At the end of the hall was the primary suite.
And I swear it had more square footage than that whole hotel penthouse in Vegas.
It had the same sexy dark woods and warm, golden lighting as the living space, with a massive bed flanked by nightstands. Across from that was a long dresser with a television.
To each side of the dresser were doorways.
Curiosity piqued, I walked through the closest one and found his and hers closets that met in the center with a small seating area.
On Harrison’s side were dozens of suits, shirts, leisure outfits, workout clothes, and sleep pants.
On the her side?
Garment bags.
Not a ton of them, maybe enough for five or so outfits. There were also two bags from Agent Provocateur—a larger version of the one there’d been in Vegas.
“Of course,” I grumbled, going over toward them to reach inside.
I expected bras and panties, things that he’d conjured up in his fantasies.
Inside, though, were several pajama sets. Most weren’t even of the sexy variety—just silky shorts and camis, and even one long pant and long sleeve set. Plus a robe.
There were four or five panties at the bottom, but it did seem more like he’d mostly focused on getting me sleep clothes.
I exhaled hard, not sure what to think about what I’d found, so I chose instead to walk into the en suite bathroom.
It was another sprawling space. All marble floors and walls and a shower niche that was big enough for a soccer team. But the soaking tub was a major feature—a standalone in front of frosted windows, so you got a peek-a-boo effect.
Everything was set up to invite you to soak, too. Fluffy towels were set on a little table next to it, along with a few bath bombs and a loofah.
On the floating double vanity, I found an extra, wrapped toothbrush.
I reached for it, feeling a strange sinking sensation in my chest.
Was Harrison just… lonely?
Was he so lonely that he was setting up his life with the hope that I would, what, fall in love with the grandeur and agree to stay with him?
And because I was raised the way I was, I also wondered if that loneliness was dangerous.
With a sigh, I made my way back out into the common area.
“What’s wrong?” he asked when he looked up and saw me standing there.
“How desperate are you to have a wife?”
“Desperate?” he asked, brows knitting. “Not at all.”
“Oh, come on. The clothes, the bath bombs…”
“I can’t think of a way to say this that won’t make me sound like an elitist ass,” he stated, “but, sweetheart, don’t you think if I wanted a wife before now, I could have had one?”
Okay.
That was a reasonable argument.
He was, damn him, insanely handsome. He was unfathomably wealthy. He was considerate and capable. Men like him wouldn’t struggle to find women to settle down with, if that was what he was after.
