“I’m not terrified,” I assure him. “I’m acting.”
His lips curl into a half-smile that makes my stomach flip. “Then act better.”
I elbow him subtly in the ribs, earning a genuine chuckle that surprises us both.
“Ah, Monsieur Slayer!” The concierge steps forward with theatrical enthusiasm. “Welcome back to Hotel Majestic!”
“Maurice.” Slayer greets him warmly, his arm never leaving my waist. “This is Bix, my girlfriend.”
“Enchanted, mademoiselle.” Maurice takes my hand. “Slayer is one of our most treasured guests.”
“I bet you say that to all the rock stars,” I tease.
Maurice laughs appreciatively. “Only the ones who don’t destroy the rooms.”
“There was just one time,” Slayer deadpans. “And I paid for the chandelier.”
A trio of impossibly beautiful women in tiny bikinis strolls past, their eyes lingering on Slayer with undisguised interest. One of them bites her lip suggestively.
I feel an irrational streak of jealousy, wishing they’d take their tanned, perfectly toned bodies elsewhere.
Then I remember—I’msupposedto be the jealous girlfriend.It’s in the script.I slide my hand into Slayer’s back pocket, prompting his eyes to shift my way behind his sunglasses.
“Just playing my part,” I whisper.
“Playing it well,” he returns, his mouth quirking up.
“And this is for the honeymoon suite,” Maurice says, giving us each a key. “You have a rooftop terrace that overlooks the city. Very romantic.”
“I’m sure we’ll make the most of it,” I say, the words uncomfortable in my mouth. But with Milo and Sterling watching from a few feet away, it’s showtime.
“Shall we go upstairs, darling? Take a nap after that long trip?” I stroke Slayer’s arm for good measure.
To my surprise, Slayer lifts my hand and presses a kiss to my knuckles. For a moment, I forget we’re acting.
“I have to meet with the band, but I’ll be up as soon as I can,” he says with a wink.
Then, in a move I definitely wasn’t prepared for, he brushes his lips against mine. It’s light and quick, but enough to send electricity zinging through me.My stomach twists.
“Don’t start the Champagne without me,” he adds, voice husky.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I manage, my brain short-circuiting.
“I’ll have a bellman accompany madame,” Maurice says, ringing his bell.
“No, I’m okay on my own!” I assure him. I need a little space to process.Was that kiss part of the act, or something else?
He agrees to send our luggage along momentarily, but lets me head upstairs alone. I find the room easily enough, grateful for the blast of cool air when I open the door.
It’s a gorgeous suite, filled with fresh flowers, and it has an incredible view of the pool below and the city and Mediterranean Sea in the distance.
“Nice,” I murmur as I snap pictures for Zaza and Keesha. I step out onto the terrace and photograph guests lounging by the pool.
My eyes widen as I realize nearly every woman is topless.
Then I remember, it’s legal in France. And here, at this swanky hotel with its gorgeous clientele of rich people, it’s probably encouraged.
I turn the phone toward myself and set it to video.
