by Miles, Amy
Clearing her throat, she sits up straighter and pushes Slade from her mind. Readjusting her glasses, Ashlyn throws herself back into the world of words and numbers for the remainder of the flight.
As the wheels touch down at Chicago’s O’Hare Airport, Ashlyn shoves her laptop into her bag and rises to find Slade already reaching for her carry-on.
“Um… thanks.” She smiles as she takes her bag from him. When she reaches for the handle and realizes he’s still holding it, she flinches back.
“I’m not going to bite.” He grins, releasing the bag to her care.
Ashlyn laughs and balances the case on her armrest, waiting for the rows ahead of her to unload. “For some reason, I’m not so sure about that.”
With a deep, throaty chuckle that makes her stomach clench, he turns and grabs his own satchel. Slade travels light. Packet of chips, a soda, a newspaper and he is set. She envies him for that. It seems like anywhere she goes she’s always lugging around a rolling laptop bag weighted with notes, files, and expense receipts.
The air is chilly when she exits the plane onto the ramp. She shivers, wishing she’d chosen to wear something warmer than a pair of white capris, tennis shoes, and black tank top. Vegas was much warmer than this.
As the crowd of passengers funnel past her, Ashlyn dashes to the side and begins rummaging through her bag for her favorite hoodie. It’s made of a light thermal material, her go-to jacket on a cool spring morning. It’s not exactly the most stylish of tops, with its tatty sleeves and broken zipper, but she doesn’t care.
She turns to hear Tamsin swearing under her breath as she fights to roll her oversized suitcase through the crowd. “Urgh,” Tamsin groans as she comes to a stop beside Ashlyn. “And I thought Heathrow was a nightmare.”
Ashlyn smirks, knowing this is exactly the sort of place Tamsin loves. It’s the hustle and bustle of it all that gives her a thrill, the thought that someone might recognize her in the crowd and fawn over her. Sadly, that happens quite a lot. Tamsin’s style of dress would get her noticed anywhere, but it’s usually the hair that gives her away.
“Chicago is a crazy place, that’s for sure.” Ashlyn turns away to look over the heads of the passengers to find the way to the baggage claim. The sooner they get out of there, the sooner she can get settled in.
Another hotel room, another time zone. Ashlyn can already feel the drain of it all starting to set in. It’s not just the stress of travel and the constantly shifting schedule that puts her on edge, but also the climate.
Her asthma is usually perfectly manageable at home, but shifting from damp to dry heat back to blustery winds is wreaking havoc on her.
Forty minutes later, they finally collect the last of Tamsin’s luggage and Slade places it on an already overloaded cart. He weaves through the mass of people toward the taxi loading area, struggling to keep the cart on its intended path while fighting to hail down a driver. One look at the stack of luggage and the attendant calls for a taxi van.
Ashlyn shakes her head, knowing this trip to the Drake Hotel won’t be cheap in a larger vehicle. She leaves her single suitcase with the attendant and climbs into the back seat, her carry-on clutched tightly on her lap.
“You look as if you think someone might knick that from you.” Slade chuckles as he ducks his head and moves to sit with her on the back seat.
She smiles and loosens her grip. “I’m not real comfortable letting people handle my stuff.”
“So I see.” He stretches out his long legs down the narrow aisle and leans back, getting comfortable for the trip.
Ashlyn looks over at him, itching to ask why he’s sitting with her, but she is interrupted by Tamsin collapsing into the middle seat. “That driver is a nightmare.” She grunts, tugging her bag up onto the seat. She acts as if it weighs a ton. Knowing Tamsin, it probably does. “If he thinks I’m going to let him smash a perfectly good Gucci bag just to fit it in the trunk, he’s got another thing coming.”
Ashlyn smothers her smile behind her hand as Tamsin huffs, her curls bouncing around her face. Slade sends her a loaded glance that nearly sends Ashlyn into a fit of giggles.
