His VIP room

4

“Sweetheart, you’re redder than a barn. You might be a lot of things, but 'scared' isn’t one of them.”

Damn.

He noticed, huh?

My face heats at the realization.

Double damn.

“Still waiting to hear how you got into my room,” he snarls. “What do you want, anyway?”

My mouth drops.

“Your room? Wow. So you’re really going to play it that way? Just how stupid do you think I am?”

He c***s his head.

“You managed to slip past security and made it into the presidential suite somehow. I doubt you’re dumb, but if you don’t ask, you don’t get. First rule of business. So, let’s just make this easy on both of us. Why the f**k are you here, watching me shower? What do you want?”

“Right now, I want you out of my room.” My temper flares so hot that cut on my foot throbs, and I wince again before saying, “And FYI, I wasn’t watching you shower. I just had to know who the hell was in my room making noise—”

“Your room?” He laughs, this low sound like a highly amused predator. “You stood there for a solid minute after you saw me, enjoying the show.”

The brightest blue eyes I’ve ever seen drill through me. He’s older, maybe in his early thirties.

Then he clasps his hands over his head and flexes.

My jaw drops.

That just makes his cocky smile wider as he raises a brow. “I saw you checking me out in the mirror. Waited for you to make the first move so I could see if you had a weapon—a real one, I mean.”

Prick.

Frowning, I purse my lips and glare harder.

“Considering you’re too underdressed to be a foreign agent coming to ransom me, though...” He gestures.

And that’s when I realize I’m standing in front of this near-naked jerkface in nothing but a skimpy old sleeping shirt and panties.

My heart plummets from shame to pure rage in two seconds flat.

“You, sir, are in my hotel room in the middle of the night. If I stood around after catching you in my bathroom, it’s because I was shocked. I have a right to be freaked out after finding a naked giant in my hotel room,” I bite off. “Also, I don’t believe for one second that you thought this was your room. It has a whole floor to itself. You had to try to come up here.” My voice cracks at the end.

But at least he isn’t staring me down like tomorrow’s breakfast anymore.

He clears his throat, frustration and confusion lining his face. “You’re damn right. This room is supposed to be mine for the weekend. My key is on the counter next to the sink if that makes you feel better.”

I glance toward the bathroom sink. Sure enough, a sleek silver card with the word Winthrope engraved across it in black letters lays beside it.

So he has proof.

Annoying.

“I thought you were a serial killer,” I whisper.

“I feel like one now. I just got off an international flight and didn’t expect this s**t. All I wanted was a shower and some sleep before I was rudely accosted by a crazy chick in a t-shirt with string beans for arms while I tried to wash Australia away.”

“String beans?” I repeat. “Are you calling me weak?”

He shrugs.

“You dropped the lamp.” He shakes his head, glancing at the mess on the floor. “That was a beauty, too.”

Wait.

He just said international flight and talks like this is his room. For real, I mean.

Has he been here? How does he know what the lamp looked like before I blew it to smithereens?

Before I can ask, he interrupts.

“Nobody just waltzes into the presidential suite. Who the hell are you?” His glance almost cuts me in two.

“My name is Piper.” I swallow. “I’m supposed to have a reservation here for the next few days. I checked in at the front desk. They gave me a keycard and what I thought was an amazing upgrade. I had a drink at the poolside bar and came upstairs to crash. You know, everything normal people do when they start a nice trip. It was all going swell until a naked crazy barged in and started threatening me.”

“Threatening? Give me a break,” he says slowly, his eyes falling to my feet. “How are you still standing and running that mouth?”

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. “f**k 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 s**t. 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.

Will you, witch? He doesn’t actually ask, but his eyes are beaming that question.

“Don’t worry. I’m nothing but honest,” I say, holding a hand up like I’m being sworn in.

“Honest? s**t,” he mutters. “Just sit tight and we’ll figure this out.”

I raise a brow as he waits impatiently, trying to keep my eyes on his face.

Ugh.

Maybe someday I’ll appreciate the irony of my would-be axe murderer suddenly being afraid of me.

I don’t have my review written yet, but I meant every word.

Some would say I’m brutally honest.

And yeah, you can bet every penny that being scared out of my skin by a walking s*x statue is going in my feedback no matter what he does.