Chapter 14 Lena
LENA
I stood in the library for a long time after he left.
My hands were still fisted at my sides. My mouth was still tingling. And somewhere deep in my chest, a fury was building that had nothing to do with the kiss and everything to do with the way he’d walked away from it.
What the hell was that?
I’d asked him. He hadn’t answered. Just said “tomorrow” and left, like I was some appointment he could reschedule at his convenience.
I unclenched my hands. My nails had left crescent marks in my palms. Good. Let me feel something other than the way his mouth had felt against mine. Hard. Demanding. Taking what he wanted like he had every right to it.
Because I’d let him. That was the part that made me want to scream.
I hadn’t pushed him away. I hadn’t slapped him. I’d grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer, kissed him back with a fury that matched his own, and when he’d broken away, some desperate part of me had wanted to drag him back down.
What was wrong with me?
The fire had burned low in the hearth, and the library was cooling fast. Outside the windows, snow fell in thick white curtains, muffling the world.
I could still smell him. The scent clung to my sweater where I’d pressed against him.
It clung to my hair where his hand had cupped the back of my neck.
I needed to shower. To scrub his scent off my skin and pretend this evening had never happened.
But when I reached my room and stripped off my clothes, I stood under the water for twenty minutes and still couldn’t stop thinking about the way he’d kissed me. Like he was starving for it. Like he couldn’t help himself.
And that sound he’d made when he kissed me. A growl, low and rumbling, that had vibrated through my chest where we’d pressed together. Men didn’t make sounds like that. Not normal men. It had been almost… animal. Like something barely leashed.
I was reading too many romance novels. Or he was just intense. That was all.
I couldn’t not be.
That’s what he’d said when I asked why he was in the library. I couldn’t not be. What did that mean? That he’d tried to stay away? That something had dragged him back despite his intentions?
Stop it. Stop making excuses for him.
Turning off the water, I wrapped myself in a towel. Not his robe. Nothing of his tonight. I wasn’t going to lie in this too-soft bed in his borrowed clothes and think about the way he’d kissed me like I was something he needed to survive.
Sleep didn’t come easily.
The bed was too big. The room was too quiet except for the wind rattling the windows. And every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face in the moment before he’d kissed me. That flicker of something that might have been pain, might have been hunger, might have been both.
My father used to say “tomorrow” too.
The thought surfaced unbidden, dredged up from somewhere I usually kept locked.
When I was twelve and asking to learn about the hotel’s finances.
When I was fifteen and begging to sit in on a board meeting.
When I was seventeen and ready to prove I could do more than smile at guests and look pretty in the lobby.
Tomorrow, sweetheart. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.
Tomorrow never came. There was always a reason to wait, to delay, to keep me safe in my gilded cage until I was old enough to realize the cage was all I’d ever been meant to have.
Raphael’s “tomorrow” felt the same. Another man deciding when and how I got what I needed. Another promise that would evaporate the moment it became inconvenient.
Turning over, I punched the pillow into shape. Fine. If he wanted to play games, I could play too. Tomorrow I’d go back to my hotel. Back to my territory. Back to the life I was building without anyone’s permission.
He didn’t own me. Not really. A contract could be broken. A debt could be paid. And a kiss, no matter how devastating, didn’t mean anything if the person who gave it walked away without a word.
I finally slept, but it wasn’t restful.
In my dreams, he kissed me again. And again. And I kept reaching for him, and he kept walking away.
When I finally woke, pale winter light was creeping through the curtains.
Monday morning arrived with thin gray light and a headache I couldn’t blame on anything but my own circling thoughts.
I dressed quickly. Wool slacks, a cream sweater, boots that would handle the snow. My reflection in the mirror looked pale but presentable. The swelling in my lips had faded. No one would know that twelve hours ago, I’d been kissed so thoroughly I’d forgotten my own name.
Alice met me in the hallway with tea and toast. Her expression was carefully neutral, but her eyes held that knowing warmth she couldn’t quite hide.
“Mr. Antonov left early this morning,” she said. “He had meetings in the city.”
“Good.” The word came out sharper than I intended. Alice’s eyebrow twitched, but she didn’t comment.
