32. Kate
Chapter Thirty-Two
Kate
The hotel itself was sleek and quiet, the kind of understated luxury that whispered instead of shouted. Neutral stone floors, soft lighting, and that faint, polished scent that clung to expensive places where nothing was ever out of place.
But the moment he unlocked the suite door, I knew he was up to something.
It opened onto a living area that felt more like an apartment than a hotel room.
High ceilings, a sofa the colour of cream linen, pale wood floors softened by woven rugs.
Floor-to-ceiling windows letting in clean, airy light that made the whole space feel calm and impossibly private.
The room was lit by soft candlelight. Real ones, not the hotel’s flameless, LED versions.
If it hadn’t been so bloody romantic, I’d have called him out on the fire hazard.
A huge bouquet of white roses sat on the table beside a chilled bottle of wine. Music played low through the room. Wait a second…
Riley Green.
That Riley Green song.
He’d remembered.
My throat tightened. The first time he’d played it was in his car, casual as anything, humming along while one hand tapped the steering wheel. I’d sat in the passenger seat pretending to watch the road signs, secretly memorising the way he looked.
I turned to him, already starting to come undone. “You did all this?” My voice came out softer than I intended.
He shrugged, trying to look casual, but his eyes were tracking me with that slow, heavy heat that made my legs wobble.
“Maybe I missed you,” he said, his voice low and rough.
And then I spotted it.
Next to the roses was a glossy, black shopping bag labelled Agent Provocateur.
I raised an eyebrow. Oh, he’d missed me, alright.
I melted into him and slid my arms around his waist, kissing the corner of his mouth then the curve of his jaw. “That for you or for me?” I whispered, already knowing the answer, but determined to make him work for it.
That signature grin spread across his face. That wicked, wolfish one he did when he was about to misbehave. “Maybe a bit of both,” he admitted.
His mouth met mine again, deeper, slower, like he had all night to learn me all over again. And there was nothing in the world I was going to do to stop him.
“Right,” he said, stepping back with a smirk that could ruin lives. He nodded toward the bag. “You’ve got ten minutes to get into that and on me. I’ve got a list of unspeakable things I’ve been waiting to do to you.”
My brows lifted. “Unspeakable, huh?”
He handed me the bag with a wink, spun me around by the shoulders, and delivered a sharp smack to my ass that made me squeal.
“Off you go, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice wickedly patient. “Don’t keep me waiting too long.”
Half-indignant, half-thrilled, I strutted into the bedroom, heart hammering like I was about to walk onstage.
I opened the bag, peeled back the tissue, and gasped.
It was stunning. Pale, blue lace, sheer and delicate, daring but soft. Ridiculously beautiful. I’d expected something raunchier, crotchless, or red, or satin. But of course not. This was him. He knew exactly who I was.
I laughed quietly to myself, picturing him in that bougie boutique, accent strong and awkward against some glamorous sales assistant as he picked this.
The memory of my boobs had clearly grown a little more generous in his imagination while picking my size, but still…
it was sweet. The thought of him choosing this for me stole my breath and left something warm in its place.
Anyway, I made it work. Pushed my boobs up, adjusted the straps, fluffed my hair, reapplied my lipstick. One last look in the mirror. Okay. This would do. I can do this.
I drew in a steadying breath, fingers brushing the bedroom door handle before easing it open. The soft carpet muted my steps as I tiptoed out, suddenly hyperaware of every inch of bare skin, of just how exposed I felt.
I stopped a few feet away, palms opening at my sides, a tentative smile tugging at my lips.
“So…what do you think?”
He was waiting on the sofa, legs sprawled, one arm thrown casually across the back like a man trying not to look like he was seconds from losing it.
His eyes met mine. Then dropped. I felt the heat of his gaze trace every inch of me.
And then I heard it.
“Fuck.”