“Unless you want to just use the lobby couches,” he says.
Even though I know he’s teasing, my cheeks ignite in a blush. Damn my Swedish bloodline.
“I’m kidding,” he says.
“Right. I knew that.”
It suddenly occurs to me how crazy this is.
I’m getting a hotel room with a man I just met. It’s not a cheap motel either; this is a high-rise hotel downtown. There’s a full bar and a steak restaurant on the main floor and a fountain in the middle of the lobby, for Pete’s sake.
Gavin doesn’t seem to care.
I watch him hand the receptionist his card, sign with his finger, and take the room keys, like he does this all the time.
He has a very relaxed attitude about all this, and for a second, I wonder if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.
Before I can question it any further, he walks over to me with that same easy smile he flashed me at the cantina bar.
“Ready?” he asks.
Absolutely not. “Yes, of course,” I smile.
Nothing is more awkward than standing in an elevator with a stranger waiting to get to your floor. And the weird music hotels play in elevators doesn’t help. Does anyone actually listen to smooth jazz anymore?
“Chris Momento,” he says, and I nearly jump.
“I’m sorry?” I ask, and Gavin pulls a hand from his pocket to point in the air.
“The music. It’s Chris Momento. I love jazz.”
I stand corrected.
“Yeah,” I laugh nervously. “Gotta love that sax…” I swallow hard enough that my throat quivers and stare at the ascending numbers on the wall until we finally reach seventeen.
The door opens and I follow him out.
We walk to the end of the hall, and he uses the room key, pushing the door open for me.
“After you,” he gestures and I smile.
My jaw hits the floor when I see the floor to ceiling windows, French doors opening to a huge balcony, and jacuzzi tub in the corner.
The bed is the biggest bed I’ve ever seen. Forget California, this is like a Texas king.
“You got a suite?” I ask as the door closes behind him, and Gavin just calmly smiles.
How is he so freaking calm!?
Here I am on what is obviously my first rodeo in the one-night-stand department, and meanwhile, Gavin is an experienced rider.
Lord help me.
“I did,” he says as he walks over to the nightstand. “I figure if I’m going to spend the night in a hotel instead of my own house, it needs to be just as comfortable.”
So I guess he does have money.
If his house is anywhere near as fancy as this suite, I don’t feel bad about how much he spent.
