Page 33 of Forbidden Game

By the time I see the silver placard denoting “Room 1923,” I’m ready to fall to my knees.

I scan the key card, and Sydney dips out from under my arm. The loss of her petite body is immediate. She fit me so perfectly, and not having her cradled against my side feels like a sin.

She strolls into the suite ahead of me, leaving me to follow with our luggage. I can’t even admire her perky ass because of that damn wool coat covering it.

Never was an ass man until I met Sydney Lake, but there is no denying the goods she is carrying.

I dump our luggage by the closet in the small lounge area before collapsing onto the cream couch. This isn’t the Kelton’s best hotel in the States. The suite is smaller compared to their normal standards, not that the regular person would notice. The upside is that it does have a balcony.

“What the hell is this?” Sydney speaks the words with deathly precision.

I look up and peer around the partial wall that separates the lounge area from the bedroom.

“I believe most people would call that a bed,” I toe off my sneakers, “or le lit if we were in France.”

She spins around, shooting me daggers.

“There’s one bed, Parker,” she deadpans.

“I see that.”

“We can’t sleep in one bed.”

“I mean; it looks like a king. I doubt you would take up more than a quarter of the bed.”

“That is not the point.”

I know that’s not the point. But I’m worried that if I don’t calm her down, she’s going to make me sleep on the couch, and I really don’t want to sleep on the couch. I’m not made for couch sleeping. I would probably call Jace and make him kick some poor sap out of their room before sleeping on the couch.

I also can’t deny that there is another part of me—a stiffening part of me—that gets a thrill out of the idea of sharing a bed with Sydney

“I’ll just sleep on the couch.” She takes off her coat and tosses it onto the nearby desk chair.

I take everything back.

I’d sooner sleep on the couch than make Sydney sleep there.

“You can’t sleep on the couch, Syd.”

“It looks like a very nice couch.”

Of course it does. This is the Kelton, after all. You don’t get crappy couches at a five-star hotel.

Instead of arguing with her, I just walk over to where she is pacing and pick her up by the hips. She lets out a squeal of protest before I toss her onto the bed.

“Parker Covington, what do you—oomph!” She bounces a few times before sinking deep into the mattress. “Oh my God.” She runs her hands over the duvet. “This is so soft.”

The image of her sprawled out on the bed burns itself into the back of my brain, and I tamp down a strangled groan. Instead, I give a noncommittal hum as she distracts herself with the bed, crossing back to grab my luggage.

As much as I like to shit on Jace and tear apart his family’s hotels, I can’t deny that the one thing they always get right are their beds. They’re like sleeping on a cloud of fairy floss.

I grab my toiletries out of my roller bag, and a pair of briefs, before trekking into the bathroom. I’m not masochistic enough to subject myself to a cold shower just to erase the image of Syd from my mind, but I do spend longer than necessary under the spray trying to empty my thoughts of the blonde bombshell on the bed.

By the time I return from the bathroom, Sydney is drifting off to sleep on top of the duvet. Part of me says to just let her be, to allow her to fall asleep. The other part of me, the one that grew up with two older sisters, tells me that she is going to be mad at herself in the morning when she realizes she fell asleep in her makeup.

I can practically hear Paige scolding me.

“Don’t be daft, Parker. A girl’s skincare routine is sacred.”

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