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But when she steps inside the room, it’s spotless and empty of all her bags.
“Where’s my stuff?” Hazel cries.
“Hold on! Hold on!” our wedding planner calls from the other end of the hall. She jogs to us as fast as she can in her pencil skirt. Hazel steps back into the hall to see what’s happing.
When the wedding planner finally reaches us, she holds out a different hotel keycard. “I reserved the hotel’s Bridal Suite for you. Your things have been delivered there. You have it for the next two nights, so no need to rush through an early morning checkout.” She winks.
Hazel and I stare at the hotel keycard. Then we look at each other.
If it’s a Bridal Suite, it almost certainly only has one bed.
On the other hand, I got us out of that dumb reception by heavily implying we were off to enjoy our wedding night. If we turn it down, our Wedding Planner will be confused, and may end up gossiping about us to someone.
The last thing we need isanyonelooking too hard at our fake marriage.
I take the keycard. “Thank you. You think of everything.”
She beams. “Let me escort you up there.”
Hazel and I exchange frustrated, helpless glances, and follow in her wake.
* * *
The Bridal suite is gorgeous,all soft rugs, and softer furniture. The bathroom features a massive jacuzzi tub already filled with hot water and rose petals. There’s an ice bucket with two bottles of incredibly expensive champagne, and a gift basket that includes snacks, water bottles, condoms, and lube.
The only thing the suite doesn’t have is a damn couch. Instead, there’s a delicate settee thing that would fit about two-thirds of my body if I tried to lay down on it.
Which means I’m sleeping in the damn bed with Hazel.
I scowl down at it, hands on my hips.
It’s a mammoth bed. We’re both adults. Normally I wouldn’t be worried.
Except that my control almost snapped more than once today, and that was with a room full of people watching us.
Do I trust myself not to reach for Hazel in the middle of the night, when I’m half asleep and she’s running that gorgeous mouth at me, tempting me the way she’s been doing all day?
Hazel laughs. “You’re glaring at that bed like it insulted your mother.”
“I’m not...what are you doing?” I ask, distracted by the way she’s arching her back and twisting around in her dress. The tightly tailored silky fabric is pulling across her body in interesting ways.
“Trying to get out of this dress,” she says. Finally, she gives up. “Fuck it. Will you help me?”
No, I want to say.
Because I am trying to do right by her,I am trying damnit, but she’s wearing my ring and she kisses like heaven, and I can’t remember the last time I wanted a woman this badly.
Hell, I can’t remember the last time I wanted a woman I couldn’t have.
This is an entirely new experience for me.
And now Hazel is asking me to help her slide all that silk off her body, so that it pools at her feet...
“Are you wearing a bra under that thing?” I say, my voice embarrassingly rough.
“Actually, it’s a bustier,” Hazel sends primly. “It’s sort of like a corset, but it’s really soft and stops at the waist. Plus, it gives my boobs this great lift.”
I swallow a groan. That description doesnothelp my problem.
