Chapter 12
Tuesday
I don’t know what’s come over me.
Correction. I know exactly what’s come over me. Loch Westcott. Naked.
Yep. That will do it.
I should be mature about this. I’ve never been jealous of water before, but ever since I saw him in that shower, I am.
I mean, what the hell? How does he look like that?
Who knew he was hiding that body under that suit?
Well, I think anyone can tell he’s fit. But built like that?
What I saw in the shower, that was unexpected.
I thought he was working all the time? I think, in fact, he’s working out instead. He has to be. There’s no way he can look that good without putting in some serious effort. I’ll give him credit where credit is due. He is incredible.
Ugh. This is all wrong. He’s more than a wet, so very hard, and lickable body.
He’s also incredibly generous and kind, supportive, and so interesting.
There. That should cover the bases and hopefully save me from going to hell for thinking about his body in the most sinful of ways.
I cover my face with my hands. Oh goodness. I’m definitely going to hell for these dirty thoughts.
“You doing okay back there?” Brady asks.
Getting caught up in my thoughts had me forgetting where I was. My face flushes as humiliation runs rampant through my veins. “Fine,” I reply with a squeak to my voice.
We catch each other’s eyes in the reflection of the rearview mirror.
I know he sees right through me by how his shoulders shake with laughter.
He’s kind enough not to say anything about it, though.
Instead, he asks, “You sure you want to return to the hotel? Loch won’t need me until this evening, so I can drive you anywhere you want to go. The city is at your fingertips.”
We pass a clothing store, and that gives me an idea. “Hey, Brady? Will you take me to Bergdorf’s?”
“You got it, Tues.”
“I’m so sorry.” A lady dressed in a bright-fuchsia pantsuit and her red hair pinned in curls on her head rushes into the personal shopping area where I’ve been waiting.
“I had a mother of the bride melting down in the dressing room in ladies’ underwear.
Crisis averted, and she’s off to the wedding. ”
“That’s good.”
“Very good. Sixteen months of demands, and she’s finally satisfied.” She sits in the chair next to mine and says, “I’m Kelly. I hear you’re looking for a dress for dinner tonight?”
“Yes. Nothing over the top.”
“Too bad. Over the top is my specialty.” She laughs at her joke and stands. “I’m kidding. Come on, let’s get to shopping.”
We walk to the sales floor, and she leads me straight to the floor-length gowns. “I’m thinking this is the over the top you’re referring to. So let’s cut through to another special section, and you can tell me about your date.”
“Actually, you may know him.” That pulls her eyes back to me. “Loch Westcott. He ordered something for me yester—”
“Ah, yes. Mr. Wescott. We’ve never met, but he’s ordered a few things over the years.” She whispers, “I once googled him. He’s very handsome.”
“He is.”
She stops to look me up and down over a rack where the dresses use less material than a handkerchief. “I knew I recognized the name. You’re Tuesday. Tuesday Westcott. I didn’t know he was married.”
“Oh, we’re not… Well, he’s not.” I don’t know why I say this. I know I’m not married. I would surely feel differently—like I was missing half my soul—but I don’t feel that at all. “What I mean is we happen to have the same last name, but we’re not married.”
She stares at me as if I lost her somewhere in that conversation but then picks up right where we left off. “There’s a new selection of dresses on the back wall. They’re perfect for your figure, and from what I know from Mr. Westcott, something he would like.”
Something he would like?
This might not have been a great idea. This was supposed to be fun. I didn’t count on feeling jealous. I wonder if I was jealous in my former life since I seem to be in this one. “Has he sent gifts to a lot of women?”
“Only a few over the years.” She casually flips through the hangers as if I’m not hanging on her every word. Only a few women . . .
My heart sinks, though I have no right to be jealous. As I think about how he stumbled over the introduction to his assistant, a seed of doubt is planted right next to where my heart buried itself in the pit of my stomach.
I can be jealous, or I can be proactive. I choose the latter because two can play this game. “What do you have in blue?”
His personal shopper had no problem charging Loch’s card on file for all the things we picked out, especially considering her commission. But I hesitated. It may have been a grand plan when I concocted it, but I don’t want to be beholden to someone else for anything, much less financially.
But I have no other options.
