Page 49 of My Lucky Star
I nodded. That’s what I was counting on. He couldn’t sneak me to his room, not that I wanted to end up there. Okay, part of me wanted to, of course, and that’s exactly why I couldn’t put myself in that situation.
“Can I text you?” Cem asked as I parked in front of the hotel entrance. He’d been quiet for the entire five-minute drive.
“Text me?”
“As a friend,” he added, scratching his beard. “Mostly. Or fifty-fifty. I’ll try my best.” He gave me a rueful smile, which then turned beseeching. “I get stir crazy in that empty hotel. I don’t know anyone here, and I really like talking to you.”
“Okay.” The familiar dryness crept up my throat.
He was incredibly forward and sure of himself, yet so sweet. It had to be an act. I knew not to trust sweetness from someone who’d charmed millions of people.
I waited for him to get out of my car when he leaned toward me. My spine stiffened and breath became shallow as he kissed me on both cheeks. His hand rested above my knee, shifting an inch toward my inner thigh like a silent promise. The touch only lasted a second or two, but it ruined me.
Once he’d closed the car door, I drove home as fast as I could. I didn’t even wait to get inside. The parking lot was half empty and pitch dark, the street level businesses closed. His scent still lingered in the car. Mentally committing to burning the ill-fated jumpsuit, I rocked against its inseam, finally putting my fingers to work, thinking of Cem’s thumb against my skin, repeating his brazen words, faster and faster until my wrist ached, until the throbbing tension unraveled into sweet, shaky relief.
Chapter 17
Cem
IKICKED MY RUNNINGshoes across the hotel lobby and marched up the stairs. It had been four days. I hadn’t seen Aria in four days and four nights. I knew she was busy organizing other filming locations for the American production, but I’d hoped she’d still check on me.
I’d scared her off. I’d come on too strong and even though I could tell she liked me, other things weighed more. There was my reputation, my fame, and the distance between our two countries. I knew all the things that stood in the way but refused to consider them. We texted a lot, and it gave me hope.
My phone pinged.
Aria:How was the run? If you’re desperate for a gym, I can smuggle some free weights to the new Airbnb. I doubt my dad would notice them missing from the back of his garage.
Me:Yes, please! But I worry anything that’s useful for me would rip your handbag.
Aria:No worries. I’ll get a giant, fortified handbag. Anything to stop you from doing pull-ups from a chandelier. This Airbnb is historic.
Me:I’m hurt. Are you suggesting a chandelier would withstand my workout regimen?
Aria:I’m saying it can’t. I’m also saying you have to stop treating our priceless Art Deco pieces as your personal gym equipment. It hurts my soul.
Me:What about my priceless muscles? Wait, not priceless. But we are talking about millions of dollars here.
