So he sat on the world’s most uncomfortable chair and watched her sleep because he couldn’t stand the thought of letting her out of his sight, and he didn’t dare stop to wonder why.
After a while, there was a knock on the door and Sawyer bolted across the suite before the sound could wake her.
Peering through the fish-eye lens he saw a man dressed in the uniform of the Shimmering Sea. He looked like he belonged, but the good ones always did, and Sawyer wasn’t in the mood to take chances. The man was raising a fist to knock again when Sawyer opened the door and realized a little too late that he still had a gun in his hand.
“Shi— Hi.” He leaned against the door. Nothing to see here. Nope. Just your regular honeymoon dude who is worn out from all the enthusiastic boat and airplane sex.
“Mr. Michaelson?” the man asked like he didn’t already know the answer.
“Yes.”
“I’m Ramon, your butler. I have your luggage, sir. My apologies that it wasn’t waiting in your room, but we were told you wouldn’t be here.”
“Yeah, storm messed up our flights,” Sawyer said easily because that’s what happens when your whole life was a lie. Eventually, it’s the truth that you can’t tell with a straight face.
“So sorry about the confusion, sir. Shall I bring it in and unpack?”
“What?” These people unpack for you? “No. I mean, my . . . uh . . . wife is sleeping.”
He glanced back at Zoe: bare foot sticking out from under the blankets, hair fanned around her. She looked well and truly debauched and a knowing grin spread across Ramon’s face. “Yes, sir.”
Sawyer wanted to defend Zoe’s honor, but he didn’t know why. And the cover meant letting Ramon think it. If anything, the cover meant raising an eyebrow in a way that said yeah, I’m a stud but don’t make me knock your teeth out for leering at my woman.
But Sawyer didn’t have a woman—and he never would—so he just said, “I’ll take those bags now.”
He never moved away from the door. He never took his eyes off the man. And it wasn’t until the corridor was empty that he realized he’d clicked off the Glock’s safety.
“Who was that and did they want to kill me?” Zoe’s voice was soft from sleep and the words sounded like they were coming from a mile away, but he could see her face in ten million reflective surfaces because, evidently, honeymooners on the Shimmering Sea are really into mirrors. Kinky bastards. The whole room looked like the inside of a disco ball.
She raised her arms and stretched. Hair smushed. Cheeks red. She’d gotten hot, he realized, but that must have come as a relief after twelve hours of freezing.
“So are they going to kill me now or did you talk them into coming back to kill me later?”
If it hadn’t been for all the damn mirrors he wouldn’t have even known he was smiling—wouldn’t have known to stop it.
“No.” He rolled the massive suitcases into the room. “It was the butler.”
“We have a butler!” She shot upright but swayed a little.
“Hey.” He bolted toward the bed.
“Head rush,” she said. “I’m fine.” And he believed her because she was already clawing her way out of the blankets and heading toward the suitcases.
“Darn it. They’re locked,” she said, like that was that—no force on earth can possibly bust through the locks that come standard on overpriced luggage. Then she remembered. “Wait! You’re a spy! You can pick locks! Ooh!” She was already pushing the smaller of the two bags in his direction.
“Twelve hours I keep you alive and the thing you’re impressed by is that I might be able to get into those suitcases?” he complained but reached for his kit.
“First, I’m pretty sure that we kept each other alive. I was very instrumental in plans B, C, and D-point-one. Second, are you saying you can’t get into these suitcases? Because—”
The first bag was already opening with a pop.
“Ooh! Excellent.” She dropped onto the floor—onto her knees. “You know, you’re more helpful than you look.” She was staring up at him with her bed-mussed hair, and it took him three full seconds to remember that he should have been insulted.
“This is what you consider helpful?”
But she was too busy throwing clothes across the bed to answer. Pants and blazers and ties. She was like a tiny tornado ripping through a department store that caters to dudes who have a regular caddy at the club.