Chapter 31
THIRTY-ONE
Lottie
The life of a millionaire’s fake wife is actually pretty fabulous.
One minute, I’m stepping off Wes’s plane, and the next I’m sinking into the buttery-soft leather seat of a sports car.
When Wes puts the car in gear, I roll down my window and close my eyes, tipping my face toward the sky as the fresh mountain air rushes in.
“This is incredible.”
Beside me, Wes laughs.
“You’ve said that at least six times today.”
“Because everything today has been incredible.”
The private plane, the mountain views, the fact that my husband owns a private jet. Money truly has its advantages.
The airport disappears behind us as Wes steers onto a winding mountain road, evergreens lining both sides.
In the distance, snow-capped peaks rise against a cloudless blue sky.
I stick my arm out the window and let the warm mountain air drift through my fingertips.
“This place is gorgeous,” I breathe, looking over at Wes.
His mouth twitches. “Wait until you see the chalet.”
I can’t wait. Beneath all of Wes’s brooding and emotional unavailability is a man who thinks of everything.
He booked the plane, arranged the car, found the perfect chalet.
It’s the way he automatically reaches for my suitcase before I can grab it myself, and somehow anticipates my needs before I’m even aware of them.
He does it all so quietly that it would be easy to miss if you weren’t paying attention.
The problem is, I’ve started paying attention.
It’s all incredibly thoughtful—infuriatingly so because of course eventually this arrangement is going to end. When we started this, I couldn’t wish the days away fast enough. Now, knowing we have an expiration date lands like a stone in the pit of my stomach.
I turn my attention back to the scenery rushing past my window and the other problem I have on my hands.
I have three days in a stunning mountain town with a devastatingly handsome man who I’m not allowed to touch.
Keeping my hands to myself is going to require a level of restraint I’m not too sure I possess.
Twenty minutes later, we pull into the covered entrance of the chalet resort and my mouth falls open.
The hotel looks like something straight out of a luxury travel magazine with towering timber beams and flower boxes overflowing with colorful blooms. The entire property is tucked into the mountainside as though it grew there naturally.
I climb out of the car and slowly take it all in. “This is where we’re staying?”
Wes comes around the vehicle and grabs our bags. “Did you think I would bring my wife someplace mediocre?”
“You’re setting the bar awfully high for future husbands, Wes Winters.”
He frowns, making his brows pull together. Wes’s expression makes me think he’s not a fan of the image I just painted.
“I liked this conversation better before you brought other men into it,” he says with a growl.
Unfortunately, jealousy—is that what that was?
—only seems to make him look more attractive.
Before I can dwell on that deeply inconvenient fact, Wes reaches for the hotel door and pulls it open.
The second we step inside, I’m hit with the scent of an enormous floral arrangement that sits on the entry table.
The lobby somehow manages to feel both spacious and cozy, with floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing panoramic mountain views and oversized leather chairs arranged around a stone fireplace that makes you want to curl up with a blanket and never leave.
Everything is warm wood, soft lighting, and understated luxury.
A few minutes later, we’re checked in and heading down a quiet hallway toward our chalet, my sandals sinking into thick carpeting.
When we reach the door, Wes pulls a keycard from his pocket, and we step inside to an enormous living room stretched toward a wall of windows overlooking the mountains.
Exposed beams cross the vaulted ceiling overhead, while a massive stone fireplace takes up one wall, filling the room with warmth.
An oversized cream-colored sofa faces the fire.
There’s a wet bar tucked into one corner and a television so large it looks like it belongs in a sports bar.
I drift toward the windows, and my breath catches as I take in the full view.
Beyond the glass, towering evergreens blanket the mountainside.
Below is the sparkling blue water of the resort pool.
But it’s the wraparound balcony that takes my breath away.
It stretches the length of the chalet, dotted with lounge chairs draped with soft blankets.
A bubbling hot tub is tucked into one corner.
I press my hand against the glass. “Okay.”
Wes sets our bags down behind me. “Okay?”
I glance over my shoulder. “The millionaire lifestyle is growing on me at an alarming rate.”
A laugh escapes him, the smooth sound warming something deep in my chest. “Good thing I have another surprise for you.”
I turn away from the view. “There’s more? Wes, what did you do now?”
