The hotel was far swankier than she’d remembered. A landmark boutique hotel in the Dallas area, it had a lush art-deco lobby, complete with a large crackling fire. The rubber soles of her shoes didn’t do justice to the sleek hardwood floors beneath them, set in striking geometric designs. Chevron-patterned wallpaper lined the walls. Thick, luxurious drapes in gold and burgundy flanked the deep-set bay windows, many of them displaying stained glass that she would have loved to inspect—if she weren’t with the world’s sexiest man.
Everything about the place screamed luxury and expense. Except a place like this didn’t scream. Never anything that crass. This was the hotel that enforced a dress code, and while Owen looked amazing in his jeans and casual polo shirt, his clothes were not fit for the Market Gardens hotel. Or hers.
But Owen kept walking to the ornately carved wooden desk that was less like a check-in counter and more like the kind of thing a millionaire shipping tycoon—no, a billionaire investment banker—kicked up her stilettos on.
“Welcome to the Market Gardens. What name is your reservation under?” the friendly yet cool clerk asked them. In a suit and tie, he looked exactly like the kind of man who could hold his own against the wealthily entitled of the world as well as two people who’d just walked in off the street on a whim.
Stella bit back a laugh. They’d not thought this hotel plan through. Of course the Market Gardens required reservations. She began to turn away.
But Owen played it cool as well, which probably wasn’t a stretch for him. “No reservation. What do you have available?”
The smile faded from the clerk’s face. “We’re usually booked up several weeks in advance.”
They must look like exactly what they were—two people up for a little spontaneous rendezvous. Even that was too generous. Sex. They were down for some hot and dirty sex.
“We’re only interested in tonight,” Owen continued.
With lips pursed, the clerk toggled the mouse and woke up the computer discreetly hidden beneath a carved wood panel.
“Would you prefer a courtyard view?” he asked. “I have a suite.”
Her shoulders stiffened in alarm. A courtyard view in this place must cost a fortune. “That’s okay—”
“Absolutely,” Owen said, and slid his credit card toward the reservationist.
“You’ll be in one of our tower rooms, second floor.” With a few clicks of the mouse and a swipe of the card, the transaction was complete. The clerk slid over a leather case containing their key cards.
Wow. Even the fanciest hotel she’d ever stayed at had only presented her with a folded-over piece of cardstock with the plastic key card stuffed inside.
The clerk signaled for the bellhop. A young man sporting a gray blazer trimmed with gold at the cuff and neck quickly appeared, friendly smile in place.
“We don’t have any luggage,” Owen informed them without a trace of embarrassment, even though she felt the heat of a blush in her cheeks.
“Of course, sir,” the clerk responded coolly, unfazed.
Why should she even care? She was here to live her life before her job took it over again after this quick break.
“Actually, I do have a duffel bag inside my truck. I’ll be right back.”
No way was he leaving her here alone in the lobby of snobs. Stella quickly followed on his heels.
He’d mentioned earlier that he’d wanted to impress her. She didn’t want him to face an ugly credit card bill to do it. “Owen, this place has got to be way too much money.”
“It’s on me,” he told her and fished out the keys to his truck. A large black duffel bag rested on the backseat, and he picked it up and swung it up over his shoulder.
Stella had grown up with two working doctors for parents, so money had never been tight, but rash expensive impulses weren’t something they’d ever indulged in. She didn’t want Owen to feel as if she expected it. “I just don’t want you to think you have to spend a lot of money on me. Maybe they have another roo—”
He gripped her by the shoulders. “Stella, it’s done. The only excuse my parents would accept for me not staying with them is that I’m at the Market Gardens. Besides, we’re living life,” he told her, then stifled any further protest with a kiss.
Living life in a swanky hotel with the world’s sexiest guy...why was she complaining again? He crooked his elbow to her in the habit of his that she was really beginning to like.
“The elevator is right this way,” the bellman informed them as they entered. They followed him into one of the elevators. She met Owen’s gaze on the short trip to the second floor. Heat and desire emanated from his gaze. It was amazing to be wanted so desperately.
The bell dinged above their heads but didn’t break the spell between them. With each step toward their room, her body ached more and more with yearning. She needed this man’s hands on her skin. His lips teasing her nipples. His fingers between her legs.
The bellman swept the door wide, and she gasped at the lavish room. She’d heard the word suite when the clerk had confirmed the reservation, but Owen had booked a Suite with a capital S.
A beautiful sitting area beckoned them to indulge in luxury. A small two-person dinette waited for them in the corner, decorated with a vase of fresh Texas wildflowers. Her feet sank into the thick carpet, but she forced herself not to rush toward the bedroom. Slow and steady steps would get her there just the same.
Owen tipped the bellman and followed her into the bedroom.
“Is there a bigger bed size than king?” she asked. “I think an entire family could sleep on this—”
He cut off her musings by tracing the curve of her ear with his tongue. Her eyes drifted shut and she leaned against him. Her back fit perfectly against his chest.
His hands moved to cup her breasts as he weaved a lazy path down the side of her neck with his mouth and lips. She sucked in a breath and ground her backside into his cock, which was already hard and thick in his jeans.
She steadied herself against his thighs, stroking and learning the lines of his muscled legs. Was there a part of this man that wasn’t sexy? His fingers found the buttons of her shirt, but he was too slow.
“Just yank.” Her voice was almost a growl; she needed this man’s hands on her breasts.
Buttons flew with one quick pull and he smoothed the shirt from her shoulders. He tugged her bra up, exposing her breasts. Her nipples puckered from the abrupt change in temperature and the anticipation. Then his hands cupped her breasts, warming and shaping and molding them. She moaned deep in her throat.
“You feel perfect in my hands. I want to taste you.”
But her knees would have given out from that kind of pleasure. “I’ll race you to the bed,” she challenged and dove onto the ginormous king-size mattress. Stella grabbed the covers and yanked them back. “Mmm, triple sheeting. Nice.”
“Only
