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“Are you kidding?” he grins, good-naturedly. “I’m having a great time. That professor, Zhang, was a consultant for Ridley Scott’s last movie. She was telling me all the hot gossip about Roman artifacts on set.”
“So that’s what the two of you were chatting about,” I smile, pleased that he’s not getting bored by all the archeology insider conversation. But that’s something I’ve noticed about Reeve, he can talk to anyone, because he’s genuinely curious: about their lives, their work, and, yes, their favorite movies.
“Everyone’s raving about you,” he remarks, as we head down the hallway, and I pull out my keycard. “They all lovedFortune Hunting. Professor Zhang said applications to the program have shot up since it started airing. Apparently, you’re a credit to the field.”
“They just mean they skyrocketed from two people to four,” I quip dryly, opening the door.
And then my jaw drops.
“Woah,” Reeve says, following me into the room. “Did you find the treasure already, and forget to tell me?”
I gape.
Presidential suite? More like, fit for royalty. We’re standing in an expansive living room, decorated with gleaming antiques and plush furniture, with huge windows looking out over the city. A dining room sits to one side, with crystal chandeliers, and a table set for twelve, and on the other side …
“Check out this bed!” Reeve whoops from the doorway to the bedroom. I peek over his shoulder.
“Bed? That’s a small country!” I laugh in shock, taking in the massive four-poster bed, piled with cushions and framed by brocade drapes. Beyond, I can see not one, but two bathrooms: an expanse of white marble, brass fixtures, and –yes! – a luxurious clawfoot tub. “What do you know?” I muse, beaming. “I guess my rat of an ex is good for something, after all.”
“What does this have to do with him?” Reeve turns to me. I smirk.
“Theremayhave been little mix-up at check-in, over our rooms.” I give a shrug. “Whoops. I guess we’ll just have to make the best of it.”
In that bed.
All night long.
Reeve chuckles admiringly. “You’re a dangerous woman, Ivy Fortune,” he says, looping his hands around my waist, and drawing me closer for a slow, sizzling kiss.
I melt against him, savoring the feel of his body and the sensual sweep of his tongue in my mouth. I may have been distracted by seeing old friends and catching up at the mixer, but now?
Now, my fevered hormones spark to life; a rush of heat curling low in my belly. Now, there’s nothing stopping the two of us from—
My phone suddenly blares with a chirping alarm, echoing in the hotel suite.
Reeve pulls back. “What’s that?”
“I set it before, so we wouldn’t be late for dinner,” I say. I scoop the handset out, and quickly silence the sound. “But it’s fine! Where were we…?”
I draw him closer again, my blood still running hot, but Reeve kisses my forehead, and steps back. “You’re right, we should get ready. You haven’t seen these people in years, and you can make out with me any time you like.”
I can?
I hide a smile at that, and reluctantly release him. “I won’t be long,” I promise, grabbing my bag, and making a beeline for the bathroom to change.
I hop in the shower and rinse off, then dress in my sluttiest black lace lingerie and wiggle into the villain-era dress.Manifesting the life I want,I repeat to myself as I scoop my hair up into a messy bun, and apply some smudged eyeliner. I’m probably way overdressed for the dinner, but as I take in the overall effect – tousled, cinched in, and flashing a generous portion of thigh – I have to admit, I like it.
And so does Reeve, if his slack-jawed expression is anything to go by when I join him in the living rom.
“You like it?” I ask, giving a little twirl.
“I … uh … you …” He stammers for a moment, incapable of actual words. Then he exhales a long breath, his eyes roving over me with so much heat in his gaze, the air between us might go up in flames. “I like it,” he finally says, his voice quiet.
A shiver rolls through me.Damn.
“We should, um …” I gesture vaguely for the door, feeling lightheaded.
“Right.” Reeve clears his throat. “Yeah.”
