Page 86

His eyes give away everything.

"You're right."

It's just those two words.

Just that.

And still my pulse jumps so hard it makes me lightheaded.

He straightens slowly. "Then we share the room."

There is no arrogance in it. No smugness. No assumption.

Just that same quiet, brutal control he brings to everything.

I nod.

"Okay."

The word comes out smaller than I intended.

Everett's gaze drops to my mouth again. "Okay."

The silence that follows is not survivable.

I turn away first and move toward the suitcase because if I stay where I am, I'm going to do something reckless, like ask my husband if he's still planning to sleep on a couch somewhere in France too.

I unzip the bigger suitcase and stare down into it.

Then blink.

Then blink again.

Lace.

Black lace. White lace. Pale blue silk. Something strappy and scandalous in blush that looks less like underwear and more like a threat to my blood pressure.

I rummage deeper.

Another set. Another lace thing. Another tiny scrap of what I think is technically clothing but could also be dental floss if viewed from the wrong angle.

Behind me, the room goes very still.

I pull out a navy satin slip with matching underwear and hold it up like evidence in a murder trial.

"Oh my God."

Everett clears his throat.

I do not turn around.

I keep digging like maybe if I go low enough in the suitcase I'll find a pair of cotton pajamas and my dignity.

No luck.

A red lace bra appears.

Then a white one with sheer cups.