Emily McKay - Caught in the Billionaire's Embrace / The Tycoon's Temporary Baby - Caught in the Billionaire's Embrace / The Tycoon's Temporary Baby

“But.” Her voice trailed off without her finishing. “Okay. Then I’ll, ah, I’ll dry my hair.” She pointed halfheartedly over her shoulder. “I have a hairbrush in my purse.”

Marcus nodded, pretending to be absorbed by the fashion icon that was the chunky metallic necklace.

The moment her back was turned, though, he looked up in time to see her withdraw both her brush and phone from the purse, then stash the cell in her robe pocket. When she started to spin around again, he quickly moved his gaze to the paper.

“You know what?” she said suddenly. “I love ice in my orange juice, so I’m going to run down the hall and see if there’s an ice machine on this floor.”

And then, Marcus thought, she would duck into a stairwell to check in with the man who was trying to control her life.

“Call room service to bring some up,” he told her, still looking at the paper.

“I don’t want to trouble them with something like that. They must be busy getting everyone’s breakfast to them.”

Now Marcus put down the paper. “Then I’ll get some ice for you.”

“No,” she said, a little too quickly and a little too adamantly. She seemed to realize she’d overreacted, because she forced a smile and said, “I’m, ah, I’m starting to feel a bit of cabin fever. A little walk down the hall will be nice.”

“In your robe and bare feet?” he asked, dipping his head toward her attire—or lack thereof.

“No one will see,” she said as she began to sidestep toward the door. “Everyone else is probably sleeping in.”

“Not if they’re keeping room service hopping and using up all the hot water the way you say.” “You know what I mean.” “We’re not sleeping in,” he pointed out.

“Yes, but we—” She stopped abruptly, obviously not wanting to bring up the reason they’d woken early. Or maybe it was just that she wasn’t any more certain about what the two of them were doing than Marcus was. “I mean … even if someone does see me,” she said, trying a different tack, “what difference does it make? It’s a hotel. It’s Sunday morning. There must be plenty of people still in their robes and bare feet.”

Not when there was a blizzard raging outside, Marcus wanted to say. The only reason he and Della weren’t dressed was because they didn’t have anything to change into. But he didn’t point out any of those things. If he kept trying to prevent her from leaving the room, she would come up with more reasons why she needed to get out. And if he pressed her, she was only going to get suspicious of him.

“Fine,” he said, looking at the paper again … and seeing nothing but red. “Don’t forget to take the key.”

“Of course,” she said as she collected that from the dresser, too. “I won’t be but a minute.”

If she was able to make that promise, Marcus thought, then her conversations with Geoffrey must not involve much. Just enough for the guy to make sure she did what she was told.

He waited only until the door clicked shut behind her, then hurried over to silently open it, enough that he could see her making her way down the hall. She’d already withdrawn the phone from her pocket and was dialing one-handed, meaning she’d still be in sight when her conversation began, so Marcus was bound to miss some of it. Impatiently, he waited until she rounded a corner at the end of the hall, then he slipped the metal rod of the chain lock between it and the jamb and stole after her at twice her pace.

When he peered around the corner, he saw her duck through another door that led to the stairwell and heard her speaking into the phone. But she was speaking softly enough that he couldn’t distinguish a word. So he raced after her and halted by the door through which she’d exited and cocked his head close. Unfortunately, he could still only hear incomprehensible murmuring. So, as quietly as he could, he turned the knob and pushed the door open a crack, to see that she had seated herself on the top step with her back to him. So he opened it a little bit more.

“Really, Geoffrey, I’m fine,” he heard her say. “There’s no reason for you to come over. You’d get stuck in the snow if you tried.”

He tried to discern something in her voice that sounded fearful or cowering, but, really, she did sound fine.

“I mean, yeah, the snow is kind of a drag,” she continued, “but it’s not like you ever let me go anywhere anyway.”

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