Dang it, caught leeringagain.
I tried to pretend I’d been looking wide-eyed at my phone screen, which was blank and dark. “What? I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Breakfast. What do you want for breakfast?”
I hadn’t seen a room service menu in the room. “Whatever you said sounds good. Also, coffee.”
“All that, for two, and a pot of coffee. Make it forthree.”
Hurried knocks battered the hallway door.
Nico hung up the room phone and strode toward the door, plucking his socks from the floor on the way. “Are there any clothes you want sent out for laundry?”
I ran around the room grabbing my underwear and bra from the chair, cognizant that this was a rare chance to wash my clothes. I’d showered twice as soon as Nico had passed out last night, scrubbing away the sweat from wearing layers and layers of bridal gown in the stifling desert night. “One second.”
Most of my dirty laundry was still in my car trunk, but I had the clothes that had been in the bag I’d grabbed from my car’s backseat last night.
The miles of white satin and ruffles of my wedding gown were piled on a chair. It needed washing themost.“I don’t suppose they could dry clean my dress?”
“Not in an hour. We’ll have it done later.”
Nico took the laundry I held out to him, stuffed it in a canvas laundry bag he’d found in the armoire, and strode over to the hotel room door.
Which meant he turned his back toward me as he sauntered away with that white towel cinched low on his muscled waist.
His swirling abstract tattoo like a hurricane of spiraling arms was repeated on his back all the way to his waist.
Not just repeated, but mirrored, like it had been stamped on him from both sides.
Was it weird that the image of my pink tongue licking his ink-stained skin flashed in my head like lightning?
Yes, it was probably weird. I should stop.
I tried to stop thinking about running my tongue, my fingers, over the incredible artwork on his strong, muscular body.
I’d have to stand on my tiptoes to trickle my fingers over his shoulder, he was so tall.
Nicolai opened the door to the hallway.
A bellboy stood outside. “Mr. Romanov, we are pleased to have you here at Caesars Palace as our esteemed guest. The staff sincerely apologizes for not recognizing you and would like to upgrade you and your guest to one of our penthouse?—”
Why would they do that?
Oh, yeah. Nico looked like a high roller gambler, what with carrying around wads of cash and being generally crazy-reckless.
“We’ll need those back in an hour, plus one overnight toiletries kit. I mislaid my luggage.” Nico shoved the bag in the guy’s arms, closed the door, and turned to face me. “Now, where was I?”
His stern expression and efficient striding around the room was nothing like his relaxed joy at our wedding the night before. “You just said you wanted to talk. That shower really sobered you up.”
“The aspirin are kicking in. I have a proposition for you.”
Unease flooded my whole chest. “Nope. I’m not that kind of girl.”
His focused stare was almost predatory, and the British cadence of his voice was clipped and businesslike. “Actually, it’s less of a proposition and more of another proposal.”
“A proposal is what got us into this mess,” I grumbled at him.
“Yes, well, I was in a spot of trouble before I found you, but I think my drunken self might have hit upon a solution to it when I proposed. I’d like to make you an offer to keep you as my wife for a year.”
