"You had... sex. With Eliahu Rathboone."
Gregg set Holly back from him and stared into her face, thinking she'd lost her damn mind--well, lost what little of a one she had. And that made two of them, because he had clearly imagined what he'd just "seen" outside.
Except her eyes were utterly clear and without guile. "He came to me. I'd fallen asleep--"
Another round of banging on the door cut her off, and then Stan's voice came through. "Hello? Which room am I--"
"Later, Stan," Gregg clipped out. As the grumbling faded, footsteps in the hall went down to Holly's room and a door was slammed.
"Come here." He tugged Holly over to the bed. "Sit down and tell me... what the hell you think happened."
He focused on her puffy lips as she spoke. "Well, I'd just gotten out of the shower. I was exhausted and I lay down on the bed to rest my eyes before I got into my nightgown. I must have fallen asleep... because the next thing I knew I had this dream--"
Oh, for God's sake. "Holly, just because you had a nightmare doesn't mean you--"
"I'm not finished," she snapped. "And it wasn't a nightmare."
"I thought you were freaking out."
"The scary stuff came afterward." She arched a brow. "Are you going to let me talk?"
"Fine." But only on the hope that he could get her mouth to do something else later. Damn, her lips looked good... "Go 'head."
Head. Yup. That's what he was thinking.
"I started to have this dream that this man came into my room. He was very tall and muscular... one of the biggest men I've ever seen. He was dressed in black and he stood over my bed. He smelled amazing... and he just stared at me. I..." Her hand wrapped around her neck and slowly slid down between her breasts. "I took off my towel and pulled him on top of me. It was... indescribable...."
Which was good news. Because he suddenly didn't want to hear anything about what happened next.
"He took me." More with that hand-on-the-neck thing. "As I've never been had before. He was so--"
"--hung like a fire hose and did you twelve different ways to Sunday. Congratulations. Your subconscious should be directing porn. What does this have to do with Eliahu Rathboone."
Holly glared at him... and then yanked her lapel to the side. "Because when I woke up, I had this." She jabbed at what certainly appeared to be a hickey on her neck. "And I'd actually had sex."
Gregg frowned hard. "You... How do you know?"
"How do you think I know."
Gregg cleared his throat. "Are you okay?" He put his hand on her arm. "I mean... ah, do you want to call the police."
Holly's laugh was low and achingly sexy. "Oh, it was consensual. Whatever it was." Her expression lost its glow. "That's the point... I don't know what it was. I thought I'd dreamed it. I didn't think it was real until..."
Until there was some undeniable evidence to the contrary.
Gregg brushed her blond extensions over her shoulder. "You sure you're all right?"
"I guess so."
Man, it didn't take him even a moment to make up his mind. "Well, that's it. We're leaving tomorrow."
"What? Oh, my God, Gregg... I didn't mean to cause problems--" She frowned. "Maybe... maybe I dreamed the after part where I woke up, too. I took another shower... maybe none of it really happened."
"Fuck it, I'll call Atlanta in the a.m. and tell them it's back on. I'm not going to have you staying where you're not safe."
"Jesus, I mean, that's very chivalric of you, but... I don't know. Everything's so fuzzy, and now I wonder if I'll just feel better in the morning. I'm really confused... it was weird." Her fingertips went to her temples and started rubbing in circles, like her head was aching. "I will say that I wanted it to happen, every step of the way--"
"Was your door locked?" He wanted an answer to the question, but he also didn't need to hear about the Ghost with the Mostest, thank you very much.
"I always lock a hotel room door before I have a shower."
"Windows?"
"Closed. I guess they're locked. I don't know."
"Well, you stay with me tonight. You'll be safe here." And not just because he wasn't going to hit on her now. He had a gun with him. Always. And the thing was permitted and he knew how to use it: Back when people had been getting popped in L.A. traffic, he'd decided to get armed.
Together they stretched out on the bed. "I'll leave the light on."
"It's okay. Just lock the door."
He nodded and slipped off the bed, throwing the dead bolt as well as the chain; then he did a quick pass by the windows to inspect the latches. When he lay back down, she nestled into the crook of his arm and sighed.
With a lean, he pulled the duvet out from under their legs and over them, turned off the lamp and eased back into the pillows.
He thought of that man out walking the grounds and nearly growled. Fuck. This. Shit. Either it was a local with a passkey, or a staff member who could jimmy the lock.
Assuming anything had happened at all. Which she seemed less and less sure of--
Whatever. They were leaving in the morning and that was that.
He frowned in the darkness. "Holly?"
"Yes?"
"Why did you think it was Rathboone."
She yawned widely. "Because he looked exactly like the portrait in the living room."