He sets our bags on the bench by the door. “Get changed.”
“What?”
“I booked us a spa appointment,” he says. “A massage.”
I stare at him for a second. “You booked us a couple’s massage?”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “Try not to sound so shocked. I thought you could use one with how hard you work. I figured I could use one too.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “You continue to raise the bar at a completely unreasonable pace.”
He jerks his chin toward the hallway. “Go get changed, Peach.”
Fifteen minutes later, I step out of the bathroom wearing a fitted, cropped T-shirt and a pair of shorts, admittedly on the tiny side. I stop short when I find Wes leaning against the kitchen island in a T-shirt and a pair of those athletic shorts that do terrible things to my libido.
He looks up when he realizes I’m in the room with him, and his eyes move slowly over me, taking in every detail with an intensity that sends a nervous flutter through my stomach.
It’s definitely not polite. It’s the kind of look that makes a woman wonder exactly what a man is thinking. I shift under the weight of it.
“Something wrong?” I ask, trying to cut the tension that has suddenly settled in the room.
Wes’s jaw flexes, a muscle ticking near his cheek. I nervously smooth a hand over my hip, beginning to question my outfit under his gaze.
“Wes…”
His eyes slowly drop again, so deliberately it makes my pulse stumble. Heat creeps up my neck. His jaw flexes again like he’s having an argument with himself. “Fuck.”
I suck my bottom lip under my teeth. “Is that a good fuck or a bad fuck?”
His eyes take their time on their journey back up. “Let’s just say I’m starting to really regret the rules we made, Lottie, because if you weren’t off-limits, I’d skip the damn spa and push you up against those windows and bury my cock between your legs.”
This man and his mouth.
“You’re going to have a small problem in front of the masseuse if you keep looking at me like that,” I tease.
“There’s nothing small about it, but you already know that.”
I inhale sharply. The look he’s giving me right now isn’t helping. We’re only a few hours into this trip and I have no idea how we’re supposed to survive three entire days alone together.
“You’re fucking beautiful, Lottie.”
The teasing disappears from his voice entirely as heat rises in my cheeks.
“Thank you,” I say quietly.
Wes’s eyes linger on mine for a second longer before he clears his throat. “Come on, Peach. We have a massage to get to.”
We ride the elevator down to the spa in silence.
The scent of eucalyptus hits me the moment the doors open.
Everything is soft lighting, stone, and quiet music.
The woman at the reception desk checks us in and then directs us toward separate change rooms. I take off all of my clothes except for my panties and wrap myself in a plush white robe.
The thing is so soft I briefly consider stealing it, but then I remember my husband is a millionaire and would probably buy me ten of them if I ask him nicely. The thought makes me smile.
A spa attendant opens the door to our treatment room and gestures me inside. When I step through the doorway, I immediately forget about the robe, the place, the massage. I can barely remember my own name.
Wes is standing beside one of the massage tables with his back to me wearing nothing but a pair of fitted black boxer briefs.
Broad shoulders, powerful arms, and defined deltoids and biceps on display.
The ridges of his triceps and the muscles in his shoulders shift beneath his skin as he adjusts the sheet.
As if sensing me, he turns, and our eyes meet. Having his eyes on me makes me lightheaded. They stay on mine as he settles onto the massage table, stretching out on his stomach, folding his arms under his head.
“We talked about this back in the room.” I warn, crossing my arms. “Remember what might happen if you keep staring at me like that?”
“I’m aware.” His gaze doesn’t waver. Not even a little.
“Yet you keep staring.”
He smiles. “I’m willing to take the risk.”
“Oh, you are, are you?” I ask, fighting a smile.
Wes nods, completely unbothered. The man doesn’t even attempt to hide the fact that he’s enjoying himself.
Shaking my head, I untie the belt of my robe until the fabric parts slightly. Wes’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly, but I catch it and judging by the way his gray eyes darken, he doesn’t particularly care that I did.
I turn my back to him, the movement automatic after having spent most of my life making sure people never see my scar. I let the robe slip from my shoulders until the fabric pools at my feet and I’m naked from the waist up.
I pull back the sheet and climb onto the massage table beside him, settling on my stomach and folding my arms beneath my chin just like him. Wes watches me with an intensity so fierce, it makes it difficult to remember how to breathe normally.