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“Can I come in?”
No, is my first instinct. It’s embarrassing enough he knows I came up here. But this is technicallyhisroom, so I can’t leave Kit standing out in the hallway.
“One sec,” I shout, dropping my dress back on the counter. The whoosh of air raises goose bumps on my skin. Which is when I remember that I’m a scrap of lace away from being fully naked. I can’t open the door likethis, and putting my dripping dress back on isn’t a great option.
The robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door solves my dilemma. Hastily, I pull it on, tempted to groan aloud when the luxurious fabric slides across my skin. It’ssosoft. Even comfier than the hallway carpet.
I knot the belt and stride over to the door. When I open it, Kit is leaning a shoulder against the doorframe. His tie’s been loosened. His hair looks like a hand ran through it roughly and recently.
I wish I could say the slightly disheveled look made him a little less gorgeous.
Kit strolls past me without saying a word, invading my temporary refuge.
It’s no longer relaxed and peaceful inside the suite. The quiet is charged. Vibrating with an invisible awareness that’s not new, butisa lot more noticeable now that we’re alone.
“Are you naked under that?” he asks without glancing my way.
I tighten the knot on the robe before shutting the door. “No.”
He doesn’t argue, but I can hear him calling me a liar in his head.
I follow Kit into the bedroom silently, watching him shrug out of his suit jacket and toss it carelessly before strolling over toward the windows that overlook the ocean. He stares at the sea for a few seconds before yanking the linen curtains closed.
I clear my throat. “The party must still be going on.”
“It is,” Kit confirms, retracing his steps back to me. “I left my wallet up here.”
I blurt the first thought that pops into my head. A snarky, “Trying to max out your credit card before midnight?”
I’m often irritated around Kit Kensington, and it messes with my normal filter for polite comments.
The left corner of his mouth lifts. “Monty, I could buy everything in this hotel tonight—includingthis hotel—and it wouldn’t max out my credit card.”
I scoff at his typical arrogance, even though I know he’s technically right.
“If youmustknow my financial intentions, I wanted some cash to tip the servers.” He plucks a leather wallet off the dresser and slips it into his pants pocket.
This is theinfuriatingthing about Kit.
Ninety-five percent of the time, he’s ridiculous and reckless and self-serving. But then, when I think it’s safe to always assume the worst about him, I get a glimpse of the remaining five percent. He told me Lili was the one who arranged a private car to drive me home after the Fourth of July party. Except, the following day, Lili texted me to make sure I’d made it home okay. I guess it was Kit’s way of apologizing for the dumb hot-dog argument we had gotten into.
Most of the guests downstairs are incredibly wealthy. But when I ordered my champagne earlier, the bartender’s tip jar was empty. I stuffed a ten in—the sad total of emergency cash shoved in my clutch.
I dislike Considerate Kit a lot more than Obnoxious Kit. Because I’ve never noticed how thick Obnoxious Kit’s hair was or how blue his eyes were. Or when I have, the awareness was easier to ignore.
“What color was your dress?”
I blink rapidly at the sudden and random subject change. It’s almost like he’s … offering me an out for misjudging him rather than expecting an apology.
“Uh, it was called pewter.”
“Damn it. I’d decided on blue.”
What?
I frown. “Are you drunk?”
“No, but good idea.” He walks over to the armoire that takes up most of the wall next to the mounted flat screen, rolling his sleeves up. “What do you want?”