Page 8 of No Strings Attached
Suddenly, Henson turns his head toward me, catching me in the act.
“Were you just ogling me, Miss Amira?”
He smirks, and it sends a fresh wave of butterflies into my stomach. Shit. I keep embarrassing myself in front of him. He probably thinks I’m a complete weirdo.
I can feel my face heat up, but I try to play it cool. “I wasn’toglingyou. Just… thinking.”
“Uh huh.” His smirk deepens as if he knows exactly what’s running through my mind. “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.”
I shake my head. Every fiber of my being wants to dive headfirst out of this car if it means putting a little more distance between me and Henson.
He’s too charming, and dangerously good at slipping past the walls I’ve built in the past weeks. I can’t afford to feel anything right now, especially not for someone like him.
As soon as the car halts at the hotel entrance, I practically fling myself out, desperate for air, but before I can make it to the doors, I hear his voice behind me.
“Mira.”
I turn, only to see him standing next to the open trunk with a wide grin. “Forgetting something?” His finger points to my suitcase, abandoned on the curb.
Flustered, I stomp back to grab it. I can’t fathom why his presence leaves me so rattled; the confidence I had at the airport has evaporated. All I know is that being around Henson makes me feel vulnerable—and a little too much like myself.
At the front desk, I’m greeted by an enthusiastic employee. “Welcome to The Thompson Hotel! How can I assist you this evening?”
“I’d like to book a room.”
The receptionist’s fingers dance across the keyboard, their face scrunching slightly. “Do you have a reservation?”
My shoulders slump, the answer already clear. “No.”
“I’m so sorry. We’re completely booked for the night.”
Just my luck.
An already-familiar presence looms behind me, enveloping me like a silk ribbon. The air itself seems charged, buzzing with his energy. His scent—rich, magnetic—intoxicates me, and I close my eyes, failing miserably at pretending I don’t enjoy it.
I’m so screwed.
My eyes fly open at the sound of something hitting the counter. Henson’s card lies there, and before I can say a word, he leans down to whisper, “You didn’t think you’d get rid of me that easily, did you?”
A shiver races through me, his breath grazing my ear, and I exhale, more out of relief than resignation. But I quickly stiffen, my resolve returning. I’m about to politely decline whatever too-nice gesture he’s planning when my eyes catch the check-in screen angled toward us.
Miller, Henson.
The name glows in bold letters.
I freeze. HensonMiller? As in Mr. Miller of Worthwhile Construction? One half of the infamous brother moguls—the wealthiest men in Seattle?
No wonder the receptionist can’t stop smiling at him like he’s royalty.
I suddenly feel foolish, and worse—uneasy. Getting involved with someone like him could never be simple. I’ve already been burned once by a man who made me compromise myself to fit into his world. I’m not doing that again.
The receptionist taps something into the computer, stillgrinning. “I see you have the penthouse suite booked for the night.”
I blink. “Wait… thepenthouse?” I whip around to face him. “What do you mean you have the penthouse suite booked? I’m not staying in the same room as you, Henson!”
A slow, wicked grin stretches across his face. And damn it, I’m more attracted to him than I have any business being. That smile shouldn’t be doing things to me. Not after what I’ve just learned. Knowing who he is only confirms what I was already afraid of: Whatever was about to happen between us tonight can’t anymore.
No matter how loudly my body protests.
