Читать книгу A Dangerously Sexy Christmas - Stefanie London - Страница 12

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ROSE SQUINTED AS she woke to the bright morning light streaming through the blinds of her hotel room. Her body ached with delicious post-romp satisfaction, and her mind was filled with the memory of Max’s lips on her. And his hands... Oh, boy, did he know how to use his hands.

She vaguely remembered him carrying her into the bedroom at some deep, dark point of the night. But her hand darted out to touch the cold space on the other side of the bed, confirming that he hadn’t joined her. Pity.

Rolling onto her side, she snuggled farther down into the sheets. Morning wasn’t her friend. In fact, Rose was strictly against any kind of activity that required brain power before ten o’clock.

Footsteps sounded outside the room and she glared at the door, hoping Max would leave her alone for at least another hour.

A single knock broke through the silence. Who used a single knock? Super serious bodyguards who valued efficiency. That’s who. She stifled a smile.

“I’m sleeping,” she called out.

His sigh came through the door loud and clear. “You don’t sound like you’re sleeping.”

“Well, I am.” She pulled the covers up to her chin and closed her eyes. “And I need my rest.”

He chuckled. “I have coffee.”

Her eyes snapped open but she didn’t move. Staying in bed meant she could live a little longer in denial about the break-ins, but the lure of caffeine was strong.

“You’re going to have to face the world sooner or later,” he said, as if reading her mind. “You may as well do it with a hot drink in your hand.”

“Damn you and your logic.” She threw off the covers and walked to the door naked. She opened it just enough to stick out her arm and when she felt the mug pressed into her hand, she retreated into the bedroom.

“You’re welcome,” he said through the closed door.

After downing her coffee, Rose showered and changed into a set of clean clothes. She should have felt better. The operative word being should.

Butterflies danced in her stomach as she repacked her suitcase. Ever since she’d arrived in New York, something had been off. As much as she’d acted nonchalant in her meeting with Max yesterday, the truth was she hadn’t been herself since she’d come home.

The idea of home seemed intangible...and confusing.

Her father had hounded her from the moment she’d landed, emails from him piling up in her inbox until she’d caved and given him her phone number. The second she’d hit Send she’d known it was a mistake. Now he wanted to catch up, do coffee, pretend they hadn’t been estranged for the past decade and a bit.

But she couldn’t forget. She’d given up hope a long time ago that they would ever have a normal relationship and she certainly had not returned to New York for him. Though he didn’t seem to believe it.

“Checkout is in five minutes.” Max stood in the doorway to her room, his coat slung over one arm, phone in his free hand.

“You didn’t spring for a late checkout?” she asked as she stuffed the last of her toiletries into the suitcase and dragged the zip closed.

“We’ve got plenty to keep us busy today. Do you need to call the shop and tell them you won’t be in?”

She shook her head. “It’s my day off. I was supposed to be working on a commission piece.”

“That’ll have to wait. We need to go through everything in your place and work out what, if anything, has been stolen. I’ll also run through some questions with you to help narrow down any possible suspects.”

“You sound more like a cop than a bodyguard.” She put the suitcase on the ground and pulled up the handle but Max took it from her as she walked past him. “And you don’t have to carry my things for me.”