Page 148 of Gilt

Probably because it’s such a big deal that he’s flown me across the country to one of the most romantic cities in the world just so he can have me all to himself.

“Ready?” Jameson asks.

I blink. Am I ready?

“To go upstairs, Duchess?”

I wonder how long he’s been trying to get my attention.

“Yes,” I squeak, my nerves showing through the thin layer of calm I’m clinging to.

“If you need anything at all, please don’t hesitate to let me know,” the hotel manager interjects before we can exit.

“We will, Mr. White,” Jameson reassures him. His hand settles over the small of my back, directing me toward the elevators. As soon as we’re a few feet away his voice lowers, “I didn’t think we were going to get rid of him. I thought our early arrival might allow us to delay that formality. Hotel managers always think they need to greet the boss.”

“It’s fine,” I say while absently chewing on my lip.

Jameson studies me as we step through the gold, sliding doors into the mirrored elevator. “Don’t worry, Duchess. I’ll get you into bed.”

Bed. There’s that word again. My stomach drops out as the elevator begins to ascend. Each button lights up, taking us from the one marked L past the single digits then the double toward the very last button emblazoned with a PH. When we reach it, Jameson extends his arm. “After you.”

We step into something that looks more like a foyer than a hotel corridor. Other than the emergency exit and a service lift there’s only one marked door on this level.

Penthouse.

Jameson opens the door, but I look around in confusion.

“What did you do with Maddox?” I ask when I spot our bags waiting for us in the entry.

“I told him I could handle you from here.” I don’t miss the double entendre in his words.

“Would you like to freshen up?” Jameson asks after he locks the door behind us. “Or maybe I could draw you a bath?”

“No!” I practically shout but recover quickly. “Maybe just a quick shower.”

Jameson’s lips twitch, but he nods. “Follow me.”

He doesn’t bother to give me the grand tour. It’s pretty easy to make out the dining room table from the living room couch. That said, the space is huge and framed by large glass doors that overlook the city. Past them a small patio leads to a balcony. I can’t help but shiver. I’ve had enough rooftop patios and plate glass for the summer. Thank you very much.

We pass through a corridor with several closed doors.

“What’s behind those?” I point to them like a game show host.

“Other bedrooms,” he says nonchalantly.

More than one bedroom? It’s my understanding that most New Yorkers live in something roughly the size of a shoe box. We have a whole house at our disposal. This much extra space feels a bit like an insult.

“This is the master bedroom,” he says, drawing me away from my thoughts.

I dare a peek at the king-sized bed that commands the center of the room.

“Maybe you should rest,” he suggests, mistaking my interest in it.

I shake my head. I’m tired, but there’s no way I’m about to fall asleep. He doesn’t argue with me. Maybe he feels the tension, too. Instead he opens the door to the ensuite bathroom.

“You should have everything you need in here,” he assures me before stepping away. “I’ll give you some privacy.”

Privacy isn’t something I usually want from Jameson, but right now I’m glad to have it.