“Hey there, love. Dead chuffed you could make it.”
Instead of assuring me he didn’t steal my luggage, Mick gave François, the butler who escorted me up to his room, a hand signal that made the older man back away with a discreet nod and disappear down the hallway.
“How’s it goin’, then?” Mick leaned against the doorjamb and folded his arms over his zipped-up leather bomber jacket once François was gone.
Then he gave me a slow up-and-down look. His seductive gaze raised goose bumps on my skin, despite it being warm and toasty in the hallway outside his suite.
Good God, why did he have to be so stupidly hot? It really was just incredibly unfair. Especially under these circumstances.
“How’s it goin’, then?” I repeated, more than a little flustered. “Not great, actually! I waited for eons for my suitcase, only to find out it had already been claimed and brought to the Tourmaline! What the heck, Mick? Do you have it or not?”
“Yeah. Thought, since you said yes to meetin’ up with me, I’d have the airport guy grab your bag, too.”
Any expectation of an apology that I’d carried up in the private elevator with me died on his careless shrug. There wasn’t a hint of contrition on Mick’s face or a note of remorse in his voice.
“You wanna come in?” He hitched a thumb over his shoulder. “It’s ’round here… somewhere.”
“Oh, wow, I can’t believe you!” To say I was furious would’ve been an understatement. I pushed past him into his hotel room. “You just took my luggage, and you didn’t even bother to tell—oh, whoa, what is this?”
I broke off ranting, and my mouth fell open when I got ahold of Mick’s penthouse suite. “Seriously?! This is the suite you won? It looks like something out of a magazine spread. Not real place where human beings are actually allowed to live!”
I rushed to the floor-to-ceiling windows, where the sun was setting over the Seine and the Eiffel Tower, like it was posing for a postcard. “I can barely believe it is real. I mean, look at this view!”
“Yeah, look at the view. It’s beautiful….”
I didn’t realize Mick had followed me over to stand in front of the landscape windows until I turned to find him…
Staring at me, as opposed to the sparkling view.
My heart stuttered. But then I remembered the reason I was standing in front of this picture-perfect view instead of settling into my own hotel room.
“Why did you do that?” I turned to face him with a shake of my head. “Why did you steal my luggage without telling me?”
“Didn’t have your number,” he answered. “Or I certainly would have dropped you an SMS. Hindsight being 20-20, reckon we should’ve thought of exchangin’ digits before we got off the plane.”
He shook his head woefully, as if all of this could have been avoided if either of us had thought to offer up our phone numbers.
I glared at him. “You expect me to believe this was just a simple miscommunication and not some evil plan to make sure I didn’t back out of our one-night stand?”
He raised both eyebrows in a way that would have made me look cartoonish. But, of course, the look came off as even more sinfully handsome on him. “Were you planning to back out of our one-nighter without telling me, then?”
“I… um… well… I…” His direct question put me on the unexpected defense. But in the end, I confessed, “Okay, not going to lie, I was having second thoughts.”
I winced. “The thing is, I’m a very practical person. I’ve had a regular eight-to-five job since graduating from community college. I live below my means and with my parents because it’s cheaper. I drive an economy sedan, and I always pay my bills on time. Seriously, I’ve only done three impractical things in my entire life.”
I ticked the items off on my fingers. “Number one was asking out a professional football player because I was tired of swiping left and I thought he truly was a nice Midwestern boy at heart. Two was taking this trip, and that was only because I won it in a raffle.”
I got that this explanation did not make me come off as sexy in any way, shape, or form. But that was kind of the point.
Once I was on a roll with my explanation about why I’d been rethinking our one-night stand, the rest spilled out like word vomit. “Plus, I had two glasses of champagne on the plane. And you know, in America, they suggest giving it an hour per unit of alcohol before getting behind the wheel. No offense but…”
I shook my head at him and gave it to him straight. “You are a huge wheel. Like the kind you find behind those extremely dangerous monster trucks my little brother loves. So, I was like, Here’s the plan, Kayla. Go back to your hotel room and take at least a couple of hours to make your final decision. That way, you’ll know for sure that you’re in your right mind. Because this is kind of crazy, right?”
I waggle my hands between us. “You and me are not your usual swipe right kind of situation. In fact, I’d bet my entire 401k that I’m nothing like the women you’re used to one-night-standing.”
