed her because he was moving on, and because she was vulnerable and young and in trouble, and he’d been on his own so long that he felt ancient. She was light and energy and joy. He was…careful. Every move was deliberate. Had to be. Or he’d lose his mind, and take whoever was nearest with him.
In Vegas, people had reason to sleep in, many of them dreaming. All of them were uncomfortably close, no matter how large and removed the King Suite was.
Fluttering like moths at Steve’s consciousness were other people’s dreams. Ordinarily he could brush them away, but here, they just returned with friends, all steeped in that dreamwater dew that so easily transmitted the dreams to his unwilling mind.
A woman was falling, screaming. Another, also distressed, was trying on clothes too small for her. There was an odd lucid dream in the mix—a multiple-partner sex fantasy set amidst one of the impressive Cirque performances. And in another dream, a man couldn’t find his child—was frantically looking all over a dingy casino.
Steve hated Vegas dreams. They were always fraught with intensity. It wasn’t a peaceful place.
Where was Maisie to block all this?
She’d said she’d be quick, but the minutes ticked by interminably. He didn’t know how long the food would stay warm.
He made a quick call to Rook. They were still two hours out. Steve declined a call from Grimsly, his own superior. Steve wanted to work out the plan with Maisie before he reported it.
And still the dreams moved against his mind. He wished people would just wake up—in other cities, at other hotels, generally those that catered to businesspeople, sleepers would be stirring by now. Not in Vegas.
He shouldn’t have been so hard on her. He shouldn’t have tried to scare her. She’d
Which is why it hurt when he closed his eyes and shut himself off, as if telling himself no.
She got the message, too, and stepped back. She hadn’t brushed her teeth yet, so she supposed it was a good thing they hadn’t locked lips. “I’d better grab a shower while I can.”
The phone buzzed, and Steve picked up the line and listened. “Yes, that’s fine. Send it on up.”
The food.
“I’ll be just a minute,” she said. Although she had no intention of hurrying.
She was going to let the water and the steam wash everything away, including hopefully, her screwed-up feelings about Steve. When she came back, she’d come back new, focused on what she had to do.
When she came back, she’d be saying no, too.
***
A cart laden with covered dishes came rattling out of the elevator, pushed by a uniformed waiter. He positioned the cart near a circular dining table with the view of the city, and began unloading the dishes and condiments, while setting silver at the same time. It took him two minutes to prepare the table.
When Steve approached with tip in hand, the waiter began a rundown of the dishes.
“This morning we have Belgian waffles with extra strawberries, bacon, and country-fried potatoes—” Maisie’s breakfast “—as well as a mushroom omelet, with a side of beef heart tartare. Coffee and orange juice, as well.”
Beef heart tartare? Raw heart to start the day, huh?
Steve was smiling when he paid the waiter and declined his offer to stay and serve. Maisie just couldn’t resist ordering up a little something extra for him. Had probably tried to find the most outrageous thing on the menu. Or had requested something special.
And for her mischief, he really wished he’d kissed her. He’d probably still be kissing her now, which was much better than waiting alone by a table set for two. He wasn’t going to eat without her. Didn’t want to. Strangely, the room seemed too big without her in it. Too quiet.
He stood in his mask, like an impostor in his own life.
He hadn’t kissed her because he was moving on, and because she was vulnerable and young and in trouble, and he’d been on his own so long that he felt ancient. She was light and energy and joy. He was…careful. Every move was deliberate. Had to be. Or he’d lose his mind, and take whoever was nearest with him.
In Vegas, people had reason to sleep in, many of them dreaming. All of them were uncomfortably close, no matter how large and removed the King Suite was.
Fluttering like moths at Steve’s consciousness were other people’s dreams. Ordinarily he could brush them away, but here, they just returned with friends, all steeped in that dreamwater dew that so easily transmitted the dreams to his unwilling mind.
A woman was falling, screaming. Another, also distressed, was trying on clothes too small for her. There was an odd lucid dream in the mix—a multiple-partner sex fantasy set amidst one of the impressive Cirque performances. And in another dream, a man couldn’t find his child—was frantically looking all over a dingy casino.
Steve hated Vegas dreams. They were always fraught with intensity. It wasn’t a peaceful place.
Where was Maisie to block all this?
She’d said she’d be quick, but the minutes ticked by interminably. He didn’t know how long the food would stay warm.
He made a quick call to Rook. They were still two hours out. Steve declined a call from Grimsly, his own superior. Steve wanted to work out the plan with Maisie before he reported it.
And still the dreams moved against his mind. He wished people would just wake up—in other cities, at other hotels, generally those that catered to businesspeople, sleepers would be stirring by now. Not in Vegas.
He shouldn’t have been so hard on her. He shouldn’t have tried to scare her. She’d
Similar Books
