Chapter 16 #2
I lift my hand and point to the bed. It’s been made invitingly in expensive cotton sheets and decorated with pillows of all shapes and sizes, curtains draped around the frame. It could have been lifted straight out of an eighteenth-century brothel.
“Ahhhh,” he says, “it’s probably more comfortable than it looks.”
“Are you kidding me? It looks divine! It’s just … there’s only one.”
He plunges his hands into his pockets and tilts his head to one side. “You were expecting more?”
“No … I mean … I guess …” I step inside the room, slamming the door behind me, and whisper-hissing, “what are we going to do?”
“About the bed?”
“Yes, about the bed.”
“Sleep in it.” His lips twitch. “Or if you’d prefer–”
“Where is that dog when I need him?!” I say, placing my hands on my hips.
“–I could enquire about a different room with twin beds,” he finishes.
I sigh, peering around the room longingly. It’s nearly as beautiful as the man standing in it. “This is the nicest room I’ve ever set foot in. We’ll make the bed work. We can place pillows down the middle or sleep head to toe or something.”
“Sure,” he says, amusement still dancing in his eyes. “Although, remember that I do have those hairy toes.”
“You’re loving this, aren’t you?” I say, narrowing my eyes.
“Just a little bit,” he admits. He peers down at his wrist watch. “It’s half an hour before drinks. Do you want to use the bathroom first or …?”
“No, go ahead,” I say, flinging myself down on the luxurious bed. Horatio is correct. It’s far more comfortable than it looks. In fact, I can already feel myself drifting away as Horatio rifles through his suitcase in the background and then locks himself in the bathroom.
* * *
I’m startled awake sometime later by a warm hand shaking my shoulder lightly and I blink open my eyes and find myself peering up into Mr Hottie’s face.
For a moment I wonder if this is a fairytale and he is the prince come to wake me from my enchanted sleep.
Then he utters the words, “It’s six fifty,” and the spell is most definitely broken.
“What?” I yelp, jerking upright and nearly crashing my head against his. “That leaves me only ten minutes to get ready! Why didn’t you wake me?”
“You looked so peaceful,” he protests. I glare at him. I have been reliably informed that I look about as elegant as McGruff when I sleep – I think ‘like a pig enduring an abattoir nightmare’ was the way my sister once described me.
Horatio has changed out of his suit and is wearing dark chinos and a light blue shirt that makes his eyes pop. His hair is damp from the shower and he smells especially yummy. I glance down at my crinkled top, knowing my eye makeup has probably smudged right across my face.
“Ten minutes is not going to be enough time to sort this mess out,” I say, gesturing to myself as I hop off the luxurious bed and hurry to my suitcase. “We’re going to be late for drinks.”
“Does it matter?” Horatio asks, propping himself up in the bed and looking far too seductive there. I bite on my lip and remind myself that jumping back up onto the bed and into his lap would not be a sensible thing to do. After all, we have a contract in place now.
“Does it matter?!” I snort. “Did you meet my mother? Arriving late is a cardinal sin according to her – particularly turning up late and embarrassing her.”
“It’s fashionable to be late,” he informs me. “And also, you look beautiful as you are.”
I peer down at my top, skirt, and black boots. Seriously, how am I not making millions of pounds from these love potions? Its impact is crazy effective.
I grab the dress I packed from my suitcase – one of only a handful my mum is likely to approve of – and hurry into the bathroom.
I don’t have time for a shower, so I wash as best I can in the sink, tidy up my makeup, brush out my hair, add some jewellery, and button up the black strappy dress that hugs my figure and drops just below my knees.
It’s hardly village garden party suitable but hopefully it’ll do.
I step back out of the bathroom, praying it’s not yet seven o’clock and collide straight into Horatio’s dazzling blue gaze. He’s honestly so breathtaking, I sometimes forget to breathe.
“Shit,” he mumbles, gaping at me.
“What?” I say, giving myself the once over. “Do I have toilet paper stuck on the bottom of my sandals? Lipstick on my teeth?”
