“But each of our suites is named for a famous courtesan,” she adds. “Come, let me show you toLa Pompadour. I think you’ll be very happy there.”
I turn to Whit as the door to the room closes, not quite believing what I’m seeing. It’s beautiful, and though quite spacious for a city hotel, there’s something cocoon-like about the whole suite. Dark silk in a beautiful shade of blue I can’t even name covers the walls. The bed is huge and ornate, the four posts drawing up toward the ceiling like an Arabian-style tent. A velvet chaise in front of a working fireplace, ornate gilt mirrors, and sensual artwork adorn the walls. Heavily fringed lamps provide the suite with a sultry glow and vases of orchids its heady scent. There’s a small lounge where I can totally see a courtesan serving her gentleman champagne before bringing him into the bedroom for a small slide of heaven.
In short, it looks like a suite built for the purpose of pleasure.
“It’s a bit over the top, isn’t it?” Whit murmurs as I make my way to the French windows.French windows in France. Fancy that.
“Not if you were planning on seducing me.” I turn my head over my shoulder in some semblance of the painting in the stairwell. “Oh, monsieur,” I say, fluttering my lashes. “’Av brought me ’ere to have your wicked way wiz me?”
“Who seduces who in a brothel, do you think?”
“You want me to work for it?” I ask, pulling back the heavy voiles. I gasp. Beyond the doors is a tiny terrace with views all the way to the Eiffel Tower. “Come look at the view.”
“Do you like it?” His question is a purr in my ears, his broad palms sliding around my waist, pulling me against his chest.
“It’s so perfect.”
“Next time, we’ll come for longer.” My heart gives a little pang. I could almost kid myself that we have a future when he says things like this. “I’m sorry this visit has to be so short.”
“Perfect doesn’t have a timeframe,” I whisper, dropping the voile curtain and turning in his arms. It doesn’t have to last a lifetime. “No need to ask what our plans are for this evening.” I keep my lashes lowered, not wanting to reveal my pained thoughts as I slowly walk my fingers up his right bicep.
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“Good. I wouldn’t like to lose my air of mystery.”
My chuckle sounds kind of dirty because there really is no mystery about the thing growing hard against my stomach. But before I can make a smart reply, a rap of knuckles sounds against the door.
“Best answer that.”
“Or we could just ignore it.”
“But it’s for you.”
“How can you tell?” I ask, pulling slightly away.
“I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Go open the door,” he whispers, pressing his lips to my head. And then a smack to my butt as I slide around him.
“Hey, watch the merchandise.”
“Don’t worry, darling.” His words stroke like a caress. “I’ve paid madame extra for my unnatural tastes.”
“Unnatural?” I reply, matching his tone.
“She said you were the best. I can’t wait to discover that for myself.”
My sultry laughter sounds all the way to the door.
“Mademoiselle Valente?” a chicly dressed woman of indeterminable age asks from the hallway. Her stature is small, her features bird-like, but there’s something masculine and strong about her.
“Yes,” I answer hesitantly.
“Bon.” One word and her attention swings away, her hands a flutter of movement.
“Can I help you?” She shakes her head, and I find myself stepping back from the door as she ushers a pair of girls about my age ahead, girls laden with all manner of garment bags and each pulling behind them a suitcase. “What is this all about?” I’m unsure if my question is meant for her or Whit, who, when I turn, is lowering himself into a chair. I also notice he is doing a pretty good impersonation of the Cheshire cat. No so much in the grinning sense but the knowing.
