Chapter 16
KARA
Shawn must have ordered dinner for me, because an elegant meal arrived on a white tablecloth covered cart not long after the sun had set outside.
The food was probably excellent, but I ate in utter silence, tasting none of it.
I wanted to talk to Laurel, but Jason had told me not to call unless necessary.
That left little to do but stare at the unmade bed and drink the rest of the bottle of red wine he’d opened.
Shawn thought he could do whatever he wanted, like men in his position often did. Three days ago, he’d waltzed into my office and had taken me over. He said it was to keep me safe.
I was smart enough to know better. He’d only done it so he could sleep with me. No, wait, fuck me. That’s how he would have put it.
When I finished my glass of wine, I went on to drinking straight from the bottle, which was a really bad idea.
I was a lightweight and could get hammered in a heartbeat.
My feet were already numb from the alcohol.
Maybe after I finished the wine, I’d raid the mini-fridge and rack up a huge bill for him.
But I’d forgotten.
It was stocked with nothing but Osterh?gen beer, and I couldn’t bring myself to go near it after discovering that.
In fact, I couldn’t go near anything without slamming into it.
Too much wine and high heels were not a good combination.
I stepped out of the shoes and wanted to throw up, but wasn’t sure if that was the wine or the fact I’d been wearing them when I’d had the best sex of my life.
How could I wear them again?
He’d ruined my shoes, air travel, and sex with other men. Pretty good for three measly days. Or was it four? Things blurred together.
I changed into my pajamas and fell on the small couch. I wouldn’t dare sleep on the bed. Why hadn’t I pushed to change rooms so I didn’t have to face the memory of what had happened here? God, I was a fool. He was going to use me and discard me like he did with every other woman he’d had.
I forced myself to focus on the spinning ceiling and not the man who was next door, but that lasted a single breath.
What was he doing right now?
And what would I do if he came calling? I’d cave in a heartbeat. Less time, if he touched me. Weak. I rose from the uncomfortable couch and stumbled to the bed, pulled up the covers, and tried to quiet the desire for him to knock on my door.
I threw up the entire bottle of wine plus dinner, then sank down on the cold tile floor, pressing my forehead against the porcelain base of the toilet. I didn’t care it was gross. It felt too good on my heated skin, plus it was a luxury hotel. The cleaning crew was probably thorough.
I drank a glass of water from the tap, refilled it, and carried it back to bed, my throbbing head hung. I’d had enough hangovers to know I needed aspirin and something to eat to soak up the stomach acid. Only then would I be able to rejoin the land of the living.
But I also needed thirty more minutes in bed.
As soon as my head touched the cool pillow, there was an odd chirp from across the room. It sounded exactly like Shawn’s phone when he received an e-mail.
“Guten Morgen,” he said.
He sat on the couch facing me, looking comfortable. Like he’d been there awhile. His eyes were exceptionally warm in the morning light, filtered by the gauzy hotel curtains. I did everything in my limited power not to react.
He was dressed in a black suit, one that reeked of expense, with a crisp white dress shirt and a steel-colored silk tie at his neck. He was gorgeous. It was so impossibly unfair. He was going to ruin looking at men for me too, while I could not possibly look or feel worse than I did right now.
“How long have you been there?” I demanded.
He gave me an enigmatic smile for an answer.
“What the hell are you doing, besides being creepy?”
“I wanted to have breakfast with you.” He stood, and when his impressive form approached, I took in a sharp breath that forced me to inhale his appealing cologne. “But I have to go.”
“Where?” I gasped. “Why?”
Yes, why? Why in the world had I said that? I prepared for some cocky answer, but instead he hesitated, as if the question had thrown him off balance.
“You’re not still mad?”
“No, I am,” I said, too quickly. “Why did you want to have breakfast? Is that something you do after all your one-night stands?”
“We can’t have breakfast because it’s late,” he said, not rising to my challenge. “I need to be in the office today.”
“Is that safe?”
“Yes. My head of security insists the brewery is secure, and you know how he feels about my proximity to you.”
It was then that I noticed the faint smell of coffee.
Shawn strolled to the side table and poured a cup from the carafe beside a spread of danishes, adding sugar into the steaming mug.
We’d had coffee with breakfast on his plane yesterday, so I knew he took his black. He must have noted that I did not.
My cloudy mind wouldn’t focus. Shawn was leaving.
