Page 88 of When You Were Mine

Trevor: Hey, where are you?

Elzy: Waiting to talk to the concierge. I need to rent a car and get directions.

Trevor: I have a car. And GPS. I can get us back to the hotel.

Elzy: I’m not going to the hotel. I’m going north.

This is bullshit.He called her.

“Hey.” She sounded pleasant and professional.

“Hey?” After the night they spent together, that was all he got? “Were you planning on taking off without me?”

She didn’t answer right away. “No.”

“You took everything with you.”

“Okay, yes, I’m leaving. You know I’ve got a tight schedule—that’s now become even tighter thanks to a storm. But if you want to have breakfast before I leave, that’s fine.”

He scraped a hand through his hair. “Breakfast? You think I want fucking breakfast with you? Elzy, I want forever. I want you for the rest of my life and all the way across eternity.”

“I told you last night?—”

“I know what you told me. But that was before I looked into your eyes and saw your actual feelings. And now, you’re telling me it meant nothing? Because it rocked my fucking world, Elz.”

“Trevor, I’m sorry, but I have to go. It’s my turn with the concierge. I’ll talk to you later.”

She disconnected.

Oh, hell no.

Look, he took full accountability for her reluctance. He wasn’t foolish enough to think she could trust him again so easily. Which was fine. He’d be patient. He’d give her all the time she needed to learn he’d changed and wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

What he wouldn’t give her was space.

Nope. None of that shit.

In yesterday’s pants and dress shirt and carrying the bags of gifts, Trevor strode out of the elevator to find thirteen costumed men dressed as Yule lads in the lobby.

Wearing fake white beards and wool beanies, they carried burlap sacks of candy canes. Playing up their roles as tricksters, they yanked hats off kids, spun women around as if they were on the dance floor, and broke into random summersaults and cartwheels.

Despite the chaos, he found Elzy immediately. She stood by the fireplace watching him approach. With her chin tipped, a mask of professionalism in place, he could practically hear her internal thoughts:I told you last night was closure. Nothing more.

Yeah, fuck that.The moment he reached her, he dropped his bags, wound an arm around her waist, and jerked her up against him. He kissed her right there in the lobby, a deep, slow, exploration of the only mouth he would ever taste again.

When she was well and truly soft and pliant in his arms, he said, “Hungry?”

Pink stained her cheeks, and he’d kissed the lipstick off her mouth. “I could eat.” As he grinned at her shaky voice, she reached into her purse and pulled out a sleek, black tube.

When she moved to apply the red lipstick, he said, “Unless you want to run out of that shit, don’t bother.”

She tossed it back into her purse, but he didn’t miss the smile she was fighting. “There’s a restaurant I’d like to try,” she said. “My car should be here by then.”

“Sounds like we have options. We either un-rent it, or we drive your rental, and I leave Chris’s car here. Up to you.”Either way, I’m going with you.

And before he could come up with a single reason to convince this competent, independent, professional, badass woman why she needed his helporhis company, she said, “I can’t un-rent the car, but if you want to drive, then I’ll be able to get some work done.”

“Sounds like a plan. Well, let’s not burn any more daylight.” Of course, that expression didn’t apply to Iceland in winter. At this early hour, it was still dark outside. He grabbed her bags and headed for the concierge. “Can you hang on to these for about an hour?”

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