Page 2 of Degrees of Innocence
I wish he would stop saying my name like that. The way hepronounces it, rollingit around his tongue and the feel of his hand on mine is unnerving. He finally removes it to pour a glass of water from the pitcher and places it in front of me. He apparently feels some sense of responsibility to make sure I’m okay and not in a state of shock or drunk.
“Chase, I haven’t been drinking tonight. I ordered a cocktail just before the man collapsed and it spilled all over me when he fell. I just realized I must look a mess and probably need to eat. I spent the day on the beach and skipped lunch. I was just getting ready to order something when this happened,” I explain.
He looks slightly perplexed and almost apologetic. “I’m sure the day has taken a tremendous toll,” he says as our food arrives. The scent of butter and garlic waft through the air as the waiter places the seared bay scallops surrounded by a circle of dark red salad, in front of each of us.
“I hope you like Treviso. It’s a warm island salad. They grill the leaves in the wood stoves,” he says.
“I haven’t had it before,” I admit before trying a bite. “It’s almost like radicchio, but different, almost smoky, and the balsamic and goat cheese are the perfect complements. I take it you’ve stayed here before.”
He nods. “Yes, the resort is a favorite of mine and the food is always well prepared.”
I reach to take a sip of wine and watch to see if this is going to meet with further resistance, but other than a slight twitch of his mouth, he refrains, enlightening me with the history of the resort while we eat. The waiter clears the table and lets Chase know he will be back with dessert shortly.
“My favorite part of the meal,” he explains with a grin.
The waiter returns and it’s easy to see why it’s a favorite. The bananas have been grilled, are slightly browned and caramelized, served with a topping of brown sugar and sherry, and adorned with raisins.
“This is so good,” I say, taking small bites and marveling in the sweetness of the grilled bananas.
He enlightens me with the history of plantains and the many uses as we finish our dessert, but I’m sure he’s anxious to carry on with his evening plans. Almost as confirmation, when the waiter clears our table he offers to show me around the resort and walk me to my suite.
“Thank you for the offer, but I’m sure you have much better things to do than escort me around. I feel much better, and I do need to get some work done. Will they bring the check?” I ask.
I can see the side of his jaw twitch. “I visit the resort often. They’ll put the meal on my tab, Katarina,” he says.
“Thank you for stepping in when you did and for such an excellent dinner. I hope you can relax and enjoy the rest of your vacation now,” I say, standing up to leave, but feeling somewhat shaky. I grasp the edge of the table for support, but not before he notices. He is by my side immediately, placing one arm on my elbow and another on my opposite shoulder.
“I think the evening’s events, coupled with the fact you went so long without food has taken its toll. I’ll walk you back to your room.”
“I’m okay,” I reply, feeling silly and more than a little embarrassed. “I don’t want to be a bother, and I cancertainlywalk myself back to my room,” I add.
“If you continue to resist I will pick you up and carry you to your room. Now, lean on me and I will make sure you get back to your room safely.” I resist a flippant comment about his highhandedness, but am grateful for the support even though the arm draped around my shoulder is making it hard to concentrate on anything else. “Which suite are you in?” he asks as we move into the main resort area.
“I’m in room 2902,” I say, looking up just in time to catch the glimpse of surprise that registers across his features.
“You’re in room 2902?” he asks.
I wonder if he thought he heard the number wrong. “Yes, a group of us are staying for a weeklong event that starts Monday. I came in a couple of days early to relax a little and get a head start on preparations.”
He gazes down at me, his jaw pushed to an angle. “You’re near the top of the Mayan Towers,” he says, guiding me toward the elevator with a firm hand on my shoulder. As we reach floor twenty-nine, the elevator stops, and he guides me towards my suite. He’s very tall, maybe six feet one or two, and the dress pants and shirt he has on do nothing to disguise his lean muscular frame. I feel his gaze on me and try to focus my attention.
“Do you have your key card?” he inquires. I nod and reach into my purse. “Hand it to me, Katarina,” he murmurs. I wonder if he’s impatient to deposit me in my room and enjoy his evening. I fumble for my card, finally retrieving it from the bottom of my purse. He takes it from me, effortlessly sliding it into the slot before guiding me in and asking me if I’m okay.
“I’m fine, really. I was just a little shaky, but appreciate you walking me back. I don’t want to keep you from your evening, besides I have a lot of work to do.”
“I’m glad you’re feeling better. I’ll give you a call in the morning and check to see how you are. What is your phone number?” he asks.
I quickly contemplate what reason I have for not giving this perfect stranger my telephone number, but am brought back into the moment by the sound of his voice.
“I can always come back and check on you,” he says, sensing my hesitation, his eyes alight with mischief.
I smile at my silliness. The man is standing in my suite. I give him my phone number, and he quickly enters it into his contacts.
My eyes are nearly level with his chest, and I can almost make out its rise and fall underneath his dress shirt. I have a hard time listening to his words. The scent of amber and spice waft to my nostrils as I breathe his cologne in.
His fingers lift my chin to meet his gaze. “I’ll call you tomorrow to make sure you are okay. Get some rest,” he says before leaving.
I can’t help wonder if I am in a little state of shock. My legs still feel shaky, my heart is racing, and I can’t seem to regulate my breathing. A hot bath in the oversized whirlpool sounds like a good idea. I turn on the water and strip out of my soiled sundress. The marble ledge boasts of an assortment of fragranced bath oils. I pick one of the Kashmir lavender scents known for its relaxing properties and am soon rewarded with a sweet floral scent that wafts through the air as the tub foams up. I sink into its depths reveling in the sheer luxury of the soft, silky water as it bubbles around me. I can’t help but think back to the evening, of the man, moments from dying and the man who helped me save his life.If Chase hadn’t joined me would I have been able to keep going?I try to get the picture of the man out of my head, thinking instead of Chase and how he took over, intent, controlled and commanding and to the gentle way he said my name. The water is beginning to turn cooler and I am much calmer and relaxed when I finally get out of the bath and slip into my robe.
