But also because with an active sex life I would be immune to my current company’s charms. I think.
I wish I could allow myself more freedom. Xander Stone certainly has the body and experience to deliver orgasms. My body would be on board, but my mind and my heart would fuck it up for me.
“Have some faith, woman.” He puts his hand in the open door, so I can enter safely. The small gesture should not cause butterflies to fly amok in my belly.
“What are we doing here?” I hike my bag up onto my shoulder.
“What are you carrying in there? It looks like it weighs at least ten pounds.” He hits the button for the reception.
“Leave my purse alone. I carry things I might need.”
Perhaps three different notebooks are overkill, but I don’t know which one I might need, so I carry all of them. Just in case.
“Like what? Bricks?” He smirks.
“Exactly. I use them to hit people with annoying questions.” I look away, trying not to grin. This verbal sparring with him is more fun than it should be.
“It’s a good thing I’m charming. I wouldn’t want to walk around with a gash in my head.”
The elevator stops, and he steps forward to keep the door open for me again. His hand lands on the small of my back for a brief moment as he ushers me out gently.
The contact sends electricity through my body, culminating at my core. Oh my, I’m really starved for human touch.
I’m so shocked by my reaction that I recoil, making a weird, inelegant step forward to avoid his touch.
The cool air of the foyer reaches my lungs, but my skin prickles with heat. What’s going on? Premature hot flashes?
“Good afternoon, Mr. Stone.” A suited man greets Xander with a smile. “They are ready for you.”
“Thank you, John. I appreciate your help.” Xander shakes hands with the man and pats his shoulder.
“Anytime, Mr. Stone; enjoy your afternoon.” John,who is wearing a name tag and must work here, nods a polite silent greeting to me.
“You come here often?” I ask as we walk down a hallway, my heels sinking into a light beige, spotless carpet.
How do they keep it this clean? My friends are rich, so I’m not completely new to the lavish world, but I can’t help but look around in awe.
The dark wood paneling and gold decorations are minimalistic, but still feel opulent. The silence around us is another weird thing. Like we’re no longer in Manhattan. This must be the only hotel undiscovered by tourists.
“I live here,” Xander says as we reach a double door. A sudden scent of wood and floral surprises me, but not as much as his answer.
I stop, searching his face for signs of teasing. “You live in a hotel?”
He shrugs and taps a card against a small reader beside a double door. It clicks open, and Xander steers me in.
Before I can satiate my weird fascination with his living situation with more questions, I’m rendered speechless.
The air smells like eucalyptus had a love affair with lavender—clean and expensive.
A receptionist smiles at us. She lookslike she floats to work, her smile serene and glowing. I’m sure she’s never yelled into a pillow or cried herself to sleep in her life.
Behind her, a waterfall trickles down a slab of stone that probably cost more than my apartment.
Soft music plays from invisible speakers. I feel like I should have moisturized more aggressively this morning, but at the same time, my frayed mind is drawn to this blissful oasis.
This place doesn’t just whisper luxury—it recites it, with perfect diction and a posh British accent.
Xander leans in, and his breath fans my skin, snapping me out of my awe. The shiver his closeness sparks is another issue I’m going to ignore.