Brady offers to help me carry the bags, but I load my arms so he doesn’t have to park the SUV. I dragged him around town with me, and we even grabbed lunch in the Escalade. After being sick earlier, that hoagie hit the spot.
But he’s sacrificed enough of his day. The bags aren’t heavy. They are just awkward. I still manage to make it to my room with only one incident. I hear the valet will heal just fine now that he’s been bandaged. Who knew they made the corners of the bags so pointy sharp?
Well, Craig knows now. Lesson learned.
In the room, I unload my goodies and run a bath.
Stripping off my outfit, I put it in the bag with my skirt for laundry pickup tomorrow.
Every action is a calculated attempt not to check my phone.
I’ve been successful most of the day, but it’s just past four, and I’ve not had one call or text from the detective. How is that possible?
It’s been forty-eight hours since I went missing, and I’m starting to think this might be it. What the hell? Why is no one looking for me? Is the universe being for real right now? Not one person in the world cares about me?
The detective told me he would contact me with new information. And although the blank phone tells me there’s nothing new to report, I have a deep-seated need to hear him tell me otherwise.
Distract.
I have to keep myself together here and not completely lose it.
After I tie my hair up high on my head, I wash my face free from the makeup I tried on at the store. Then I run a bath, sinking until my shoulders are underwater, and rest my head back on the towel I’m using as a pillow.
The more I relax, the more thoughts of Loch creep into my head.
I don’t think I really processed what was happening at that exact moment, too stunned to move, too intrigued to walk away.
From the water sheen highlighting his athletic muscles to the sound of him mixing with the pouring water.
I thought he was humming, but now I think he was moaning.
There was more going on in that shower than getting clean. Loch was getting dirty.
Should I feel bad for interrupting? Probably.
Do I? Not really.
Images of Loch gliding his hands over his body have been running on replay in my mind all day. I close my eyes, wishing those hands were sliding over me. My chest gets heavy with each breath as sparks run through my veins like a live wire caught on fire.
His hand slipping between my legs, his mouth pressed to my neck. Hot whispers asking me how I like it—Oh God. Yes. Water splashes against the sides of the tub, my finger grabbing hold of the edges. “Tell me how you like it.”
Overheating, I force my eyes open, realizing I don’t know how to answer. You know, if he was asking me in real life instead of in a fantasy, what would I say? I have no idea.
I don’t even know if I’ve had sex. Have I?
Maybe . . .
Maybe not . . .
What if I get to experience it for the first time all over again?
I grin as I rest back again. A giggle erupts, and my cheeks start to hurt from smiling. It’s a ridiculous theory, and it doesn’t matter if I’m a virgin, but I could really have fun with it.
Speaking of fun, I reach for my phone and text: Hope your meetings have gone well today. I’ve been thinking about you.
Three dots roll across my screen, and then a message pops up: You’ve been thinking about me? Interesting. I’d love to hear your thoughts.
Loch can be uptight. And I know we’re still figuring out what this is between us.
Would it be appropriate to tell him what was really on my mind? No.
Do I want to throw caution to the wind and do what feels good? Absolutely!
But I think it might be too soon to share my real thoughts or what I just imagined him doing to me in the tub. Though I’d love to see his face if I ever have the chance to tell him the truth. I’d be hit with those eyes and that look that wavers between tearing my clothes off and spanking me.
Huh . . . do I like that?
I don’t think so, but how do I know for sure? This is too much to deal with right now. I decide to tease him a bit and dance around the truth instead: I’m sorry I interrupted your shower.
I don’t feel bad in the least, but I think he already knows that. There’s a long pause before the next message pops up: I’m not.
He’s not?
My mouth drops open, but my fingers fly across the screen: Naughty, Mr. Westcott. Maybe I’m not ready for this. I might be in hot water, but I’m starting to get overheated. Before this gets out of hand, I add: Where are you taking me tonight?
Loch: A little place in the West Village. Be ready at 8. I’ll meet you in the lobby.
Me: It’s a date!
Me: Hey, Loch?
Loch: Yes?
Me: I’m still thinking about today.
. . .
Me: See you later.
I quickly exit out of messages and toss my phone on the rug just out of my reach. I’m not sure I want to see how he’ll respond to that.
I finish in the bath and dry off. I grab my phone and set it on the nightstand, deciding to lie down. Seeing Loch in the nude is enough to drive any woman to swoon, but I’ve also spent every minute of my day searching for clues to my identity.