I ate the toast without tasting it and drank the tea too fast. I needed to be gone before he came back. Before I had to look at him and pretend last night hadn’t happened. Before my traitorous body decided it wanted a repeat performance.
“I’ll be at the hotel today,” I told Alice. “I’m not sure when I’ll be back.”
Alice nodded. “Shall I have Parsons drive you? The roads are icy this morning.”
“I’ll call a car.” I needed to be free of this place, this house, his people, his scent, his presence seeping through the walls.
Even for a few hours, I needed to remember who I was when I wasn’t wearing his collar.
Which I still hadn’t put on. Which was still sitting on his desk, a reminder of everything between us that remained unresolved.
The drive down the mountain was treacherous. Fresh snow had fallen overnight, and the car’s tires slipped twice on the hairpin curves. I watched the white-covered pines blur past the window and the weight pressing on my chest lessened with every mile I put between myself and his manor.
By the time the Hughes Palace came into view, my shoulders had relaxed and my breathing had steadied. This was my territory. My legacy. The place where I was Lena Hughes, not Raphael Antonov’s contracted possession.
The lobby wrapped around me like a welcome. Crackling fire in the massive stone hearth. Chandeliers hanging overhead like icicles. The familiar scent of fresh flowers and the faint aroma of roasted garlic from the restaurant kitchen. I stamped the snow off my boots and let myself breathe.
Home.
“Miss Hughes!” The woman at the front desk straightened when she saw me. “We didn’t expect you today.”
“Surprise inspection,” I said, and smiled. It wasn’t entirely a lie.
I walked through the main floor, checking in with department heads, reviewing the morning’s occupancy reports, listening to the rhythm of the hotel coming to life around me.
Everything seemed to be running smoothly.
A few minor complaints from last night. A plumbing issue on the fourth floor that had already been resolved.
The kind of ordinary problems that ordinary days brought.
I was reviewing the restaurant reservations when Michael found me.
“Lena.” He appeared at my elbow with two coffees from the lobby cafe, that boyish smile already in place. “I thought I saw you come in. Everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine.” I accepted the coffee. He’d remembered how I liked it. Black with a splash of cream. Small kindnesses like that were why he was so good at his job. “I just needed to check on a few things.”
He nodded, studying my face with what looked like genuine concern. There were shadows under his eyes, like he hadn’t slept well either. “You seem tired. Long weekend?”
You have no idea.
“Something like that,” I said. “How are things here? Anything I should know about?”
Michael shook his head. “Running like clockwork. Though…” He hesitated.
“Though what?”
“Nothing urgent. One of the maintenance guys mentioned the boiler was making some odd noises this morning. Probably nothing, but I asked him to keep an eye on it.”
“Good thinking.” I made a mental note to check with maintenance myself. Late January in the mountains. If we lost heat during a cold snap, we’d have a crisis on our hands.
But for now, everything seemed fine. I spent the next hour walking the floors, poking my head into housekeeping, chatting with the spa staff, watching the hotel operate around me.
Sophie wasn’t working today, which was probably for the best. She’d take one look at my face and know something had happened, and I wasn’t ready to explain a kiss I couldn’t explain to myself.
It felt good to be here. To be needed. To be the person people looked to for decisions, even if some of them still saw me as the little girl who used to steal cookies from the kitchen.
I was checking emails in my father’s old office when the first complaint came in.
A guest on the third floor. Their room felt cold. Could we send someone to check the radiator?
I called down to maintenance. “What’s going on with 312?”
“We’re looking into it,” Tony said, and there was a note in his voice I didn’t like. “Actually, Miss Hughes, we’re getting a few calls. The whole west wing is reporting temperature drops, and the readings on the main boiler look…”
The line went dead for a second. Then Tony’s voice came back, terse now.
“The boiler just went down completely.”
I was on my feet before he finished the sentence.
By the time I reached the basement mechanical room, a dozen more guests had complained. Tony and his crew were gathered around the massive old boiler, their faces grim in the emergency lighting. The air down here was already cold enough that I could see my breath.
“What happened?”
Tony wiped his hands on a rag, leaving dark streaks. “Pressure valve failed. The whole system shut down as a safety measure. If it hadn’t…” He shook his head. “Could’ve been a lot worse.”