Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 142801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
“Enjoy your evening.” Natalia’s smile is nothing but professional as she moves a key card wallet across the gleaming desk, but I still can’t help but wonder. Has Natalia experienced Oliver’s kisses? The kind of kisses that make a girl swoon and want things she wouldn’t ordinarily?
Oliver turns, pressing the key into my hand.
“Add this to my tab,” I say, tapping it to his chest.
“There really is no need.” His smile is measured, the space between us deliberate, but his stiff upper lip tasted too good to ignore.
“Friends pay their debts, Oliver, and I really can’t thank you enough—”
“Careful.” Heat pulses through me at his silky delivery.
“Always.”
The glint in his eye seems almost wicked, and we stare at each other for several long, loaded beats.
“You know it’s not because I don’t want you.”
That was not what I hoped he’d say. I don’t answer because I don’t accept his rejection.
“Let me walk you to the lift.”
“Why thank you, kind sir.” I press the backs of my fingers under my chin, my accent turning ridiculous and southern. “Because I surely couldn’t find the elevator on my own.” In for a dollar, in for a dime, I give my lashes an exaggerated flutter.
With a lopsided half smile, he offers me his elbow. “Come along, Scarlett.”
I slant him a confused look. Is Scarlett the usual reason for his hotel suite?
“O’Hara? I thought that was who you were trying to impersonate.”
“You would make a terrible Rhett,” I reply, sliding my arm through his.
“True. I don’t have the ears for it.”
We pass the hotel bar, which looks like the kind of place you’d find red-lipped starlets drinking dirty martinis.
“Looks fancy,” I say. “But do you think I might be overdressed?”
He frowns and looks like he’s about to say something when the universe intervenes and his phone vibrates with a text.
“You should get that,” I say, stepping ahead to the elevators. A group of men stands in front of the doors. One of them slides me a cursory look over his shoulder, then does a double take. And suddenly I have a plan.
“Don’t worry, the hotel isn’t holding a wedding,” I offer with a pleasant smile. “At least, not mine.”
“Sorry?”
“You won’t be kept awake by a cut-rate Céline Dion, I mean.”
“I like a bit of Céline myself.” His eyes follow my fingers as I slip the key to my room into the top of my dress. His mouth kicks up in one corner. Something tells me I’ve captured the attention of the cocky one of the pack.
“You struck me as someone with different tastes.”
Welcome to flirty level one: I might be interested.
“Did I?” He turns to face me, sliding his hands into the pockets of his pants. “You didn’t get married here, then?”
I give a soft laugh. “I didn’t get married at all. I mean, that was the plan, but . . .” Cue a hesitant smile and a coy shrug.
Level two: we’ve established I’m single.
“What happened?” His gaze moves over me, taking particular note of where I’ve stashed my key.
“A slight miscalculation,” I say holding my thumb and index finger almost together. “Turns out, he’s been banging someone else.”
Level three: I might just be up for it.
“No fuckin’ way!” His eyes almost fall out of his head as his companions exchange a look, their ears straining to listen in to the conversation.
“That was pretty much my reaction.” I sigh, in kind of an Oh, well. Who needs a groom when you’re this cute? way.
“But you’re gorgeous!” There goes his wandering gaze again.
Level four: he’s pretty much confirmed he’d like to see me naked.
“That’s sweet of you to say so.” I push an artfully curled lock of hair behind my ear, shivering as I anticipate Oliver’s presence behind me.
“What are you gonna do now?”
Here we teeter on level five: making plans.
“I haven’t decided,” I say, pondering. Ponder lonely as a cloud. I almost snicker. Wordsworth I am not. “My choices are run a bath, have a long soak and a drink or five. Or hit the bar and let my hair down.”
“The bar, definitely,” he asserts, grabbing the opportunity with both hands as the doors to the elevator slide open. “And as an apology on behalf of my gender, your drinks are on me.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Oliver answers for me. His voice sounds like it should come with a yellow warning label. Caution. Volatile when under pressure.
“This is Oliver,” I offer as his fingers curl possessively around my hip.
The man frowns.
“He’s not staying.”
“Gav. You coming?” one of the group calls from the open elevator.
Poor Gav. So conflicted. And Oliver? I can practically feel the heat of him simmering.
“I’ll see you in the bar?” Despite the question in his tone, Gav isn’t giving up hope.
“Maybe you will,” I say.
He steps into the waiting car with the kind of swagger that would’ve dissolved my guilt, had I been feeling any. “Room for a little one,” he offers suggestively as he turns.