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A cheer from a couple of the girls who came to the party brings me to my senses, and I lower my legs and disengage from him while he chuckles.
“Is that your boyfriend, Belle?” one of the cheeky girls asks.
“Yes,” I reply. “Sorry about that, I haven’t seen him for a while.”
They all giggle, and I grin and wave goodbye as he picks up my bags and takes them to the Uber waiting by the curb. We get in, and the driver heads off toward the city center.
“Sorry about that,” I apologize to Damon. “Calling you my boyfriend, I mean. I didn’t want to have to explain to a seven-year-old about one-night stands.”
He chuckles. “I don’t mind. Haven’t been called a boyfriend in a long time.”
A shiver runs down my spine at the lazy, sexy heat in his eyes. “I’ve missed you,” I say, thinking there’s no point in hiding it.
He cups my cheek with a hand, brushing his thumb across my skin, then leans forward and kisses me. This time, the kiss is slow and searching. He takes his time to press his lips across mine, and then eventually I feel his tongue touch my bottom lip. I open my mouth obediently, and he slides his tongue inside. We exchange a long, languid kiss that has my heart hammering, and the Uber driver glancing in his rearview mirror with raised eyebrows.
When Damon lifts his head, I’m seeing stars. “Wow,” I whisper.
He kisses my forehead. “I’ve missed you too.” He puts his arm around me, and I snuggle up to him.
“I’m so glad you came down,” I say. “Where are we staying?”
“We have two nights in a boutique hotel called The Seven Sisters.”
“Ooh, I’ve never been there. It’s really swish.”
He chuckles. “I’ve booked the Royal Skylight Room.”
“The penthouse?”
“Kinda. It’s right in the roof with all these windows, so it’s really light. It has a huge bath.” He waggles his eyebrows.
“I’ve died,” I tell him, feeling faint at the thought of getting into all hot and soapy with him. “I’ve actually died and gone to heaven. Although that would make you an angel, and you’re quite clearly not.”
“Devil emoji.” He nuzzles my ear and murmurs, “They have a great room-service menu, so we don’t have to leave the room at all for two days if you don’t want to.”
“Oh my God.” I sigh. “You’re making it impossible for me to meet other men, you know. Nobody’s ever going to live up to you.” He goes quiet at that, just surveying me thoughtfully, and I feel a flicker of guilt. “Sorry, I shouldn’t say things like that.” I don’t want him to think I’m falling for him, and that I’m trying to make him feel bad because I want more.
But he just says, “I’d rather you didn’t talk about seeing other men.”
Ooh. Part of me is irritated by that—he has no right to ask for exclusivity when he’s made it clear this isn’t serious. But I’m also thrilled by his possessiveness. I’m tempted to tease him for being jealous, but he’s practically glowering at me.
Instead, I say softly, “All right. As long as it goes both ways.” I don’t want to hear about him with other women either.
He runs a strand of hair from my ponytail through his fingers and says, “No one could match up to you anyway.”
I smile. This man makes me glow in about ten different ways.
It doesn’t take us long to get to the hotel. It’s on the northern edge of Hagley Park, close to the Museum, Art Gallery, and Botanic Gardens, with a great view across the park and the River Avon. The trees have all donned their autumn coats, and the park is a glorious blend of oranges, red, and browns. A couple of oaks stand outside the hotel, and we scrunch through their fallen leaves as we get out of the car, retrieve our bags, and walk into the building.
The hotel is an intriguing mix of past and present, built in the Gothic Revival style. It was badly damaged in the 2011 earthquake, but restoration work has finished now, and the hotel is busy and obviously thriving. The furniture is stylish and manages to maintain the Victorian atmosphere, even though the hotel provides all the mod cons, including a gym and a top-class restaurant.
I tend to feel intimidated by the smartly dressed staff and exquisite surroundings of posh hotels, especially in a five-star place like this, but Damon strides up to the reception desk and announces that we’d like to check in.
“Damon Chevalier,” he says when the receptionist asks for his name.
I stand somewhat shyly beside him. Is the receptionist wondering what on earth someone like me is doing with a guy like him? I’m wearing tight jeans and a plain black tee, not unlike what he’s wearing, but somehow, he manages to ooze power and wealth, and I feel like a scruffy waif he’s pulled off the streets.
But the receptionist just smiles at me, and when he returns the sheet that she asked him to fill in, she just says, “Welcome to the Seven Sisters, Mr. Chevalier, and Ms. Winters. I hope you enjoy your stay. The Royal Skylight Room is our most premium room and it’s located in the attic of the Alcyone building.” She gestures to the elevators.
