The Price of Honor by Emilie Rose Page B

time.”
    â€œMegan, ma petit concourante, you have prepared him as best you can. Give him time to digest your advice and plot his own course.”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œBreakfast will be delivered at eight.” He strode into his room as if assured of her acceptance.
    Megan walked into her room and shut the door. The second the latch caught, she sagged against the panel. Was she actually disappointed Xavier hadn’t made a move on her? Yes. She wanted to make love with him, wanted to hold him and be held by him. Wanted him, damn it. But she wanted it the way it used to be. Correction, the way she had believed it to be when she’d been oblivious to his long-range plans. She wanted her fairy-tale romance back.
    Why was he making this a contest between her and Cecille?
    She forced her feet into motion, moving by rote through her usual routine of undressing, showering and putting on her camisole and tap pants—lacy French remnants from her days with Xavier—not that he’d ever let her sleep in the garments. But having him remove them was half the fun.
    Too keyed up to sleep, too aware of the man on the other side of the locked door and totally disappointed by her indecisiveness, she perched on the edge of her bed, pickedup the TV remote and clicked through the channels just to fill the silence.
    Her stomach growled. Despite the sumptuous buffets they’d attended, working the parties wasn’t conducive to eating. She rarely did more than nibble a few bites. She’d have to call room service. She reached for the phone and spotted the clock. After midnight. Would the kitchens be open? The luxury hotels Xavier preferred tended to be a little more accommodating for their high-paying customers. She might be in luck.
    A knock made her jump. Had that come from the hall door or the adjoining room? She turned off the television. A second knock spurred her pulse into a stampede. Xavier was calling.
    Finding the right balance between making him want more without giving too much of herself wasn’t going to be easy. She detoured by the bathroom, pulled on the thick hotel robe and tied it tightly around her middle.
    She inhaled a game-on breath and opened the door. Xavier’s still-damp hair told her he’d also showered, but he wore jeans and V-neck shirt instead of the silk pajama bottoms he usually donned at this time of night. His attire threw her. If he’d shown up looking like a walking sex machine she’d have had an inkling what he wanted.
    His green eyes raked over her, the pupils expanding as if he could see the delicate lingerie beneath the heavy white terry cloth. A reciprocal hunger echoed deep inside her. How many post-party nights had they made love until exhaustion claimed them? She missed sleeping in his arms and hearing the slow and steady thump of his heart beneath her ear—a lover’s lullaby.
    â€œDid you need something, Xavier?”
    â€œDinner waits.” He swept an arm to indicate the silver dome-laden table by the window of the sitting room.
    â€œDinner?” Her mouth dried.
    â€œI am sure you are as ravenous as always after the preshow events.”
    He had her there. And if she spent time with him she might be able to figure out this unfamiliar move of his. “I could eat.”
    He crossed the room and lifted the first shiny dome. Tacos? She blinked and a laugh bubbled out. She’d expected champagne and seduction. “Not your usual gourmet fare.”
    A smile teased his lips. “It always amused me that you could sit in a five-star restaurant and reminisce of American junk food.” He removed the remaining lids and set them aside, melting her heart like mozzarella in a pizza oven as he uncovered each dish.
    â€œI have ordered corn dogs, barbecue, fried onion rings, New York cheesecake with fresh berries and of course, lemonade. Have I covered all of your food fantasies, mon amante? ”
    She fell a little deeper in