Chapter 9 I Told You Not to Run
I TOLD YOU NOT TO RUN
Don’t run. Doesn’t he realize his threat would make me do just that?
Arrogant prick!
My stomach gargles with rage and hunger now that my hormones are back to normal.
The last thing I’m doing is ordering room service and hanging out here. I want a good head start before he comes after me this time.
And he can forget me ever offering him my body again. I can’t believe I wasted that significant moment on him. The first time I take off my clothes and bare myself, and he walks out!
I wrench the mini fridge open and plunder the contents. Macadamia nuts, trail mix, chocolate, cookies, gummy bears, soda, vodka. I freeze with the bottle in my hand. Do I want to chug some of this? I can’t form a good plan if I’m drunk.
Dammit. I toss it aside and grab a can of soda to wash the snacks down. It occurs to me after my raccoon attack on the fridge that I don’t have a toothbrush—and I have something stuck in my teeth.
I find the hotel care packet in the bathroom, brush my teeth, and free my tooth of the tiny debris. From the walk-in-closet, I take one of the hotel robes and slip it over my dress. Already I feel more like myself, covered up without worry that my boobs are on display.
Tinsley, from my boarding school, told me I reminded her of this young famous actress who is all chest and no hips.
Her body is insanely fit, even though her boobs are the first thing you notice about her.
I took the compliment, but I disagreed. I haven’t actively worked out since my riding days, and I stopped the sport at fifteen when I was sent away.
I call the front desk.
They greet me by my name.
“Do you have a gift shop with clothing?”
“Did the personal shopper not come through for you?”
“I need something faster.”
“She has clothes on hand in a variety of styles and sizes for situations like this.”
“She does?”
“Yes. I can send her to you with several to choose from if you give me your size and style.”
Very accommodating. It’s the Spencer name.
I’d rather travel without it. “Yes, please. Send her here with trendy, romantic styles that have a conservative neckline. Size extra small or zero that accommodates a DD cup and a five-five height. Shoe size seven,” I add, “I’ll need undergarments, a purse, suitcase, cosmetics, and hair products too. ”
“Yes, Mrs. Ashford. I’ll pass this information to Raveena. She’ll be there shortly.”
“Ashford?” I say with question. “It’s Spencer.” I checked in under Spencer.
“Sorry. It says here the room has been transferred to a Mr. and Mrs. Lachlan Ashford.”
The piece of— “Is the card on file still Emery Spencer?” My bank account has always been under my name. I checked in to the app on my phone with my usual email and password, but I didn’t see if anything else had changed under my profile.
“The card shows Emery Ashford.”
Bastard! It’s my private account. Mine. Emery Spencer. He should have asked my permission first. I never agreed to this.
Somehow, I keep my voice calm. “Thank you.”
I end the call and glare at the hallway where Lachlan disappeared, wishing he’d reappear just so I could throw my phone at his head.
I need something to distract me from this rage—an inferno I’ve never felt before, not even toward my domineering dad.
A shower would help. Plus, it will clean off the motorcycle grime before I try on the new clothes. Being raised by my general of a mother, I know I can shower quickly before Raveena arrives.
It takes me five minutes to pile my hair up and rinse my body. I’m out and in another clean robe before the knock sounds on the door.
I hurry to open it but hesitate at the thought of my smug husband. Do I want to see him right now? No. I want my clothes so I can escape.
A quick glance through the peep hole shows a dark-haired woman and a young man holding garment bags. Not Lachlan.
I open the door and welcome them inside.
Thirty minutes later, I have seven outfits, clean underwear, makeup, hair products, accessories, a Chanel bag, and a Louis Vuitton suitcase.
“You are an impressive shopper,” Raveena says. “And a fast one at that.”
“I’m in a hurry, so…” I pay and tip her and her assistant, Beno?t. They were incredibly helpful and friendlier than I imagined. In my experience with my mother, personal shoppers can be kiss-ass and fake.
Before they leave, I ask, “Know of any places I could escape to if I wanted to get away in private?”
Raveena scratches her chin in thought, but Beno?t’s features spread wide as if he knows of a place.
“Beno?t?”
Raveena nods at him to share.
His ebony face lights up like it did when I tried on the clothes and they fit my disproportionate body in a way I loved. “If you’re up for a little island adventure, I know a private place you can rent in St. Croix. A certain celebrity I’m gaga for was there just last spring.”
