After I dried off, I wrapped myself in one of the hotel’s comfy robes and slathered on some face and body cream. I headed down the hall to the bedroom, and jumped when I found Weston inside, taking off his shoes.
“Holy shit.” My hand covered my heart. “You scared me to death. I didn’t hear you come in.”
Weston tossed his second shoe aside and stood. He smirked. “That’s because you were busy belting out some bad old songs. You’re lucky you’re gorgeous and smart, because you can’t sing for shit.”
I cinched my robe closed tighter. “Singing helps me relax.”
Weston walked over and placed his hands on my shoulders. “I know something that’ll help you relax that doesn’t entail neighboring guests thinking we’re murdering cats in here.”
He was teasing, but I found it hard to force a smile, and he noticed.
Weston slipped two fingers under my chin and tilted it up so our eyes met. “You okay?”
I looked away. “I just have a lot on my mind.”
“Yeah, I get it. We’re getting down to the wire now. I’ll tell you what, I’m going to take a quick shower, and then I’ll come back and rub your shoulders with that cream you like so much.” He leaned down to look at me.
I wanted to trust him in the worst way, so I searched for any sign of insincerity. But I found nothing.
“Why don’t you take off that robe and climb under the covers and get ready for me?” he said. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”
I forced a smile and nodded.
He gently kissed my lips before disappearing into the bathroom. A few minutes later, I was still standing in the same place when I heard the shower turn on. What was I going to do? He had no idea what was on my mind, so he was likely going to come out of the bathroom, rub my shoulders, and think that was foreplay. There was no way I could let that happen the way I felt. I had to have a conversation with him.
My head spun as I went round and round, weighing my options on how to approach the subject without sounding accusatory. I was so lost in thought that the sound I heard coming from the bathroom didn’t register right away. Weston was playing Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’,” one of the songs I’d sung along with toward the end of my bath. I patted my robe pocket and realized I must’ve left my phone next to the tub, and he’d decided to flip on my playlist. A few seconds later, a deep voice joined Steve Perry for the chorus. Weston could not only carry a tune, but his voice was kind of sexy. Even with all the horrible things I was thinking, I had to smile at his sense of humor. He was mimicking me to tease.
God, I really, really liked him and wanted everything to be one big misunderstanding on my part. I felt desperate to be put out of the misery of not knowing.
I walked over to what had become my side of the bed. But my eyes caught on something silver toward the foot of it—right next to where Weston had just sat.
My heart started to palpitate.
Weston’s phone.
I had another chance.
I could take a quick look, and this could all be over.
I wouldn’t even have to bring it up.
Weston would never know I’d doubted him.
In less than thirty seconds, I could be out of my misery and know he’d done nothing wrong.
Or…
Or…
I couldn’t bring myself to think about the alternative.
But I had to know for sure.
There was no letting the opportunity pass this time.
My heart raced as I grabbed the cell from the foot of the bed. I’d started to type in Weston’s code when the music in the bathroom stopped.
Shit.
He was done in the shower.
It would only take a minute or two to dry off.
I had to hurry.
My hands shook as I typed in the last two digits and the phone unlocked. I opened his email app and scanned through messages. Two pages down, I opened a random email to see what time it had come in and realized it had arrived before the one I was looking for. I must’ve missed it in my haste. So I scrolled back up and read the first line of every single message, until I’d returned to the one sent before the email in question.
Nothing.
No sign of that email that had come in earlier.
Glancing up at the still-closed bathroom door, I felt like a ticking bomb was about to go off in my chest. Weston would be out any second.
Where the hell was that damn email?
Oh! Shit.
Deleted!
I needed to check his deleted email.
Quickly finding the folder, I tapped to open, and my heart stopped. The message was right at the top. It was the only one he’d taken the time to delete this afternoon.