Chapter 34
CHAPTER
THIRTY-FOUR
JUNE
The lobby is beautiful. Full floor-to-ceiling windows highlighting the ocean view. Modern wire chairs hang from twenty-foot ceilings, laden with thick, creamy cushions. Long, elegant lights drip down to us. I can’t help but fidget. My crappy t-shirt and ripped jeans are totally out of place here.
Dean squeezes my hand reassuringly.
“John Brandon, checking in.”
I narrow my eyes. John? If that’s his cover name, it isn’t an exciting one.
“Excellent, sir. ID?”
Dean sets the bags on the floor, fishing out a card from his wallet, and I squint at it. John Brandon. Huh .
“We received your reservation this afternoon, but there was a problem with the initial booking.”
“What was the problem?”
Dean squeezes me against his side, his big hand splayed possessively against my hip. I want to rock into it, press into him until there is no air left between us.
The man behind the counter clears his throat. “You selected double beds, but our only available suite has a king and a pullout couch. Will that suffice?”
Dean tilts his head at me, an inquisitive light in his eye. Only one bed? Not a problem for me.
I nod.
“It’s fine.”
“Excellent.” The concierge types a few things in his computer. “I see your dinner reservation is at nine tonight, please be aware the dress is dinner jacket and tie. We hope you enjoy your stay.”
“Oh, we will.” Dean drags his thumb lazily against my hip, and I bite my lip. My entire body on fire with need. He swipes the keys from the concierge, leading us over to the elevator bank.
The doors open, and I follow him inside. Without taking his eyes off me, he presses the button for the top floor. I step towards him, his hands moving to my hair, thumbs running across my jawline in tandem. His mouth dips towards me, and I breathe deeply, inhaling his scent.
The elevator chimes, and the doors open. He smiles, his eyes promising me everything I want. Everything I can take.
He moves down the hallway with purpose, stopping at the corner door, keying in. Bringing the packages inside. I pause at the threshold.
The suite is opulent, that’s the only word my mind can think of to describe it. The king bed dominates the space. A dining table set up in a side room, a small luxury kitchenette next to it. The lights glow a soft golden yellow, giving the whole room an impossibly romantic feel.
There’s a huge soaking tub, stocked with my favorite scent: all lemongrass, all the time.
“Did you do this?” The door shuts behind me as I point at the shampoo and body scrubs, the lotions and soaps and soaking salts.
Dean appears behind me, his hands rubbing across my sides. He kisses the side of my neck, and I lean into him. “Maybe.”
“Dean.”
“Did I do something wrong?”
“It’s a little weird that you know so much about me already.” I squint at him. “For example, my favorite shampoo. And I know next to nothing about you.”
“Was the shampoo too much?” He presses another kiss against my neck, and I arch into him.
“Dean, I’m trying to be serious.”
“I tell you what—why don’t you shower, get cleaned up, then I promise to answer any questions you have over dinner.”
His thumb circles the back of my neck, sending shivers down my spine.
“You don’t play fair.”
“We can talk now if you’d rather.”
I take a long look at the bathtub. A long, hot bath sounds so good.
“It can wait.” I laugh.
He spins me around, pressing a kiss to my lips. Then he pushes me gently forward, and I laugh again. “Bathe. Relax.”
I move to the tub, bending over, turning the faucet on. Steam begins billowing into the room, and I start to shimmy out of my pants.
A low noise catches my attention and I stop, self-conscious.
“Don’t stop on my account.”
“Didn’t think you were the type to want to watch.”
“I am now.” His voice is rough against my senses, rasping in all the right places. His fingers curl against the doorframe.
“Go.” I swat at him. “I’ll be out quick and then you can shower.” I crinkle my nose.
“Or I could join you.”
“No.” If I let him in now, we’ll never make it to dinner. I want to ask those questions, dammit. And eat a steak. I’m starving.
If I never see a protein bar again, it will be too soon.
He bows his head. “Take your time, there’s a second bathroom. Blow dryer and other stuff is in the top drawer.”
“Okay.” I watch as he closes the door behind him, suddenly stunned by my circumstances. From being filthy on my boat, which now sits at the bottom of the gulf, to staying at an impossibly romantic hotel… then there is the incredibly sexy man who wants me.
Who I want right back.
We’re gonna do it. If I fist pump a little, who cares? No one’s here to see how dorky I am but me.
I open the top drawer and find a blow dryer, a curling iron, and a green velvet bag stashed inside. A quick peek inside shows a collection of my favorite cosmetics.
“Wow,” I murmur.
It should make me uneasy, how much he knows about me, that he’s been basically stalking me—with good intentions, sure. Considering the circumstances, I’m mostly relieved to have some familiar creature comforts.
I purse my lips. Charlie’s probably the one who tipped him off to these details, anyway.
It was beyond thoughtful of him to do it. A wee bit creepy, but kind.
Besides, I’m throwing caution to the wind, dammit.
He promised to answer all my questions, didn’t he?
And I’ll start by asking who the hell John Brandon is. Then move on to the goddamn radiation team. Maybe even cover favorite movies and deepest fears. My lips press into a frown. He already knows my deepest fear—I’ve been living it for the past forty-eight hours.
But for now, I’ll revel in steam and good-smelling soap and hot, hot water.
If I play my cards right, I’ll get answers and maybe even an orgasm.
There’s a light knock on the door as I finish applying a second coat of mascara and study my reflection. My eyes look huge, lips a dark red. Way more makeup than I usually wear. This is high-octane fancy makeup, used only in case of emergency.
Needing an orgasm? Definitely a case of emergency.
“June?” The door creaks open, and I frown at my reflection.
“I locked that.”
“Ah, yeah, sorry about that.” Dean’s low voice sends desire running through me again. “I have a dress for you, if you want to wear it. If not, we can go down there wearing regular clothes and they can go fuck themselves. Up to you, princess.”
I snort and stretch out a hand to grab the hanger. Dean stays behind the door, the picture of politeness. Yeah, right . I’ve seen what he’s made of and I’m not buying it. Still, I appreciate the gesture.
I hang the garment bag from the hook on the back of the door and unzip it, inhaling sharply. Silky fabric, a shade between gray and green, whispers as I touch it, soft and sensuous beneath my fingers. A thick paper bag hangs from the top, and I pull out lacy black underwear.
My eyebrows shoot up. Wow . Yes, I needed underwear, but for him to buy it for me? Presumptuous. And a little bit sexy.
I put the underwear back in, gauging the dress. It’s the right size, shimmering in the bathroom lights as I carefully unhook it and slide it overhead. Tugging it down, I arrange myself in it, then study the effect in the mirror.
Dean Evans, eat your heart out. It’s a far cry from a dirty bikini and a filthy sundress. This is… sexy.
Maybe not exactly what I’d pick, with the slit up to midthigh and the drape in the front putting my cleavage on display. Okay, so nothing like what I’d pick.
But hell. I feel powerful . And I’ve felt too little of that lately.
Dean clears his throat. “Do you like it? I told the saleslady to pick out shoes, too, when I called in to buy it.” Two black heels dangle from his fingers in the crack in the door, and I slip them on.
“You’re really quiet… We don’t have to go down if you don’t want to. If this is too much.” The strain in his voice is clear.
I swing the door open and my jaw drops. Dean is in a black suit, tailored to show off his broad chest and wickedly muscled arms. No tie, his tanned skin highlighted by the white dress shirt open at the collar.
He left the gray and black stubble, but tamed his hair with some gel.
Maybe I’m not hungry for dinner after all.