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I laugh and return my attention to the menu.
We order, we eat (the chocolate spaghetti was weird and delicious) and as the night moves on, I snuggle closer to Zayden. Xavier tells a story that I’ve heard a thousand times that still makes me laugh, Yale rolls his eyes, Grant cackles, and my husband pulls me closer.
“I love you,” he whispers.
I lean into him, breathing in his cologne, his warmth, his words. I’m buzzed from the alcohol, full from the meal, and so damn fucking happy.
But they’re just like him.
I usher the thought away as Zayden takes out his phone. The message on the screen is a simple ivory bar, the number “7” in the middle. My heart sinks, because I recognize that notification—work. It’ll be from the mysterious Cleo, the voice behind the Agency. I don’t eavesdrop when it comes to their work, but it’s been hard to avoid hearing her name—she seems to be able to do anything and knows everything, too. She’s a little like God.
Zayden unlocks his phone, and when the notification opens, he tenses. I glance between him and the message, but he’s stone-like.
“Everything okay?”
He recovers quickly and nods. “Fine, baby. Yale.” He tips his head toward the hotel lobby.
Yale’s smile fades and he stands, leaning down to kiss my cheek. “Sorry, Q.”
I nod and force a smile. Grant gives me an apologetic look as he leaves, too, and Xavier follows, more interested in his phone.
Zayden kisses my temple, and I look up at him. “Really? You have to work tonight?”
“I’m sorry. It’ll be quick.”
“It’s never quick. Can’t it wait?”
He shakes his head. “Not this. I’m sorry, baby.” He kisses me, dampening my anger with a slow, leisurely stroke of his tongue against mine. He tucks his hand behind my neck, angling my head to kiss down my throat.
“Not fair,” I grumble. “You can’t use the good moves on me when I’m trying to be pissed.”
He laughs softly against my neck, then lifts his head to nod at the man at the bar.
“Do you want him to be your birthday present?”
The noise of the restaurant dies away, my heart slamming into my ribcage. “Really?”
Zayden’s green eyes dance across my neckline, as if he can see the frantic pulse point in my neck. “I booked us a room for tonight, anyway. I spoke to the manager when I spotted him staring at you, and he”—he nods again at the man— “has been here a few days for work. Cleo looked into his background, and everything checks out. The staff say he’s polite, tips well, always respectful. A nice, normal guy who leaves tomorrow to go back home to his office job in Seattle.” My heart is working overtime, because he’s done all the due diligence we said we would if we ever decided to do this.
I swallow. “He’s safe?”
“He is. Either way, I have access to every camera in this place from my phone, including a camera in the room. I’ll be watching you the whole time.”
I frown. “How?”
“Because I’ve had this room booked for a long time. You know me, baby.” He grins. “Safety first. But it’s your choice, always. Either way, you’re coming tonight. Several times.” I laugh and bite my lip before glancing at the stranger. This is a huge step. A terrifying one. We’ve discussed at length what our boundaries are, but this is real.
“Okay.” I let out a shaky breath. “So … I take him upstairs? What if your meeting runs over?”
“If I walk in and find his face between your thighs, I’d take great pleasure in joining in.” I’m close to floating with desire, my body vibrating with the turn this night has taken. A final kiss, this one capturing my heart and soul with it. Desire pumps through me, and I no longer care that this public display of affection is likely offending the other customers. I allow Zayden to devour me, to remind me with this kiss that no matter what happens, he loves me, and I love him. When he lifts his lips from mine, he slips a keycard into my hand. “Room nine-oh-five-five. Have fun, baby.”
Chapter 5
Zayden
Xavier, Grant and Yale are waiting for me in the room set aside for us. When I reserved it earlier, the manager informed me that it’s used for corporate events and weddings, so my footsteps echo across the polished oak floor. Large function tables and stacked chairs are pushed against the far wall, and most of the lights are out but for the small bar we’ll be occupying in the corner of the room.
Yale is sitting in a stool, elbows resting against the bar top behind him. Grant is on his phone but pockets it when I approach. Xavier is hunting for booze, because of course he is.