A while later, the white taxi van jerks out of rush-hour traffic and screeches to a halt in front of the Drake Hotel. It is an older hotel with grand views of Lake Michigan, situated right on the famous Lake Shore Drive. It’s also one Ashlyn has always wanted to stay in.
Before the driver has a chance to get the van settled into park, Tamsin throws open the door and rushes to the back to start giving instructions to the bellman about her luggage. Slade disembarks next, pausing to hold out his hand to help Ashlyn from the vehicle. She blushes as she takes his hand, noting how much warmer his skin feels.
Her hair blows about her face as she turns to take in the stunning view of the curved beach and waves lapping wildly against the shore. It never ceases to amaze her how vast the lake really is. If she didn’t know better, she would think she was looking out over the Atlantic.
“It’s freezing out here. Why don’t you come inside, miss.” She turns to find the doorman holding the door open wide for her.
“Thank you.” She smiles and climbs the stairs, not needing to be told twice.
The interior of the Drake Hotel is magnificently decorated. Plush carpets and vaulted ceilings greet her as the warmth of the entry surrounds her, chasing away the chill. She climbs a set of stairs and is greeted with a lovely view of the lobby.
The scent of fresh floral bouquets and the warm color palette of the room feel rich and inviting. Stunning crystal chandeliers dangle from the ceiling overhead, casting a gentle glow on the vast space. Clusters of chairs offer hotel guests a cozy place to chat before an evening meal in the hotel restaurant or before heading out for a night on the town.
Chicago has always been one of Ashlyn’s favorite cities. She loves the robust culture mingled with the crisp air and stunning architecture.
Slade pauses at her side, his neck craning back to take in the room. “You Americans sure know how to make a place look posh.”
Although she has spent much of the past two years in beautiful hotels through her travels with Tamsin from book signing to book signing, the effort put into creating such elaborate rooms never fails to leave her breathless.
“It truly is stunning.” She agrees.
“What are you two waiting around for? My feet are killing me.” Tamsin bustles past them, loaded down with two bags that surely weigh more than she does.
After producing their passports and travel documents, Ashlyn manages to get them checked into their assigned suites. She is relieved to find that her room is separated from Slade’s by an entire floor. “Looks like you’re with me, big boy.” Tamsin grins and loops her arm through his.
If Ashlyn isn’t mistaken, Slade doesn’t seem quite as excited about that as he did a couple days ago. She silently cheers as she crouches to pull out her itinerary from her laptop bag. “The schedule for tonight is fairly easy. Just drinks with the execs at Amazon and some of the other authors that Tamsin will be signing with tomorrow. You will both need to meet up down here in the lobby at 8:00 p.m.”
“You?” Slade turns to question her. “Won’t you be coming too?”
“Oh, no, I—”
Tamsin laugh interrupts Ashlyn’s excuse. “She never comes to these things. They aren’t her thing. She’ll be locked away in her room all night, working… again. Come on, let’s go see if there’s any free snacks on our floor.”
Ashlyn forces a smile as Tamsin yanks Slade across the lobby after the bellman, who struggles to keep the teetering pile of luggage on the cart. She tries to ignore the fact that Tamsin’s jab about her evening routine stings more than she’d like to admit.
She can still hear Tamsin yapping away as the elevator doors close.
“You know, I almost feel sorry for that guy.”
Surprised, Ashlyn turns to find the man at the check-in desk staring back at her. His hair is short, exposing a wide brow still youthf
ul enough to be vacant of worry lines. His eyes look almost like warm caramel. Although she would be hard pressed to call him attractive, there is an air about him that instantly makes her feel like she would like to get to know him. “Excuse me?”
He lifts a hand, motioning to the closed elevator doors. “Your friend sure has her claws sank deep into that guy. I bet if she says jump, he asks how high before he even realizes he’s on the move.”
Ashlyn frowns. “Slade isn’t like that.”
His smile is warm and knowing. “I’m sure he’s not.”
But try as she might, Ashlyn can’t get the man’s words out of her head as she heads up to her room to unpack.
