or he'd just robbed a bank because one night in the Delano Hotel penthouse had to cost at least a thousand dollars.
Clay's white teeth flashed brilliantly against his bronze, chiseled face. "After the past two nights, I decided you deserved a night of peaceful sleep."
He unlocked the door and together they entered a stunning room that had a walk-in wet bar, custom Philippe Starck-designed furniture, a sitting and dining area, flowing white curtains and spectacular views from the private, spacious balcony.
It was the most breathtaking suite Marisol had ever seen. "Look at all these flowers!" she exclaimed happily, leaning over to inhale the heady fragrance of pink long-stemmed roses. "They're gorgeous!"
"Come," Clay said, leading her to the all white bedroom where next to the king size bed on a small table, a chilled bottle of champagne rested in a crystal ice bucket. Beside it, a silver tray bore plump strawberries and a small bowl of dulce de leche, her favorite Argentinean sweet.
Marisol dazedly reclined sideways on the edge of the bed and rested her head on her hand. "Join me," she said, patting the space beside her.
It all felt like a dream, one she didn't want to wake up from. She was with Clay in a penthouse suite that had all the makings of a romantic evening.
She scooted over when he sat on the edge of the bed facing her. "I thought our marriage was for appearances only. Not that I'm complaining about all this, but that is what I agreed to this morning," she said, watching him for a reaction.
"You think I brought you here to seduce you?" he asked mildly.
"Maybe."
"That wasn't my intention. I did it because you were so sad after our wedding ceremony, I wanted to erase the tackiness of it."
"Aw, thanks. Underneath that tough chest beats a heart of gold," she said, deeply touched by his thoughtfulness.
"Don't overdo it," he said dryly.
"So where are you planning to sleep?" she asked with a coy smile.
Clay mouth held a hint of sardonic humor. "I'm your husband now, I'll sleep beside you. Unless you object."
"Well..." Object? All she wanted was for him to make love to her, she thought, shivering with delicious anticipation. "Things might get out of hand..." she murmured, lazily tracing her finger over the top of his big hand.
Marisol's pulse quickened at the image of Clay's naked body beside her in the bed. Who said anything about being naked , she asked herself with wicked glee. She could only hope. Even if he remained fully clothed and on top of the sheets, he'd be too hot to resist.
"They might," he conceded. He took hold of her hand and turning it palm upwards, kissing the center before letting it go.
Pleasurable sensations coursed through Marisol, making her intimate parts throb and tingle at the feel of his warm, velvety lips on her sensitive palm.
"Maybe I should take the sofa," he added, watching her steadily.
Marisol sat up, invitation brimming in her eyes. "That would hardly be fair. After the two nights you've spent on my couch, you deserve a good night's sleep."
"Believe me, it was a luxury compared to some of the grungy places I've slept while working undercover narc. I'm used to roughing it."
Marisol didn't know how to respond to that. Growing up with more luxuries than she needed, she had never had to rough it. Compared to her cushy life, Clay's world seemed dangerous and bleak.
She walked around the room and took in the details. "This place must have cost a fortune."
"It's only one night, sunshine."
Only one night, she repeated silently. A lot could happen in one night—at least she hoped so.
"I'm going to freshen up a bit."
Marisol carried her overnight bag into the lavish, white Italian marble bathroom and filled the big soaking tub with hot water and the freesia-scented bath oil the hotel provided. She stripped out of her clothes and stepped into the fragrant steamy bath. Exhausted, she leaned her head back, closed her eyes and within minutes dozed off.
* * *
Marisol froze
Clay's white teeth flashed brilliantly against his bronze, chiseled face. "After the past two nights, I decided you deserved a night of peaceful sleep."
He unlocked the door and together they entered a stunning room that had a walk-in wet bar, custom Philippe Starck-designed furniture, a sitting and dining area, flowing white curtains and spectacular views from the private, spacious balcony.
It was the most breathtaking suite Marisol had ever seen. "Look at all these flowers!" she exclaimed happily, leaning over to inhale the heady fragrance of pink long-stemmed roses. "They're gorgeous!"
"Come," Clay said, leading her to the all white bedroom where next to the king size bed on a small table, a chilled bottle of champagne rested in a crystal ice bucket. Beside it, a silver tray bore plump strawberries and a small bowl of dulce de leche, her favorite Argentinean sweet.
Marisol dazedly reclined sideways on the edge of the bed and rested her head on her hand. "Join me," she said, patting the space beside her.
It all felt like a dream, one she didn't want to wake up from. She was with Clay in a penthouse suite that had all the makings of a romantic evening.
She scooted over when he sat on the edge of the bed facing her. "I thought our marriage was for appearances only. Not that I'm complaining about all this, but that is what I agreed to this morning," she said, watching him for a reaction.
"You think I brought you here to seduce you?" he asked mildly.
"Maybe."
"That wasn't my intention. I did it because you were so sad after our wedding ceremony, I wanted to erase the tackiness of it."
"Aw, thanks. Underneath that tough chest beats a heart of gold," she said, deeply touched by his thoughtfulness.
"Don't overdo it," he said dryly.
"So where are you planning to sleep?" she asked with a coy smile.
Clay mouth held a hint of sardonic humor. "I'm your husband now, I'll sleep beside you. Unless you object."
"Well..." Object? All she wanted was for him to make love to her, she thought, shivering with delicious anticipation. "Things might get out of hand..." she murmured, lazily tracing her finger over the top of his big hand.
Marisol's pulse quickened at the image of Clay's naked body beside her in the bed. Who said anything about being naked , she asked herself with wicked glee. She could only hope. Even if he remained fully clothed and on top of the sheets, he'd be too hot to resist.
"They might," he conceded. He took hold of her hand and turning it palm upwards, kissing the center before letting it go.
Pleasurable sensations coursed through Marisol, making her intimate parts throb and tingle at the feel of his warm, velvety lips on her sensitive palm.
"Maybe I should take the sofa," he added, watching her steadily.
Marisol sat up, invitation brimming in her eyes. "That would hardly be fair. After the two nights you've spent on my couch, you deserve a good night's sleep."
"Believe me, it was a luxury compared to some of the grungy places I've slept while working undercover narc. I'm used to roughing it."
Marisol didn't know how to respond to that. Growing up with more luxuries than she needed, she had never had to rough it. Compared to her cushy life, Clay's world seemed dangerous and bleak.
She walked around the room and took in the details. "This place must have cost a fortune."
"It's only one night, sunshine."
Only one night, she repeated silently. A lot could happen in one night—at least she hoped so.
"I'm going to freshen up a bit."
Marisol carried her overnight bag into the lavish, white Italian marble bathroom and filled the big soaking tub with hot water and the freesia-scented bath oil the hotel provided. She stripped out of her clothes and stepped into the fragrant steamy bath. Exhausted, she leaned her head back, closed her eyes and within minutes dozed off.
* * *
Marisol froze
Similar Books
