Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 167759 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 839(@200wpm)___ 671(@250wpm)___ 559(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 167759 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 839(@200wpm)___ 671(@250wpm)___ 559(@300wpm)
‘Thank you. And also true.’
‘So it’s to be a walk of shame through the hotel for us? Or are you going to smuggle us out in the service elevator? Or maybe send someone to fetch clothes?’ ‘
‘What? And risk someone coming across your purple friend? What was it, again? The pussy pounder?’
I bury my face in my hands with a groan. ‘Never ever say that again.’
‘Pussy?’ he asks blandly. ‘Or pounder? Or was it the coming across it that you have a particular objection to.’
‘I have never . . .’ My words trail away as he begins to chuckle, and I crack my fingers to peer out at him. ‘Are you done?’ I ask, my tone very slightly piqued. ‘And like I’d even keep that thing in a drawer. It’s stowed away in my suitcase, thank you very much.’
‘I should think so. Weapons are supposed to be kept secured.’
I launch a pillow at his head, which he bats easily away.
‘One more thing.’ He holds his forefinger in the air. ‘Would you care to explain why I’m listed under your phone as Monsieur Baguette?’ I notice in his other hand he holds my phone.
‘Have you been going through my contacts?’
‘No. Why, do you think I should?’ He glances at my phone then back again, his expression bland.
‘If you want to look, you should ask.’ Because if you’re thinking about Carson Hayes and getting all jealous again, I might just enjoy setting you on your ass. Again. ‘And if you do, you should also be prepared to hand over your own phone.’
At this, he reaches into his pocket, pulling out his own phone. It lands on the sheet next to my legs with a quiet slap.
‘Feel free,’ he offers. ‘I wasn’t looking through your contacts, by the way. I was looking for your phone by calling it. Or at least, someone called Mr Baguette was.’
I pull another pillow from behind me, this time to hide behind. ‘Let me know when you’re finished tormenting me.’
‘Mon hérisson épineux. You’re just too much fun not to.’
‘Calling me a prickly hedgehog is not endearing.’ I lift my head from the pillow, intending to repeat this for his hearing, when I squeal as his hand clamps around my ankle, pulling me flat against mattress.
‘I intend tormenting you until my very last breath.’ He climbs over me, his clothed body caging my semi-covered one. I notice he has his shoes on. ‘All this silken skin just begging to be kissed.’
‘Why do you have your shoes on?’ And why am I not just going with this?
‘How much do you love me, Rose?’ His face above mine is so close his features are blurry.
‘Enough to turn a walk through the damned hotel in last night’s clothes into a victory lap.’
‘Rose, I’ve already been out this morning. In these clothes. Without giving a damn for who saw me or what they thought.’
‘Where’d you go?’
‘First, tell me how much you love me.’ Though his mouth delivers the summons playfully, his gaze demands.
‘This sounds suspiciously like you’ve done something wrong,’ I counter, cupping his face as I narrow my own gaze. ‘Like you’re trying to get me to say I love you so when you tell me what you’ve done wrong, you can remind me of my earlier declarations.’
‘Mon Dieu,’ he appeals to the ceiling. ‘I already know you love me. I’m asking you how much.’
‘I’m right, aren’t I? You’re trying to trick me.’
‘I might’ve done something a little crazy, yes. Something a little out of character. Something that requires your love and your encouragement.’ His lips play at smiling, not quite giving in.
‘I need you to move.’
‘Afterwards. First answer me.’
‘No, Remy. First I need to pee.’
My heart pounds in the silence as he stares down at me, but ohmygodohmygod, I really need to pee. Like, now!
He nods and flips over onto his back, blowing out a harsh breath as I roll from the bed, trying to drag the sheet with me but eventually giving up and making a dash for the door. I do my thing, brush my teeth and my hair, thanks to an excellent amenity kit . . . which I’d ordinarily pop in my case, along with all the miniatures. Except, I don’t have a case. Or clean underwear. Or even suitable daytime clothing. But what I do have is a hot hunk of man in the other room waiting to torture me some more. So, I slip on the white robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door and step out into the bedroom.
Light now floods the room. The bed is still a mess, though Remy isn’t in it. Instead, he’s kneeling on the floor. Kneeling on one knee, more specifically. I clasp my hand to my runaway heart as he curls his finger in a come-hither gesture.