I don't answer, just pull up the hotel contact and hit the concierge services button. It rings once. "Yes, Mr. Hale."
"I need the butler assigned to our suite," I say, keeping my eyes on her. "My wife needs an escort for some late-night shopping."
"What?" She's off the bed. "No. Absolutely not. I don't need a babysitter."
"We can arrange that immediately, sir," the voice on the phone says. "Manuel will be at your suite in five minutes. Will you be accompanying Mrs. Hale?"
"Stop," she hisses, and suddenly she's right there, leaning over the bed, reaching for the phone in my hand. "Hang up the phone. Right now."
I pull it back, just out of her reach, which only makes her lean in farther. She braces one hand on the mattress, the other stretching toward me, and suddenly she's close enough that I can smell whatever soap she used on the plane. Something clean and citrusy that makes my head swim.
"Give me the phone," she demands, her voice low and dangerous.
Our faces are inches apart now. I can see the tiny sparks of gold in her eyes even in the dim light, can feel the heat radiating off her skin. My hand comes up automatically and lands on her wrist. For one loaded, dangerous second, neither of us moves.
This is what I've been waiting for. The electric moment of raw connection, a split second where the hatred between us dissolves. Her gaze meets mine with a vulnerability that cuts through our usual rivalry, and I see a glimpse of something deeper brewing beneath the surface, but then she pulls away.
"No, just my wife." I keep talking over her hissing protests. "Make sure he takes her anywhere she wants to go and stays with her the entire time."
"Of course, sir. And shall we?—"
"Hang up the phone," she tries again, crossing her arms with a glare in her eye that threatens to murder me in my sleep if I don't obey.
I cover the phone with my hand, meeting her glare steadily. "You want to go shopping with my card in a new city without me? This is me meeting you halfway. Take it or leave it."
Her eyes flash with fury. "I said I need to be alone?—"
"And I said I'm not letting you wander around Spain alone at night." My voice is firm, final. "Manuel will keep his distance. He'll carry your bags, make sure you get back safely. He’ll stay out of your way, but he's going. It’s non-negotiable."
"This is ridiculous."
"Take it or leave it," I repeat, removing my hand from the phone. "Are you still there?"
"Yes, Mr. Hale."
"Perfect. Have Manuel meet my wife in the lobby."
"Excellent. Will there be anything else?"
"No. Thank you." I end the call and look back at her. "You have five minutes to get ready if you're going."
She's seething. I can practically see the steam coming out of her ears.
"I don't need a babysitter," she says through gritted teeth.
"Then don't go." I pull my wallet from the nightstand, extract my card, and hold it out to her. "But if you do, Manuel goes with you. Those are the terms."
She stares at the card, then at me, then back at the card. I can see the war happening in her head. The need to defy me versus the need to get out of this room. Finally, she snatches the card from my hand.
"Fine," she bites out. "But if he hovers, I'm sending him back."
"He won't hover. He's a professional."
She takes the card from my fingers. "Don't wait up."
"Wasn't planning on it," I say, sliding off my boots. "Try not to bankrupt me."
"Don't tempt me." She brushes past me to the door.
