Free Hansel 4 by Ella James Page B

say. “I’m so glad you’re healing.”
    I whirl on my heels, not even looking at him as I turn to go, and I collide with something cool and hard. I blink and wobble back, and then his hands are on me.
    “Jesus, Leah.”
    I frown as the space between my eyebrows starts to throb, and squint until something shiny and brass comes into focus. Oh —a luggage cart. Well, shit.
    “Are you okay, ma’am?” asks the uniformed man pushing it.
    “I’m sorry. Yeah, I’m fine.”
    Luke’s hands are on my arm. I wrench away from him. Raymond acted standoffish when I called. Now I understand why.
    “They’re not for me.”
    Is she someone on the Dave Thomas committee with him? A beautiful heiress with a heart of gold? Maybe she’s someone local. It’s not that far fetched. Denver’s not that far from Vegas. Could be farther.
    Jealous rage spreads through me like wild fire.
    I dart across the lobby, aiming for some stairs. I hear footsteps right behind me, so I try to speed up. The moment my first foot hits the stairs, firm hands grab me by the hips and spin me around to face him.
    “Let go of me!”
    His mouth opens, like he’s going to say something but isn’t immediately sure what.
    I take a step back, almost tripping backwards over a stair, then grip the rail and glower at him.
    “I don’t need your charity! I get the message, Luke.” He’s clearly seeing someone else. Someone he bought donuts for. “I wish you all the best.”
    Tears blur the lobby as I turn around and start to climb the stairs. Strong arms wind around my waist. His breath tickles my neck. “Leah. Stop.” He turns me to face him. His fingers tuck some hair behind my ear.
    “Leah,” he breathes. “Settle down a second.”
    How dare he use that patronizing tone with me? “I’m settled just fine. Let go of me.”
    His jaw locks and he shakes his head. “Come with me and I’ll explain.” He scoops me up and throws me over his shoulder, which digs into my belly as he steps back off the stairs, onto the lobby’s marble floor. When we near the couch, he shifts me so I’m in his arms, and crouches down beside the couch. “Grab the box, okay? I’ll explain.”
    Reluctantly, I grab his box of donuts.
    I don’t say a word as he carries me through the lobby, out the double-doors, and to his Range Rover, which is idling by the valet station.
    A man in a hotel uniform opens the passenger’s side door, and Luke deposits me into the seat.
    The door shuts, and I watch him pass the man some bills. Then he’s striding around the car’s hood, setting the pink box in the seat behind his, and sliding behind the wheel. He takes off out of the lot, and I notice that we’re in his car.
    “You drove from Vegas?”
    He nods, assessing the road in front of us for a moment before he hangs a right. “I did.”
    Curiosity rises inside me. I bat it down. “What did you want to tell me? I have plans,” I lie.
    His eyes flicker to me. “What plans?”
    “A pointless car ride, followed by dinner.”
    It’s not a lie. I’m going to have dinner, in some form or fashion.
    “Ouch,” he says. He turns again, onto a busier road, and I buckle myself up.
    “Does something hurt?”
    He smirks. “My heart.”
    “What does that mean?” He’s acting strangely. So…open. So lighthearted.
    His dancing eyes find mine. “It means I think you should come with me for dinner and say fucks to whoever you’ve got plans with.”
    Inside my stomach, something flexes and rearranges itself. “Where are we going now?” I whisper.
    “We’ll be there soon enough,” he tells me.
    “So? I want to know. I hate surprises.”
    “Well you won’t like this,” he says dryly.
    I sulk for a few minutes, unsure what to do. Maybe it’s cruel, but I decide to plunge into what I need to say. I can’t spend too long with him. I’ll lose it if I do.
    “You lied about juvie,” I say, looking over at his new, Healthy, Happy Luke face. “My mother confessed everything to