Page 268 of The Wright Man

"A suite," he said with a shrug, as if that somehow made it less of a big deal.

I blinked. "Wait—did you pack for me?"

He cut the engine, popped the trunk, and got out like the most aggravatingly fine man alive. "If I waited for you to pack, we wouldn't be here 'til Tuesday."

I watched him circle around to my door, slow and deliberate, like he knew exactly what he was doing to me. I could already feel the blush creeping up my neck, heat pooling low in my belly.

He opened my door just as I was about to demand more answers, but the second our eyes met, the fight went right out of me.

Because there he was—my man, my peace, my problem—standing there with that look that said I was in for it. That look that made my thighs press together before I could even think about it.

He leaned in, one hand braced on the door frame, the other sliding up the back of my neck. "Not that you'll be wearing much anyway," he murmured, just for me.

I gasped, faux scandalized, mostly turned on. "You're a problem."

"And you love it."

Then he kissed me. Slow, deep, and public enough that a valet standing nearby cleared his throat in warning.

We broke apart with matching smirks and zero shame. Maleek handed off the keys and tipped the valet like a grown-ass man with a plan, then hauled both our bags out the trunk like they weighed nothing.

I followed behind, dragging my gaze down his back—broad shoulders filling out his black tee, gray jeans hugging his powerful legs, the bounce of his sneakers smooth and controlled. He looked good. Like back-breaking, pull-my-hair-and-spank-me good.

"Why you walking like you know what I'm thinking?" I teased, trailing my fingers down his arm as we stepped through the glass doors.

"Because I do," he tossed back without missing a beat. "You've been lookin' at me like you wanna eat me since I gave that man my key."

The hotel was just as luxe as I remembered. Marble floors, velvet accents, warm lighting that made my skin look edible in the glass reflections.

While Maleek handled check-in, I admired the way he moved—commanding, focused, voice deep as hell as he charmed the front desk attendant. The roll of his sleeves, the clench of his jaw, the low baritone when he said "suite for Wright"—it all had me borderline panting.

I shifted my weight, suddenly hyper-aware of how my skirt was clinging to my thighs. I wasn't even being subtle about it. The fantasy had already started writing itself in my mind. Him. Me. Those windows. The bed.

I snapped a quick selfie—glossy lips, sultry eyes, Maleek blurred in the background—and sent it to the group chat with one simple caption:

SisterSisterSister Chat

Me: Getting dicked down in 5... 4... 3...

Then I put my phone on Do Not Disturb.

Maleek turned back to me with a smirk, holding up the keycards and my favorite weekender bag. "Ready?"

"Only if you promise to carry me over the threshold like the shameless romantic you are."

He snorted. "You're walking. But I'll make it worth your while."

We headed toward the elevators, and I couldn't resist.

"Okay, Daddy Concierge," I whispered, loud enough for only him to hear. "You're lucky I didn't flash that pretty boy at the front desk just to see you get possessive."

He side-eyed me, jaw tight. "Keep talkin'. Might not make it to the room."

Oh, I was counting on that.

As soon as the elevator doors closed behind us, all pretense dropped.

His mouth crashed into mine, hands everywhere—gripping my waist, sliding under the hem of my skirt, pulling me flush against him. My back hit the mirrored wall with a soft thud, and I gasped against his lips, one hand tangled in his shirt, the other clutching his wrist where he'd wrapped it lightly around my throat.