Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 88057 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88057 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
“I believe you promised me a ribeye. I’ll make sure and have Tabasco for you to ruin the veggies with.” He laughed, and I should have corrected him, said we had no such plans, but all I could do was chuckle along with him.
“Hey, you try being on day eighteen of MRE rations. The guy with a tiny bottle of hot sauce in his pack is pretty damn popular then, let me tell you.”
“I bet.” His expression went thoughtful. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking about all the subpar food you’ve likely had to eat in the name of duty. I’ll quit teasing you.”
“Nah. I like it when you give me a hard time.” I broke another chip in half.
“Oh.” Ambrose met my gaze over the rim of his water glass. Pow. Once when I’d been a teen helping the twins jump a car, I’d touched the wrong cable to the battery. And the kick had made me jump back. The energy between us felt like that—charged and thrilling and potentially deadly.
I made myself take a shaky breath, force a laugh like we hadn’t just had a moment. “Besides, you haven’t seen me with a burger yet. You can add a side of pickles to your hot sauce jokes.”
“I’ll let you have my pickle.” Ambrose winked at me before nabbing a chip for himself.
“Damn.” I groaned and slid him the salsa. “I walked right into that one.”
“Yup.” He bent to give the dog a quick pat in his carrier. Ambrose kept smiling like he was having the time of his life. Which wasn’t surprising—he was a smiley sort of guy, even if a little quieter than some. No, what was truly odd was that I kept joining him in grinning, chest feeling like we’d chugged margaritas instead of opting for water for him and soda for me since we still had a ways to go to our stop for the night.
“Do you want to drive the next part to the hotel?” I asked him as our entrées arrived. The server slid the steaming platters between us, meaty aroma laced with earthy spice wafting up to make my stomach growl. “You picked a place you’ve been before, right?”
“Right. It’s not too much farther. Cressida and I stopped there when we scouted wedding locations with Hester last year. A small boutique place with a winery on-site. You’ll love breakfast tomorrow. Oh.” His eyes went wide and distressed. “Oh. Crap. Ambrose.”
“What?” I stopped mid-bite of shrimp.
“I made the reservation myself. Didn’t bother one of the PAs with it since I’d been before. But I never updated it to add a second room.”
“Ah.” Yeah, sharing a room after all this temptation would probably be a bad idea, but I tried for a neutral tone.
“Yeah. Heading into a sunny spring weekend with a lot of people on break, another room might not be guaranteed. I’ll call right now.” Pulling out his phone, he stepped away from the table to pace across the patio. But he returned only a few minutes later with an even deeper frown. “Heck. I was right. They’ve only got the one suite I reserved. We could look elsewhere—”
“It’s a suite?” I interrupted before he could work himself into more of a tizzy. We didn’t need him more anxious. I liked him free and easy and relaxed way more. “I’m sure the couch pulls out or something. Keep the reservation, boss. We’ll be fine.”
“You sure?”
No. But if it eased his worries, I’d pass an uncomfortable night or two. “We’re adults. And we have to share a room at the wedding. Doubt anyone would expect you and your boyfriend to have separate rooms. Might as well start now.”
“True.” Ambrose exhaled hard and offered me a tentative smile. And that right there was why I’d sleep on the damn floor if I had to. His smile was worth a lot more than a few stiff muscles. Besides, Ambrose had classy taste. I had no doubt the suite would have something passable.
Except it didn’t. The hotel was decorated in a faux-French antique style—lots of gilded-framed paintings, fringe rugs, and spindly chairs. Carrying Hercules in his carrier, Ambrose unlocked the door to the corner suite. But calling it a suite was a bit generous as it was all one large space dominated by a giant king-size bed covered in white brocade bedding. Fussy. And missing one key detail.
“How is there no couch?” Ambrose made a distressed noise as he gestured at the space. A curved sitting area near the door offered two narrow chairs on either side of a pedestal table. Nice little breakfast nook, but no couch. In front of the window, though, was a little padded chaise. Velvet with a curved back, it was the sort of piece designed for looks, not comfort. But it would have to do because no way was I going anywhere near that bed.