A party of three ladies entered the lobby, ignoring me on the curb gawking like an idiot. Each woman had a model-perfect Italian man trailing after her—their arms full of Louis Vuitton, Chanel, and Prada bags.
Franco’s finger pressed beneath my chin, snapping my jaw into place. “Showing your tonsils to the clientele isn’t the best first impression.”
I shook myself, waking up from the stupor of obscene wealth. I pointed at the ceiling where the lights spilled onto the night-shrouded sidewalk making me feel like an imposter for ever thinking I could stay there. “Look at it. It’s breath-stealingly beautiful.”
“No, that’s you. This is just a cleverly designed hotel meant to lure men like me to spend exorbitant amounts of money.” Q brushed against my shoulder, glowering at Franco for touching me.
A look flashed between them, adding to the smudge on my heart, stealing some of my wonder-filled joy.
Franco’s eyes were flat and distrustful of everyone in every direction.
Pretending to be oblivious of the building tension, I said, “That may be so, but…Q. This isn’t even our honeymoon, and you’re spoiling me rotten. How will you top this when we finally get married?” Another question formed on my tongue, but I swallowed it back. Exactly how soon will that be? After Q’s rush to get me hitched, he’d gone ominously silent on the subject.
Q looked over my head at Franco. “Check us in. You know what to do. We’ll head straight up.” With a quick scan of the street, Q grabbed my hand, dragging me from night-time to glowing lobby and toward a private elevator at the rear.
A man in a tailored tuxedo bowed as we pushed the up button and waited beside a flower arrangement that looked like a living fountain of orchids, lilies, and ferns.
“Ciao, Mr. Mercer. Very pleasant to see you again, sir.”
Q nodded, taking in the man’s shiny black hair parted to the side, his white gloves clasped in front of him, and the spotless presentation of a body well-maintained for a man in his late fifties. “Merci.” His tone was cool and clipped; his body vibrating with a new rigidity I grew to recognise as self-preservation.
The lift arrived. The man climbed inside and pressed the necessary floor. The doors closed, sliding upward to our floor. “Your room is available, as always. Would that be all you require, or should I have some canapés and champagne sent up?” The man smiled first at Q, then me. His eyes brightened as he took my hand, planting a dry kiss on the back of my knuckles. “Mi scusi. Sorry, madam. Excuse my rudeness. I am Alonzo, designated butler for all VIP guests.”
Q tugged me away, planting himself between me and Alonzo. “Thank you for your service, but we won’t be needing—” Q cut himself off, a calculating look entering his gaze. The lift came to a stop, its doors opening to reveal thick white carpet and matching ivory floral arrangements at regular intervals along the long corridor. “Tess, head down to the left. Give me a moment.” He shoved me forward, giving me no choice but to stumble off the elevator.
The doors shut, leaving me stranded, gaping like a fool. What the hell?
Should I wait? Should I obey? I had no clue which room was ours and judging by the fancy keypads on each door it wasn’t a key I needed but…a fingerprint?
Did Q chose this hotel for opulence or security?
Just as I took a few hesitant steps down the corridor, the elevator doors opened again and Q strode out, collecting my elbow as he prowled over the carpet.
I looked over my shoulder but didn’t see Alonzo. “What are you up to?” I asked, letting Q propel me forward.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He wrenched me to a halt, slammed his thumb against the small screen above the door handle, and opened it when a light flashed green. Pushing me inside, illumination automatically flashed on, drenching the huge open-plan space with warmth. Massive abstract artwork framed the walls while floor to ceiling glass brought the postcard perfect view of Rome into our bedroom.
Fountains and cobblestone streets looked magical in the rising moonlight, while men and women held hands, making their way to dinner.
Q came up behind me, slinking his hands beneath my grey angora jumper. I tensed, expecting him to spin me around and pounce. The bed beckoned, raised on a two-step pedestal with the most incredible painting of pinks and oranges above. Rose petals were strewn across the snowy sheets.
My morbid thoughts turned the petals to blood. I quickly checked over my shoulder, making sure the door was closed.
Then the view disappeared as Q wrenched my jumper over my head, and unhooked my bra, all within a second of each other.
I slapped an arm over my exposed br**sts, very aware of the lights being on and no curtains drawn, but Q spun me, grabbed my waist, and unceremoniously threw me over his shoulder.
“Q! What the hell are you—”
He spanked me, letting his fingers explore the seam of my jeans. Not saying a word, he stalked into the bathroom. The minute he carried me inside, he plopped me onto my feet, and unbuttoned my jeans. My eyes snapped shut as his knuckles grazed my clit, tugging on the thick denim until they rested at my ankles.
His eyes fired with lust as his fingers hooked my knickers, stripping those off me, too. In exactly ten seconds of arriving in one of the most gorgeous rooms I’d entered, I was stark na**d in a bathroom full of expensive cosmetics, the fluffiest silver towels, and a shower big enough for a team of sumo wrestlers.
Q sucked in a breath, his face darkening as he rubbed the front of his trousers. “Goddammit, do you have to be so f**king tempting?”
The harsh want in his voice shoved away my annoyance, layering me with heavy attraction. His chest rose and fell; the top of the ‘T’ branded above his heart teased me with the three open buttons of his shirt. I needed him to touch me. Now.
I kicked my jeans and knickers away, loving the heat building in my core. I loved the power he granted. The power of being na**d in front of him with his body locked into position, calling to mine with a need past all realm of intellect.
“Why do you make me wet every time you look at me like that?” I countered his question, focusing inward on the trickle of dampness inside.
“It’s only fair you’re wet, Tess. Because I’m so f**king hard I could hammer a nail right through marble.” His eyes feasted on my skin; his hand grasped his c**k roughly, angrily.
We devoured each other, separated only by a metre. A stupid, silly little metre that I wanted eradicated.
I took a step toward him.