Cause For Scandal (Dynasties: The Elliotts #3)(6)
Author: Anna DePalo

He grinned. “Watching, were you?”

“Maybe.” Standing pressed against him, she was acutely aware of the heat emanating from him. Traitorously, her body wanted only to snuggle closer.

“Last night, I left through the suites and clubs entrance. I went up to some of the private boxes after the concert in order to thank some of the big donors to the event.” He winked. “It pays off in future fund-raising efforts.”

“Oh.” In her naiveté, she’d just assumed most stars left through the lofty-sounding suites and clubs entrance. Now she realized that catching sight of his departure last night had been pure luck.

“Of course,” he said, “it had the added benefit of throwing off some of the fans and paparazzi.” He nodded at the limo that had pulled up in front of them. “Once the car hits the street outside, don’t be surprised if there are photographers trying to hold up high-powered lenses to the tinted car windows.”

“Sounds awful.” Not only did it sound awful, she knew it was awful. Though her life was nothing like Zeke’s, as a member of the wealthy and powerful Elliott clan, she’d had some experience with photographers snapping unexpected pictures of her.

A guard with a walkie-talkie in his hand reached over and opened one of the passenger doors to the limo for them.

“In you go,” Zeke said.

Once they were inside and the car was moving, she asked, “Where are we going?”

“The Waldorf-Astoria,” he said. “I always stay there when I’m in town.”

Oh. She just prayed she didn’t run into an acquaintance of her grandparents or one of the other Elliotts. Dressed as she was and in the company of reputed bad-boy rocker Zeke Woodlow, she’d definitely raise some eyebrows.

As soon as the limo cleared the guard’s security post and hit the street, flashbulbs started to go off—just as Zeke had predicted. Fortunately, the stoplight at the corner was green, so the limo was able to make a clean getaway before anyone could press a camera against the car window. Summer fervently hoped no one had gotten a photo of her.

The Waldorf-Astoria was a different matter. When they arrived at its front entrance, security guards and handlers got out first from a car that had preceded the limo to the hotel.

She was soon thankful for the extra protection. As she and Zeke alighted from their car and hurried to the front door of the hotel, several security guards held back photographers and squealing fans.

Summer kept her head down and tried to shield her face with the raised collar of her coat and with the hand that she kept cupped over her eyes. She didn’t want to be too obvious about avoiding photographers because she didn’t want to make Zeke suspicious. On the other hand, she didn’t even want to think about the repercussions of their photo landing on Page Six of the New York Post in the morning.

Once they were inside, she followed Zeke as he made his way to the elevator bank.

He glanced down at her in amusement. “Camera shy?”

“Do they always know where you’re staying?” she asked in exasperation.

He shrugged. “They always do. Of course, in New York, I’m always at the Waldorf, so there’s not much guess work.”

“And do the handlers never leave you?”

He tossed her a sly grin. “You’re about to find out,” he said as he stepped into the elevator behind her, punched a button and watched the doors slide shut.

In the confined space, she was again very aware of him—of his all-male aura and blatant sex appeal. “Where are we going?” she asked, trying to keep her tone even.

“My suite,” he said as the doors to the elevator opened again.

Tell him. Tell him. It really was past time that she came clean about what she was doing here. They were about to go back to his hotel room!

And yet, the words wouldn’t come. She was caught up in the strange excitement that seemed to exist between them.

They walked past another security guard—one whose job evidently was to ensure that no uninvited guests made their way to Zeke’s door—and then they were inside Zeke’s suite.

Classical music wafted through the space. Following him down a long corridor, she stopped at the entrance to a huge parlor graced by a large chandelier. A dining room table large enough to sit twelve sat along one end of the room, while a fireplace and couches and chairs clustered at another.

The decor was tasteful and not at all tacky and lavish—the latter, she admitted, was sort of what she’d been expecting of a rock sensation’s hotel accommodations.

“Now, you know why I always stay at the Waldorf,” he said with a quick grin, dropping his jacket onto a nearby chair.

“Mmm,” she said as he took her coat and bag from her.

She was used to understated luxury. She’d grown up surrounded by it. She just hadn’t expected it from his quarter, but since he had no reason to assume she’d be anything but very impressed, she refrained from saying something committal.

He stood inches from her, and they stared at each other.

“If you’d like to use the bathroom to freshen up,” he said, breaking the tension, “it’s down the hall and to the right.”

“Th-thanks.”

Her voice sounded breathless to her own ears. She needed time to think, time to figure out what to do.

When she continued not to make a move, he stepped aside for her.

She felt heat rise to her face. “I—I’ll be right back.”

She cursed the fact that she kept stumbling over her words. Could she seem any more devoid of poise?

Behind her, she heard him say, “I’m going to change shirts.”

“Sure.” She tried to sound nonchalant, but she felt his every step behind her.

She stopped in the narrow hallway, before the open door to the bathroom, and turned back toward him, nearly colliding with him in the process.

He reached out to steady her, and they both froze, his hands on her upper arms.

His eyes, she noted again hazily, were the most incredible blue that she’d ever seen.

“I’ve wanted to do this,” he said thickly.

“What?” she breathed.

“This.” He bent his head and kissed her.

The kiss was electric, and she felt it clear down to her toes.

When he broke away, he said, “This is going to sound crazy, but I feel as if I know you. As if I knew you before tonight, I mean.”

“Not crazy. I feel the same way,” she confessed.

How could she explain? It was crazy. Yet, she felt as if she’d known him—had been waiting for this moment—her entire life.