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'It's one of the hotel's best. The type of room that allows the occupants to step into a different world and let all their fantasies come true.'
His husky tone, along with the basest desire glittering in his eyes, made her skin prickle with alarm.
Hell, why did he have to mention fantasies? It would've been hard enough resisting him without the added pressure of envisioning all the inventive ways she could share a room with the hottest guy to walk the earth; possibly seeing him naked, his hair ruffled by sleep first thing in the morning, that sexy smile playing about his mouth…
'I'm sure the room will be fine.' Could she sound any lamer?
‘It's better than fine.'
She inhaled sharply, Nick's subtle woody aftershave that had teased her for the last few hours warping her senses when she had a precarious enough hold on them as it was.
'It's the French suite. Hope you like it.'
The French suite?
In that moment, her magnanimous decision to share a room for a faux wedding night with Nick took on a whole new meaning. She could’ve handled a basic, boring, run-of-the-mill room. The French suite sounded way too seductive for comfort.
Though right now, with Nick palming a key card out of his pocket as they stopped outside an elaborate ivory and gold door, she had more important things to worry about.
Like how she could keep the guy she'd loved all those years ago at arm's length.
More importantly, did she want to?
Chapter Seventeen
Nick gripped Britt’s hand as he slid their room card into the slot and waited for the tiny green light to flash.
Their room. They'd be sharing a room tonight, their wedding night. He could barely think of anything else as he pushed the door open and gestured to her to step inside.
‘Wow.’ Her gasp of surprise had him standing taller.
Every inch of this hotel was his idea, from the boutique-styled foyer with its casual elegance to the extensive range of 'fantasy' suites designed to please the most discerning traveller.
Having the woman he'd married, the woman whose opinion he'd always valued, admire this room filled him with pride.
'You like it?'
She nodded, her eyes wide as they swept the room before fixing on the massive four-poster king-size bed covered in gold and ivory cushions and draped in yards of filmy chiffon—he'd labelled it 'some fancy thin material' and stood corrected by the aghast interior designer who'd taken him through the hotel suite by suite when he'd first dreamed up the idea.
The memory brought a smile to his face, a smile that quickly broadened when Britt turned her wide eyes, now filled with mischief, towards him.
'Knowing your sense of humour, for a second when you mentioned French suite I had visions of a maid's outfit hanging in the wardrobe rather than fluffy robes, and baskets of…' She trailed off and he raised an eyebrow.
'Of?'
With crimson cheeks, she said, 'French letters.'
He chuckled and urged her into the room with a hand in the small of her back. 'I haven't heard condoms called that in years.'
'Forget I said anything. Speaking before I think.' She looked adorable with her flaming cheeks and wobbly smile, in stark contrast to her wedding gown and upswept hair.
He shouldn't tease her, he really shouldn't, but he didn't have her on the back foot very often and he couldn't resist.
'If this suite is too boring, we could always change to another. The Roman room, complete with marble columns around a central spa bath in the bedroom is impressive. Or there's the Scottish room with its lavish fireplace and fur rug in front of it. Or if you're feeling really adventurous there's always the Tack room, complete with whips, for those who need a little added excitement in their lives.'
'Whips?'
Her voice came out a squeak and he laughed.
