Holding Strong. Lori Foster
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“Oh, right.”
He took in her red eyes, her defeated posture, and shook his head as he transferred the bags and her purse into one fist. “Sorry.”
“Wha—” The word ended on a gasp when he dipped, caught her around the hips, and hoisted her up and over his shoulder. “Denver!”
“We’re on the sixth floor, girl. You can barely go six steps.”
To his surprise, she didn’t fight him. She just clutched at his shirt and said, “Don’t drop me!”
“Never.”
He tried not to jostle her as he went down several flights of stairs. On the second floor, they ran into other people so he lowered her back to her feet to keep from embarrassing her, but put an arm around her waist to help support her. Near her ear, he asked, “Okay?”
With the strain obvious on her face, she nodded. When they finally reached the lobby, guests congested the front entrance, so Denver detoured with her down a short hall and out a side door.
The storms had moved out even before his jog, leaving the air fresh and clean. A blinding sun shone in a cloudless blue sky.
“Come on. You’re parked this way, right?”
“Yes.” She stumbled, coughed, and righted herself.
Worry stopped him. “Need me to carry you again?”
She shook her head, firm. “No.”
“That’d be pride talking.”
Mouth pinched, she trudged on.
Rocks and weeds littered the walkway. “Watch your step then.” They were almost to the car when he spotted her supposed “brothers” in front of the bar across the street—in close conversation with Leese Phelps, the same idiot who’d hit on her yesterday.
The reservations were adding up.
And so were the men.
They all kept their eyes trained on the front of the hotel, probably hoping to hijack Cherry when she emerged. But why?
Had they pulled the fire alarm? It seemed possible and damn it, he didn’t like it, any of it.
An approaching fire engine, sirens and lights blazing, thankfully drew their attention and kept them from searching beyond the front of the hotel.
Cherry had her head down so she didn’t see them. Denver hustled her along a little more quickly and got her into the front seat before dumping the bags in the back.
“My purse.”
“I’ll get it in a minute.” He freed the keys from his pocket while circling the car, and got behind the wheel. “Buckle up, honey.” He was just pulling out when the men looked up and saw him. Leese shaded his eyes, just watching them go. The others straightened, cursed, and started off, presumably for their own transportation.
His sweaty T-shirt stuck to his back. He’d rather be wearing jeans than running shorts.
He would have loved a shower.
But he blocked those discomforts as he drove straight for the expressway, repeatedly checking the rearview mirror for anyone following. Cherry slumped in the corner of her seat, her eyes closed, shivering.
Working his jaw, Denver wondered when would be the best time to question her. His instinct was to coddle her, to make her as comfortable as possible.
But somehow she was embroiled in a whole bunch of brewing trouble. Even if the guys were her brothers, he recognized them as bad news. And that ominous phone message...
When he saw the second exit he took it, drove down to a small convenience store and pulled around back.
He didn’t think anyone had tailed them, not that it mattered much.
With Leese’s help, if Carver and the others wanted to track her down, it’d only be a matter of time before they showed up at her front door.
Even to Denver, his reaction to that was telling. Brothers or not, he didn’t like the guys and he didn’t want them anywhere near Cherry. How he’d keep them away, he wasn’t sure yet. Maybe, he decided, it’d be best if he just stuck close so he’d be with her when they finally showed up.
When he put the car in Park, she stirred. Soft, sick, trusting.
His.
No, he couldn’t think like that. Not yet. Contrary to the belief that athletes were all brawn and no brains, he wasn’t an idiot. He learned from his experiences, especially the experiences that altered life.
There were facets to Cherry that he might never be able to accept. But while he figured that out, he’d damn well see her safe.
“Why are we stopped?”
Her voice sounded raspy and rough, her eyes looked sleep-heavy. Being near her and not touching her proved impossible. Knowing his expression to be grave, he stroked her thigh through her jeans. “I wanted to get you better settled. It’s a long drive.”
“I’m okay.” Straightening, she unhooked her seatbelt and looked around before turning a quizzical gaze on him. “I just realized we didn’t officially check out.”
“The hotel has our info. I’ll call once we’re home.” He put the back of his hand to her forehead. Warm. Too warm. Snagging her purse from the backseat, he opened it between them and dug around for the medicine.
Cherry looked at him, then at his hands in her purse. “Sure,” she said, her gravelly tone dry, “help yourself.”
He moved aside the phone book. “Have anything to hide?”
“No. It’s just—” A big yawn took her by surprise. “Sorry.”
“It’s just what?”
“I don’t know.” She chewed her lower lip. “Personal?”
He handed her two aspirin, then reached back again for a bottle of water. “And having sex with me wasn’t?”
“It’s different and you know it.” She swallowed the pills without complaint, then eyed the store.
Denver took her hand. “These are odd circumstances, right? I don’t want you to think I’m just snooping through your stuff. But with you pretty much out of it, and—”
“The fire alarm at the hotel.” She leaned toward him and put her forehead on his shoulder. “The way we had to leave there.”
“Babe.” He levered her back. “I’m sweaty.”
“Because you didn’t have a chance to change.” She nestled up against him again. “You’re so warm.”
If she didn’t mind, he wouldn’t worry about it, either. He brushed his fingers through her hair. Usually she had soft curls, but now her hair was straighter, tangled. He tucked it behind her ears. “I was already in your purse once before.”
Stiffening, she tipped her head back to share her displeasure.
This close, her brown eyes looked bigger and softer. And damn, he wanted her bad, maybe even more now that he’d had her than before getting a taste.
Smiling, he touched her mouth, amused by the mulish set to her lips. “I had to find your key card.” He let his hand drop to her narrow shoulder. “Wanna tell me about that phone book?”
Her brows puckered. “I usually keep numbers stored in my phone, but if my phone dies—”
“Sure. But why are you carrying numbers for Armie, Stack or Miles in the first place?”
Very slowly she eased away from him, her breaths slow and shallow. The lack of makeup added to her wounded expression, and her cough-strained voice finished it off. “What are you accusing