Page 96 of The Anchor Holds

All of the loneliness I’d felt while being in the empty suite while alone dissipated as Elliot glanced around it.

He didn’t seem overly impressed, though his gaze lingered on the view before he led me over to the hotel phone.

He hadn’t let go of me since I’d opened the door, as if he feared I was going to go somewhere. I wanted to tease him about it, but I felt as if I might very well float away into nothingness if he did let me go.

I didn’t even ask him who he was calling when he put the phone to his ear, I was too busy studying the contours of his profile. Everything about him was perfect. Even the rough stubble covering his jaw, the perfect shade, not too light, not toodark. No bald patches. If I squinted, I could catch a couple of grays, somewhat camouflaged by the dirty blond.

“I’m looking to order room service, please.” His low rumble punctured my thoughts, along with the accompanying good manners that didn’t surprise me. I hadn’t even realized that he wasn’t holding the room service menu.

“Yeah, one of everything, please,” he continued with that pleasant tenor, those manners.

Since when did I find manners sexy on a man?

“Yep, everything.” He nodded. “And some waters, and a Diet Coke, please.” I watched his long, sandy eyelashes during a pause. “Room 531, thanks.”

He hung up, and I stared at him.

“Everythingon the menu?” I scoffed.

He nodded. “I wasn’t sure what you felt like, and I don’t have a crowbar handy to pry it out of you. I’m hungry too.”

I pursed my lips to swallow my smile. “Do you know how wasteful and not to mention expensive everything on the menu is?”

“I’m aware of how wasteful and expensive it is.” He gave me an even look before deliberately casting his gaze around the suite. “But I’ve got a hunch you can afford it.” His tone was airy, teasing.

“It doesn’t bother you that I make more money than you?” I was feeling brazen, my tongue loosened by the martinis. Not that I wouldn’t have been brave enough to ask the question sober, I might’ve warmed up to it a little more first, though. Avoided it for a little longer because I didn’t want to know the truth if it colored my perception of Elliot, if it led to the chance that he was indeed like all other men.

Elliot laughed. The sound was pleasant, genuine. “No.” His expression became sober when he locked eyes with me. “It doesn’t bother me that I’ve managed to convince an insanelysmart and successful woman to spend her very expensive time with me. For free.” He looked around the room again. “Well, not entirely for free since I plan on enjoying this room and that food and not paying a dime.” He winked.

I searched his attractive face for anything that might prove that he was lying.

Nothing. Not a hint. And I was adept at telling when people were lying. Either Elliot was the best liar I’d ever come across, squandering his talents as a small-town fisherman, or he was telling the truth. I didn’t know which was more digestible for my cynical brain.

“I’m guessing you ordered all the food because you wanted to get your—or rather, my—money’s worth, and because you have some kind of code against fucking a drunk woman?” I asked instead of trying to probe him further.

I was going to do the unthinkable with Elliot… I was going to take a man at his word.

Elliot stepped forward, hands clasping my hips, the playful look slipping from his face and being replaced by one I felt everywhere.

“I do have a code against fucking drunk women.” He proved yet again he was good, noble. As if I needed convincing.

He tucked a hair behind my ear with practiced gentleness that made me shiver. Then his hand circled my neck, not tenderly. His grip was powerful, a little scary.

“But I don’t have a code against fuckingyoudrunk, Calliope,” he murmured, lips against my neck. “In fact, it’s on my very long list of ways I want to fuck you.” His finger trailed down my collarbone, featherlight against my skin.

His lips ghosted over the underside of my jaw. The dichotomy of the tenderness of his lips and the borderline violence of his grip was exhilarating.

“It’s taking considerable self-restraint not to fuck you with your hands pressed against that window there.” He nodded his head behind me. I didn’t look, couldn’t. I didn’t want to be separated from the expression on his face. I knew he was nodding to the floor-to-ceiling view that looked out on the wide expanse of the troublesome ocean.

I didn’t need to look to see the mental image his words conjured. I felt it. Everywhere.

“Why don’t you?” I asked. Or maybe I begged.

I wasn’t embarrassed at the plea in my voice. I was beyond that.

His hand on my neck flexed. “Because, Calliope, I will take a highly educated guess and say you haven’t eaten today. Because you were too busy running, making calls, trying to wrestle control of this situation. Then you went straight to martinis. And as much as I want to lay ruin to your body, what is most important to me is that you fuel it, nourish it. Treat it with the care it deserves. Because you need your strength for what I have planned for you.”

Due to the martinis, I wasn’t as sharp as I liked to be. But I still heard every word in stark detail, as if they were sharpened blades.

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