• Thirteen •

She made me care about shit that I’d never cared about before.

Thatcher

Having her room canceled at the hotel had been a necessity. I couldn’t watch her in a hotel room. The idea of not being able to check on her when needed didn’t sit well with me. I couldn’t be sure how I’d respond to that situation. The suite I’d booked when I informed my father I’d be going on this trip took up the entire top floor. It was large enough that she’d feel as if she had privacy.

She hadn’t said any more about the cookies on the flight, but it had been hard not to fucking grin at how transparent she was. She wanted to ask. Little doll was curious as fuck.

Smirking, I glanced over at her, standing so damn straight and tense beside me on the elevator. The room situation seemed to have upset her. She’d see soon enough that it was equivalent to a luxury three-bedroom apartment.

From the moment our limo had entered the city, she had been glued to the window. It was clear she hadn’t expected to see Manhattan while we were here. We were an hour’s drive from The Big A—the Aqueduct Racetrack, the only racetrack in New York City—but the accommodations here couldn’t be found in Queens. If it had just been me, I’d have slept in the trailer that Bloodline was brought here on. This was for her. The wide-eyed excitement on her face had immediately dropped when she realized we were in the same suite. I didn’t care for that.

When the elevator doors opened, I stepped out, not waiting on her to go first. If I had, we’d still be standing there. I knew she’d follow me. The wide hallway was short and led to the two doors of our suite. I tapped the round key card against the lock and then pushed down on the elaborate handle to enter the suite.

Stepping inside, I held the door open for her. Capri moved slowly, as she was once again checking things out with a look of amazement on her face. The entrance was rather impressive, I supposed.

“This is a suite,” she breathed, passing me as she headed for the windows overlooking Fifth Avenue. “It has a balcony!” The thrill in her voice made me grin involuntarily.

She opened the French doors and went outside. It was hot as fuck in New York today, but clearly, she didn’t care.

I headed for the bar and got a glass down to fix a drink while she took in the view. Miller was expecting us in two hours, but I hadn’t decided yet if we would be going to the park today or waiting until the morning. The way Capri was clearly enthralled had me leaning on staying here today.

My phone buzzed, and I pulled it from my pocket and looked down at the text to see my brother wanted to know when we would arrive. Pushy fucker. Probably not today. I didn’t respond before placing it on the bar and picking up my glass of bourbon.

“That view is insane. It’s like every movie set in New York that I’ve ever seen,” Capri said with a glow on her face.

I took a drink, watching her. Having her here with me was going to be an issue. I liked it. Weird shit was happening in my chest when she smiled like that. Knowing I’d put that look on her face struck some possessive chord inside me that I had not known existed. It could be unpleasant for others. I wasn’t sure yet how this would play out. With Capri, I could never seem to correctly predict my reactions.

“You’ve never been to Manhattan?” I asked her, already knowing the answer.

She shook her head. “I’ve raced at Belmont and even The Big A, but we always stayed there. We never came here.”

I’d say that was a shame, but knowing I was the first one to bring her here gave me pleasure. Another potentially bad thing. I guessed we’d find out just how adversely this would affect me and my actions.

“Are you hungry?” I asked.

She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, and I could see the indecision on her face. It was a simple question. Was she hungry or not? Why the fuck did women make everything complicated?

“I probably shouldn’t eat. I had the cookies, and I don’t normally eat sweets or fats on race weeks.”

The jockey life. I didn’t much care for the fact that she was hungry, but depriving herself. One fucking meal wasn’t going to make her gain weight before Saturday. I respected her dedication, but she could have food when she needed it.

“I’ll order lean meat, salad, and vegetables,” I told her.

“Order?” she asked.

I smirked. “Room service.”

She glanced back toward the balcony.

What’s on your mind now, little doll? Just say it.

“Do we, uh”—she stopped and scrunched her nose—“have time to maybe go out there?”

“The balcony?” I asked.

She shook her head and gave me a shy smile. “No, the city. I just want to see if it feels like it looks.”

I had no idea what the fuck that meant, but I let it slide. I would need to make a call to have a meal prepared for her that she would be comfortable with and to have preferred seating handled at my favorite restaurant. I set my drink down.

“If that’s what you’d like to do.”

“But we have time?” she asked.

“We have the rest of the day.”

I could see the question in her expression.

“When do we leave for the track?”

I shook my head. “Not going today.”

Yeah, little doll, change of plans because I like watching you smile.

“Really?”

The way her voice hitched up a notch and her gray eyes danced with pure fucking joy made me want to take her more places. I wouldn’t. That would lead to problems. More than she could comprehend. Things were unfortunate enough, and they had been for a while.

“I’ll show you your room,” I told her.

I wanted her to have the master bedroom, but I had to draw a line for myself. She was the jockey. I wouldn’t give another jockey the master. Her head needed to stay clear on what we were. My issues would stay mine alone.

I pointed to the door to the room farthest from mine. “That’s yours. Luggage will arrive soon, and you can get a shower if you’d like. But you’ll need to change into something a little nicer than jeans. A sundress, if you have one, would work.”

There was a dress code at the restaurant we were going to, but I also didn’t want her being hot outside. Her comfort was one of those odd things I couldn’t quite shake. I cared about little. Until her, that was. She made me care about shit that I’d never cared about before. If I could stop it, I would, but I’d just come to accept it.