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“It’s the greatest Christmas song there is,” said Walker, aghast.
“Okayyyy,” I drawled slowly. “Tell me you’re not getting laid, without telling me you’re not getting laid.”
Walker literally growled at me before slapping a hand across his mouth. “Sorry! I didn’t mean that,” he said frantically.
There was a moment of silence as Ms. Swift began to play her depressing “Christmas” song…and then we all burst into laughter.
Just then the St. Regis popped into view and Blake gasped before staring at Ari with big moon eyes. Monroe stared out the window interestedly, probably wondering what the big deal was. My girl was still pretty naive about expensive things, and it was going to be a blast giving her this experience tonight.
I helped Monroe out of the limo, shooting the hovering doorman a look when I saw him staring at her legs. He blanched and quickly glanced away. I didn’t blame him for wanting to look, but it didn’t change that I wasn’t going to allow it to happen.
When I stared down at Monroe—my Monroe—my breath caught in my throat. She was wearing a tight, crimson dress that clung to her every curve, accentuating the graceful lines of her body. Her long, silky hair cascaded down her back, framing her delicate features. My fingers itched to rip that dress off and it—combined with the jersey incident—was making me feel a little feral at the moment.
“Down boy,” Ari muttered to me as he passed by.
I growled at him and he snorted.
“Nick Soto,” I muttered under my breath, forcing myself to think of the carrot topped troll who played in LA., to make sure my hard dick didn’t scare the maître d'.
But then Monroe smiled up at me, and I was fucked.
“Did you just say Soto?” Walker asked, staring at me confused.
I rubbed a hand down my face, wanting to hit him with a hockey stick. “Don’t worry about it, Disney. You must have misheard me.”
“No, I think I heard that, too,” said Ari innocently. “You fantasizing about Soto again, golden boy?”
“I hate you both,” I growled as I flipped them off with the hand that wasn’t holding Monroe. Their laughter followed us all the way through the grand lobby as we made our way to Astor Court, the hotel's famous dining establishment.
As we entered the restaurant, a hostess greeted us with a flirty smile. I sighed and glared at her until she got the point that I wasn’t interested. Monroe’s face was bemused when I glanced down at her, but she didn’t get upset anymore when women came onto me.
She knew I was all in, that no one existed but her.
I had her name inked on my dick for fuck’s sake.
She owned me.
We were led to our table. The ambiance was impeccable as it always was, with crisp white linens, gleaming silverware, and crystal stemware that caught the candlelight.
“This place is nice,” Monroe whispered as I pushed her chair in.
“Wait until you taste the food,” I whispered back.
We ordered their holiday three-course dinner, complete with butter-poached lobster risotto, dry-aged prime rib, and pan-roasted wild striped bass–and yes, I’d gotten that description from the menu.
Ari was even quiet for once, shoveling the delicious food into his mouth because it was so fucking good.
Monroe's smile lit up the room, especially when they brought out their famous Buche Ispahan yule log and Grand Marnier panettone bread pudding. I didn’t eat much of the dessert though…
Because the part of the night I washungryfor was about to start.
* * *
Monroe
He was teasing me.
Or maybe torturing me was the right word. I was in a gorgeous hotel, eating food that almost rivaled Mrs. Bentley’s…and I could barely concentrate on any of it.
