Page 39 of Dance with the Devil
“You should relax,” he urges, and again, I swear his eyes flick to my throat.
“But you wanted me at the luncheon,” I retort.
Why did you ask me to be here only to ignore me and then send me back to the suite?I want to ask, but I press my lips together instead.
“Yes, well, I wanted to be sure you ate a full meal.”
“I ordered breakfast to the room four hours ago?—”
“You’ll need your energy.”
His words seep into my mind and morph into something he can’t possibly mean. He didn’t mean…that… did he? My shocked expression must show on my face because he sighs and continues speaking.
“I only mean we have a work dinner later and the restaurant gives out portions that should basically be rat food.”
I burst out laughing. “Rat food?”
His eyes sparkle but he doesn’t smile. “You know what I mean.”
“And it’s essential that I go to this work dinner?” I taunt, watching his face for any sign of weakness.
“No. But I’ve found that I enjoy your company,” he says, looking away.
I bet.
“Okay. What time should I be ready?”
“I’ll come back to the room to collect you at six.”
I nod once. “Fine. See you then.”
Turning and walking away, I wait for him to say something else. When I get to the edge of the dining room, I look over my shoulder, but he’s gone.
Once I’m back in the suite, I kick off my shoes and pull my laptop onto the couch. I’m able to knock out a ton of work, and I forward several emails to Dr. Kincaid.
He emails me at three-thirty, just after sending him his updated appointment calendar for the next two months.
Christ, can you ever just relax? No more work. That’s an order.
I smile as I respond.
It’s not even 4 p.m.
He responds almost immediately—which means he must be emailing from his phone because his computer bag is sitting by the door. I shake my head in confusion, because he called me no less than five times last week asking for help to connect his email app to his phone. No matter what I tried, it wouldn’t work.
I see you finally got your email to work on your phone, and those phone calls paid off.
Again, his response comes not even thirty seconds later.
Maybe I just wanted an excuse to hear your voice.
I stare at his response for a full five minutes. Something heady snakes through me, because he’s never…flirtedwith me before. Not like this. Notever.He’s always been the epitome of professionalism—except for the middle of the night these last two nights, that is. I forward the conversation to Ari with an ‘SOS’ subject, and my phone rings a minute later.
“He’s in love with you,” she tells me. “Obsessed, head over heels, in love with you.”
I laugh. “I don’t think so. But I’m confused. Is he flirting with me?”
“Flirting with a capital F, yes.”
