Chayton (5 page)

Then he stretched out on the bed, arching an arm behind his head. His last thought was of delicate features and eyes as gray as oncoming storm clouds.

She wasn't a nail chewer by nature, but as Kate studied the Grand Continental across the street, she gnawed away on one until finally snatching her hand away from her mouth. What she couldn't figure out was what she was doing back here at the scene of the proverbial crime. Anton's men were probably crawling all over the place, and just because the sun was up didn't mean they would creep back into their holes like the roaches they were.

Standing in a ground floor cafe in the building adjacent to the Continental, Kate confronted herself with the truth: she needed help. She needed help from someone not connected to her or her friends. Begging was not an activity she wanted to engage in, and if she didn't get her hands on some money soon, that would be her only recourse if she wanted to stay under Anton's radar.

Her mind turned once again back to Chayton. She had no business wanting his aid or thinking of seeking him out for shelter. Just because she knew who he was didn't mean she knew all about his activities, which was so readily apparent after last night. He hadn't killed the men in the alley, which boded well for him, but
how
he'd known where to find her bothered Kate to a disturbing degree. Clearly he'd followed her from the hotel, and that meant either she'd woken him when she'd left the room, or he'd been faking sleep all along.

Kate preferred the former. To think he'd lain in wait, maybe even guessing she meant to steal way in the night, perturbed her. Yet here she was, contemplating going back to his room and asking for help. If Chayton checked out and left the hotel, she wouldn't know where to find him after that, and she would lose a potential lifeline in the storm. How would she explain running away from the alley? What if he was angry about it and refused to offer his aid again? Any number of scenarios might come of all this. The longer she waited, the more chances of him leaving the hotel, perhaps even leaving Singapore altogether, increased. She gauged the time to be around noon.

Sucking in a fortifying breath, she pushed out of the cafe into the sunlight. Feeling ten times more exposed out in the open than the night before, she hurried across the street, waiting for several cars to pass by. With an eye forward and back, guarding against another attack, she used Penelope's keycard to enter through the parking lot gate, and approached a rear entry door, where she used it again. Making it inside without being rushed from a blind spot, she went straight to the elevators and stepped inside an open carriage. Punching the correct floor, she held her breath until the doors closed, then exhaled.

Stomach dropping out as the elevator skimmed up the shaft, she prayed for strength and a steel backbone. Confronting Chayton wouldn't be easy.

Exiting into the hall when the carriage arrived, she scanned the hallway and, after assuring herself Anton's men weren't lurking nearby, went to Chayton's door. Lifting her hand, she knocked. Four quick taps of her knuckles. She waited, and waited.

No answer.

“Oh no,” she whispered. Check out was at eleven. Maybe he'd already left. Or, she thought, he could be in the shower. She knocked again, this time a little louder and more urgent.

“I'm surprised to see you here.”

Gasping, she clapped a hand over her heart and turned around. Chayton stood behind her with a bowl of grapes in his hand. He looked devastating in black trousers and a silk shirt of muted turquoise. The toned down color did amazing things for his eyes and skin. He'd pulled his hair back again, securing it with a band at the nape and another halfway to the end.

Kate expended several seconds just staring at him. The bruises on his jaw and cheek and at the corner of one eye didn't detract from his primal good looks. He arched a brow, breaking the spell.

“I'm sorry I ran last night. I didn't know what to think or who to trust.” She decided on truth. Most of it, anyway.

He looked her over, head to toe, and took a step closer. “I thought I'd given you pretty good reason to trust me.”

“How did you find me so fast in the alley?” He forced her hand; Kate had no choice but to voice her concerns.

“I had people watching the entrances and exits to the hotel.” He extended the bowl in silent offering.

Kate didn't glance at the grapes, even though her stomach demanded food. His reply was the one she'd feared. “That's what I was afraid of. Why? Were you faking sleep the whole time?”

“Yes. I thought you might try and leave, so I had a few acquaintances monitor the grounds.” He reeled the bowl in and popped another grape in his mouth.

