3
Code Red
Here it was. Logan was asking if I wanted to have a one-night stand. The exact thing I’d come for, with the last person I’d thought was an option. A thrill raced up my spine. “Yes,” I said, putting all the weight I could into the word.
He gripped my hand and tugged me toward the front desk, moving so fast I had to skip a little to keep up. As we walked, he twined his fingers through mine.
“Hi,” he said to the small blonde woman behind the desk. She blinked and smiled at us, as if captivated by the possibility of what we might say next.
“Do you have any rooms available?” Logan flipped open his wallet and slid out a card.
“Oh, let me—” I started, but stopped when his protesting scoff actually echoed off the walls.
The woman at the desk smiled wider, clicking her keyboard. “Unfortunately, we’re almost fully booked. But we do have the governor’s suite available.”
Logan tensed. “The what?”
“Governor’s suite,” she repeated. “Named in honor of Governor Grover Mane. We’re big UT football fans around here.”
Them and everyone else in Austin. It was no wonder Grover Mane had been able to transition his legendary Longhorn football career into a political position. The governor was a sometimes friend of my sister, who liked him for being a more progressive Republican.
“God has a sense of humor, huh?” Logan looked up at the ceiling, as if expecting an answer. He snorted. “All right. We’ll take your ridiculously named suite. Here’s my card.”
“Great,” she chirped, turning the computer screen to face him. “And here’s the nightly charge.”
“Good God,” Logan burst out. “What is it, made of gold?” He looked at me with an incredulous expression, wanting me to share his outrage, and I couldn’t help it—I laughed. Thing #958 this man had said tonight that I wouldn’t say in a million years, no matter how much I wanted to. His eyes caught on my smile and he turned back to the woman with a resigned sigh. “Okay. Go ahead and fleece me.”
“Name on the room?”
“John Smith.” I quirked my brows at him, but he only arched his back at me. Apparently we were both playing different people tonight.
My nerves bubbled over waiting for the elevator doors to open. Logan slid an arm around my waist, pinning me to him, and his thumb drew an impatient circle on my ribcage. All I wanted was to ignore the woman watching from the desk and kiss him senseless.
The elevator doors dinged open and we strode inside, casual and slow. Rested our backs against the wall, side by side. “Lovely weather we’re having,” he said, as we watched the elevator doors inch together. The woman at the front desk waved.
Then the doors closed.
In one fluid movement Logan jammed the button for the eighth floor and lifted me onto the handrail. It was so fast I barely had time to catch my breath, but who needed air? Tonight the only thing I cared about was his mouth, searing kisses down my neck to the plunging dip in my dress. He nudged my legs apart and stepped between them, pressing against me. When I rocked my hips, he gripped them and pulled me closer.
“Bossy,” I breathed.
“Driven,” he countered.
Too soon, the elevator doors chimed and slid open. We stumbled down the hall, making terrible time, stopping to kiss against the wall, practically falling over each other. Hazily, I thought, No wonder Lee insisted I do this. Finally, Logan stopped at our room, swiped the key, and we were inside, lights springing to life of their own fancy volition.
“Whoa,” I murmured. This was the biggest hotel room I’d ever seen, nearly as big as my apartment, with a fireplace in the living room, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking downtown Austin, and a spiral staircase ascending to a second floor.
But—priorities. “Come here,” I said, and Logan obeyed, shutting the door and striding to me, dropping his jacket and unbuttoning his shirt as he moved. I slid my hands over his bare chest, curling my fingers in the small dusting of dark hair there, so intoxicated by him, inhibitions swept away in the face of my hunger. He pressed his lips to mine with a small growl in the back of his throat.
“I’m going to—” But Logan’s next words were drowned in an ear-splitting noise.
“What is that?” I yelled, pressing my hands over my ears.
“Fire alarm,” he shouted. “Fucking A.” He wrestled the door open. The hall was flooded with people. “Hey,” Logan called. “What’s going on?”
Out of nowhere a man came streaking down the hallway in nothing but a white T-shirt and polka-dot boxers, his face bright red and sweaty. “It’s not a drill!” he shrieked. “It’s a real fire. God save us!” Then he flung himself against the emergency exit door and disappeared. For a moment, the people in the hallway simply stood stunned. Then a young girl clutching a teddy bear burst into tears, and it was like a starting gun at the beginning of a race: everyone started running.
