Not really an answer, but fine. “Where this time? Another Ritz?”
“No. I thought I’d take your suggestion to heart.”
I go still and sit up. The blankets fall away from my body. I’m in a simple white t-shirt, no bra, frizzy hair, and I should be self-conscious. Gabe looks like a dream, like he wandered in here from a menswear photoshoot. He’s in slacks and a button down,sleeves rolled up to show off his muscular forearms. A gold watch glitters in the morning light.
But he’s the one watching me. His eyes roam down to my chest, to my lips, and flick away, like he’s afraid of getting caught looking.
It ignites warmth all through my core.
“I’m not sure I like the sound of that,” I say playfully. I sit up on my knees and shuffle forward, aware I’m in a pair of tight boy shorts. His gaze drops to my hips and his mouth tightens. “Did you seriously pack all my stuff for me?”
“You take too long. Get dressed.”
“Oh, I’m dressed already.” I hop out of bed and stretch, rising onto my toes. I peek over my shoulder—and yep, he’s looking at my ass.
A thrill runs into my stomach. What the hell am I doing right now? Teasing him? Flirting? I’m not sure, but it’s fun, and he’s giving me the exact reactions I want.
He’s watching me hungrily while doing his best to hide it, like he’s struggling to contain himself.
I turn, hands on my hips, casually pulling my shirt tight to my breasts. “Alright, what’s the catch? Where are we going?”
“A place not too far,” he says, eyes right on my tits. He forces himself to turn away. “Get decent. You have a half hour.”
“I told you already, I’m dressed. Let’s leave.”
“Nika, stop it.”
“What’s wrong with what I have on?”
“You’re not leaving this hotel room in your underwear.”
“Okay fine, I’ll put on jeans. Big deal.”
“And a fucking bra.”
My eyes go wide. I fight hard not to start laughing. “Are you telling me how to dress right now?”
“A lot of men work for me. I won’t have them staring at my wife’s tits.”
“Uh, here I was thinking I’m notreallyyour wife, and you married me for my money. Not for my tits.”
His right hand curls into a fist. “Bra. Now.”
“I don’t think so. Let your guys stare at my chest, who cares?” I shrug and start toward the bathroom. “I have that crop-top too, maybe?—“
He turns and comes at me. I let out a yelp of surprise as he pins me back against the wall in a burst of speed and violence. I gasp as he grabs my right wrist and pins it up against my head, his body warm and hard, powerful and muscular, pressed flush to mine. Blood rushes to my cheeks and down between my legs.
“This isn’t funny,” he says in a low, menacing voice. “If any of my employees looks at your body, I will cut his throat. Do you want to be responsible for their deaths?”
“Well, if you put it that way—“ I lean up, my mouth close to his. “Let me fucking go.”
He holds tight and doesn’t move. Our eyes lock. I don’t know what I want from this, but if he kisses me, I doubt I’ll be able to stop myself from kissing him back. Pure lust rolls down my spine in a wave.
But with obvious effort, he releases me and moves away. “I apologize.”
“You better.” I rub my arm, catching my lip between my teeth. “You’re a jealous freak.”
“I don’t like the idea of my wife purposefully showing herself off to my men.”