No answer.
I knock again, louder this time.
“Mom, it’s me.”
I bang on the door with my fist, but there’s still no answer.
“Fuck…” I give up and sag against the door. It’s no use. The sleeping pills her doctor prescribed her are no joke. I could pound on the door all night and Mom wouldn’t hear it.
My next stop is the resort’s front desk.
“I’m sorry, miss,” the night receptionist says. “If you can’t show me identification, I can’t give you a keycard to the room.”
“But my identification is in the room,” I tell her. “Shouldn’t my name be on the reservation?”
“Your name might be on the reservation, but I can’t confirm that you are who you say you are.”
I suppress the urge to scream. “Then what can you do?”
“If another member of your party can confirm your identity, I’ll give you another keycard.”
“Okay… Great. I’ll do that.”
I back away from the front desk, avoiding odd glances from the other guests as I pull my towel tighter around myself. The last thing I want to do is go crawling back to Brittany, which leaves me with only one other option.
It takes me a minute to gather the courage to walk to Christian’s room and knock on his door.
“Please be awake,” I whisper.
I hear a muffled male voice say, “Coming.”
The door opens and all of the air whooshes out of my lungs.
Christian stands in the doorway wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants that rest low on his hips. My eyes drink in his toned chest, rippling abs, and the distinct vee shape above his pelvis. His dark chest hair is streaked with silver, like his beard and the hair on his head. He’s in incredible shape, and not just for a man in his forties.
My jaw hangs.
“Eden?”
I force myself to meet his gaze.
For God’s sake, girl, get it together.
“Is everything all right?” he asks, genuine concern creeping into his voice. “Is it your mother?”
My thoughts lag as I struggle to ignore the god-like physique before me. I finally get my tongue to work and squeak out, “I’m locked out of my room. Do you happen to have an extra keycard?”
He blinks as if he’s only just noticing that I’m standing at his door in my wet bathing suit and a towel.
“I, um… No, I don’t think so.” His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “But if you want to step inside for a minute, I can call the front desk and have them bring one up.”
I shouldn’t want to come into his room as badly as I do. He steps aside to let me in, and I slip past him, my arm brushing his abdomen as I go.
His room looks pretty similar to mine and Mom’s, except instead of two beds, there’s a large California king-sized bed in the middle of the room. He shuts the door and moves to the desk to use the hotel’s phone. While he speaks to the receptionist, I glance around the room, taking note of his personal items, like the workout clothes that seem to have escaped his suitcase, despite the fact we’ve been here for less than a day.
Christian ends the call and turns to me. “They’ll bring a new card up shortly.”
“Thank you.”
We stand there awkwardly for a few seconds, avoiding one another’s gaze, before Christian finally gestures to the bed.
“You can have a seat, if you’d like.”
I nod and take a seat on the edge of the big bed, sinking down into the memory foam.
He clears his throat. “I take it you went for a swim and forgot your key?”
I don’t want to come off like I’m tattling on my future stepsister, but I don’t want to lie to Christian either, so I settle for a half-truth. “I brought it with me to the pool, but it seemed to have disappeared while I was there. Maybe someone thought it was theirs and took it by mistake.”
His gaze narrows, like he’s trying to read my facial features.
“Someone we know?”
I shrug. “Maybe…”
Sighing, he takes a seat on the bed beside me, close enough that our thighs are almost touching. I’d be lying if I said the proximity of our bodies and our lack of clothing didn’t make my head spin.
“It’s okay, Eden. You can tell me if Brittany took your keycard.”
“I don’t know that she took it for sure.”
“If you have a good enough reason to suspect her, that’s enough for me.” He shakes his head. “Please allow me to apologize on her behalf. I know she can be difficult.”
To call Brittany “difficult” is being diplomatic, but I understand that he’s her father.
“She and I haven’t been close in a long time,” he continues. “I should’ve been there for her more, but my work kept me occupied and now she’s busy with her own life. Her mom and I wanted to give her everything. I guess it shouldn’t surprise anyone that she’d grow up spoiled and entitled.” He gives a small self-deprecating laugh. “I’m as much to blame for her poor treatment of you as she is.”