“You look …” He shakes his head and stands to his feet, stalking towards me like a hunter about to devour his prey. He halts right in front of me, towering over me like a skyscraper made of pure muscle. “Incredible.”
“I doubt my mum will agree,” I mutter, unable to meet his eye. “Come on, we’d better go. We must already be late.”
He holds out his hand to me. “It’s part of the contract,” he reminds me.
I nod and take his hand in mine, trying damn hard not to focus on how warm his hand is, how big it is, how it envelops mine completely.
The journey back down to the ground floor is a little tricky because I’m not used to wearing heels and am very thankful for his steadying hand.
“Why don’t you ditch them, and put your boots back on,” he asks me when I need to pause on the staircase for the tenth time in a row.
“They’d ruin the outfit – according to my mum.”
He leans closer and whispers in my ear, “I think they make the outfit. I love those fucking boots. All I can think about is you wearing them while I–”
I elbow him hard. “Just because McGruff is out exploring the hotel grounds does not mean you can behave inappropriately Mr Shaw.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, Miss Eccleston,” he says, grabbing me by the waist and lifting me down the remaining steps like I weigh nothing more than a Barbie doll.
Then he takes my hand again and helps me trot through the doors into the drawing room where the various members of my extended family are gathered.
All of them – even Tiggie. Which means we must be late.
It also means everyone abruptly halts their chitter chatter to turn and stare at us in much the same way my mum did earlier.
That is until my younger sister, Tiggie, comes skipping towards us – much more capable of moving around in heels than I am – and declares to the entire room, “Woah, he’s way more good looking than you said he was, Mum. Where the hell did you find him, Molly?”
I open and close my mouth like a fish out of water, wishing I could take off these stupid heels and use them to club my sister over the head.
“Across the hallway,” Horatio answers with calm and ease. “We’re neighbours. Horatio Shaw,” he adds, offering her his hand as smoothly as James Bond.
My sister flutters her eyelashes at him. “Tabitha Eccleston,” my sister purrs.
“But we all call her Tiggie,” I say.
I’m not sure anyone hears though because in the next moment, my entire family is gathered around us, thrusting their hands in Horatio’s direction for him to shake – there’s my dad, Prim and her boyfriend Norman, my Uncle Harold and his wife Jane, handsy cousin Jack and his wife Eva, and cousin Nina and her husband Rohit.
Gradually, I find myself parted from Horatio as the men surround him in a tight circle and throw crazy questions at him about the vehicle parked outside the front of the hotel.
Tiggie has her arm linked though mine and pulls me to the corner of the room where Prim, and our cousins Eva and Nina soon join us.
“Seriously, Molly, he’s the best looking man I’ve ever seen. You’re going to need to keep a watchful eye over him.”
“What?” I say, my attention distracted by the nonsense my dad is yapping at Horatio about traffic lights and one-way systems.
“A man like that will have women throwing themselves at him every which way but Sunday,” Tiggie explains.
“Temptations,” Cousin Eva says with a sympathetic look before patting my arm in a consoling manner, “I know a good potion you can use for tracking your partner.” She glances at her own husband.
“We’ve only been going out for a few months,” I tell them. “I don’t think I need to worry about wandering eyes just yet.”
“What’s he like in bed?” Tiggie asks. “I bet he’s a machine!”
All three of the women surrounding me glance Horatio’s way and positively sigh.
“Tiggie!” I hiss. “How much have you drunk exactly?”
“Sorry,” she says, with a hiccup, “but Mum went on one of her rants about the need to remove tea stains from teaspoons and I had to resort to the Prosecco.”
“And where’s your date?” I ask her, spinning my gaze around the room. “Shouldn’t you be lusting over them?”
“Oh, he couldn’t make it,” she says. “And, I’m not lusting. I’m just really pleased for you.”
“Right,” I say, extracting myself from Tiggie’s grasp and heading back to rescue Horatio. Unfortunately, I’m intercepted by my mum.
“Do you always have to wear black?” she asks, with a shake of her head. “It really washes you out.”
“I like black. It’s my favourite colour.”