find a way to make things right with her, but he’d never forgive himself if she’d been frantically trying his phone for the last… how long?
Eight hours? He wasn’t sure what time it was, but he’d saidhe’d meet her for lunch and now it was dark out.
Damn.
Yeah, he hoped she was pissed, that she’d charged expensive champagne and jewelry and clothes to the hotel room. The thing was, if she was pissed already, she was going to explode when he gave her the bad news: he had to send her home.
It wasn’t that he wanted her gone, because he didn’t. Quite the opposite. But he had to find his son,and entertaining the sexiest woman he’d ever met was off his list of priorities. He’d miss the sex at night, but he’d miss her by his side even more. Monroe calmed him. She was the only person who ever had, but it wasn’t fair to keep her around when he knew he wouldn’t have time for her.
And if he wasn’t with her, he wouldn’t be able to keep her safe. She’d be far better off in New York.
Hewalked into his mansion. Victoria’s stench still hung in the air. It seemed wrong that he could despise the mother of his child so much, but then he hadn’t chosen to reproduce with her. He didn’t regret Brady—not even now—but he couldn’t help but wonder how differently things might have turned out if Brady’d had a better mother. Someone like Monroe, perhaps.
To air the place out a bit, he openedwindows as he made his way to the kitchen.
There wasn’t much food left. He’d needed to feed after the transfusion, and it had pretty much cleaned out all the food, but he found three bags of stale tortilla chips in the main kitchen. He’d probably bought them when he first moved in. He never used this kitchen. It was too big, everything too spread out. He didn’t cook often, but his idea of enjoyabledidn’t include walking half a mile between the stove and the refrigerator.
When nothing was left of the tortilla chips except a few grains of salt in the bottoms of the greasy bags, he spared a few minutes to verify that the empty pool was clean, then a few more minutes to shower and make himself presentable, then drove to the hotel.
He’d lost his room key in the inlet, during his first shark-shift,so he stopped at the desk for a replacement key.
The clerk didn’t know him, but the manager did.
The hotel room was dark. It seemed forlorn without Monroe there, and the sudden ache in his chest was just a small hint of what his life would be like in a few hours, when she was truly gone.
She’d left a note saying she was reading on the beach. It was surely old; she wouldn’t be on the beachat all in the dark. Tureygua was safe, especially near the resorts, but Monroe wasn’t the type to take risks.
He used the hotel phone to dial her cell but didn’t get an answer. “I’m back,” he said to her voicemail. “I’m so sorry about today. You have every right to hate me. Hell, I hate me.” He paused, trying to think of what to say next. Finally he hung up.
There weren’t any messages in hisvoicemail.
Off the balcony, he could see plenty of ocean. The beach looked roped off, but he imagined the resort had shut it to prevent any more drownings.
He left Monroe a note telling her to stay put if she got back, that he’d lost his phone and was looking for her. Then he wandered down to the beach.
There had been too many people here, and while he thought he’d caught just the edges ofMonroe’s scent near one of the hammocks, he couldn’t be sure. She must have left the note early in the morning, he decided, for her scent to be so faint. He tried the restaurants, the gift shops.
Frowning, he tracked down the manager. “I’m looking for my friend,” he said. He described Monroe, then had the manager pull up his account. He hoped she hadn’t been so angry that she’d left.
“Got afew room service charges,” the manager said. “The last one at 2:30. She also borrowed a bike, but
Eight hours? He wasn’t sure what time it was, but he’d saidhe’d meet her for lunch and now it was dark out.
Damn.
Yeah, he hoped she was pissed, that she’d charged expensive champagne and jewelry and clothes to the hotel room. The thing was, if she was pissed already, she was going to explode when he gave her the bad news: he had to send her home.
It wasn’t that he wanted her gone, because he didn’t. Quite the opposite. But he had to find his son,and entertaining the sexiest woman he’d ever met was off his list of priorities. He’d miss the sex at night, but he’d miss her by his side even more. Monroe calmed him. She was the only person who ever had, but it wasn’t fair to keep her around when he knew he wouldn’t have time for her.
And if he wasn’t with her, he wouldn’t be able to keep her safe. She’d be far better off in New York.
Hewalked into his mansion. Victoria’s stench still hung in the air. It seemed wrong that he could despise the mother of his child so much, but then he hadn’t chosen to reproduce with her. He didn’t regret Brady—not even now—but he couldn’t help but wonder how differently things might have turned out if Brady’d had a better mother. Someone like Monroe, perhaps.
To air the place out a bit, he openedwindows as he made his way to the kitchen.
There wasn’t much food left. He’d needed to feed after the transfusion, and it had pretty much cleaned out all the food, but he found three bags of stale tortilla chips in the main kitchen. He’d probably bought them when he first moved in. He never used this kitchen. It was too big, everything too spread out. He didn’t cook often, but his idea of enjoyabledidn’t include walking half a mile between the stove and the refrigerator.
When nothing was left of the tortilla chips except a few grains of salt in the bottoms of the greasy bags, he spared a few minutes to verify that the empty pool was clean, then a few more minutes to shower and make himself presentable, then drove to the hotel.
He’d lost his room key in the inlet, during his first shark-shift,so he stopped at the desk for a replacement key.
The clerk didn’t know him, but the manager did.
The hotel room was dark. It seemed forlorn without Monroe there, and the sudden ache in his chest was just a small hint of what his life would be like in a few hours, when she was truly gone.
She’d left a note saying she was reading on the beach. It was surely old; she wouldn’t be on the beachat all in the dark. Tureygua was safe, especially near the resorts, but Monroe wasn’t the type to take risks.
He used the hotel phone to dial her cell but didn’t get an answer. “I’m back,” he said to her voicemail. “I’m so sorry about today. You have every right to hate me. Hell, I hate me.” He paused, trying to think of what to say next. Finally he hung up.
There weren’t any messages in hisvoicemail.
Off the balcony, he could see plenty of ocean. The beach looked roped off, but he imagined the resort had shut it to prevent any more drownings.
He left Monroe a note telling her to stay put if she got back, that he’d lost his phone and was looking for her. Then he wandered down to the beach.
There had been too many people here, and while he thought he’d caught just the edges ofMonroe’s scent near one of the hammocks, he couldn’t be sure. She must have left the note early in the morning, he decided, for her scent to be so faint. He tried the restaurants, the gift shops.
Frowning, he tracked down the manager. “I’m looking for my friend,” he said. He described Monroe, then had the manager pull up his account. He hoped she hadn’t been so angry that she’d left.
“Got afew room service charges,” the manager said. “The last one at 2:30. She also borrowed a bike, but
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