Seventeen
Slade leans heavily against the wall, fumbling to pull his keycard from his pocket. There is a constant buzz in his ears, and for some reason the door handle appears to be swinging back and forth.
It is entirely possible that he had one too many drinks tonight.
Usually Slade prides himself on being able to hold his liquor, but tonight was different. He wasn’t trying to hold it; he was trying to drown in it.
His breaking point came around midnight when Tamsin decided to follow a different guy back to bed. To be honest, he was actually a bit relieved that she wasn’t going to be pouncing on him, but after an entire night of being petted and pawned off on women like a piece of meat, he was beyond frustrated.
Slade’s jaw locks down as he tries to make the floor stop rising up to meet him long enough to unlock his door. “Bloody door.”
His brow furrows as the door handle turns in his hand and then opens. “Slade?”
He blinks, shocked to find Ashlyn standing in front of him. Her pale skin is flushed with heat. Beads of moisture cling to her hairline about her face. Stepping back, he realizes she’s wearing nothing but a fluffy robe and slippers.
“Are you all right?” She double knots her belt before opening the door wider.
“I, uh…” He rubs the back of his neck, trying to figure out what has happened. How did he end up at Ashlyn’s door instead of his own? “Can I come in?”
“It’s a bit late, Slade. Can’t this wait ‘til tomorrow?” She clutches the neck of her robe as if even the double knot might not be enough to maintain her dignity.
Slade barks out a laugh and stumbles back against the opposite wall. “I’m not going to attack you if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“No.” She flushes an attractive shade of pink. “Of course not. I wouldn’t think that.”
Pushing off from the wall, he walks toward her, watching as her eyes widen. Maybe he was wrong. The idea of taking her in his arms is far more appealing than he would have thought.
There’s just something so utterly innocent about the way she clings to her robe. He’s never met a girl like her before, so unsure of herself and the world around her.
After seeing how fragile she was after her panic attack yesterday, he realized there was a big part of him that wanted to wrap her in his arms and protect her. At the time, he hadn’t really thought about her beyond that, but standing in front of her now, he begins to notice the fullness of her lips and the way they tremble as he steps closer.
“I suppose you could use a strong cup of coffee,” she whispers, backing slowly away so he can enter.
He can still feel the moisture on the air as he moves into the room. Steam clings to the bathroom mirror and makes the marble counter slick. The scent of lavender invades his senses as he flops down onto the edge of her bed.
When Ashlyn moves past him to start a cup of coffee brewing, he watches the gentle sway of her hips. Her steps are soft with a hint of hesitancy to them, a stark contrast to Tamsin, who overemphasizes her movements to make sure every eye is on her.
“You want to tell me why you were trying to break into my room in the middle of the night?” She leans her hip against the table as she waits for the water to percolate.
He looks down and realizes his keycard is still clutched in his hand. He lifts his hip to slide it into his pocket. “I wasn’t. Thought it was mine.”
She blows out a breath, shaking her head. Droplets of water from her hair patter against the floor. “Sophie warned you what would happen if you got like this.”
He nods and instantly grimaces as the contents of his stomach flip-flop. Big mistake. “Won’t happen again.”
She stares at him with that look that she has perfected just for him. The one that screams she can see right through him. He crosses his fingers over his chest in the traditional promise sign. “Honest.”
Sweat begins to gather along his brow and he can feel his stomach shifting again. He leans forward, holding his stomach, willing the floor to stop moving away from him. “I don’t feel so well.”
“I should think not,” she snaps. “What were you thinking?”
“Wasn’t.” He groans as he falls over to his side.
“Well, that’s rather obvious.” She chews on her lower lip, watching him. The smell of her room’s fresh floral bouquets can hardly begin to cover the pungent smoke that clings to his clothes and hair.
“Do you, um… do you want to talk about it?”
“No.” He closes his eyes and slowly brushes his cheek along the soft comforter. How did he not know how soft it was when he took a nap earlier today?
