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I soften with those words. “You hate Josh, but you really are willing to support him as my agent, aren’t you?”
“As long as he keeps his hands to himself,” he says, the light catching on a hard glint in his blue eyes.
The doorman reappears, and Nick tips him. I follow the path I now believe to lead to the bedroom, finding it is indeed at the end of the hallway. It has thick gray curtains, a cream-colored fluffy rug, a bed so high I need a step stool, and a sitting area. Our bags are nowhere in sight, and I walk to the bathroom to seek them out. It is, of course, as luxurious as the rest of the suite, with an egg-shaped tub, shiny white and gray tiles, and a massive tile-encased shower.
My hunt for the bags leads me to the walk-in closet, where they sit on suitcase stands, but there is more. There is a collection of dresses with the tags still on them. Six dresses. My heart starts to race, confusing emotions rushing through me. Nick’s footsteps sound, and I turn to face him. He appears in the doorway, bigger than life, I swear, and so good-looking, so damn dominant in every situation. “You’re very overwhelming,” I blurt. “Everything you do is big, bold, and extravagant.”
“Agreed.”
I smile. “That’s it? You agree?”
“Yes. Do you like the dresses?”
“I haven’t looked at them yet.”
“Why not?”
I walk to him and push to my toes to kiss him. “I know you want me to enjoy your money. I know that I can’t be with you and not experience your money. I see that.”
“But?”
“No buts other than me suddenly really needing to say something to you.”
“Okay. You have my full attention. As I often say, you always have my full attention.”
“You will never be the sum of a fancy hotel room or fancy dresses to me. I’m going to tell you that a lot because I don’t want you to forget. And on that note. The dresses are exciting. The room is wonderful. Thank you for working so hard to make this weekend special.” I give him a quick kiss, and when I would turn away, he pulls me to him. His fingers tangle in my hair, and his mouth closes down on mine, and in the depths of that kiss I taste torment that I do not understand. But there is love and hunger and need, too.
He pulls back, stroking my cheek. “I’d better stop, or we’ll be late. Look at the dresses. And if you don’t like any of them, we’ll trade them in.”
“What is it that I’m sensing?” I ask. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing you in one of those dresses can’t solve.” He brushes his lips over mine and releases me, and before I can press him for more, he turns and disappears into the bathroom.
I stare after him, and I have no idea what it was about that exchange, but every instinct I own now says that the club wasn’t the big reveal I’d thought it to be. That secret that he fears I won’t accept, that I’ve tried to reveal with my paintbrush, has yet to be exposed.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Faith
I’m still struggling to decide on a dress when the shower comes on. I step into the bathroom and find Nick’s already inside. Still bothered by the exchange we’ve just had and by the idea that we might go into this night—and an encounter with Macom—with something I don’t even understand brewing between us, I strip my clothes away and step around the tiled wall.
Nick is under the water, eyes shut, head tilted upward, suds pouring over every naked, ripped, perfect inch of him. He must sense my presence, suddenly lowering his chin, his eyes finding me. His gaze skims my naked body. His cock now thick, hard. I walk toward him, and he doesn’t move, a dark edginess about him that confirms what I’d sensed in the closet. There is still a wall between us—a secret. I stop a lean away from touching him, but he doesn’t reach for me. I lift my hand and press it over his heart, and that touch is all it takes. He is suddenly kissing me, his hand closing around a chunk of my hair, the taste of him wild hunger with a big dose of that torment I’d sensed. His hands are all over me, his mouth on my nipple one moment, fingers tugging it the next.
Before I know it, I’m pressed into the corner, and he is lifting me, his cock pressing inside me, stretching me, filling me. That wild hunger dominates, and it consumes me right along with him. I want him deeper. I want him harder. I want his mouth on my mouth. We don’t last long, though. Both of us are too aroused, too urgent. I shatter, my sex clenching the thick width of his shaft. He shudders in response, and soon we are holding on to each other, breathing together—fast and then slow.
He eases me to the ground. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”
I tangle my fingers into his wet hair. “We needed that.”
He inches back to look at me. “Why do you say that?”
“I don’t know. I just felt it. I needed it.”
He studies me for several beats, his expression unreadable. He kisses me again, a deep stroke of tongue followed by another before he says, “I love you. Finish your shower.”
And then he is gone, and for reasons I can’t even explain that have nothing to do with how hot and naked he is or how much I love him, too, I want to pull him back. So much that it hurts to deny that need.
…