If it’s private enough for Ms. Gaga, it’s private enough for me.
I’ll have to check the price. Once this is over, I still want to open my romance book and tea shop.
I can’t do that if I lack the funds. Lachlan is the last person I would ever ask for money for anything.
I may live in his house at some point, but I will live off my own money.
Beno?t pulls up the information on his phone and writes it on a notepad at the desk in the living room.
“Thank you.”
The Caribbean is far enough away that Lachlan might not look for me there. However, do I want to go to St. Croix? This was not part of my plan. Lachlan wasn’t either, but here we are.
Ugh. Part of me thinks this is ridiculous, and I’m being childish. But he’s an arrogant prick. He wants to screw me senseless. Had he gone about this a different, slower way and hadn’t lied from the beginning, I’d be open to letting the sexy man have his way with me.
After getting a taste of what he has to offer, I have no doubt I’ll enjoy it, but I refuse—refuse!—to let him see my naked body or touch me ever again. Not after how he played with me, turning me on and then leaving me horny and seething.
Blood burning through my veins, I call the number on the desk.
Four days. At seven thousand a night, I am only renting the house for four days. It looks beautiful from the pictures the leasing agent sent me. This place isn’t public knowledge. It has a gate and guard, which means Lachlan can’t just show up.
I laugh at the thought of him trying.
My flight leaves at nine p.m. Needing the caffeine, I slam a coke from the mini bar, and leave my room to catch my ride to the airport. The front desk already set it up for me.
Lachlan is a fool to think I wouldn’t run.
The elevator opens, and I get in. One other woman is inside with me.
She gets off ten floors down from where I got on at the twenty-eighth floor.
My stop is the lobby. My hair is done in a romantic french braid that starts on one side and ends on the other, falling over my left shoulder.
It matches my white summer dress perfectly.
The straps have bows at the top and the wrap style closes with a thin sash at the waist. A hidden hook keeps my breasts concealed with just a hint of cleavage.
The hem of the flowing skirt is short in a way my mother wouldn’t approve. Even though the light material is appropriate for St. Croix, I might be chilly here in the cooler night air, especially in my wedge sandals. Fortunately, I won’t be outside for long.
A tall man dressed in a black suit joins me in the elevator.
Sunglasses cover his eyes. Who wears sunglasses in an elevator or at night for that matter?
He doesn’t pay attention to me or even nod in acknowledgment, which doesn’t help me feel safer around him.
His huge physique doesn’t belong in a suit, more like a wrestling ring.
He rides with me to the lobby, and to my surprise, gestures for me to exit first. I’d rather not but the floor is crowded enough that I accept his offer. He follows only a few feet behind me on my way to the hotel exit.
I stop at the concierge to check if my ride is here. The attendant assures me it is and walks me to the waiting Mercedes S Class custom limo. Dad uses the same one to pick up guests or businessman from the private airport in Greenwich.
I pause for only a millisecond before telling myself it’s a coincidence. Nothing more.
The hotel attendant opens the door for me. I climb into the spacious all-black interior and get comfortable on the leather backseat. My door closes and the other side opens. A man joins me. I glance up front to see if the driver is noticing this, but the partition is up, blocking my view.
The scent of the woods after the rain hits me first. I don’t need to meet the man’s eyes to know they’re aqua.
Panic zaps me like a stun gun, freezing every part of me. By the time my brain recharges and tells me to get out, it’s too late. We’re driving away.
Lachlan’s gaze roams my body and the short hemline of the dress. “I told you not to run.”
“I wasn’t running,” I say with daggers in my eyes. “I walked.” And I’ll walk away from you again at the first opportunity.
“As much as I’m enjoying this game of chase with you, I’ve had enough. I’m needed back in Scotland.”
“Good. Go.” I cross my arms under my boobs. “I don’t mind sharing a ride to the airport.”
“This isn’t a ride. It’s my car and my driver, Connal. I believe you met in the elevator.”
“The beefy guy?”
“That’s the one.” He tugs his sleeves, his body so big compared to mine. “He’s your new watch dog.”
No way. I shift so I’m angled toward him. “That was not our agreement. We agreed to live separate lives.”
He shakes his head, humor in his eyes but nowhere else on his expression. “I was clear that we’d live together for appearances sake.”
“And I was clear that I wanted my trust fund so I could live my own life and open my business.”
“Is that what you were planning to do in St. Croix?”