She mustered another of those not quite right smiles. “Tired. All the adrenaline’s worn off.”
“Well, I’ve got just the thing to help with that. A little surprise for you.”
“A surprise?”
Instead of answering, he ushered her across the lobby. He’d debated whether she’d worry about being seen getting into the elevator with him, but ultimately decided to save them both the effort of climbing four flights of stairs. They stepped into the car, and he pushed the button for the correct floor.
As the doors slid shut she asked, “We’re not going up to the roof?”
“Nope.”
Corinne frowned. “What are you up to?”
“You’ll see.” Yeah, she absolutely needed to relax. She’d sleep better and be able to focus more when she settled in to study tomorrow.
She stayed silent as they stepped into the plush and silent hall. Something was off with her mood, but her hand still held tight to his as he led her to the room. Was she nervous about this? Worried about being with him again?
Tucker slid the key into the slot and opened the door. “Milady.”
She took a few hesitant steps inside, not letting go of his hand. He followed, kicking the door shut behind them. Jenny had been as good as her word. A bucket of champagne chilled to the side of the massive king size bed. Two plush bathrobes were laid out on the bedspread, and the whole thing was accented by a scatter of red rose petals.
“What is this?”
“Your surprise.”
“Tucker—”
“I know you can’t stay the night. But you can absolutely do with some pampering. Champagne. A bubble bath for two. My bathroom’s not big enough, and I think you need to relax for an hour or two.” Longer, if he could coax her. As it was a performance night, she wasn’t expected home for bedtime tuck in.
“I don’t know what to say.”
Tucker drew her in, cupping her head and bringing her lips to his. “You don’t have to say anything.”
Her stiff posture relaxed, degree-
by-degree, as he kissed her, slow and deep.
Better, he thought, and slid his hands down the length of her spine, fingers probing for a zipper on her dress. Failing to find one, he broke off. “Did Babette paint this thing on you?”
“I—it’s a side zipper.” She stepped back, turning away toward the champagne bucket and reaching for the bottle.
Reminding himself to slow down, even if they did only have an hour or two, he took the bottle from her and popped the cork, pouring into the two waiting flutes. He handed her one. Before he could lift his in a toast, she’d drained hers.
Okay, something was definitely wrong.
Tucker set his glass aside and reached for her, gently tugging her toward him. “You’re upset about something.”
Corinne looked down at his hands on her forearms. “I can’t do this,” she whispered.
“What?”
When she looked up, her eyes were sheened with tears. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this.”
“It’s okay. I just sprang this on you without asking. I can take you on home. We’ll do this some other time. It’s not a big deal.” He reached out to stroke her cheek and she flinched back.
“No not all this. I’m sorry about all this, too. That makes it worse.”
“Makes what worse? Corinne, tell me what’s wrong.”