The Perfect Couple (Last Stand #4)(37)
Author: Brenda Novak

Afraid he’d somehow sense the guilt that’d made her contact him, she curled into a ball. "In a hotel."

Since he hadn’t wanted her to go to Southern California with Jonathan in the first place, she expected his next question to be about their sleeping arrangements. But it wasn’t. "How are you paying for the room?" he asked.

She nearly laughed aloud. She was worried that she might wind up sleeping with Skye’s private investigator. And he was worried about a hundred and twenty-nine bucks.

"The Last Stand is taking care of it," she said. At least, she thought the charity was paying the bill–although the credit card Jonathan had used looked like his own.

"That’s a relief. The longer this goes on, the more expensive it’ll be."

"Are you angry I chose colored flyers?"

"I can see why you did it, but it wasn’t the best use of our resources, especially since the police investigator told me we should offer a reward."

Of course! Why hadn’t she thought of that?

Probably because she didn’t have any money.

"How much?" She wished for the millionth time that she had the sort of background he did, that she could be the one with reserves in the bank and the ability to help herself.

"Ten thousand."

That was nothing compared to what she’d give for her daughter. But she didn’t have it. And she knew how much ten thousand dollars would be to a saver like Anton. "What do you think?" she asked.

"We might have to do it."

She clutched the blankets even tighter. He was going to offer a reward, and she was going to let him–even though less than ten minutes earlier she’d been craving another man. What kind of woman did that make her?

"Thank you, Anton." She swallowed around the lump in her throat. If his money brought Sam home, she’d be anything he wanted her to be, for as long as he asked. "I–I won’t let you down."

"What?"

The shower went off, and her heart pounded. "Nothing."

"Get some sleep. You’re mumbling."

"Good night."

"I love you," he said.

"I–"

She started to repeat the sentiment. Then the bathroom door opened and Jonathan walked out wearing only a towel–and the words wouldn’t come.

"’Night," she said again and hung up.

Zoe was positive she wouldn’t be able to sleep. She was beyond exhausted, but like last night, the constant worry and agitation wouldn’t allow her to shut down.

Although he hadn’t spoken since getting out of the shower, she could tell from his movements that Jonathan was awake, too. He was in the opposite bed, wearing his jeans because he probably hadn’t brought an alternative.

She felt slightly guilty if wearing pants to bed meant he’d be less comfortable, but she still preferred not to be alone. The muffled sounds of the hotel, the darkness, the strange furniture and shadows would’ve made it impossible to get through the next few hours alone–and nothing, not even getting her own room, would change the fact that Skye’s P.I. held some allure for her. There’d been a spark the very first time she met him, when he’d pulled her into his arms rather than keep a polite distance as most strangers would’ve done. She’d just been too frantic to see that. But she would’ve noticed tomorrow, or the next day, if not tonight.

After rearranging the blankets, she yanked down her pajama top, which had crept up above her waist, and rolled over to face the wall. Anton was posting a reward for Sam. She needed to concentrate on how kind and generous that was instead of dwelling on the instinctive way Jonathan acted to fulfill her needs. Anton was the one who’d promised to marry her and adopt Sam, to be the kind of father she’d never had, the kind of father she wanted for her daughter.

She adjusted her pillows. Sam…Would she ever see her child again?

Could Franky Bates somehow have learned of her existence?

The man who’d raped her seemed capable of anything, but–

Jon’s voice broke into her thoughts. "Should I go to the drugstore?"

Her mind immediately conjured up a box of condoms. Oh, God…"What for?" she asked tentatively.

"A sedative."

She released the breath she’d been holding. It was okay. She was okay. Except she was so cold. By most people’s standards it wasn’t even chilly in the room, yet she couldn’t get warm no matter what she did. "For me? No, I won’t take one." She rolled over again. "I have to be alert in case I’m needed."

"You’ve got to sleep, Zoe. For a while."

She didn’t respond. But after tossing and turning for a few more minutes, she finally admitted the truth. "Jon?"

"What?"

"I can’t sleep. I can’t even get warm."

She heard him get up and assumed he was on his way to the drugstore.

But he didn’t leave. He peeled back the covers and climbed into bed with her. She was about to protest, to tell him in no uncertain terms that she wouldn’t let him touch her. Now that she knew she had to be on her guard, she wouldn’t be disloyal to Anton.

But Jonathan didn’t attempt any sexual advances. He simply wrapped his strong arms around her and gathered her close.

Pretty soon, his slow, even breathing began to sound like a metronome in her ear. For the first time since quitting her job on Monday, she felt somewhat secure. She was anchored to one spot; she wasn’t going anywhere and neither was he. As a matter of fact, he’d already dozed off.

Timing her breathing with his, she eventually grew warm enough to sleep.

When the alarm went off the following morning, Tiffany woke with a raging headache and aching br**sts. Colin had kept her up most of the night.

He’d taken Viagra and wanted to make love again and again–only he hadn’t been able to finish. Whenever she thought he was getting close, she moaned and writhed, did everything she could to help him. But it hadn’t worked. At last, he’d dropped exhausted on the bed beside her, leaving her tied to the bedposts in case he woke up and wanted to go at it again. But after sleeping an hour, he had to get ready for work.

"Colin?"

His head popped up amid the mess they’d made of their blankets.

"What?"

"It’s time for work."

"Shit!" Shoving to his feet, he stumbled to the bathroom without even looking at her.

"Aren’t you going to untie me?"

He used the toilet, flushed. "Why should I? You were a waste of effort last night."

She told herself to ignore him. He was in a bad mood. She’d known he would be.

But he wanted a response. He came back to loom over her, his eyes bloodshot and his mouth twisted in a spiteful grimace. "Did you hear me?"

"It wasn’t my fault," she said. "I let you use whatever you wanted."