Love Me Sweet (A Bell Harbor Novel) (17 page)

“Yes. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that sooner, but I didn’t want you to worry.” That was partly true, but the other part was she knew Melody couldn’t keep a secret, and the last thing Delaney wanted was for this to become another episode of
Pop Rocks
. “Please help me out here, Mel, and tell everyone I’m totally fine.”

Melody scoffed into the phone. “I think
fine
is a pretty strong word. I am legitimately concerned about you.”

“Don’t be. I’m actually . . . I’m kind of having fun.”

“Fun?”

Delaney hadn’t realized it until just then but . . . yes. This was fun. It was fun because Grant was here, and everyone was being nice, and no one expected anything from her. She wasn’t performing in front of a camera for a nameless, faceless audience. She wasn’t trying to cater to her family’s needs. She wasn’t trying to impress her Beverly Hills clients. She was just . . . being herself. And she liked it.

“Yes. I’m having fun.”

“God damn it, Delaney. It’s time to come home. This shit is getting serious.”

Deep down, she knew it was. Her problems weren’t going to disappear just because she had. They were multiplying. She was Dorothy with the flying monkeys circling her
head, but no simple heel-clicking would fix all this. She had to fix it herself. She took a great big breath.

“I know I do. And I will, soon. I should have my wallet back in a couple of days, and as soon as I do, I’ll come home, talk to the police, I’ll do whatever the damn publicist wants me to. OK? I just need a couple more days.”

“You have no money at all? And no ID? How are you managing?”

“I’m managing just fine.”

“There is that word again. I’m not sure you know what the word even means. Just put yourself in my shoes, Lane. I don’t know exactly where you are, and you’ve obviously put your trust in some total stranger. I don’t even know his last name. All I know is his cell phone number.”

Delaney had put her trust in him. It had been easy. Trusting men hadn’t typically worked out in her favor, but Grant wasn’t like most men. She didn’t really know how she knew that, but she just did. Down deep in her heart, where it mattered the most.

“His name is Grant Connelly and we’re at the Heartbreak Hotel.”

“The Heartbreak Hotel?”

“Yes. In the Burning Love Suite.”

“The Burning Love Suite?” Melody’s voice went from surprised to dubious.

“Yes.”

“With some guy named Grant Connelly.” Now she sounded downright suspicious, and maybe she had a right to all of that. The situation
was
a little unusual.

“Yes. I’m in the Burning Love Suite of the Heartbreak Hotel with a man named Grant Connelly, and I’m asking you to trust me because it’s not quite like it sounds.” No, it wasn’t quite like it sounded, because she hadn’t mentioned the bus full of musicians or the steady stream of Elvis impersonators trying to eavesdrop on her conversation, but given that her sister was poised to commit her to a psychiatric facility, Delaney decided to keep those details to herself. Instead, she simply added, “And I’m having fun.”

Chapter 17

REGGIE STRUTTED FROM THE BATHROOM
of the Burning Love Suite with a white hotel towel barely wrapped around his hips and his clothes tucked into the crook of his elbow. Arrogant jackass. It was close to midnight and he was the last one to shower. Took his sweet time about it too, just to make Grant wait for some alone time with Elaine.

She was sitting on the gold satin coverlet of the bed wearing new pink pajama pants and an
I love Elvis
T-shirt that Grant had bought for her in the hotel gift shop. He’d gotten a shirt for himself too, the same one as hers because there wasn’t much selection. He needed to get to a real store soon, though, because while she might look adorable, he looked like a tool. Real men don’t wear
I love Elvis
T-shirts.

Reggie chuckled when he saw it and patted Grant’s shoulder as he walked by to go into the other half of the suite.

“Nice shirt, Cameraman,” he murmured.

“Nice towel, dickhead,” Grant murmured back.

Reggie didn’t miss a beat. He just smiled bigger and spoke louder. “All righty then. Good night, Mary Ellen. Good night, John-Boy.”

The bedroom door had nearly shut when Reggie turned around and stuck his face back inside. “FYI, you crazy kids, Fincher and I sleep like the dead. Nothing that goes on in here will wake us up. Unless you invite me back in to pinch hit. Then I’ll totally wake up.”

Grant stepped forward and pushed on the door so hard he nearly caught Reggie’s head. “Seriously, get the fuck out.”

