CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
The evening finally fell, and anxiety clawed across Stella's thoughts. Her stomach lurched with the thought of Stan coming into her room. She paced across the floor, organizing the same stack of books she had previously placed elsewhere.
The one bed motel room, which she had shared with Bishop over the weekend, suddenly felt too small and cramped. Stella wished she had opted for the rental home, so her bed wasn't dead-center with the action. At the time, it didn't make sense for her to have a large living space. The fact her room had a fully stocked kitchenette with appliances and a sink seemed frivolous. Now, however, she wanted space when Stan came over. Being in such an enclosed spot made disgust claw her heart.
Stella attempted to ease her worries. Bishop sat outside in a rental car. He was prepared to crash into her room at the first sign of distress. As a backup, Stella planned to text him by nine, an hour after Stan's arrival. She patted her holster, hidden beneath the knit jacket she wore. If all else failed, she could protect herself.
Then there was the question of evidence. Could any of the Seven Tribesmen find anything to finger Stan for her attempted abduction? Bishop would check Stan's car. A recently bailed out Howler and Crow would check Stan's motel room while Coyote and Ruse paid a visit to Delilah in lock-up. Qwerty, as he was visiting a still recovering Newb, was hacking into and monitoring various surveillance cameras. Something was bound to be found, whether it was a bottle of chloroform or a confession from Delilah Sampson.
The certainty didn't still Stella's anxious heart, though. Her chest ached, and the very organ felt about ready to burst against her ribs. The woman sighed and ran a hand through her hair, finding her fingers trembling.
Rhythmic knocking suddenly cracked through the air. Stella gasped and stared. She smoothed down her blouse before heading to the door. Flinging open the door, Stan stood there. His eyes razed over her, and her stomach churned. Stan grinned when Stella stepped to the side, allowing him entry. Stella cast a concerned look into the parking lot. She spotted Bishop's rental and, just slightly, her worries eased.
As she shut the door behind her pretending to lock the deadbolt, Stan amicably tried to strike up conversation. “You're looking especially lovely, Stella.”
“Oh, th-thank you,” Stella stuttered. She could feel an angry blush heating across her cheeks. Acting coy, her hand slid to her hair, tucking some strands of hair behind her ear. Stella gave Stan an appraising survey. The man had worn casual clothes, including khaki shorts that showed off his calves. Stella's mouth went dry, spotting a chess piece tattoo on his leg. Her gaze flickered back to Stan's face, forcing a flirtatious smile to her lips. “You're looking great, too.”
A lump already ascended into her throat. Stella prayed this little operation would be short-lived and fruitful. Moving further into her room, Stella attempted to still the adrenaline pulsing through her. Stan's eyes wouldn't leave her, though. They burned with carnal hunger. It was strange how an expression she found alluring on Bishop was positively despicable on Stan.
“About earlier today,” Stella murmured, her gaze drifting to the floor, “I'm sorry if I made things awkward.”
“No, not at all. I had been hoping to talk to you about that.” Stan advanced on her. Stella's downcast gaze caught his calf again. She suppressed the bile that crawled up her throat.
Stella jerked her gaze to Stan's face, hoping her expression conveyed surprise and delight, “Really?”
“Really. Kind of a relief when you broke the ice,” laughed Stan. His hand extended to Stella's shoulder. The heat and weight of Stan's hand weighed down on her. It was an entirely uncomfortable sensation. Her stomach coiled away from his touch.
“Oh, um, speaking of ice, would you like a drink?” Stella tried to inconspicuously pull away from Stan. She suddenly turned to her motel room's kitchenette. As she crossed the empty space, she chattered over her shoulder, “I dropped by the liquor store and sprang for some red wine.”
She didn't hear Stan's answer, nor did she care about it. Her nerves needed something to cushion them. At this rate, she would be a ragged mess before the night ended. Working on auto-pilot, Stella managed to retrieve the wine from the fridge, including a couple of recently bought wine glasses. Setting the goblets onto the counter and popping the bottle open, Stella tried to ignore her shaking fingers.
“That's a pretty fitting choice.” From behind her, Stan chuckled. Stella's shoulders stiffened, and the wine bottle's nozzle clacked against the glass. When had he managed to get behind her? Was that his body heat she felt licking at her back or her overactive imagination?
“What?” Stella swallowed as her heart thundered in her chest. She prayed Stan couldn't hear her overworked organ.
“Red wine.” Stan's breath tickled her neck. Stella's stomach dropped to her knees in a whimpering mess. His lips crept closer, his breath sticky and wet against her earlobe, “It's sweet and tart, just like you.”