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And the man.
He knows it too, because he pulls over a stool from the mirrored vanity and hands me a flute as he sits.
“Everything you dreamed of?” he asks, nodding at the overflowing scented bubbles.
“Even better,” I say, taking a sip of the crisp champagne, then looking at the glass. “This is delicious.”
“This is the Four Seasons. What did you think they were going to bring up?”
“Well, I don’t know, Mr. Belvedere. I’ve never stayed here before.” Or anyplace remotely like it.
Sean had money—a lot of money, courtesy of his big brain and knack for investing. But in hindsight, he’d been kind of a cheap bastard. Thrifty, he’d called it, but let’s just say that if he ever spent his precious money, it wasn’t on me.
Gage, though, hadn’t hesitated to spend whatever was necessary to make sure I was comfortable. No, not comfortable, pampered.
And yes, he has the money, so why not? But there’s a generosity to him that I wouldn’t have expected. Champagne and strawberries, yes, but also the gift shop skirt, which he bought not to impress but to comfort. It means more than all the chocolate-covered strawberries in the world.
“Best be careful—you’re looking at me as though you like me,” he says, taking a sip of his own champagne.
A few days ago, I would have made a crack that it’d be hard not to like him when he’s just paid for the nicest hotel room I’ve ever been in.
But for some reason I don’t want to cheapen anything about this day. Or anything about us.
Instead I steadily meet his eyes. “I do like you.”
Gage’s hand falters just for a second as he sips his champagne, his eyes flickering with something I can’t identify, and it makes me wonder how often he hears it—if he knows that he’s worthy of being liked just for him, not for his name.
A distant knock at the front door of the suite ruins any potential moment, and he hands me his glass. “Be right back.”
A minute late he comes back into the bathroom. “Stuff’s here.”
I shake my head. “Only you could manage to get hotel staffers to go on a hunt for underwear and hair gel.”
“Speaking of which, I hope you like lace,” he says, retrieving his champagne glass.
“I don’t recall specifying my underw
ear needs.” It had been mortifying enough to put them on the list at all, but it was that or change back into my swimsuit.
“You didn’t,” he says with a grin. “I amended your list.”
“Really?” I say dryly. “Will I still be getting clean clothes, or did you amend that bit as well?”
“I embellished that section a bit.”
“How—”
My question breaks off as he sets his glass on the vanity and peels his T-shirt over his head.
It’s certainly not the first time I’ve seen him without a shirt, but it’s the first time when it’s just us—when I have him all to myself.
His thumbs hook into the swim trunks, and I sit up with a shriek. “What are you doing?”
Gage’s hands still, his eyes darken, and he bites his bottom lip, which is just about the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. Especially when I realize what’s got his attention.
Upon sitting up, I’ve lost the cover of the bubbles, and now there’s nothing but a film of sudsy water to shield my upper body from his gaze.
My first urge is to cover myself. My second urge, though…I take a slow, deliberate sip of my champagne, waiting until his eyes return to mine.