Kate hated her distraction with his chewing. How a muscle flexed along his jaw in a way that made her want to reach out and touch it. “Don't you find that disingenuous?”

“Not any more disingenuous than you not bothering to see if I was awake to begin with.” Sliding another grape past his teeth, he stepped closer and tilted his shoulder against the wall. Lazy, languid, at ease.

She had the good grace to blush. “Well, I didn't want to...I wasn't sure...--”

“You left without so much as a goodbye or a thank you or even a backward glance. Now you're here again, so I'm thinking it means you left something behind by accident or have a question.”

He wasn't making this very easy. Her spine stiffened and she fought down irritation. She knew it was only because she felt suitably guilty for doing exactly what he was suggesting: that she'd used him until she didn't need him any longer, then crept out like a thief in the night.

“Look, Chayton--”

“Yes,
Penelope?”

He just continued to goad her. His very tone indicated he knew that wasn't her name, and that this was her chance to clear up that little faux pas. She was here to ask for help—what did she expect him to do, not ask any pertinent questions while putting himself further out on a limb? She reasoned that if he did look into her background, and discovered the surface details, that it really wouldn't matter because one had to be on the inside, with an insider's knowledge, to know what was going on. She'd tipped her hand a little by accidentally mentioning marriage last night, but that didn't mean she had to go all in with information.

“I can almost see steam coming out your ears while you try and figure out the best way to lie to me.” He straightened then and fished his key card from a front pocket.

“No, that's not it--”

“Yes it is.” He shot her a disappointed look, then let himself in his room.

Panicked at the thought he meant to shut the door in her face and close her out, she stepped in right behind him, crowded close against his back. He grunted and twisted a glance over his shoulder.

“What are you doing?”

“Not allowing you to shut me out.”

“Maybe you should try not shutting me out, first.” Despite his quip, he let her step past. Closing the door once she was in, he picked another grape from the bowl and ate it. “What do you want?”

“You know, you were so ready to help me last night. Now all I'm getting here is something very close to a cold shoulder. Remember—you had me followed. You beat up men in the alley--”

“Are you saying you wish I hadn't stepped in?” He arched a brow and slid the bowl of grapes onto a side table. This freed his hands up to get a cold bottle of water from the refrigerator in the kitchenette. He grabbed another and tilted it her way; an offer.

Kate couldn't refuse. She was dying of thirst. Following, she eased the bottle from his fingers, opened it, and had a long drink. Only after several swallows did she attempt a reply. “No. Of course I'm glad you and your...whoever that was...stepped in. I would have been in trouble if you hadn't. But you have to realize—it was also startling to see you there. In the middle of an attack, it was difficult to figure out who was doing what, and why. So I ran.”

“I can understand that. And it's not a cold shoulder so much as me wanting to make sure you
want
to be here.” Chayton had a long drink, watching her past the tilt of the bottle.

Kate tore her gaze off his exposed throat, annoyed with herself at noticing the shift of muscle and tendon. She looked at the counter instead, until she trusted herself to meet his gaze and hold it. He was watching her with an unreadable expression. “Yes, I want to be here. No one is holding a gun to my head.”

He said nothing, apparently waiting her out. Waiting for her to open dialogue on the reasons why she'd come back. What a complicated mess this was.

“I'm here because I need help.”

“That's obvious. What is it I can help you with?”

Kate opened her mouth to ask for—what? Suddenly, she wasn't sure what she needed Chayton to do. Taking her home would result in the same thing happening when she'd been there last time. She could ask for a loan, but where would she go and what would she do if Anton had gained access to her account, shutting her away from her own money? A loan would only last so long. It didn't solve her problem long term.

“Why don't you just tell me what's going on. Start with your real name, and let me see what I can do.” Chayton's tone changed. He grew quieter, more serious and sober.

Kate, swayed by the sincerity in his eyes, decided to trust him. She said, “My name is Kate. Please don't ask for my last name, I'm not ready for that yet. But my real name is Kate, and as you've discerned, I have a little problem.”