Ashlyn hesitantly approaches him and sinks down onto her knees. “Tell me this isn’t about Tamsin.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” He turns away from her.
“Fine.” He can hear the rustle of her robe as she rises. Her slippers move silently across the plush carpet toward the coffee maker. “Tamsin likes to have fun.”
Slade opens his eyes and stares at the dip in the pillow before him. “It’s not about her.”
“Good.” He almost turns over when he suspects a hint of relief in her tone, but he can’t bring himself to move. It feels amazing to sink into the Egyptian cotton sheets and colorful throw pillows. If he closes his eyes, he can almost imagine the room has come to a halt. Almost.
“The coffee is nearly done,” she says. He can hear the tinkling of the porcelain coffee mug and the water bubbling behind him. “I think you need to go sleep this off in your own room.”
“I’m not drunk,” he says, his words muffled by the pillow top.
“No?
He lifts his head to wag a finger at her. “I have been drinking, but I am far from drunk.”
He hiccups and laughs, tossing out his hands as he falls back onto her pillows.
“This is really not appropriate,” she mutters. He can only guess how uncomfortable this must be making her. A drunk guy lounging on her bed in the middle of the night. Slade would bet money this is the first time this has ever happened to her.
Slade snorts and rolls to his side, curling his arm under a gold-fringed pillow. His right leg draws upward as he turns his hip and sighs.
“Don’t get too comfortable,” she warns.
“Too late!” He can hear her mumbling to herself as she taps her fingers against the counter, no doubt begging the coffee pot to steam faster. The sound is soothing. He allows his eyes to close as a deep heaviness falls over him and Ashlyn’s voice fades away.
Eighteen
Ashlyn stretches her arms over her head, wincing at the knots at the base of her spine. She opens her eyes, blinking at the unusual darkness of the room. Rolling her head to the side, she sees the blackout curtains have been pulled across the window to seal out the view of Lake Michigan.
I don’t remember closing those, she muses as she runs her hands through her tangled hair. Her elbow brushes against a cushion as she lowers her hands. She tucks her chin in to spy a light sheet draped over her and her eyes widen as the events of the previous night come flooding back to her.
She bolts upright, searching the darkened room. “Slade?”
No answer. She swings her legs over the edge of the bed and peers into the bathroom. A small nightlight glows beside the sink, shedding just eno
ugh light for her to see that Slade isn’t in there either.
Ashlyn wraps the sheet around her and dashes for the hotel door to flick on the light. She squints, shielding her eyes as she waits for them to adjust enough to see that her room is completely deserted. Blowing out a sigh of relief, Ashlyn leans back and rests her head against the wall.
“Well, I guess that’s one way to get him to leave.” Her snort turns into a laugh as she realizes she actually spent the night in the same room with Slade. “Not exactly a fantasy-filled night, huh, Ash?”
Slade snored the entire night. After two hours of the foghorn, she shoved aside her discomfort and heaved him onto his side. Blissful silence had greeted her for the first time, but it was short-lived. She watched the clock tick over for far more hours than she cared to think about.
Her back aches from sleeping on the loveseat. Her neck isn’t much better.
She crosses the room and opens the curtains to let in some natural morning light. Ashlyn gasps, noting how high the sun is in the sky. Whirling around, she searches for the clock and realizes it’s nearly eleven in the morning.
“Crap!” She dashes for the shower, hardly taking the time let the water warm up before she begins washing.
She towel dries her hair and races around her room in search of something to wear. Ashlyn scolds herself for not ironing her clothes the night before like she always does. It takes her a few minutes to clean off the bottom of the iron so it doesn’t leave black stains on her white capri pants. She presses the collar of her dressy white top and slips on a pair of strappy sandals.
“Where’s my purse?” She whirls about, feeling her heart racing with panic. She’s late, something she never allows to happen, and on top of that, she’s completely disorganized.
Rushing to check by the side of the bed for her cell phone, Ashlyn pauses when she sees a note and pen left on the bedside table.
