The Rivals - Vi Keeland Page 0,32

of a long day. “Thanks, Charles.”

Since it was getting late, and I knew the housekeeping staff went down to a skeleton crew soon, I figured I should move to my new room so the old one could be cleaned and put back into inventory in case we had any walk-in guests tonight. The hotel wasn’t sold out, but there weren’t that many vacant rooms.

On the eighth floor, I packed up my clothes, toiletries, and all the work I’d spread out across the desk. Grabbing the stuff on hangers from the closet, I laid the garments over my arm. I’d stop back here to replace these with some empty ones from my new room on my way down to let the front desk know I’d made the switch.

With my purse, laptop, one big and one small suitcase, files, and a dozen hangers, I probably should have made two trips rather than one. Accessing the upper floors of the hotel required inserting a key into the elevator panel, so once I was inside, I attempted to balance everything while I dug my new swipe card out of my pocket.

The thirty-second floor of the hotel was the top floor, and all suites. The two largest ones, the presidential suites, were located in the corners on opposite sides of the building. A full row of diamond-level suites stretched between them. Finding room thirty-two twelve, I dropped a file on the floor while trying to scan the card in the electronic door reader. Bending to pick it up, I lost two of my dresses from their hangers. I barely managed to make it inside as more stuff started to spill from my arms. Using my hip to hold the door open, I dragged each of my bags inside the room and let whatever fell to the floor stay there. Sighing, I left everything at the front door and walked down the hall into the suite.

Wow. Totally worth the pain in the ass to change rooms.

To my right was a full living room, with a fireplace, floor-to-ceiling views of Central Park, two couches and two chairs, and a tremendous flat-screen TV. A set of French doors led to a small office, and another door on the left led to the bedroom. I walked there first, and a king-size bed with plush linens greeted me. On one side was a pretty settee, a love seat, and another fireplace. The other side of the room had the same floor-to-ceiling windows as the living room and—what is that in the corner on top of another chair?

It looked almost like luggage.

I stepped closer, and my eyes widened, confirming that it indeed was luggage.

Oh my God.

They’d assigned me a suite that wasn’t vacated yet!

I hadn’t noticed a sound since I walked in the door, but suddenly I heard the shower running, loud and clear.

Oh my God! I’m in someone’s suite.

While they’re in the freaking shower!

I froze for a few heartbeats, and then darted for the door. In my panic, I fumbled half of my belongings as I tried to toss them all out into the hallway before the guest got out of the shower.

But unfortunately, I was too slow.

A deep voice stopped me dead in my tracks.

“Going somewhere?”

Though, it wasn’t just any deep voice.

No. Of course not.

Only one man had that thick, hard-edged, confident tone that simultaneously irritated the shit out of me and made me want to slide my damp panties down my wobbly legs.

I didn’t even have to turn and see the face to confirm who it was.

In fact, I probably should have just finished tossing my stuff into the hall and bolted.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I took a deep breath and ever so slowly turned around.

Only to find Weston standing in nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist.

The sight made my brain stutter.

“I knew you’d eventually come around.” He smirked. “You should have just joined me in the shower. Though I do love undressing you myself.”

I hadn’t gotten a good look at Weston fully undressed before. The first time we were together, he was behind me most of the time. And the second, he’d had on an unbuttoned dress shirt and pants. I’d obviously felt his chest pressed against me, so I knew his body was firm, but seeing all of his sculpted flesh up close and personal was an entirely different experience. Beads of water traced their way down carved pecs onto washboard abs, and I had the strongest urge to catch each drop with my tongue.