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“Not for a long time,” I said.

“So I’mnotthe first boy you snuck into the hotel?” Blake sounded delighted.

I scowled. “Do you want my help or not?”

“Ow,” Blake said.

I turned to see he’d gotten whacked in the face with another large shrub.

I fought to contain my laughter at the sight of Blake looking slightly dazed, a leaf fluttering off his cheek. “That wouldn’t happen if you stayed on the path.”

“I think you pushed me,” he accused.

I laughed. “Oh really?”

“Yes. You don’t like me.”

“I don’t—” I hesitated. “That’s not true,” I said softly.

Then, to my surprise, Blake reached out and took my hand. “There,” he said. “Now if I go, you go.”

A tingling spread up my arm at the touch of his skin. His palm was warm and surprisingly dry, given the rain. I should have taken my hand away. I should have tucked my hands under my arms and led him, untouching, to the door. Even if the fake marriage situation didn’t exist, we had a business relationship.

But it felt good holding Blake Harrington’s hand. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like we’d created our own little bubble, even if it was just for this moment. Even if Blake didn’t remember it tomorrow.

Maybe it wasbecauseBlake wouldn’t remember it tomorrow.

“Just because you’re holding my hand doesn’t mean I couldn’t still hurt you,” I said.

It was meant to be lighthearted, a joke about pushing him in the bushes.

But Blake’s voice went serious. “I know.”

When I glanced up at him, his eyes were on mine. Not quite steady, but definitely on mine.

We didn’t say anything as we passed under all the darkened rooms of the shuttered east wing. Luckily, that in itself proved enough of a distraction. I shivered, despite myself, knowing we were passing the boarded-up Room 114. It was ridiculous. But still creepy, especially at this hour.

Finally, we crossed over to the west wing.

“Come on,” I said. I flashed my universal key card at the door, and a moment later, we were pushing through into the brightly lit stairwell. I was already at the stairs when Blake, behind me, said, “Wait.”

I stopped before taking a step up.

“Can you turn around?”

I didn’t want to turn around. I’d look like a mess under these fluorescent lights. But also, now that we were out of the rain and inside the building, it was like if I turned around and took him in, I’d have to admit I’d done this in a strange way. I could have brought him through the lobby. Gotten a room key from the front desk and come back down a few minutes later on my own, leaving no room for suspicion.

But I didn’t do that. I’d snuck him around the side entrance, to a room no one would be visiting for days.

He wasn’t going to remember this tomorrow, I reminded myself. This would be like a strange dream to him, at best.

When I turned, Blake was leaning back against the door, his palms low.

He was soaking wet. Rumpled. Drunk.

Gorgeous.

I could admit that now. Before tonight, I wouldn’t have let myself think anything about him. Now, I couldn’t deny it. He grinned, the dimples I’d seen on his website—and, I realized later, in the pages of the business magazines I used to subscribe to—popping under his beard. He flipped his wet hair out of his eyes, but a wet lock of it fell across his forehead.