I waved her off. “I’m fine.” But was I fine? For some strange reason, Noah’s scent was now stuck in my brain. And for some even stranger reason, I wanted to smell more of him.What was wrong with me?
Maya looked across the table, concern on her face. She reached out. I thought she was going to pat me on the shoulder to comfort me, but instead, she pulled another leaf out of my hair. “Looks like your room is ready.”
The bellhop waved from the lobby.
“Let’s get you up to your suite so you can rest,” Maya continued. “We can start fresh in the morning. I’ll give you the grand tour, and you can post everything. Show the entire world what Aster Park Mountain Resort and Spa is all about.” Maya leaned in conspiratorially. She picked another leaf from my hair, then whispered, “How does Crab Benedict sound?”
“Crab Benedict sounds delightful,” I replied. Just the mention of food made my stomach growl like a mountain lion stalking an unsuspecting Californian.
“Our chef makes the hollandaise sauce from scratch. The eggs come from one of our chicken coops on the property, and the cayenne pepper comes straight from our greenhouse.”
“I don’t suppose I could get some room service sent up to my suite so I can have a snack after I shower? I haven’t had anything to eat since that spinach smoothie in Los Angeles.”
“Oh, I was wondering what that was.” Maya pointed to my teeth, where I scraped out another wad of vegetation.
A smile stretched over Maya’s face. “But the room service is already taken care of. And to make it up to you for what happened earlier today with Noah, I sent up a bottle of wine from our private cellar. You like Chardonnay?”
“I love Chardonnay.”
“I had a 2014 Peter Michael ‘La Carrière’ that’s a-maz-ing.”
“It sounds amazing.” Anything with alcohol sounded amazing.
As Maya escorted me toward the elevator, she stopped and pulled me aside. “Look, Samantha.”
“Call me Sam, please.”
“Sam, I was hoping we could keep what happened at the airport with Noah between the two of us, okay? No need to get Marcus and Victoria all worked up.”
“Sure,” I said. “No problem.”
“What happens in Colorado stays in Colorado?”
“What happens in Colorado stays in Colorado,” I agreed.
Chapter Eight
The elevator dinged open on the top floor. I stumbled as I stepped out, the Mountain Sunset Martini swimming through my bloodstream.
“Last door on the right,” Maya had instructed, handing me a key card embossed with the LuxeLife logo. “The Aspen Penthouse. Best suite in the house.”
The hallway stretched before me, illuminated by wall sconces that cast pools of warm amber light against textured wallpaper that resembled birch bark. I found my door, a massive slab of polished wood, and pressed the card against the sensor. A soft green light blinked, followed by the whisper-click of the lock disengaging.
I pushed the door open and froze on the threshold. The penthouse suite was the most spectacular thing I’d ever seen.
“Holy shit.”
My exhaustion whooshed away like smog in a Santa Ana wind gust.
A stone fireplace covered one wall, flames already dancing over logs that crackled and popped. The furniture looked rusticandexpensive. Cashmere throws draped over armchairs. A coffee table hewn from a massive tree trunk, polished to a gleam that reflected the firelight.
The bottle of Chardonnay Maya promised bathed in an ice bucket on the dining table, alongside a covered silver tray filled with snacks.
I floated across the room to peer out the floor-to-ceiling windows, framing the most beautiful view I’d ever seen. The night sky sprawled above snow-dusted mountain peaks, studded with every star in the galaxy. The moon hung low and full, illuminating a river that wound through the valley like a ribbon of liquid metal.
“Now this is worth posting,” I said, suddenly wide awake. My thumb flew across my phone as I took more and more pictures, the custom millwork around doorframes, hand-painted tiles in the kitchen backsplash, the throw pillows embroidered with wildlife motifs.
The captions practically wrote themselves:
