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“There’s a bed up there.” He points to the small mezzanine and I pull a face.
“For what I have in mind, it won’t be big enough.”
“Okay. I hate to be the sane one in this relationship, but we can’t walk into the hotel with you naked and me bleeding all over the marble floors.”
Ah fuck. He’s right. How the hell did I forget I was naked? Luckily he saves the day by grabbing a hoodie from the couch and chucking it at me. Obviously it absolutely dwarfs me, so it must be Rebel’s.
“Is there anything for you?” Not that I want to cover up his sexy chest and surprising party piercing, but I guess he does have a point.
He rummages through Thorn’s west back and pulls out a rashie. Holding it like it’s a live grenade, he scowls and pulls it over his head.
A laugh breaks free. He just looks so ridiculous. So, un-Baxter-like.
“You should change your pants. It wouldn’t look so bad then.”
He growls at me but does as I suggest, pulling some board shorts from the bag too. But then we seem to both remember the knife protruding from his thigh. He sighs.
“I really didn’t want to remove it,” he says forlornly.
“Allow me.” I smirk and wrench the blade from his thigh, relishing the string of curses that fall from his lips. He grabs his tattered shirt from the floor to press to the wound and bandages it. Several minutes later when it’s calmed down a little he changes into the board shorts.
Baxter Branson in boardies and a rashie is something I never thought I’d see. He still has his trademark scowl and boots in place though, which just makes it seem funnier.
“I’m going to make you pay for that,” he promises darkly. I shiver in anticipation, unsure if he means I’ll be paying for the knife, the outfit, or laughing at him. Either way, I want whatever he’s promising to give.
“At least now we can pretend the blood is a surfing injury.” I try really hard to keep a straight face.
He smirks and allows me to drag him from the hut, locking the door behind him. Then, like a pair of naughty teenagers, we race towards the hotel. I get a case of the giggles as we go, and although Baxter Branson would never do anything so uncouth as giggling, he does seem to share my amusement.
The second the elevator doors close, he pins me to the mirrored wall and has his hands up and under the oversized hoodie. He skims the flesh of my thighs, gripping my hips and kissing my neck. My eyes flutter closed as worries about being caught wash away with every pass of his lips.
I can’t tell if the ride takes seconds or hours, but by the time it pings our arrival, I’m a molten mess of need and want. All he’s done is kiss my neck and hold my hips and I feel like it’s my first time all over again. The anticipation is making my skin tingle and my heart is racing so fast it’s stuttering.
“This isn’t our suite,” I say when my eyes, brain and mouth manage to start working together and I notice that the elevator hasn’t stopped on our floor. I’m not looking at the plush corridor that houses our suite and only one other, I’m staring at a sumptuous sitting room which can only mean we’re in the penthouse.
“What are we doing here?” I whisper-hiss, scared that we’re breaking and entering and going to be caught by its occupants any minute.
“Relax.” Baxter sniggers, tugging me from the lift and into the massive open space. “It’s mine.”
“You rented the penthouse even though we have a suite downstairs?” That makes no sense.
“Not exactly.”
It hits me.
“Oh god, you own it don’t you? This suite.” He smirks. “The whole damn hotel?” His grin gets wider. “Why in the name of all that’s holy, if you own a freaking hotel with a penthouse, do you have us slumming it downstairs in a regular suite?”
A rare laugh slips from his lips, genuine, dark and sexily unexpected as hell. We are absolutely not slumming it in our suite downstairs. It’s the most luxurious place I’ve ever laid eyes on – his grandfather’s island included. Or it was, until I saw this place.
“Do you want to stand around admiring the marble, or the quarter of a million pound a night view, or do you want to see the damn bedroom?”
“There’s only one bedroom?” I tease.
“Get. In. There,” he growls, pointing to a door on his right. I smirk and attempt to saunter over to it seductively, but it’s tricky as shit to be sexy in a knee length hoodie.
I pull it over my head and discard it on the floor, putting an extra little sway in my step as I continue.
“Cute,” Baxter calls out after me. Not a word I thought I’d ever hear fall from his lips. I push open the door and frown when I see he’s directed me to a bathroom. Okay, not what I was expecting.
