Chapter 19
CHAPTER
NINETEEN
Hartley
“Reservations for Adler,” I say, adjusting my jacket across Mira’s shoulders.
“Adler,” she repeats, typing away on a screen. “How has your evening been?”
Mira gazes up at me with a contented smile on her face.
The small town where Mira has been living is just north of the Tennessee border into Kentucky.
I couldn’t find a decent hotel within a sixty-mile radius.
So, I figured that instead of taking a long drive the night of our wedding, scrounging for fast food in the middle of nowhere, and getting a shitty night’s sleep, I’d book a room at Ruma in Nashville.
Then we could get up, have breakfast, and venture on to her apartment tomorrow morning.
After all, I only get 365 nights with my wife. I fully intend on making this the most relaxing, happiest time of her life. There will be no shitty hotels for my wife if I can help it.
My wife.
The phrase slips through my mind so naturally that, for a moment, I don’t even realize I’ve thought about Mira like that. But slowly, as the hotel clerk types away, chatting with Mira about the rain outside, the meaning catches up with me.
A wave of warmth spreads through my body. It is equal parts wonder and ache. I’ve called her so many things over the years, but my wife was only uttered in my dreams.
I press my fingertips a little deeper into her side, the fabric of her wedding dress caressing my skin.
I know I should stop myself—halt the hope that’s uncoiling in my heart like it’s been wound too tightly for far too long—but I don’t.
Because right now, my wife is leaning her head against my side, laughing softly with a hotel clerk preparing to give us keys to our room.
I just want to breathe in Mira’s perfume and commit this moment to memory.
“Your wedding?” Janice, whose name I spot on a tag beneath her hair, lifts a brow. “You two are coming from your wedding?”
“Yup. And we’re starved. Please tell me you have room service,” Mira says.
I fight back a chuckle. This is Ruma, a Fenton Abbott hotel. You could probably ask for a specific fish located in an obscure sea in Africa, and it would be delivered within the hour.
“Oh, yes, Mrs. Adler,” Janice says. “We have a wonderful menu available twenty-four hours. Now, let me check something …” Her fingers flurry across the keyboard in front of her. “I’m going to upgrade you at no charge to the honeymoon suite.”
Mira stills, looking at me out of the corner of her eye.
I’m caught off guard. How do you explain that, yes, you’re newly married, but you need two queen-sized beds because sex is off the table?
“We actually have a suite ready to go, and the guests just canceled their reservation,” Janice says, turning a screen toward me. “So, it works perfectly. If you’ll sign here, Mr. Adler, you’ll be all set.”
“This isn’t necessary, Janice,” I say, fumbling over my words. “We’re fine with a regular room.”
“He’s a cover thief,” Mira says, pressing her shoulder into my side.
“And she doesn’t stop moving in her sleep.” I smirk down at her because she knows that fact is actually true.
Janice must think we’re joking because she laughs. “Well, the suite has a king-sized bed, so I’m sure each of you will have plenty of room to wiggle.” She pauses, looking at me expectantly. “So, if you’ll just sign, you can be on your way.”
Fuck. I heave a breath, sliding my arm from around Mira’s waist and scribble something resembling my signature on the screen.
“Do you have the Abbott app?” Janice asks.
I shake my head.
“That’s no problem.” She slides two keys into a discreet sleeve and hands it to me. “Just go down the hall on your left to the elevators and then go up to the twelfth floor.”
“Thank you,” I say, my arm finding Mira’s waist again. I pick up our two bags with my other hand. “Have a good night, Janice.”
“You too. And congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Adler.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Adler,” I whisper as we walk away. “That’s not something I ever thought I’d hear someone say to me.”
Mira looks over her shoulder. “You never thought you’d get married?”
I shrug. More like I never thought you’d ever marry me.
We take the elevator up, and given I expect Mira to step away from me, I’m surprised that she doesn’t. She might just be chilly and appreciate my body warmth next to her. But that little bloom of hope hasn’t quite been squashed. It still has a few petals fluttering through my stomach.
Once inside the room, Mira sighs as if the air has been waiting for a chance to break free.
“This is nice,” she says, shrugging off my jacket and placing it on a barstool. The stool faces a small kitchenette. “Look! Champagne.”
“I could use a drink.”
“Same.” She laughs, trying to take a bag from my hand. “Gimme.”
I snort, gently shrugging her off and carrying both into the bedroom. “My wife doesn’t carry bags.”
“Ooh. That’s a perk I didn’t expect.”
