Going Dark Read online

  In separate beds.

  They would still be in separate beds, she told herself. The large king bed that dominated the room had given her a moment of panic when she saw it. But then she realized it was actually two twins that could be pulled a few inches apart—apparently a typical setup in this part of the world.

  There was only one duvet—they were supposed to be married, so they could hardly ask the room to be made up as twins—but it was big enough so that there wouldn’t be any touching. Not that touching was a worry anyway. He’d made it pretty clear last time that he wasn’t interested in pursuing anything.

  God, she was being such a girl! Did she have to overthink everything? He probably hadn’t given the sleeping situation more than a passing thought.

  Man up, she told herself, and opened the door.

  Manning up lasted about as long as it took for him to turn from where he stood at the window and take in her apparel with a glance.

  She’d found a three-quarter-sleeve sport-jersey-style nightshirt that went to her knees. It was far more modest than the shorts and tank she’d had on yesterday, but from the way he was looking at her, she felt as if she’d walked in wearing a silk teddy.

  Although with the level of heat penetrating from those steely eyes, she probably would have felt naked in one of her grandma’s old flannel nightgowns.

  Maybe she hadn’t been the only one overthinking.

  But when he clenched his jaw and hardened his gaze—lifting it from her bare legs and feet—she knew it didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to act on whatever this was between them.

  Suddenly she realized he was still wearing the polo and khakis that he’d worn to dinner. “You didn’t change?” she asked, feeling as if she’d just shown up to a party and was the only one dressed in costume.

  “I need to go out for a little while. Go ahead and get some rest,” he said, all Mr. Business again.

  In other words, don’t wait up. “Where are you going?”

  She was beginning to read the little signs in his expressions, and this one said “curtain is down.” Granite curtain, and good luck lifting it.

  “There’s something I have to take care of. It’s nothing for you to worry about, okay?”

  What choice did she have? She nodded, feeling unaccountably hurt. She knew that he didn’t have any obligation to tell her anything. But that didn’t mean she didn’t want him to.

  If anything it was a harsh reminder that this little escapade didn’t mean anything. They might be temporarily stuck together, but in case she’d been under any illusions—which she might have been—as soon as he could be unstuck, he’d be going solo.

  He’d made it clear from the beginning that he didn’t want her along. He’d promised to help her, but she knew that was all she could count on.

  She wasn’t a girlfriend. She wasn’t a wife. She wasn’t anything.

  One mind-blowing, never-felt-anything-like-that-in-her-life orgasm didn’t mean anything. She certainly didn’t have any kind of claim on him. Where he went was none of her business.

  Maybe he was tired of her and needed a break. For all she knew he was going to a pub to drink and find someone he did want to pursue something with. He was a man. A very good-looking man, and he’d had more than one or two looks in his direction tonight as they left the restaurant and bar. If he wanted to pick someone up, she was sure it wouldn’t be difficult.

  “All right,” she said in as normal a voice as she could manage. “Good night.”

  She put her things down in a pile on the dresser and walked over to the bed. Choosing the side that was the farther from the door, she crawled under the duvet, pulled it over her shoulders, and turned on her side to face the wall.

  There was a long pause where she was tempted to peek and see if he was looking at her. If he wanted to say something.

  But she didn’t. A moment later, she heard him walk to the door, flip the light, and lock the door.

  Then all she could hear was the sound of her own heart beating.

  She lay there for a long time. Alone in the dark with nothing but her thoughts to occupy her, she felt the emotions of the past two days finally catching up with her.

  Nineteen

  She’d done the Bambi-eyes thing again, and it was eating away at him.

  Dean hadn’t meant to be gone that long. He’d needed to make a call and hadn’t wanted to do it with her around. Taylor hadn’t answered, and Dean had instead left the LC a text telling him to call.

  The whole thing had taken less than five minutes. But Dean hadn’t gone back to the room right away. He didn’t trust himself. Not with the thoughts that had been running through his mind when she appeared all freshly scrubbed, barefoot, and in that long T-shirt thing that made him feel as if he were back in high school, and she was wearing his football jersey. He’d always had a weakness for women wearing one of his shirts, but he’d never wanted to rip one off so badly.

  He needed to calm the fuck down. Unwind. De-lust. Was that even a word? It didn’t matter; he needed to do it.

  He was damned close to breaking his rule about drinking. Instead he sat outside for a while, let his body cool down, and then snuck back into the room long enough to retrieve a few things for a shower. The cold water didn’t do much, but his hand took the edge off his problem in short—very short—order. All he had to do was think about the night before—or that dress she’d been wearing—and he went off like a rocket.

  Considerably less tense, if far from satisfied, Dean dried off and got ready for bed.

  It was dark and quiet when he returned to the room. He tried not to make any noise when he put his stuff down and locked the door. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he pulled off his shirt and removed his pants before slipping under the comforter. Unlike her, he hadn’t thought to buy something to sleep in. He’d be up before she was, so it wouldn’t matter. Besides, he burned hot and the room was stuffy even with the windows cracked.

  He lay awake, staring at the ceiling in the darkness, trying not to think about the woman sleeping a couple of feet away from him.

  At least he thought she was sleeping. But then he realized she was too quiet. He should have been hearing the steady sounds of her breathing. Instead she seemed to be holding her breath.

  When her breath hitched and she let out a muffled sob, he realized that was exactly what she’d been doing.

  Ah, hell. She was crying. And Dean was in trouble because he knew he wasn’t going to be able to ignore it.

  He shouldn’t have left her alone. He’d given her time to think and let it catch up to her. Julien had been a douche bag, but he hadn’t deserved to die.

  She was still turned away from him, but Dean rolled onto his side, leaned over, and reached out to wipe a tear from her cheek with his thumb. Christ, her skin was as soft as a baby’s.

  Her face nuzzled into his hand at the touch, and his heart took a big, hard thump. “It’ll be all right, sweetheart.”

  Shit? Where the fuck had that come from? He didn’t use endearments. Ever.

  She turned to him in the darkness. He could see the damp sheen of her eyes reflecting back at him. “No, it won’t. They’re dead.” Her voice broke. “Dead. They didn’t deserve that.”

  He caressed her cheek again with his thumb. He’d never felt anything so soft. Something clenched tight in his chest. “No, they didn’t.”

  “It’s my fault.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  “If I hadn’t found—”

  He stopped her right there. “If you hadn’t found that, a lot of innocent people might be dead—including me and you. You aren’t to blame for what happened, Annie.” His tone left her no room to argue. “All right?”

  He could feel her eyes on his face as she nodded.

  “Good. Then let’s get some rest.”

  “I’m trying