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His eyes warm, but he shakes his head at me. “I’m going to get changed, Kate.”
He takes my hand and uncurls it, looking at the single key lying there, and his slow-growing grin is a work of magic, lighting up his whole face.
Kate’s singing in the shower by the time I’m ready, and how out of key it is makes me grin. I tap on the door.
“I’m going to explore, Maria Callas. I’ll see you in reception.”
She laughs. “Sorry about the singing!”
“It’s all good. I’ll see you down there.”
I slip out the bedroom door. Going straight down and throwing myself into something so foreign doesn’t appeal when I can see beautifully manicured grounds out of the windows that look out over the rear of the building. I wander along the corridor away from the main stairs, eventually finding a fire door with a sign that says, “STAFF ONLY.” When I push through it, a set of service stairs winds down toward a rear extension.Perfect.But as I start down, a giggle drifts up to me.
Then unmistakably a man’s voice, muffled. I pause on the step and peer over the railings. I can just make out two heads of dark hair, tucked away in the bottom of the stairwell.
“Come on, you know you want to.” The man’s voice becomes clearer as he lifts his head.
“You’re wicked—we can’t do this here! What if someone finds us? You’re getting married tomorrow.”
Getting married?Shit. This isJavier? The man smooths the woman’s hair back from her forehead, and as I lean a bit farther, I get a better look at his face. His other hand is cupped around her jaw.
“So? You think that’s going to change anything?”
I can hear the pout in the woman’s voice when she answers. “You decided to marryher.”
What?
“Babe. You don’t think I’m going to get lots of breathing space? I’m buying a place out of town. It won’t be long before she’s living there.” His voice drops. “I’ll have endless excuses to stay in town, and she won’t be breathing down my neck. We can spend all night. Just imagine.” He nuzzles into her neck again. “I’ve got something for you.”
She arches against him. “Yeah?”
He puts his hand into his back pocket and draws out a slim box. The woman takes it greedily and opens it up. Something catches the light, and she gives a little squeal.
“Shhhhh!” he says.
“Oh, it’s beautiful.”
“You see? That’s my commitment to you. Cassandra’s getting nothing like that from me.”
Sonofabitch. I watch as he takes something out of the box and then clips it around her wrist.
“Promise me.” she says, still pouting.
“Of course. You know you’ve always been my best girl.”
I bet she fucking is. Out of how many?
“I want to see that on your wrist as you go down on me.”
As I watch, he leans back and her hands come to his belt. I stare in horrified fascination as she unzips him and sinks to her knees, and shit, I feel like a slimy voyeur, but getting evidence of this is just too tempting. I fumble in my pocket for my phone. Then checking around, I sink down on the stairs, stick my hand through the railing and start videoing.
Fabian has left the bedroom by the time I’m out of the shower, so I throw on a lick of makeup and head out of the door. The red dress that I flung into my suitcase at the last minute curls around my legs, clinging to my damp skin and revealing far too much at the front. Some of Fabian’s attitude must have rubbed off on me tonight because it matches my mood.
As I descend past stained-glass windows to the lobby, still trying to walk properly in my high heels, I lose my breath when I catch sight of Fabian leaning against the reception desk, idly chatting to the lady who checked us in. He’s in smart black jeans and a tight black T-shirt that clings to his ropey chest, long tattoos trailing out from beneath the short sleeves, an assortment of leather around one wrist. His hair is up, his scruff suspiciously tidy on his chin. As I head across the parquet floor, he props his elbow on the desk, and I can’t tear my eyes away from the way his muscles tighten. The woman on the desk flutters her eyelashes at him, so I sneak up to him, my hand coming to his hip and sliding into his back pocket as I press against his side. I’m not sure whether I’m staking my claim on him, pulling his attention from the flirty receptionist, or something else. Liquid-silver eyes tip down to my face, then his eyes widen and he pulls back to examine what I’m wearing.
“You can’t wear that,” he says.
I laugh. Am I offended? “Why not?”
