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“That’s settled then. When would you be leaving?”
“I . . . er . . . I’ll have to get in touch with the FBI contact first to fix a date with him. It could be in a week or so.”
He nods. “Right. Thank you, Mrs. Winters, Ms. Bartholomay, and the rest of the team.”
Giselle glances at me as her team exits the boardroom. Our eyes meet and lock for some seconds before she looks away. I hope she gets the message I passed in mine.
What I want, I get.
And now, I want her.
CHAPTER10
GISELLE
Stepping out of the cab in front of the magnificent Hamilton Hotel, I grab my overnight bag. Although the mid-November sun renders the air warm, it remains as crisp as the pages of a new book. Tipping my head back, I stare up at the building painted white with its dark green signage. Lucky for me that the museum chose the historical hotel because of its proximity to the J. Edgar Hoover Building. The urge to check-in and explore the city is overwhelming, but I remind myself to stay focused. Sightseeing isn’t the reason I’m here. Perhaps after my successful assignment is complete, I can take a few hours to tour around the city before leaving tomorrow.
With that decision in mind, I climb up the steps into the cool interior of the building. I’m immediately welcomed by the doorman. The vast lobby sprawls out, bathed in the gleam of gold accents, offering an elegant spectacle. My heels click on the black and white patterned floor as I cross to the front desk where two receptionists, looking smart in black and white uniforms, greet me with broad smiles. The pillars loom large, their grandeur juxtaposed with eclectic decor that dances between time worn elegance and contemporary flair.
“Welcome to the Hamilton,” the man behind the counter says in a booming voice.
“Thank you. I have a reservation for Ms. Giselle Bartholomay.”
The man glances at his computer screen, presses a few buttons, and nods. “Yes. The Park View King Room. Excellent choice. I hope you had a nice trip here.”
I nod and provide him with the necessary identification. The train journey from New York had been nothing short of enchanting, each landmark blurring past my window, rendered hazy by my bubbling anticipation. Pinching myself, I'm reminded of the museum's board, their eyes widening and faces lighting up as I delved into the intricacies of Mayan culture and art. A mere week at the museum, and the tantalizing possibility of joining the conservators for the next exhibit already looms on my horizon. The thought sends shivers of excitement down my spine as I dare to dream.
“Here are your keys, ma’am. Andrew here will show you to your room.”
“Thank you.”
I take the key and turn around. A small gasp falls from my throat when I walk smack into a well-built body. Instinctively, I raise my hands to brace myself against the muscular chest of the man I hit while his arms encircle my waist to keep me steady. Warm, firm, and unrelenting. The man’s musky scent tickles my nostrils, and before I even lift my eyes, I know it’s Miles.
Oh, my sweet heavens.
My breath is trapped in my lungs, my femininity beating like a heart. He smiles, the edges as sharp as broken glass, a frightening hunger in his eyes. The weight of his gaze has my entire body humming.
Swiftly, I pull away from his embrace, hating my traitorous reaction.
“What’s the hurry, Giselle?” he asks, his voice a rumble that shoots straight to my core.
I strive to put further distance between us, though I can’t deny that I relished being in his arms again, even if it was just for a few seconds. Just like a week ago in the board meeting, he’s dressed in a sleek suit that shows off his muscular physique. Once more, I see why it was so easy for me to fall into bed with him. The man is damn handsome and fucking sexy!
“Mr. Carrey. I’m sorry I didn’t see you there.”
My voice is in shreds.
Smirking, his brows curve. “Mr. Carrey? Really?”
I catch myself shrugging, eyes drifting to the side. Civility feels like a thin thread about to snap. His pull is like gravity, as if the universe itself insists on drawing us closer. This hotel lobby, with its ambient murmurs and soft lighting, only amplifies the echoes of our night at the Mandarin.
“I know we’re here on business, but standing on formal ground won’t work . . . unless you want to play with it, that is.” He grins, taking a suggestive step closer.
The urge to shout bubbles up, fueled by the sting of his concealed life. A wife, a daughter, all hidden as he whispered dreamy illusions beneath sheets. But I rein in the surge of emotions, biting back sharp words. As much as I'd love to, I can't completely dismiss him just yet.
The visit to the FBI needs to go well. If things are stilted between us, chances are we won’t agree on anything and thereby not make a good impression. Possibly, it might lead to our request not being granted. All that negative energy around me would not be productive right now.
On top of everything, even if we are given the go-ahead by the FBI and Honduras, the Board still needs to agree. Miles will be instrumental to achieving that, especially if the conditions to loan the sculpture turn out to be stiff.