When he held the cup out, I sat up and accepted it but didn’t offer any gratitude. The hangover had disrupted my brain-to-mouth filter, and I had no idea what was going to come out of it.
He pulled a small bottle from his pocket and set it on the nightstand. “I had them send up something with breakfast when I discovered you weren’t feeling well.”
He’d probably discovered all the red wine had gone missing as well.
Shit, I wanted to die from embarrassment.
“Do you think you’ll be feeling better later today?”
I pressed my lips together and nodded slowly. My face was on fire. “I’ll be fine.”
“Good. I’ll have my assistant arrange for a shopper to help get you clothes.”
My gaze fell to the steam rising from my coffee. I did need clothes, but shopping? “I can’t use my credit cards—”
“I’d like to take care of that.” The words came from him softly. Not presumptuous. “Is that all right with you?”
I couldn’t find anything to say. This was sweet Shawn, the one I had no defense against, who could make coherent thought evaporate instantly.
My lack of answer must have been read as acceptance because he traveled to the door and dug his wallet out, dropping a business card on the table.
“I’ll be back this evening. Since I doubt you have my number memorized, my mobile’s on the back if you need to call. ”
“Why are you doing this?”
He gave me the same enigmatic smile and was gone.
I showered and dressed, and at noon Markus escorted a young woman into my room, pulling a luggage cart full of hanging bags.
She introduced herself as Brigitta. I blinked back a delighted smile.
Laurel and I had watched The Sound of Music repeatedly growing up, practically wearing out the DVD.
I’d always had quite the ridiculous crush on the elegant and bossy Captain von Trapp.
I shoved away the realization that Shawn was bossy, and elegant, and not too far off from being Austrian.
Inside each clothing bag, Brigitta had the same outfit in multiple sizes, so it didn’t take long to find a few days’ worth of clothes that would work.
It was awkward buying clothes with someone else’s money and a stranger selecting them, but there was no helping it.
Then Brigitta brought out the box at the base of the luggage cart and lifted the lid.
I swallowed thickly. Bras and underwear, in varying degrees of sexiness from full coverage to thong.
My pettiness reared its ugly head, so I picked the two sexiest, most expensive bra and panty sets in her selection. Shawn would foot the bill, and maybe it’d get under his skin that he’d never see me in them.
“Excellent choice,” she said, giving me an assuming, sly smile.
After Brigitta left, I slept again and finally purged the rest of the hangover and jetlag from my system. I dressed in the new clothes, feeling a hundred times better—and a million times worse. I couldn’t call anyone. I couldn’t work. I couldn’t even leave this room.
All I could do was wait for him in the hotel suite he’d paid for, wearing clothes he’d bought.
The independent woman in me, reborn after my divorce, died a little.
There were a few magazines in the welcome basket but only one in English. Forbes, from early last year. I was halfway done flipping through it when I saw a familiar face. Shawn posed at a large oak bar, an open bottle of Osterh?gen beside him. The number eleven was to the side of his photo.
All the air cleared from my lungs in an instant.
It was the Forbes annual list of the top twelve most eligible bachelors. Not millionaires, but billionaires.
He didn’t have a difficult time finding women. He had money, looks, and power. In spite of all that, he pursued me, even when I treated him like the enemy.
Well, now he’d had me. What was the point in sticking around? He could have left last night and let Jason clean up the mess he’d made. The mess I was. Why come back?
There was a short knock, the door opened before I could answer, and Shawn breezed in, his tie loosened at the neck. My heart lurched at the sight of him and I cursed myself. He didn’t notice the magazine in my hands, and I dropped it like it was made of lead as I bolted upright.
His gaze started at my feet and rose to meet my eyes. “You look nice. Feeling better?”
I frowned.
“Sorry,” he said, “I forgot. You look like shit. Feeling better?”
My frown intensified. “Well, I’m no longer hungover, but don’t worry, I still feel like an idiot.”
A light, pleasant smile crossed his lips. “Why? I own breweries in thirty-two different countries. You think I’ve never seen someone overdo it?”
“I’m sure you have, but it’s embarrassing nonetheless.”
His eyes were warm and playful. Relaxed. Being back at his job had recharged him and brought him back on his game. I needed to be cautious.
“I want to ask a favor,” he said. It set off alarms in my head. “When this is all over, come work for Osterh?gen.”
“What? No, I’m not going to do that.”