Page 119 of The Silent Note

“I guess we’re leaving,”Sloane says as Zane drags me along in a daze.

He’s still using Dutch’s car, and the memories that attack me when he opens the passenger door are pretty close to violent. Reluctantly, I shuffle inside, knowing the alternative is to be wrapped in ropes, handcuffs, zip ties or whatever other kidnapping tools Zane can find and dragged in by my hair.

He remains close to me when I walk forward, refusing to back away and give me space. Sparks of awareness travel up my arm and shoulder as I accidentally brush against him. He gives no signs of feeling anything, but a flush fills my cheeks and I know, if I were a shade lighter, I’d be blushing.

Zane slams the door behind me and walks around the car. Alone in the silence, my attention switches to the backseat. Memories so crisp they feel like a movie I can touch play out in front of me. I hear the sound of Zane’s zipper coming down. The hiss of our bodies becoming one. The slap of flesh on flesh and the whimpers that poured from my mouth to his ears.

A pulse travels from my stomach to between my legs.

The car gets impossibly hot.

I fan my face.

The sound of his door wrenching shut cuts off my wayward thoughts. Zane is behind the wheel. Unfortunately, I’m feeling even more uncomfortable now and that feeling doesnotimprove when he drives in stiff silence to a hotel instead of the mansion.

“What are we doing here?” I choke out.

“This is where we’ll be sleeping tonight.”

“Yes, yes, yes,”Sloane chants with a big grin.

“No, no, no,” I burst out. “No, we’re not.”

But Zane ignores me, hops out of the truck and walks around to open my door. When I don’t move, he surges forward andbends over me. His head is two centimeters away from my chest, unlocking another barrage of private, sensual memories.

I lift my chin, staring at the roof of the car.

Click.

The seatbelt comes undone and Zane retreats to the sidewalk, staring pointedly.

Licking my lips, I step out of the car and give him a wide berth. If we sleep in the same hotel room, there’s a sixty percent chance we’ll spend the night together. And having sex again will only complicate a relationship that’s complicated enough.

Zane’s eyes bore into mine and, for one twisted heartbeat, I wonder if he’ll throw me over his shoulder too. Instead, he says, “Wait here.”

I watch as he presses a button, pops the trunk and returns with two overnight bags. Feeling like I’m about to walk into a lion’s den, I follow him into the hotel.

The woman at the front desk beams at Zane. “Hey, stranger. Haven’t seen you in a while.”

He stretches out a hand, not acknowledging her statement.

Huh. Where’s the typical Zane charm? The fire-hot smile inviting flirty conversation? Why is he so angry?

The woman also seems startled. She reaches for a card under the desk. Her smile dims when she notices me standing behind Zane.

“Who is this?”

I shuffle my feet, “No one.”

“My wife,” Zane says resolutely at the same time.

I cringe.

The woman looks crest-fallen.

“I didn’t know you’d gotten married,” she says.

Zane snaps the card from the counter and walks off without answering.

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