Marco's POV
The 12th floor of the exclusive country club exuded quiet luxury—thick carpets muffling footsteps, warm sconces casting golden light against the cream-colored walls. Marco adjusted the strap of his duffle bag over his shoulder as he made his way down the hall, his keycard in one hand, his phone in the other. He had just checked in for the four-day Harley-Davidson sales conference, but as soon as he stepped out of the elevator, a sound hit him—one that made his brows furrow.
Muffled but unmistakable, raw passion echoed from a room down the hall. Moans, gasps, the rhythmic creaking of a bedframe. He slowed his steps, trying not to smirk. Damn, whoever was in that room was really putting in some work. The thought made him shake his head.
When he reached his suite, directly acro
