She blinked in confusion, then studied the busy city around them. It could have been almost any big city, anywhere in the world. Anywhere in the Spanish-speaking world, anyway. Ducking her head, she looked out Vincent’s window at the hotel. She had no idea where they were, but discovered she didn’t really care. As long as there was a bed and a shower, and at least a candy bar in the minibar, she’d survive.
“Ready,” she told him. She went to open her door, but found an eager young man had beaten her to it.
“Bienvenida, señora,” he said with an eager politeness that fit the elegant façade of the hotel before them.
Vincent was waiting for her on the other side of the SUV. He held out his hand and she took it, bemused at how completely natural it felt. Only a few days ago . . . she was sure if she counted back, she could figure out exactly how long they’d been traveling together, but it didn’t really matter. What mattered was how completely things had changed. They’d gone from being distrustful strangers to reluctant partners, and now? Now, they held hands as they walked into the elegant hotel Vincent had chosen, looking for all the world like a real couple.
A doorman pulled open the heavy glass door precisely as they arrived, echoing the valet’s welcoming sentiments, seeming not to notice that the new guests were dusty and dirty and that their clothes bore some rather mysterious stains that one didn’t want to examine too closely. Lana ran a self-conscious hand over her hair, knowing even as she did it that there was nothing she could do to repair the wreckage before they reached the reception desk.
Vincent, of course, strolled into the sweet, cool air of the lobby like he owned the place, as confident in his filthy and blood-encrusted clothing as he’d have been in a tailored tuxedo. Lana caught one well-toned female patron giving Vincent a bold and admiring gaze as she headed out for an early morning jog. Or at least her clothes made it look like she wanted everyone to believe that’s where she was going. Lana wasn’t convinced any serious jogger would wear that much makeup. But then she wasn’t feeling particularly charitable on the subject. She glared at the female barracuda and tightened her grip on Vincent’s hand, pulling herself closer to his side.
He glanced down and gave her a knowing wink. Lana rolled her eyes, but the damage was done. He knew what she’d done and why.
There was a short line at the reception desk, but Vincent didn’t stop. Instead, he walked right up to the other end of the counter where a serious-looking man stood, concentrating on something on the screen in front of him. He glanced up when Vincent arrived, and his eyes went wide.
“Señor Kuxim, bienvenido,” he said, seeming pleased as punch that Vincent had deigned to drop in at the last moment.
“Felipe,” Vincent greeted him, continuing in English, “Is our suite ready?”
“But, of course. I shall inform the kitchen of your arrival.” Felipe switched languages smoothly as he pulled an already-prepared folio and keys out of a drawer and handed them over. “Your usual.”
“Efficient as always. Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” And Felipe beamed so brightly in saying it that Lana believed him.
They had the elevator to themselves, which was good, because in the confined space Lana could smell herself and it wasn’t pleasant. The perfect Vincent wasn’t exactly an ad for men’s cologne, either, which she actually found rather reassuring.
He slid his key card into the slot reserved for certain floors and the elevator sped upward without stopping. The hallway stretched out to either side when the doors opened. It was perfectly silent, partly, Lana was certain because of the early hour, but the thick carpet and wallpapered walls were designed to absorb sound, and the rooms were probably well-insulated. There’d be no banging headboards in this hotel.
Their room, or suite according to Felipe, was almost all the way down at the end, and Lana was sure that if she’d had the energy to turn around, she’d have found little deposits of dirt and mud from where her feet were dragging along the rich carpet.
Vincent inserted the key and pushed open the heavy door, entering ahead of her and checking out the room before walking back and pulling her all the way inside. Then he closed and locked the door.
Lana was more than tired, but that didn’t stop her from admiring the room. It was spacious and elegant, with subdued lighting, a big flat screen TV, and huge fucking bed that looked like heaven.
“I need a shower,” she said.
“Go ahead,” Vincent told her. “The luggage should be here by the time you’re finished.”
She considered waiting. After all, Vincent probably wanted a shower as badly as she did, but since he offered, she decided to be selfish and take it.
The hotel bathroom was all gleaming pink marble and golden faucets, and it was bigger than her bedroom back home. Through a door on the left was a dressing area with enough closet space to house her entire wardrobe and still look empty. A basket of organic bath supplies sat on the counter, so, rather than wait for her duffel bag, she plucked out the bottles of shampoo and conditioner, along with an unscented soap and placed them all in the shower. Turning on the hot water, she let it run to steam up the room. There was a rainfall shower head, but she left that one off. Tonight, or rather this morning, she wanted a hard, pounding massage. Besides, she needed to wash her hair. The images of what Carolyn had done to Albert Serrana kept running through her head, like a video on replay. But it wasn’t the brutality of it that bothered her, because the bastard deserved everything he got. No, what made Lana shudder was the conviction that bits and pieces of him were still clinging to her hair and skin and clothes.
In minutes, she’d left her boots and clothing in a pile on the floor and was standing under the pounding water, letting the heat soak into sore muscles. The door opened and she recognized Vincent despite the fogged-up shower glass. There was no mistaking his height and breadth, or the graceful way he moved. She thought at first that he meant to join her and wasn’t sure how she felt about that. She had no doubts left that they’d be having sex sooner rather than later, but at the same time, she didn’t know if she wanted her first time with him to be in the shower. Especially not when the water was still running pink with the blood she was trying to wash out of her hair. Ick.
Vincent must have had similar doubts, because he turned around and left the room. Or maybe it was simply too close to sunrise. That thought had her hurrying to finish up. It wouldn’t be fair if she got to shower and he didn’t.
She rinsed the conditioner from her hair and stepped into the relatively cooler air of the bathroom, wrapping a big fluffy towel around her hair. She’d noticed terry bathrobes in the closet, so rather than taking time to towel dry, she pulled on one of the robes and walked out in the main room.
The first thing she noticed was the scent of food. Delicious, spicy food. Her stomach growled loudly enough that Vincent noticed. But then what didn’t he notice? He looked up and nodded at the room service cart that had shown up while she showered.
“As you requested,” he said.
Lana lifted the metal cover on the main dish and her stomach growled even more loudly. She didn’t know exactly the proper name for this meal, but she called it carne asada. There was a separate covered container with freshly-made flour tortillas, and she nearly swooned.
Vincent’s laugh made her glance up at him. “Just looking at you eyeing that food is making me hard, querida.”
Lana blushed. “Sorry.”