“Shit,” Logan said, his expression dark. “We better get out of here. Hurry.”
I took his cue and raced behind him down the hall, rezipping my dress as I moved. Logan punched open the emergency exit door and we froze, staring down the barrel of eight long flights of stairs. Curse the governor’s suite and its posh elevated address.
“Take off your heels,” he said. “You’ll never make it down.”
“I’ll be fine.” I shoved him forward. “Now go—we’re the last people.”
He took off down the stairs like a football player in training, hitting every step with speed and precision. As for me, I’d been lying about the heels. I never wore them and was lucky I hadn’t tripped while sitting at the bar. I clutched the railing and tried to shimmy down sideways as best I could. Occasionally I could hear Logan grumble things like, “Of all the nights I’ve begged for an alarm to save me, you chose this one.”
Then, somewhere between flights five and four, I landed too hard on the side of my foot and crumpled to the stairs, sharp pain shooting through my ankle. “Shit!”
Half a staircase below me, Logan whipped around and dashed back up. “What happened?”
“Twisted it,” I yelled. The fire alarm was still going, and even in the enclosed staircase, the shrill blast rang in my ears. I fought the sudden urge to cry—not because of the pain, but because I’d committed the mortifying faux paus of becoming a burden. “Go on without me,” I called.
“Oh, for the love of God.” Logan swooped down, scooping me into his arms. “Hold on.”
This was completely unnecessary. Humiliating, even. I clung to him as we bounced down the stairs at a remarkably fast clip, trying not to feel indecent as I pressed my cheek against his chest, still bare thanks to his unbuttoned shirt, and snuck secret hits of his woodsy-berry scent. Finally, we hit the end of the staircase and Logan kicked the door. It didn’t budge.
“You picked the wrong night,” he yelled, and karate kicked it. The door flung open.
Lights, sirens, and people flooded the street. There were firetrucks and ambulances everywhere, pajama-clad hotel guests and frenzied hotel staff buzzing around, resisting attempts at being herded by firemen. Across the street, a crowd of spectators had gathered, their heads tilted up. Logan and I turned in the same direction and found the magnificent spired top of the Fleur de Lis ablaze, flames lighting the night sky.
“Oh my God,” I murmured. “It really is on fire.”
Logan squeezed me tighter. “Hey,” he called to someone who looked like a hotel employee. “What happened?”
“They’re saying it was a freak lightning strike during the storm.” The man shook his head. “What are the odds, right?”
“What storm?” I asked.
The hotel employee frowned at me. “It rained for hours. You didn’t hear it?”
Chalk one up to the power of the Logan-and-booze bubble. Speaking of. I tugged his shirt sleeve. “You can put me down now. It’s getting embarrassing.” I didn’t tell him my ankle barely throbbed anymore, for fear he’d think I’d orchestrated the whole thing for a free ride.
“Hold that thought,” he said, and took off in the direction of the ambulances.
I pushed at his shoulders like he was some sort of vehicle I could steer. “I said I’m fine!”
Fine or not, the next thing I knew, I was sitting on the edge of an ambulance with my arms crossed while a paramedic turned my ankle from side to side, examining it. “Minimal swelling,” she pronounced.
I gave Logan a pointed look, but he rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I too am an adult who prides myself on shirking my health, but—” His attention caught on something behind me, and he trailed off. I leaned out of the ambulance to get a look, and jumped back when lights flashed in my eyes. The wall of people across the street were taking pictures. No wonder—the hotel fire was a sight to behold. It would probably make the news.
I turned back to find Logan white as a sheet. He clawed at his shirt, scrambling to rebutton it. “Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“What’s wrong?”
He ignored me and turned to the paramedic. “She’s going to be okay?” He spoke at twice his normal volume and with a rushed franticness, like he was hopped up on speed.
The paramedic nodded, eyeing him quizzically. “Right as rain in a day or two.”
“Okay.” He gripped my shoulders. “Sorry, I have to go. Right now.”
My eyes had to be wide as saucers. “What’s happening?” He was going to leave?
No, he was currently leaving, already twisting away from me. I watched in open-mouthed amazement as the man I’d been about to sleep with turned his back on me and bolted away as fast as his legs could carry him.
As he rounded the block, the paramedic and I turned to stare at each other. “Girl,” she said. “What did you do?”