which makes him a giant compared to my five-foot-two frame, and he’s all muscle. Not the big and bulky kind that one would get from hours in the gym, the kind that seems to come naturally—strong forearms, wide, firm chest, broad shoulders, slim hips.
Okay, I need to stop staring.
I sit up straighter, trying to make sense of everything and knock some reality into myself. On top of everything he’s already done for me, I’ve taken his hotel room, which probably costs a small fortune, and he’s brought me room service.
Every fucking thing on the menu.
“What’s your endgame in all of this?” I can’t help but ask. I know I should just be grateful, but still, this is so much to do for a stranger.
“Endgame?” he repeats, folding his arms, his watch gleaming.
Wow. Wow, yeah, I’m a sucker for those forearms.
“Uh-huh,” I say slowly. “Are you trying to, I don’t know, seduce me?”
I regret it the moment I say it.
He breaks into a devastating grin, the kind that could steal my breath away and never give it back. “Do you want me to seduce you?” he asks, running his long fingers down the length of his jaw, like he’s now considering it.
“No,” I say quickly.
I’m pretty sure I’m lying.
“Good,” he says, still smiling. I see a hint of pink tongue as he bites his lip. “Because, believe me, lapin, you wouldn’t be able to handle it.”
Okay, that reminds me—I need to figure out this lapin shit pretty quick. We don’t know each other enough to have nicknames.
Yet you’re in his fancy-schmancy hotel room, about to have breakfast in bed while making innuendos.
With my cheeks flaming, I clear my throat and promptly change the subject. Unfortunately, everything I want to talk about involves us.
“So, uh, I can’t imagine how you got me in here last night.”
“I carried you,” he says, lifting a dome. “This is an egg-white omelet.”
I wrinkle my nose. “I need me some yolks.”
He laughs at that, his eyes squinting delightfully. “My kind of girl.”
Oh boy, I don’t like how tingly that comment made me feel.
“You seriously carried me?” I ask. “What did the hotel staff say? Weren’t you—uh, we—caught?”
He nods and lifts another dome. “I explained what happened. Crêpes, if you want something sweet.” He shows me the plate—blueberry and what looks to be Nutella. My stomach rumbles even though I’m not a sweets-for-breakfast person.
“I’d think the staff would maybe be suspicious since I was, oh, unconscious and in your arms and all.”
“They trust me. As should you.”
“Why should they trust you? Do you come here often?”
He just grins and lifts another dome. “Avocado toast. All the young Americans here request it. This one has truffles and radishes.”
“You mean millennials. Of which I am one. And, no, I don’t take it as an insult.”
“No insult intended,” he says smoothly. “And finally, bacon and eggs,” he says, lifting another lid.
My stomach literally groans at the sight of the crisp bacon and perfectly poached eggs. The sound fills the room, and I wince inwardly.
His eyes light up. “I think your stomach would like this one.”
He takes the plate of bacon and eggs, plus napkin and cutlery, and brings it all over to the bed, handing it to me.
“I’m guessing you want coffee too?” he asks as I take the plate from his hands, still dumbstruck by what’s happening. “With milk?”
“S’il vous plaît,” I tell him as he heads back to the cart.
“Ah, now you know another saying in French,” he says, pouring me a cup. “I had the cook make it an Americano since I know you’re probably missing the coffee from back home.”
He hands the cup to me, but I’m already a bit off-balance with the plate on my lap, and the coffee spills onto the pristine white bedcover.
“Fuck,” I say. “I’m so sorry.”
I can’t imagine how a fancy hotel reacts to shit like this.
“Don’t worry about it.”
“But won’t you get a cleaning bill for it or something? I spilled coffee on my favorite shirt once, and that never came out. I still wore it because I couldn’t afford to buy another one, so for weeks it looked like someone had shit on me.”
“I said don’t worry about it,” he repeats, picking up an espresso cup and sitting on the corner of the bed. He does this with ease, as if the two of us do this every morning.
Lord, one could only imagine.
“Aren’t you having anything to eat?” I ask him as I start to dig in.
“I ate earlier,” he