“I bet that you’ll find lots of perks you didn’t expect,” I say, grinning.
She leans against the door, stunning despite the truck ride. “What other things do I have to look forward to?”
“I’d say you’ll never get your own gas again, but I’m not sure that’s something new.”
“Hey!” She shoves me as I walk by her. “I get my own gas, thank you very much.”
“You don’t anymore.” I loosen my tie before removing it completely. “Do you want to go ahead and order food?”
She slides off her heels, wincing as her feet hit the carpet. “That and I want to get out of this dress.”
I’d love to help you with that. Her eyes flick to mine as soon as the words slip past her lips and it takes every bit of restraint that I have left to pretend I don’t see the heat in them. To pretend it doesn’t exist in mine.
If this were a random Thursday, and despite my attempts otherwise, we ran into each other in town and exchanged this look, there’d be a good chance we’d end up fucking before the night was over.
But that only happens once every year or two, and it’s been far too long since we last attempted to satisfy my craving for her.
But this isn’t a random Thursday, and the rules aren’t the same. The guidelines she gave me explicitly said no sex. So, no sex is what she will get.
Even if it kills me. And it might.
“Go on and get situated,” I say, moving around the bar so she doesn’t see the outline of my cock in my pants. “I’ll order something. Do you want a menu? There’s probably one around here somewhere.”
Her cheeks turn a sexy shade of pink as she pivots to the bedroom. “No. Just get me something.”
“All right.”
I watch her ass move beneath the silk, and how the fabric gathers at the small of her back. It does nothing for the ache in my balls. Still, I watch her until she disappears around the corner of the bedroom.
“Fuck,” I hiss, finding the phone to order room service. I make the call without looking at the menu. “Hi, I’d like to order room service, please.”
“Good evening, Mr. Adler,” a voice greets me. “What may we have the pleasure of preparing for you tonight?”
“Two burgers. One with everything, and one with pickles and onions.”
“Great. Are fries okay? And what can we bring you to drink?”
I look up at the doorway to find Mira coming toward me. “Fries are great, and two Cokes, please.”
“We’ll be up shortly.”
“Thank you.” I place the receiver into the cradle. “You okay?”
Mira winces, turning her back to me. “I can’t unzip myself.”
Oh, hell.
I move behind her, placing one hand on her hip and the other on the end of the zipper sitting between her shoulder blades. She turns her head to watch me out of the corner of her eye, and I drag the zipper slowly down her back with my knuckles skimming her skin in its wake.
This is torture. Evil, really.
Every inch of exposed skin feels like a test of my self-control. My breaths come quick and shallow as she shivers against my touch on her bare skin.
“Thanks,” she whispers once I drop the zipper.
“Anytime.”
I think she smiles, but I’m not sure.
“What were you thinking?” I mutter to myself once she’s gone again. “This is a Brooks-level mistake. How are you going to sleep in the same room with her and not touch her?” I groan. “Fuck.”
It was hard enough, pun intended, watching her walk down the aisle toward me. Nothing prepared me for that visual, and it’s etched into my mind for eternity.
She stopped my heart.
She’s always stopped my heart, but seeing her in that wedding dress, walking toward me? There are no words. No amount of planning or envisioning could’ve prepared me for that.
Mira walking to me instead of leaving me? I grin. I’m a big fan.
I remove my tie, unbutton and untuck my shirt, desperate for relief in some form. Everything feels too clingy—too tight against my skin. Hell, even my skin feels too tight against my body. And it’s only day one.
“That’s much better,” Mira says, returning. She’s bare-legged with a giant T-shirt hitting her mid-thigh. “I know this isn’t super sexy honeymoon attire, but since we aren’t having sex, I didn’t think it mattered.”
I pop the champagne and pour us each a flute. The bubbles rise to the top as quickly as my pulse.
“I hate to tell you this,” I say, handing her one. “But a giant T-shirt makes you no less sexy than lingerie.”
She hums, grinning. “Then what are my choices?”
“There aren’t any.” I smile, too, and touch our glasses together. I bring my flute to my lips. “I’d say you’re fucked, but that feels like false advertising.”
She giggles before taking a sip. I love the way her cheeks blush.
It’s such a natural thing that reminds me of times when things between us were easy.
When there wasn’t emotional baggage and trauma involved, and we could sit on the grass and stare up at the stars without having to say a word. We could just … be.
A knock comes from the door, and I set my glass down. “I ordered you a burger.”
“Pickles and onions?”
“You’ll have to wait and see.” I tip the server and then roll in the cart with our meals. “Look at this.”