He could hear Reggie chuckling on the other side but that was all good, because he was out there, and Grant was in here—with Elaine. He turned the lock on the door, the click loud and decisive, and Reggie laughed again, but the sound faded as he walked away. Grant turned to see Elaine pull her legs up in front of her and wrap her arms around her knees as she leaned her back against the velvet headboard.

He rubbed his hands together and lightened his tone. “That guy’s annoying.”

She just smiled and tucked a curling lock of damp brown hair behind her ear. All of a sudden he was nervous, which made no sense at all. They’d been together nonstop for days, and now he was nervous? Now, when it was time to be suave and seductive? It was the shirt. It was making him impotent. Elvis was only sexy on Elvis.

“I feel like a doofus in this shirt,” he blurted out. “This is the kind of shirt Carl would wear.”

She burst out laughing and his impotence faded. What a delicious sound, that laugh. It was one of those loud, unladylike bursts that told him he’d hit his mark.

She patted the spot next to her, telling him he just might hit another mark if he played his cards right. Not that this was a game to him. Elaine wasn’t a sporting sort of girl. He’d figured that out within the first five minutes of meeting her. Any woman who covered her eyes at the sight of a penis, and in fact could not even
say
the word
penis
without blushing, was not the type looking for a meaningless fling, even if you were spending the night in the Burning Love Suite.

He sat down next to her but turned so he was facing her and the headboard. The lighting in here was dim, making her long-lashed blue eyes dark. “So, how did the conversation go with your sister?” he asked. “You seemed kind of off after that. Or was it something with Sissy?” Elaine had spent time with the band manager’s flighty-headed wife after taking that phone call, and had been quiet ever since.

Still, a smile played across her lips, a hint of her humor remaining. “Sissy was fine. Nosy, but fine. She gave me a few things to wear. They’re not quite my style but it was still very sweet of her. And at home, things are . . . well, there’s some drama.”

“Drama at the soap factory? Like a soap . . . opera?”

She laughed again and it made him feel victorious, but her smile faded too quickly.

“I may have to go home soon. Sooner than I had planned.”

Gut punch. Bad feeling. “Why?”

“Well, for starters, we forgot to tell anyone about the car, so when the police found it, they called my family and my family thought something awful had happened.”

Shit. That was basic survival skills 101. Leave a note when someone is looking for you. “I’m sorry. I meant to call the police but I forgot,” he said.

“It’s not your fault. I should have told my sister about the accident but I was trying to manage this on my own. Now they’re all worried I’m somehow at risk, which is exactly what I was trying to avoid.”

“You’re not at risk. I’ll take care of you.” The words were out there before his brain had even wrapped around them, and he didn’t know where they’d come from. Where any of this was coming from—this urgent need to stake a claim—this drive to protect her. Maybe it was guilt over his mother’s involvement. Maybe it was simple red-blooded lust. But whatever it was, all he knew for certain was that he felt it, and he wanted to follow it.

Her smile was sweet but unconvincing. “Thanks, but I have some stuff back home I have to handle in person. I can’t do it from here, and I can’t do it from Bell Harbor either.”

This was entirely unacceptable. They were just getting started. She couldn’t go back home already. He wanted more time. He hadn’t had enough of her yet. He wanted all of her.

Her damp hair had created wet marks on the shoulders of her shirt. He picked up a tendril and twined it around one finger, staring at it, because looking into her eyes was just too dangerous. He’d scaled mountains and traversed ravines, but nothing had ever made his heart jackhammer inside his chest like this. “I don’t want you to go back to Miami already.”

“You don’t? You could have your house all to yourself.” Her voice was whisper soft.

“I don’t want my house all to myself. I like you in it. I like watching the yoga.”

“You could get cable. They have lots of yoga shows on cable.”

He moved a little closer, and she stretched her legs out in front of her. “It wouldn’t be quite the same as watching it live,” he said.

She moved to readjust the pillow behind her and the tendril fell from his fingertips. She leaned back, resting one hand on his leg. It wasn’t the same maneuver he’d tried at dinner but he was glad she was touching him. Really glad. He wanted her to touch him all over. The thought sent blood rushing to his groin, and in another ten seconds his dick would be tapping at her hand. That might be awkward. Or awesome.

“I think these walls are pretty solid,” he said, looking around. “Pretty . . . soundproof. We could probably make a lot of noise in here without being heard.”

He looked back at her and was only partially teasing.

No, actually, he wasn’t teasing at all.

That door was locked, the walls were real, and this bed was as inviting as the sweet scent emanating from Elaine’s warm skin. He wanted her, badly. And he wanted her bad. In ways too wicked and loud to be contained inside this room. But for tonight, he could keep things on the quieter side. If that was the only option.

