Chapter 12
KRISTA
Icould have been gracious. I could have let it go. But after everything the man had put me through in the last forty-eight hours, I wasn’t feeling particularly generous.
“So,” I said, dropping my bag on one of the pristine white couches.
He shot me a look. “So what?”
“I mean, you made such a big deal about it. Called in favors, name-dropped, probably flashed your credit card limit. And you got us…” I gestured around the room. “One bedroom.”
“Krista, first of all, I don’t have a credit card limit. Second of all, the one-bedroom you booked had like eighteen beds in it. So maybe ease up.”
I rolled my eyes and walked over to the window, taking in the stunning view of the water. “You were so confident. So sure that your name would solve everything. How does it feel to know you can’t just throw money at the problem and make it disappear?”
“My problems did disappear,” he pointed out. “You’re the one pouting again.”
My head snapped around and I pinned him with my gaze. “I am not pouting. But I’m not thrilled we’re sharing a room with only one bed.” I gestured toward the bedroom. “So really, what did we gain here besides an ocean view and some expensive toiletries?”
He threw his hands up in frustration. “You know, you’re talking a lot, but I can’t help but notice the one phrase you’re not saying, which is thank you.”
“You didn’t think things through again, and you want me to thank you?” I scoffed.
Dash chuckled without humor. “It’s funny. You accuse me of being spoiled, but you’re the one acting like a brat.”
Ice froze my veins and my body went stock still.
He continued without waiting for a response. “So, fine, I didn’t find us the perfect room, but it’s a million times better than that hostel. I need to shower after being in there. Just seeing that toilet has probably given me fucking hantavirus.”
I briefly considered exploding on him, but a quiet voice in my head told me to take a deep breath. I was exhausted and irritable and way too aware of how close we’d be sleeping tonight. That was why I was giving him a hard time about the room. Being hidden away with him like this was dangerous.
“I’ll sleep on the floor,” Dash said, filling my silence.
I blinked. “What?”
“The floor. I’m not sleeping on that sofa bed. I’ll take some blankets, make a little nest. You can have the bed. Consider it an apology for messing up again.”
Guilt prickled at my insides. “Dash, that’s ridiculous.
Look at this place.” I walked into the bedroom and gestured at the massive king-sized bed.
“This thing is big enough for six people.” His lips quirked up and I quickly held up a finger to stop him from talking.
“It might fit six people, but we will be the only two people in the bed. I am not getting in the middle of your model sandwich. You can take that nonsense back to the hantavirus hostel.”
“You want to share the bed?” His fucking smile was a lethal weapon.
“Relax. We’ll put pillows between us. A wall of pillows. You stay on your side, I stay on mine. It’s fine.”
“Okay. If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure. Besides, if you sleep on the floor, you’ll complain about it tomorrow and make my life miserable.”
“True.” He grabbed his bag and started unpacking. “I’ll take the bathroom first if you want to get settled.”
“Go ahead. I need to check in with the Corfu team.”
He disappeared into the bathroom and I heard the shower start.
I tried not to think about him naked on the other side of that door.
Tried not to imagine water running down that ridiculous chest and those abs that looked like they’d been carved by a very talented sculptor.
He could have been the model for all of the ancient statues I’d seen in Greece.
I unpacked my suitcase, hanging up the designer stuff the Blackwells insisted I needed.
My mind kept drifting back to the shower.
To Dash. To the fact that we were sharing a room tonight.
I’d shared quarters with men before. In the military, you learned to compartmentalize.
You learned to see your fellow soldiers as colleagues, not potential romantic interests.
It was survival. It was necessary. Although there were plenty of romances and hookups.
But Dash wasn’t my fellow soldier. He was my assignment. And he was getting under my skin in a way that was deeply unprofessional. I was not going to picture running my hands over his chest.
I heard the shower shut off. A few minutes later, he emerged in a white T-shirt and gray sweatpants. Of course.
“All yours,” he said.
I grabbed my bag and locked myself in the bathroom, grateful for the solid door between us.
The bathroom was like the total opposite of the hostel’s.
Marble everything. A rainfall shower that looked like it belonged in a spa.
Expensive soaps and lotions lined up like little soldiers in the shower designed to hold a dance party.
I stripped off my cargo pants and tank top, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror. When had I last looked at myself? Really looked? I saw what Dash had seen. One of the brothers.
I shook off the thought and stepped into the shower. The water was perfect. I let it wash away the day. I used the fancy shampoo that smelled like strawberries and cream. The conditioner that made my hair feel like silk. I even used the body wash instead of my usual bar soap.
When I finally stepped out, my limbs felt looser and my thoughts no longer felt like a jumbled-up mess.
I dried off and realized I had a problem. I’d brought my usual sleepwear—an oversized Army T-shirt and cotton shorts. Nothing sexy, nothing revealing. Not that I wanted to be sexy, but would it be horrible if I looked somewhat like a girl?