“That's the understatement of the year,” Chayton said. Then he inclined his head. “Kate. That rings truer than Penelope. Tell me about your problem.”

She fidgeted with the hem of the apron, figuring out exactly how to tell him without telling him
too
much.

“The more you tell me, the better equipped I'll be to help you. I won't break your confidence to anyone unless I need them to do something for me, acquaintances that I trust with my life.”

Torn, Kate set the bottle of water down and paced through the suite. His was set up different than her own, the colors and furniture more masculine and classical. The bed, she noticed, looked exactly as it had when she'd left it. Or a very close approximation. He hadn't had any sleep as far as she could tell. He'd sacrificed more of himself than he needed to, and it had a stark affect on her. It made her want to confide everything. To let someone else share the burden of her circumstance. Realizing he might have dozed off in a chair, on the floor, or even that her perception of the wrinkled sheets might be mangled and that he'd gotten some rest after all didn't change the sudden influx of guilt.

Facing him, she crossed her arms over her middle and met his eyes. “Anton Bertini wants to find me so he can try and force me to marry him. By trick, or blackmail, or downright intimidation, he means to become my husband in the near future. I had to flee my home for fear he'd slip a drug into my drink, call in witnesses and fumble through a ceremony I was never awake for. He'd get them to lie and say it was all consensual, so I wouldn't stand a chance in court.”

“Why would he have to force you if he knows it's something you don't want?”

“Because it's the only way he can get his hands on my fortune.”

. . .

The pieces of the puzzle finally started coming together. There were still big chunks missing, but Chayton was able to fill in quite a bit on his own. He didn't know what kind of fortune Kate had, or to what family she belonged, but he imagined Anton sought to replace one heiress with another. Anna's death before Anton could marry her and get his hands on her birthright could mean that Anton was moving on, ready to start the process again with someone new.

Someone younger, closer to his age. He glanced at Kate's left hand, searching for evidence she was already married to someone else. There wasn't a ring, and no pale line indicating she'd recently taken one off. Which wasn't solid proof of anything. Recalling his conversation with his brethren, he wondered then if Kate was pregnant with Anton's love child. Perhaps Anton wanted to marry her for more than her 'fortune'. There was no graceful way to ask, so he remained silent about a pregnancy.

“Were you lovers before this?” Chayton finally asked, picking that as his starting point.

“What? God no. We've never gotten along. He's been interested for a long time, trying to get me into his bed. I've always refused.”

That seemed to answer the pregnancy question, Chayton thought. “All right. Where did you know him from? I'm trying to see the bigger picture. He must be someone you know or met, or perhaps an acquaintance of your family.”

Kate licked her lips and rubbed her hands together, as if she could wring the tension from her body with the act. Chayton recognized her hesitation. Whatever she had to say was difficult for her to admit.

“Yes, he's an acquaintance of the family. He blew through most of his money, spent it on racing bets and casino gambling and purchasing extravagant homes in far corners of the world. Now he's in deep debt and his return on investments has fallen. He needs a fresh income stream, and he means to get it from me.”

Now that explained a
lot
more. Chayton grunted. “I see. That gives him motivation in spades.”

“Yes. He's beyond motivated. The faster he can officially marry me, the faster he has access to funds. So I went on the run, hoping he would forget me and move on. Not only did he not forget me, he's got people helping him. I had a room here, too. It's on this floor, around the corner. Last night I came back to my suite and someone had—or was—ransacking it. I didn't even pause. I ran into the hallway, saw the open service closet door and rushed inside. I hid there for an hour or more, discarding my clothes for one of the maid's uniforms. I'd planned to use it as cover to get downstairs and escape the hotel, but as I was heading to the elevators, the bell dinged and the light came on. I thought it might be one of Anton's men. Or more of them. So I diverted to the first door I came to and used Penelope's all access key card. That's how I came to be in your suite.” Kate drew in a deep breath after the lengthy explanation, holding his eyes the whole time.