With a slight headache, I’ve pushed myself too hard. And if resting gives me a better chance of getting some memories back, then I’m all in.
When I come downstairs, I look around for Loch, but I’m early enough to be here before him. I drape my coat over a nearby chair and wait, wanting him to see me in the full glory of this dress and the sparkling shoes.
“Miss Westcott? Miss Westcott?” A hotel clerk waves from across the grand lobby, then starts walking toward me with an older man at his side.
I look behind me, but they’re coming toward me and whispering when they approach.
I don’t catch what they say, but it sounded like they were speaking another language.
“Yes?” I ask, still in the dark.
The older man looks at me, letting his gaze travel, then settle on my chest before smiling at the clerk and giving him a nod.
I have no idea what he wants, but I don’t think I want to find out.
Creeped out, I glance back over my shoulder in hopes of seeing Loch come through the door before reaching for my coat.
“Good evening, Miss Westcott.”
Before I turn to go, the clerk says, “I’d like you to meet Benedettu Serra. He’s visiting us from Sardinia this week.”
The other man takes my hand and brings it to his mouth. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Before he has a chance to go any further, I remove my hand from his grasp and take a step back. Holding my coat in front of me, I shift to drape it over my arm. “Mr. Wescott will be here any minute. I’m going to wait for him near the entrance.”
The clerk’s gaze shifts over my shoulder and the color drains from his face. “My apologies for keeping you. I’ll make this quick.”
“Make what quick?”
“Mr. Serra would like your company this weekend and was wondering if you have an opening in your schedule?”
I look back and forth between them several times, feeling like I’m missing something obvious. “I’m not following.”
“He’d like to pay for your services.”
“My services?” My head jerks back when it dawns on me. Oh. My. God. “Do you think I’m an escort?”
“I’ve been operating under the assumption. It’s not something we normally allow in the hotel, but the Westcott’s have been clients of ours for a long—”
“Let me be very clear for both of you. I’m not, nor have I ever been an escort.
” Feeling my anxiety rising, I swing my hands wildly in front of me.
“I’m not a call girl. I’m not a hooker.” Noticing the band around the man’s left finger, I feel my anger surge.
“So get it out of your head and tell your friend here to go home to his wife and appreciate her instead.” I spin on my rhinestone-encrusted heels and head for the door.
My heart pounds in my chest when I rush outside and straight into strong arms that embrace me.
The scent of the ocean with a hint of musk.
The perfectly cut suit.
Hard muscles wrapped around my soft frame.
Loch.
“Hey, there,” he says, holding me tightly to him. “Everything okay?”
I close my eyes a few seconds more just to appreciate the compassion and concern of this man.
Stroking my hair, he bends down to catch my eyes when I open them, and whispers, “Tuesday?”
Pull yourself together. I take a breath. “Yes. I’m hungry.” What else can I possibly tell him? That everyone thinks I’m his personal call girl?
“What’s really going on?”
I take a moment to think about what I want to say. Am I making something out of nothing? Is it really that big of a deal? I’m sure I’ll be laughing about it in a few minutes. “Do you remember how you told me the hotel clerk thought I was a call girl when you checked me in?”
I’m hit with a harder glare than before. No gold can be found in the centers of his eyes at all. Only fire. “Yes,” he replies with a sharp edge to his tone. “Go on.”
“I thought you were joking, but I think he meant it.”
“Why do you say that?” While I try to figure out how to soften the offense, his temper sparks to life. “Are you going to make me drag it out of you, Tuesday, or will you tell me?”
“I was just offered a job.” By the way he’s fisting his hands by his sides, I can tell he’s failing to see the humor. I get it. I failed as well at first. “There was a man from Sardinia. The hotel clerk introduced me as someone he could hire to keep him company while he’s in town.”
“What the fuck? Stay here.”
My hands start shaking, panic making my heart beat faster as I watch Loch storm toward the hotel entrance. “What are you doing?”
“Handling it.”
“There’s nothing to handle, Loch. It’s done. Over with.”
He stops and turns back, then comes toward me. Opening the car door, he guides me into the cavernous back seat. “Wait here for me, okay?” Shooting his eyes to Brady, he adds, “I’ll be right back.”
“And then what?” I ask.
“And then you’re going home with me.”