When I stepped out of the bathroom, I smelled something savory. I followed the tempting scent into the living room, where a room-service cart was parked. Dash was on the balcony beside a table with a bunch of dome-covered plates on it.
He saw me and waved me over. “I ordered dinner. Figured you might be hungry.”
I couldn’t believe he actually thought about my needs. It was confusing but in a good way. I was hungry. I would be prideful and defiant later.
I sat down across from him. He removed the domes and my stomach growled audibly. I would have been embarrassed if I wasn’t so ravenous.
“You must work up quite the appetite being that angry all the time.”
I ignored him and stabbed my fork into the grilled fish. Then I took a bite, closed my eyes, and moaned with satisfaction.
When I opened them, he was watching me.
“Good?” he asked, his voice rough.
“Very. Thanks.”
We ate in silence for a few minutes. The food was incredible, and I found myself relaxing despite everything.
“You know,” Dash said, setting down his fork. “I meant what I said earlier. About you fitting in with my family.”
I looked up, surprised. “I don’t know about all that.”
“You’re full of conviction,” he continued. “Headstrong. A good problem solver. Those are all Blackwell traits. Adrian’s the same way. Briggs too. Even Sebastian, though he hid it better until recently. He’s recently flourished taking on a more creative role.”
Something fluttered in my chest. Pleasure, maybe. Or pride. “Thanks.”
“You’d give Adrian a run for his money in the control department.”
I smiled despite myself. “Is that a compliment?”
“It is, actually. Adrian’s the best CEO I know. He’s just…” Dash waved his hand. “Intense. Like you.”
I waited, fork frozen halfway to my mouth, for him to say something else. Something about how I looked. How I was pretty when I smiled, or how my eyes were nice, or literally anything that acknowledged I was a woman.
But nothing came.
Of course nothing came. Because that’s all I was to him and to everyone. One of the boys. The son my father never had. The woman who tried so hard to be taken seriously that she’d erased every soft thing about herself.
At Sebastian’s wedding, he’d hit on me. But that was because I’d been wearing my mother’s gown. I’d looked like a different person that night. Everything I wasn’t. Feminine and elegant. It hadn’t been the real me.
“I’m the son my father never had,” I said lightly, like it was a joke. Like it didn’t cut deep every time I thought about it.
I could feel his eyes on me. “It seems like that bothers you?”
I shrugged, taking another bite of fish. The truth was complicated. Yes, it bothered me. Yes, I hated thinking about it. But I also didn’t know how to be anything else anymore.
“It’s fine,” I said. Which was what I always said when something definitely wasn’t fine.
“What about your mom?” Dash asked, leaning back in his chair. “What’s she like?”
I went still. The emotion slammed into me before I was able to find the control. “She’s not around anymore.”
Understanding dawned on his face. “Sorry, Krista,” he said quietly. “I’m an ass.” He reached across the table and put his hand on mine. “Sorry.”
The warmth of his hand on mine sent a shock through my system. Not because it was romantic but because it was gentle. When was the last time someone had touched me with softness instead of a handshake or a pat on the back?
He squeezed once and pulled his hand back. “What was her name?”
The question surprised me. Most people said, “I’m sorry” and moved on. But he was engaging.
“Carol,” I said.
“Tell me about her.”
I looked up at him, searching his face for any sign that he was just being polite. He looked genuinely interested.
I smiled despite the ache in my chest. “She was everything I’m not.
Feminine, graceful. She loved pretty things.
Dresses and makeup and flowers. She had this collection of perfumes and lotions that took up an entire dresser.
My dad used to complain she took up all the space in the bathroom with her lotions and potions. ”
“Sounds like my mom. Her bathroom is filled with salves and balms and tinctures.”
“My mom loved to sing,” I said, memories flooding back.
“How long has she been gone?”
“Fifteen years. Cancer.” I picked up my wine glass, needing something to do with my hands. “It was fast. Six months from diagnosis to her funeral.”
“That’s brutal. I’m really sorry.”
I forced a smile. “It’s fine. Doesn’t hurt as much as it used to.”
“I hope to get to that place one day,” he said. “Losing Dad rocked my whole family on its foundations.”
“Want to talk about him?” I asked.
“All I can say is he was taken from us way too young,” Dash said, eyes dark.
He didn’t elaborate and I wasn’t going to push. His father’s death was a lot more recent. I hadn’t wanted to talk about my mom much in those early years.
“She used to tell me stories,” I said, surprising myself with the memory. “Greek myths, actually. She loved them.”
“And here you are in Greece,” he said with a laugh.
“Yep, she would have loved to see all this.”
“Maybe you can find time in that schedule to do some sightseeing,” he said.
“I saw some stuff.”
He chuckled. “I mean really see things.”
I shrugged. “Maybe. It depends on how smoothly the rest of our campaign goes.”
I couldn’t believe I was talking to Dash Blackwell about my mother. I didn’t talk to anyone about her. Only Dad. But talking to Dash felt freeing. He was actually a really good listener once he settled down in one place.
And that was a sentence I had never expected to think about Dash.