I trailed off into nervous silence, hoping he’d put me out of my misery, give me my suitcase back already, and send me on my way to continue living my boring, practical life.
But instead of letting of me off the hook, he asked, “What’s the third thing, then?”
“Excuse me?”
He regarded me with a lazy gaze. Like a cat toying with a mouse. But not a regular house cat.
More like a lion. In a dangerously hot British man’s clothing.
He clarified his question. “What’s the third nutty thing you’ve done in your otherwise dead, practical life?”
My heart beat in my throat, and I had to swallow it down to admit, “Saying yes to you on the plane.”
A weird, pained look came over his face. As if I’d kicked him.
“I’m sorry,” I rushed to say. “I didn’t mean to insult you. I’m just trying to be honest.”
He shook his head. “That’s the thing, love. I’m not used to that from women.”
“Being insulted?”
“Honesty.” His eyes roamed over my face, like I was some math problem he couldn’t quite figure out. “I’m not used to women—anyone, really—just being completely honest with me. It’s a little overwhelmin’, if we’re exchangin’ truths right now.”
“Overwhelming.” A snort of laughter escaped before I could stop it. “That’s a great word for it. Now you know how I feel every time I interact with you.”
"Now I know." He laughed, too, but it was a quiet sound. And his eyes remained serious as he continued to stare down at me.
“You… um…” I swallowed again as the rays of the setting sun bathed the gorgeous hotel room in warm golden light. “You said something about getting my suitcase?”
“Yeah, I did. Earlier.” He stepped forward, closing the space between us.
Making it so I had to crank my head back to keep from speaking into his chest when I said, “Well, I should probably grab it. All my stuff is in there. Including my e-reader with the latest Clara Quinn book. And I don’t love reading on my phone, so…”
I waited for him to move away or at least point me toward my missing bag.
But he just stood there, unmoving, his leather and soap scent filling up my nose. Like a vintage song about the kind of guy you can want but never keep. “So, you’re a massive Clara Quinn fan, eh?”
“Oh, yes. The hugest!” My excitement for The Fae Realm saga temporarily eclipsed my intent to get my luggage back. “She’s my favorite author of all time, and it’s been years since her last book. Do you know her?”
“Never heard of her, actually.” He rubbed the back of his neck with an apologetic wince. “Don’t read much meself. I’m more of an action movie guy.”
“And that Coronation Street show you mentioned,” I reminded him with a teasing smile.
He grinned. “Yeah, that series's mint, innit? Been watching since I was a kid. Reckon it will still be runnin’ when I’m dead in the ground.”
I tried to laugh, but found I couldn't.
It was such a silly conversation. Yet, tension crackled between us, like an electrified energy field that would shock me. If I dared to touch it.
I cleared my throat. “So, about my bag…”
“That’s your plan, then?” His black eyes locked mine into his assessing gaze. “You’re just gonna tail it back to your hotel room at the Benton Budget and wait for the booze to wear off until you’re in your right head?”
"Yes." I gave him a nod that was way more determined than I actually felt. “Yes, that’s my plan.”
He stared at me for several long, intense moments. Then his face suddenly broke into a wide grin. “Right-o, then. You can stay here with me and have some scran while we wait out the champer’s buzz.”
Wait. What? “Oh, that’s not what I meant—”
The suite’s doorbell sounded before I could finish protesting.
“Yeah, come through, mate!” Mick called out, finally stepping back from me. “We’re all ready for ya!”
I discovered then that “scran” apparently meant “dinner” when François entered with a man in a hotel worker uniform pushing a rolling cart, on top of which sat several trays covered in golden lids.
“Oh, my gosh, you ordered dinner?” Forget the sunset. I gaped at Mick now. “How much did that cost? You shouldn’t have—”
Mick just shook his head. “Don’t worry ’bout the cost, love. It’s just dinner. One dinner. That’s all you have to give me. Then you can knock off back to your Benton Budget setup if you want. Just don’t make me eat alone in this posh hotel room.”
He held out his hand with an almost comical pleading look. “C’mon, Kayla. One dinner. That’s all I’m asking of you right now. Please, don’t say no.”
I glanced down at his extended palm, rough and covered in calluses.
Please, don't say no.
His words echoed in my head. Short-circuiting my good sense.
Maybe that's why, instead of taking his hand, I rose onto my tiptoes, braced my hands against his chest...
And tentatively kissed him instead.