Page 9 of No Strings Attached
Henson steps closer and slides both arms around me and onto the counter, boxing me in. My breath catches. “It’s a two-bedroom suite. Unless you’d rather sleep in the lobby or go back to the airport, I’m your only option, sweetheart.”
The receptionist returns Henson’s card and hands over two keys. “The penthouse elevator is just around the corner to your right. Your concierge’s number is in the room if you need anything.”
A bellhop grabs my suitcase before I can, and I pause, thrown off by the opulence surrounding me. This level of service, this world—it’s all surreal and dizzying. I don’t belong in it. I don’t belong withhim.
My body clearly didn’t get the memo.
Because the second he slips an arm around my shoulders and leans in, my arousal—which I’m fighting tooth and nail to bury—comes rushing back like a tidal wave. Hot, urgent, and completely out of my control.
I should be worried. Iamworried. And yet I’m also ridiculously turned on.
We head toward the elevator. “It’s one night, Mira. Try to relax and don’t get your panties in a bunch. Unless, of course,your panties are in a bunch… in the corner of the room.” He winks, and I can’t resist smacking his chest.
Just like that, the tension that had wrapped itself tight around my ribs... vanishes.
The heavy thoughts, the status panic, the overthinking—it all slips away, replaced by something lighter. He’s good at this.
At quieting the storm he doesn’t even realize I’m trapped in. And that might be the most dangerous thing of all.
“You’re obnoxious.” I roll my eyes, my lips twitching. “How hasn’t your mouth gotten you in trouble by now?”
His chuckle is a deep, velvet-wrapped temptation. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, “my mouth is the kind of trouble you want to get into.”
3
IT’S NOT LIKE THAT… OR IS IT?
HENSON
As soon as we step into the elevator, Amira slips away from my arm, moving to the opposite corner. She presses her back against the cold steel wall, putting as much space between us as she can manage in this confined area.
It’s like she’s bracing for something, and I can’t help but want to break through the armor she’s thrown up.
I don’t know her; however, one thing is obvious: her ex deserves a solid punch to the face. From what I can tell, he really messed her up, and she doesn’t even have to say a word for it to show.
“Hey,” I say softly, glancing at her reflection in the mirrored walls. “If this is too much… If you want to go, just say the word. I’ll get you a ride wherever you need to go. No pressure, no expectations.”
Amira’s eyes flick up to meet mine. For a second, she says nothing.
Then, she exhales and offers me a soft smile. “No. It’s okay. I’m sorry if I seem ungrateful. I’m just a little tired. It’s been… a lot. Wasn’t expecting to make a new friend today.”
I smile back. “Yeah? Well, lucky for you, I’m an excellent friend. Ten out of ten, would recommend.”
A timid laugh escapes her, small but real, and that’s enough confirmation for me.
My goal remains the same: make her forget—just for a little while.
Not that she’ll make it easy.
Her stubbornness is palpable, though that only makes me more determined.
Usually, women throw themselves at me, enticed by my name, my money, the life I can offer. It’s a part of me I wish I could turn off sometimes.
Amira looks at me like Henson the man, not Henson the billionaire, and that’s refreshing as fuck.
But that might change once she finds out who I really am. When I’m in public, I always ask for discretion—that’s why the hotel receptionist never used my name. And I’m never on any of the tabloids or news—Worth is the face of the company and I want to keep it that way.
Money kept my only serious relationship alive far longer than it deserved, and that’s a lesson I won’t forget. After that, I swore off anything serious. Attachments only bring complications, and I’ve worked hard to keep life straightforward.
