“I know that, Ella,” Marey sighed tiredly.
“Sax loves you, Marey…”
“Ella.” James voice was low, soothing. “Sax and Marey have to fight this out themselves.”
Marey looked over at James, the concern on his face, the worry, before she looked back to Ella.
“I love you, you old harpy,” she said softly. “And I know he cares. I just have to figure out what I’m doing here. I can’t do that with him hovering over me. I’ll be careful though, I promise.”
Ella sighed regretfully. “Fine. And I love you too. Even if your decisions do suck sometimes.”
“Most of the time,” Marey admitted with a sigh, already missing Sax, uncertain if the decision she had made in anger was one should stick to now that the rage was dimming.
“We can take you back, Marey,” James offered, his voice gentle.
“No.” She drew in a deep breath as the driver opened the door and stood aside patiently.
She hugged Ella quickly.
“I’ll call you tomorrow.”
She jumped from the car before she could change her mind, striding purposely into the hotel, refusing to look back.
“You know, if stubborn had a name, it would be Marey.”
Marey froze in the act of securing the hotel door and turned slowly.
Sax.
Well, this explained why James had the chauffer drive around aimlessly while Ella argued with Marey.
“Boy, when they say Trojans stick together, they mean it,” she snorted. “How much did you have to bribe the concierge to arrange this one?”
The hotel was the best in the city, security had always been exemplary.
“Delacourte/Conover holds an account here,” he informed her, his voice cool. “The owner also happens to be a member of The Club.”
She snorted at that. She should have figured that one out on her own.
She stood silently, her hands fisting in the loose material of her dress as she stared back at him.
He stood in the center of the room, his feet braced apart, his head tilted as he watched her, his eyes dark and brooding.
“If you’re finished being pissed, we can go back to the house now,” he said patiently.
Her teeth snapped together angrily.
“Can you get any more arrogant?” she snapped. “Maybe I don’t want to go back.”
“And maybe you like to lie to both of us too damned much,” he suggested silkily, moving to her, slow, relaxed, his steps stalking.
She wasn’t going to run from him, she promised herself. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Or was that, deny herself the satisfaction? She was as sick as Ella and the others.
“You know, Marey,” he whispered, his voice soft, dangerous. “It occurs to me that somewhere, somehow, you’re going to have to trust someone. Trust starts here and now. Bend over on the bed.”
She gaped back at him.
“Excuse me?”