The color rose in her cheeks. “You’ve been really good to me, Grant. And I appreciate all you’ve done,” she said.

The rushing of the blood slowed. Those weren’t the words he expected. Gratitude wasn’t what he wanted from her. Gratitude came from people feeling indebted, and he wanted her to know they were on equal footing. She didn’t owe him.

“You’ve been really good to me too, Lane. You could’ve called the cops on my mother, or demanded I leave my own house. And you went to a family wedding as my human shield. That takes real generosity.”

The sound she made was half giggle, half sigh. “OK, I guess we’re even, but maybe what I’m trying to say here is that, just because we’re stuck together in this hotel room, with this incredibly comfortable bed surrounded by everything Elvis, I don’t want you to
love me tender
just because you think I’m . . . convenient.”

Her words made sense, in theory, but in reality, nothing could be further from the truth, and he chuckled at the irony.

“Nothing about you is convenient for me, Lane. Driving hundreds of miles through a snowstorm to track down your money sure isn’t. Having you live in my house isn’t convenient. Knowing my family has screwed you over six ways to Sunday isn’t convenient either. But honestly, what’s most inconvenient is the way I feel.”

Her eyes lifted to his. “Why? How do you feel?”

His breath caught, and his gut took a big, bold leap. He slid his hands up to cup her face and ran a thumb over her lip, that full, lush bottom lip that left him weak in the knees but courageous in his pursuit.

“How do I feel? Like I need to make you mine. Soon.”

Grant’s eyes were dark on hers and held no hesitation, no doubt. Just passion. Fierce passion, with none of the teasing from the last few days, or even from the last few minutes. She’d asked, and he was giving her his answer.

He was making it easy for her—so very easy to give in—to all of this, to the moment, and the emotions, and the madness. She wanted him in the most brazen way. Even while knowing Reggie and Finch were just outside that door. Even while knowing this was more about biology than destiny. Even while knowing she should stop this and tell him the truth about who she was and why she was on the run. But she didn’t because she craved his touch. His gaze had been on her all day and she’d felt it, like a whisper passing over her skin. A constant reminder that he was near.

His thumb was teasing over her lips, making her hungry for him. Her breath went shallow and her mind went blank of everything except this man and this moment. She pushed aside the past and gave no thought to the future. There was only here and now.

She moved forward, closing the last of the distance between them, and kissed him hard, with all the pent-up desire she’d held inside. Grant groaned low in his throat and wrapped his arms around her, deepening the kiss. He pushed her back into the pillow, bumping their heads against the headboard, but the contact only added to the moment. His lips were insistent, demanding, the textures of his mouth divine, and Delaney knew she was right where she wanted to be. She was—

Knock, knock, knock.

“Hey! Really sorry, kids. I need my contact lens case,” Finch said, his voice as loud and as casual as if he were just interrupting them from watching cartoons.

Grant looked back at her like the Hulk trying to collect his emotions, and Delaney pressed fingers to her mouth to hide her humor. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered under his breath.

She sat up straight on the bed as Grant stood. He opened the door without a word while Delaney avoided eye contact. Finch walked through fast and was back out in five seconds.

“Really sorry. Carry on.”

Grant shut the door—pretty hard—and turned the lock—again.

He looked over at Delaney, and she bit her lip. This was her chance to change direction, to stop them from doing something she might regret. But it was too late for that. “Maybe we should turn on the television?” she said. “You know, for a little . . . noise canceling?”

He smiled, relieved. “I like the way you think.” He picked up the remote from the bedside table and turned it on, flipping the channel to some old Elvis movie—since that’s what was on every channel.

Delaney pushed the covers down on the bed, exposing crisp white sheets under the coverlet, and rose up on her knees. Burning Love was about to meet boogie-woogie. This probably wasn’t her wisest decision but she was past the point of caring. Heat whooshed through her as Grant pulled his shirt up and over his head and came forward, kneeling on the mattress in front of her, breast to chest. Delicious.

“This is the first part of you I noticed,” she said, running the backs of her knuckles up his taut stomach before trailing her hands over his shoulders. She swayed against him and pressed a light kiss on his collarbone. His skin was warm and tasted slightly sweet.

“Yeah? What was the next thing you noticed?” His voice was low and raspy as his hands clutched her hips.

She ran her lips along to the other side, kissing that collarbone too and feeling his pulse quicken under his skin.