A warm sweet feeling infiltrated her heart–like the coffee Olivia had earlier forced into her cold, shocked hands. Holding his gaze was doing something funny to her insides, and she looked away while nodding. “Yeah. Thanks.”
“You know, I could probably raise hell until they let you stay in the room. Just a perk of the occupation.”
Jack was a man accustomed to getting what he wanted. At this, her mind stopped processing anything but that thought as she seriously considered what he offered. He was right. Tristan was a rock star’s son. That came with such privileges. Although she often condemned this sort of spoiled celebrity behavior, she now completely related when it came to a situation such as this. Protectively, she would have done anything a few minutes ago to stay in that room.
Nodding, she replied, “I’ll think about it. But, it’s okay for now. If he–if he gets worse, I would want to. Or, if he wakes up and they don’t let me.”
“Tell me. Okay? Anything you need.”
“Okay.” A gulp lodged in her throat, and she couldn’t look away. This was the considerate, chivalric man she remembered.
This was the man who had offered her a cold drink on a hot day, who had seemed embarrassed to hand her a pen and a legal document during a kiss, who had held and touched her like a lover not a quick lay where countless others had lain, who had gently kissed her before holding the door open as she walked out of his life.
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