“Sleep well,” he said and released her arm. She had the impression it wasn’t what he’d intended to say but she didn’t dare press it.
“Good night,” she whispered and shut the door behind her.
The bedroom was done in the same style as the main area of the suite, but she hardly noticed it. She trudged to the giant, elegant bathroom and took off all her clothes. Her small bag looked forlorn and out of place against the richly tiled floor. Guests in a hotel like this probably had servants with more luggage. As if she’d needed some additional clues she didn’t belong here.
A hot shower went a long way toward improving her mood. The boiler at home never gave up more than about ten minutes of hot water, and she loved every second of the half an hour she stood under the multiple jets and streams. Beautiful little bottles lining an indention in the shower wall contained exotically scented shampoo, conditioner and shower gel, which she gratefully used. Finally, she felt clean and stepped out, kicking her clothes under the vanity at the same time.
She dripped water all over the bathroom floor and spent longer mopping it up than she had energy for, but couldn’t bear the idea of overworked maids cleaning up after her. In the drawer of the vanity, she found toothpaste, lotion and a brush and used them all.
Naked, she fell into the giant bed and wiggled under the covers.
When she woke, it was still dark. The clock on the chunky bedside table read 2:20 a.m.
Her stomach rumbled. It had been twelve hours since she’d eaten. She debated. Check the refrigerator in the other room for food or order room service? Either one would be charged to Kris’s slick credit card.
She bit her lip. None of this was what she’d intended or expected. The lure of escaping with the gorgeous stranger in the muy amarilla Ferrari had been irresistible. An adventure with endless possibilities.
Well, here she was, smack in the middle of the only possible outcome. Gorgeous stranger was about to be engaged to Kyla, she had nowhere else to go and she was starving.
Morosely, she stabbed her arms into the fluffy bathrobe from the peg in the bathroom and placed the sign hanging from the pocket on the vanity, which read, Help yourself to this complimentary robe. We will gladly charge your room for it.
Everything cost something. That was the lesson here. So she’d wear it for now, and put it back neatly the way she found it. At least wearing the robe, she felt more like she belonged in this luxurious suite.
She eased the door open and tiptoed out into the main living area. The year of living quietly with Daddy’s drunken rages had honed her ability to creep through any room with the finesse of a jewel thief.
“Can’t sleep?”
Kris’s voice cut through the black, and VJ yelped. An exhale of breath, low and even, came from the direction of one of the trim couches, indiscernible in the dark.
“Hungry,” she said, and cleared her throat. “I was hoping the refrigerator had something in it.”
“It does. Champagne.” His voice snaked around her, burrowing under the robe to kiss her bare skin. “What are you hungry for? I’ll order room service.”
Before she told him exactly what she hungered for, she asked, “Why are you awake? I was expecting you to be in your room.” Or I never would have left mine.
“Blocking scenes in my head. I have a whacked out creative process, which works best in pitch-black with no distractions. Bed is for sleeping.”
Full dark did something sinful to his accent. It was more pronounced and breaking at odd intervals. Fatigue, no doubt, and not due to the same heavy awareness messing with her voice.
“Sorry I intruded, then.” She started to back away and tripped, almost swan-diving into the unfamiliar low-pile carpet. Thankfully, the lack of light hid her graceless recovery.
“You didn’t. Stay. This is your room, too. I don’t want you to feel like a guest who can’t be hungry.”
His disembodied voice was disturbing as it spiraled around inside her, heating places it couldn’t be allowed to affect. He needed to be with Kyla, and she needed more than one night. Melancholy lodged behind her breastbone. “Can you at least turn on a light? I’m not part cat.”
Some shuffling and muted light spilled into the room from the half circle of windows as he drew back the drapes. He’d changed into a pair of soft pants which clung to every line of his hips and thighs. And he was shirtless.
Her tummy tumbled to Mexico. The glow of skyscrapers rippled along his shoulders and his lean torso as he tucked the heavy curtains aside. His arms were as sculpted as his face, bulging slightly with muscle, tendons wrapping to his wrist in a trail she’d follow any day.