Tessa

Hand in hand, Barclay hustles me out of the restaurant into the hotel lobby. I trail behind him by a step and try to catch up, but his long strides make it impossible. I give his hand a yank before he starts dragging me along the shiny marble floor.

He peers over his shoulder with a mischievous spark in his eye. “Having trouble keeping up?”

I shoot him a menacing glare, and he stops dead in his tracks. Finally.

“I can only go so fast in these heels. Not to mention, you’re a giant compared to me.”

“I should just throw you over my shoulders. It seems like something a giant would do after scaring away your date and making you mine.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Which side would you like, the right or left?”

“Barclay,” I breathe … or more like moan. The idea of him going caveman sounds hot as hell and makes me dizzy.

“I’m in a mood tonight, little girl.” His dark eyes are set on smolder, and he moves toward me, like a tiger ready to pounce.

Before I can even blink, Barclay wraps his hands around my waist and hoists me up to his shoulder. Thanks to gravity and a gentle push of his hand on my lower back, I bend and grab for something, anything, to anchor myself. My hands find his firm, denim-covered ass. I squeeze him and let out a squeal. It’s the first time I’ve touched a man in a forbidden zone. I hook my thumbs inside his back pockets and hang on.

Barclay begins to walk forward, and I bounce in rhythm to his cadence. I raise my head, and my hair swishes around my face like a moving curtain. People gasp and mutter all around us, because why wouldn’t they? I want to peek out and see their expressions, since I’m sure hot guys carrying their dates around like this happens all the time in Manhattan. I snort at my own thoughts, then splay my hands over his hard cheeks and try to push up so I can see the people in the lobby.

Everyone, including the doormen and bellhops, are standing still with their eyes flashing between my face and Barclay.

“Oh my God, Barclay. Someone’s taking photos of us.” I turn my face away to avoid the man with his phone aimed at us. Thankfully, Barclay picks up his pace as we come to the hotel exit.

The same doorman who wouldn’t give me a smile the other morning, sends me a thumbs-up. I wave at him as we pass by. Talk about awkward.

“Stay down,” Barclay commands as he walks us through the spinning turnstile door.

Once outside, and a few steps later, he swats me on my bottom, and I squeal again. It’s the first time a man’s touched me there.

After placing his hands on my hips, he eases me down the front of his body until my feet meet the sidewalk. I gaze up into his eyes as he wraps his arms around me.

“What just happened?” I ask, because his behavior confuses me. Yesterday, he left me here on the sidewalk without looking back, and now he’s hauling me out of a hotel like a sack of potatoes.

“I let go,” he says, with an exhilarating smile. One I’ve never seen on him before.

“How did this letting go thing feel?”

“Damn good.” He bends down and kisses my forehead. I feel the light caress of his lips all the way to my toes. He releases me from his hold and grabs my hand. “But we’ll probably make Page Six.”

“What’s that?” An uneasy feeling twists in my stomach. The word “but” doesn’t sound good.

“The New York Post’s gossip page. Something I try to avoid,” he says in a dismissive tone, but I freeze in place, afraid of the fallout for me.

“What if my brother sees it? He’ll be on the next plane here to fetch me home.”

“Don’t worry. No one knows who you are unless I tell them, and I won’t.” I say a little prayer that I turned my head in time to avoid a direct shot of my face.

There isn’t a driver or car at the curb waiting for us. Instead, Barclay hails a cab and we climb inside. He tells the cab driver the address and sits back in his seat.

“You’re too far away.” He wraps his arm around me and pulls me across the seat to his side.

A small voice, probably my mother’s, warns me to put on my seatbelt, but I ignore it. I’ve never felt safer in my life than in his arms. Besides, he smells divine.

I close my eyes, then breathe in and out, and the most contented feeling washes over me. “Where are we going?”

“We’re headed to PH-D to meet my friend, Lucas.”

“Maggie, my best friend who plans on coming to New York City, keeps talking about this club. She put it on our top ten list of bars to hit once we land here permanently. She knows more about nightlife than me.” I pause and glance up at Barclay.

Our faces are inches apart, and our lips are even closer. What I wouldn’t give to have him kiss me. He stares at my mouth, his eyes ravenous, and licks his lips, then looks away. I deflate, but try to recover … by talking. Thank you, hot male induced anxiety.

“Anyway, she told me the rope lines to get in places like this are nuts and bouncers get to pick and choose who enters.”

“No rope lines or bouncers for us. We’ll be taking the service elevator upstairs. Standard VIP stuff. I hope this isn’t a disappointment.” A corner of his mouth tips up. He’s cockier than I thought.

“Are you kidding? Maggie’s going to turn green when I tell her this.”

“How long are you planning on staying here, in the city?” Barclay asks, and if that isn’t the two-thousand-dollar question—which is likely how much money I’ll need to stay longer. I don’t think seven days is going to be enough time to get a job, especially since I’m working from ground zero.

“Thanks to you and the emails you gave me, I have a couple interviews next week, but my flight back to Alabama leaves on Wednesday afternoon.”

“That’s great.” He rubs his chin and sighs. “But you’ll need more time. Listen. Stay an extra week on me. Well … not on me, exactly,” Barclay mutters the last part, appearing flustered.

“You’re way too kind, and have already done more than enough to help me,” I say, declining. I can’t take him up on this offer. Well … not for the hotel at least, though the other “on me” part has definite possibilities. “I’ll figure it out.”

“Just know the offer stands if you need it.”

“Thank you,” I say, and wonder if I should ignore my silly pride and say yes. But my first interview is Monday, so waiting to see how things go is the better option, and my pride stays intact—for now.

“Tell me about this brother of yours.”

“Miles.” I sigh. I don’t even know where to begin. Overprotective doesn’t even scratch the surface with him. “He’s my big brother, and also about your height and build, but with blond hair and a police badge.”

“He’s a police officer?” Barclay stiffens, and it’s not in a good way. Ugh. Here we go.

“Yes. My father’s the sheriff of Monroeville too.” I lay all the badges on the table.

“Okay,” he says, running his hand through his dark locks. “This explains a lot.”

“As in my lack of experience with men,” I add before I can stop myself. But we might as well lay the fact that I’ve never been laid on the table too—especially if he wants what I want: me in his bed.

The cab comes to a stop before he can respond, saving me from further self-induced humiliation. I glance out the window as he pays. The sidewalk’s jammed with scores of young people. It looks like a stiletto factory.

Barclay defies the laws of nature as I watch his large frame ease out of the cab. It’s more like he floats on the surface. Me? It takes a couple pushes to scoot to the door. He holds out his hand when I peek my head out.

“Let’s go,” he says, but it sounds like a grumble of regret.

I place my hand in his, but the look in his eyes makes worry rise up inside me. It reminds me of yesterday on the sidewalk, like he’s back to the tug of war between walking away from me or being the one who cashes in my V-card.