Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 158829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 158829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
Oof.
When an underwear model stares at your feet rather than your face, it’s not a compliment. Then I look down and notice the streak of red I’ve left on the tile.
“You should sit,” he growls. “Can you still walk or do I need to carry you?”
“W-what?” I stammer out.
“Your foot. It’s bleeding pretty bad. You’ll want to get your weight off it and check for glass.”
For a second, my breath stalls and I’m just staring.
Don’t tell me this weirdo is a doctor too? Because that would be the final blow.
“No, no, I’m okay,” I whisper, pinching my eyes shut. “Way to change the subject, though. I still don’t understand. What, you’re saying we both have reservations for this room? That makes no sense.”
He glowers.
I hope he knows I’m still not sure if I believe his story.
But it could be true.
This is a hard place to get into without the right keycard, after all.
“Some dumbass downstairs obviously made a mistake and overbooked the room. Give me a minute to yell at them.” He strides toward me, this walking mountain.
I take a deep breath, unsure what to do.
“You’re between me and the door. I already asked, are you okay to walk or should I—” He stops mid-sentence and sighs loudly. “Fuck it, hold still.”
Next thing I know, I’m airborne.
Slung over his shoulder.
My injured foot curls against his leg as we glide into the room.
“What are you doing?” I hiss, trying not to sound panicked.
“I’m not having you hurting yourself more,” he rumbles. “Besides, you’ll get blood on the carpet, and that’s expensive shit. I’m not waiting for another French decorator to replace it.”
“I don’t know you!” I screech in his ear, slapping at his shoulder. “Look, just put me down. I can make it a few feet.”
If he hears me, he totally ignores it.
He doesn’t stop moving until we’re next to the bed and he’s still holding on.
“Seriously, this isn’t funny. Who are you?” I spit.
“I’m—” He pauses, his blue eyes cold and assessing. “What does it look like? I’m the resort manager. They let me have this room when there are no reservations, which happens more than you think when it’s normally eight thousand dollars per night. I’m just doing my job and saving us both some grief. There’s a heap of red tape whenever it needs a repair.”
Why do I get the impression he’s lying?
Still, resort manager is the only way to explain any of this.
I try not to breathe. I’m instantly aware of his smell wafting over me, somehow fresh and evergreen and manly when he’s just stepped out of the shower.
I don’t speak until he drops me into a plush chair next to the balcony door. I lift my foot, feeling cautiously for any glass shards.
“Well?” he demands. “How’s it look? Do I need to get you a doctor?”
I look up and—
Dear God.
His hands are on his hips.
Of course that towel slid down a few more inches.
I’ve never seen a real man who has an actual V of hard muscle. I try not to think about how I’ve never seen a man who’s packing an entire howitzer, either.
“Lady, are you—”
“I’m f-fine!” I force out. I’m so not fine. “Sorry about the lamp,” I add.
He moves to the table beside me and flicks the light switch on. “You must be mighty important to get this suite. Who are you?” Before I can answer, he yanks the phone on the table off its cradle. “I’ll have them send something up to take care of that foot.”
I shrug. “Not as important as you think. I’m just a social media influencer. My friend helped me get a room here. They gave me the best for my review. I thought it was pretty cool until...until this.”
His stiffens then, gazing down at me like I’m holding a loaded gun.
“You hungry? Do you want something to eat or drink? Room service? I’m sorry as hell about the mix-up and it’s only fair we try to make this right.”
Huh? Why is he not scowling anymore? I’m pretty sure that scary-hot look is like his only expression.
“Nope. I just want to get back to sleep.”
He pushes a button on the phone anyway.
And I burst into a laughing fit as it slowly dawns on me.
“What?” His eyes flick to me and linger. “What’s so damn funny?”
“Now, I get it. I see why you’re bending over backwards offering me room service. Dude, you’re so obvious.”
“What do you mean?” It’s not quite a bark this time, but that too-stern tone is back.
I choke off a laugh just long enough to regain some composure.
“You’re worried about the review. You think I’m going to take you to the woodshed and trash this place. And that would suck when Winthrope Lanai is already down to a four-star average on every site that matters.”
His eyes narrow.