His Fantasy Bride (Things to do Before You Die… #3)(11)

He crossed the room, then the sitting area of the suite, and got to the door. He took a deep breath and opened it. And no one was there.

Panic flared.

He stepped out and peered down the corridor just in time to see her slim figure disappearing around the corner. “Gabrielle!”

She halted and turned, approaching him slowly. This morning she was dressed in a tight denim skirt that revealed lots of leg, with high-heeled pink sandals on her feet and a short black T-shirt that bared her midriff and the little ruby nestled in her belly button. Inappropriately, his dick twitched. He forced his gaze upward. Her hair was loose around her face, and her eyes appeared huge, deep blue, and her lips were darkened to match her hair. She looked breathtaking. Like a breathtaking total stranger.

She returned his stare, her gaze fixed on his chest. His bare chest. Did she like what she saw? The old Gabrielle had hardly seemed to notice his body. This one was devouring him with her sultry eyes.

Her gaze lowered to his crotch where he was pretty sure his hard-on was clear to see.

He ran a hand through his hair and then across the rough skin of his jawline. He gave a shrug. “Sorry, I was still in bed.”

She screwed her face into a grimace. “I woke up and I thought—let’s get this over with.”

His jaw tightened and a tic jumped in his cheek. What the hell? Was he something to be gotten out of the way as fast as possible? “Hardly flattering.”

“Fine.” She curved her lips into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Maybe I couldn’t stay away.”

“A little better.” But he was thinking her first explanation was more accurate. Except her expression didn’t convey that message. Her eyes were eating him up. She swallowed, licked her lips, and he could almost feel them wrapped around him. His earlier fantasy had primed him, and he didn’t seem able to get the image out of his head.

He was standing in the hotel corridor in nothing but his pants with a raging hard-on and no way to hide it. He shook his head.

“You’d better come in.” He turned and swore as he saw the closed door. “Shit.”

“You locked yourself out?” Amusement threaded her voice, and this time the smile was reflected in her eyes. Finally, he got a hint of his Gabrielle, and something twisted inside him.

“It appears so. Have you got a phone?”

“Of course.”

“Well, call reception and tell them to get the hell up here and let me in.”

Her lips twitched, but she pulled a phone out of her bag, swiped a few times, presumably finding the number, and then spoke quietly and quickly. “They’re on their way,” she said, slipping the phone back into her bag.

She leaned against the wall and watched him, nibbling on her lower lip, and he wished she’d stop. “So how have you been?” she asked as the silence drew out.

“You mean apart from almost dying?” He waved a hand in the general direction of his face, and her lips twitched again, then her expression grew solemn.

“I’m glad you didn’t. Die, I mean.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really. When was it by the way? This accident?”

“Three weeks ago.”

“Oh.”

Then he shrugged and allowed the bitterness to drain away. “I’ve been okay. Just finishing up the sale and transfer of the company, and then it’s back to real life.”

“I can’t believe you’re giving all that up.”

“Is that why you ran? Did you think you were marrying a billionaire and I turned out to be just an ordinary guy?”

She snorted. “Hardly ordinary. No ordinary guy would give away a billion dollars.”

“So is that why?” He pushed for an answer he didn’t really want to hear.

She looked…calculating for a minute, her brows drawing together. Did she have to think about it so hard? He hadn’t expected an honest answer. Really, the possibility that she was a mercenary money-grubbing little bitch had never entered his head. Then her expression cleared.

“No, that wasn’t it.”

“So?”

She opened her mouth to answer as housekeeping came around the corner. The woman gave him a small smile and a discreet glance down his half-naked body and then stepped between them and slid the key card into the door.

He gestured for Gabrielle to enter ahead of him. She hesitated but then gave a nod. He breathed in deeply as she passed, catching a hint of sweetness, maybe strawberries.

She stood just inside the room, looking around her. “Well, you’re certainly still living the billionaire lifestyle,” she murmured. “This place must be costing a fortune.”

“It’s the suite my grandfather always used.”

He wouldn’t lie. He liked money—liked the way it made things easier and liked the trappings of wealth, the cars, the private jet. Even things he hadn’t thought would mean anything, like the designer clothes, he liked. But not enough to make his life about those things. Looking around the opulence of the Savoy, he had the urge for a simpler life. He’d been asked to join a dig for the last month of the summer. In the Nubian Desert—one of his favorite places, where you could stand and see nothing for miles all around you.

He closed the door behind them and suddenly the huge suite seemed smaller.