Red Hot Rebel - Olivia Hayle Page 0,54

at hotels.

My arm around her waist flexes a tad. It’s juvenile but impossible to stop. They can look, but that’s all.

We check into a hotel that is as sumptuous as it is elegant. Located in a mid-rise skyscraper, it has capitalized on the gorgeous nature that Singapore’s climate supports. Trumpet trees flower in pinks outside the lobby, and an entire wall clad in tropical greens serves as the backdrop to the check-in desk.

I had to give it to him, Ben had done good. Every location was more beautiful than the last, tied in with signature logos and excellent customer service. A bellboy escorts Ivy and me to our rooms, two massive suites with a single connecting door.

“It is currently locked,” the bellboy informs us with a serviceable smile. “We were not given adequate information about your status as travelers. Would you like us to unlock it so you can easier spend time together?”

It’s an innocent question. Ostensibly, we could just share a glass one evening—no one would bat an eye at that.

“Yes, please,” Ivy says. “That would be very convenient.”

“I’ll override the lock as soon as I get back downstairs,” the man says. “The manual lock on either side does, of course, still work.”

It doesn’t take more than five minutes before the connecting door opens and Ivy peeks her head through. I’m sitting on my gigantic bed, turning my camera over in my hands, checking the gear.

“This place is fantastic,” she says. “The best rooms we’ve had.”

I lean back on the bed. “I don’t know. I was kinda partial to our Jeep.”

She laughs, wrapping her arms around herself. “An interconnecting door? It’s like they knew we’re up to mischief.”

I raise an eyebrow. “And are we? Up to mischief?”

Ivy’s face is one of determination as she advances on me. I hold up my hands as she climbs onto the bed with a leg on either side of me. “What’s this?”

“I’m feeling mischievous.”

I hold on to her hips, her body a warm weight on mine. Infinitely more interesting than my camera. “So you are,” I say. She locks her hands behind my neck, like she’s still unsure if she can touch me like this.

Which won’t do at all for what we’re planning on exploring.

“He must have seen it on us,” Ivy says. “Written on our faces.”

“Yours, perhaps. I’d never be so transparent.”

She smiles and presses her lips to mine in a kiss that’s softly determined. My fingers tighten around her hips, and beneath her, my body starts to respond.

This girl has me turned completely inside out.

“You’re the one initiating kissing now?”

She grins, looking like the Cheshire cat. “I’m dedicated to my training.”

“Very studious of you.” I kiss her back and deepen it, meeting her tongue with my own. Just lightly, though—I always want to leave her wanting more. “I still haven’t been called sensei. Not even once.”

And damn me, but Ivy giggles, and it doesn’t even annoy me. It sends pleasure through my chest instead, and satisfaction that I’m the one who elicited the soft sound. “Do you want to be called sensei? Is that some sort of kink?”

“Oh, we are far too early to be talking about kinks.” My hands slide down and settle around her ass. As much as I don’t want to be one of the assholes who objectify her, there’s no denying she’s fine.

Or that I’d cursed myself for being so damn stupid that the first time I touched her, the first time I kissed her body, it was in a place so dark I couldn’t see an inch of her skin.

I wouldn’t be so stupid again.

She cocks her head. “So, tonight?”

“We’re going to plan this, now?”

“I’m a planner,” she says, pushing at my chest. I let her force me down flat on the bed, but I pull her with me, until she’s bracing herself with a hand on either side of my head.

“I’m not,” I say. “Sometimes I make plans just so I can purposely not follow them.”

“A rebel without a cause,” she teases.

I smooth my hands up to her hips, her waist. “When there are no revolutions to fight in, you have to give yourself a few.”

She rolls her eyes. “Explains your constant battle with the itinerary.”

“And your constant adherence to it. But don’t worry, I find you attractive even though you’re so… type-A.”

Her eyes widen and I’m rewarded with an indrawn breath, swiftly followed by a grin. “That’s probably the first and last time I’ve ever been called type-A.”

“Yeah, you only half fit the profile,”