“The suite is very spacious,” she says, batting her eyelashes at Ryder. “And it’s the only option I have. I could look for a room at another hotel for one of you?—”
“No.” Ryder steps forward, inserting himself into the conversation.
I didn’t realize he was even listening. Until then, he’d been standing like a statue.A very attractive statue.
“I need to stay close,” he says, his deep voice brooking no argument.
I bite my lip. “Okay, we’ll take the suite,” I concede.
The receptionist smiles with fake sweetness. “Of course.” She finishes checking me in and hands over the key card.
We ride the elevator to the top floor, Ryder following me with the luggage cart. There’s enough luggage to outfit a small army, including boxes, because I’ve brought samples from my personal inventory. Valerie refused to choose from a catalog, despite the time crunch. Ryder insisted on hauling the cargo himself, preferring not to let anyone touch our equipment.
“How do you plan to bring all the wedding equipment here?” Ryder asks in the elevator. “Carrier pigeon?”
I roll my eyes. “Funny. Cargo flight. I’ve already booked everything. The bride needs to decide what she wants, and Beth will pack it all in boxes to be sent here. It’ll be like Santa’s workshop, but with more tulle and fewer elves.”
We exit the elevator, and I swipe the card in the slot beside the door.
The room is set up for a honeymoon couple, and it’s like Cupid threw up everywhere.
The main space contains a white sofa big enough to get lost in, a grand piano—because nothing says romance like impromptu concertos—and enough heart decorations to make even the most love-struck teenager gag. The low table is full of champagne and chocolates—how original—and a bed the size of Rhode Island sits at the far end of the suite.
I step out onto the balcony and inhale the salty sea air. The view from here is breathtaking. There’s no other word to describe it except stunning. Well,holy crapmight work too.
I turn back to see Ryder’s reaction to the room, but asusual, his cryptic expression is unreadable. He could be planning world domination or thinking about lunch for all I know.
“I’ll sleep on the couch,” he says.
I enter the bedroom, placing my hand on the bed, running it through the rose petals. They’ve even put on two kissing swans made from towels.
Kitsch level: one million.
But I’d be lying if my chest didn’t tighten a little. I wish I had someone to share this with.
I peek into the bathroom. A freestanding tub with gold feet dominates the space. A frosted glass wall hides the toilet, but there’s nothing concealing the bathtub.
I bite my lip. Damn, this is going to be challenging. “I need you to wait outside until I finish showering.”
“No,” he says, settling onto the sofa.
“What do you mean, no? I need privacy.”
“I’m not leaving you alone here.”
“What could happen? You said yourself, nobody knows we’re here. There’s no hired killer waiting in the room for me to take a bath.”
He remains on the sofa, his expression unreadable.I swear, poker players could take lessons from this man.
“Ugh. You’re so annoying. Has anyone ever told you that?”
“Yes. You.”
“Stay here, and don’t peek,” I command. He can’t view me from the sofa, but I don’t trust him.
I go to the bedroom and look around. Maybe I can create a partition somehow? Because there’s no way I’m giving him the pleasure of seeing me naked. No fucking way.
He made his position clear. He rejected me. Even if every fiber of my being wants him to un-reject me.
