Page 28 of The Reaper

“It is very sexy indeed,” he admitted. Redness crept over his pale skin. “Eh … are you checking in?”

“Yes, my name is Peter Robinson,” I answered.

We were interrupted by an obnoxious voice. “Hold it, please.” A middle-aged man, about six feet tall, rushed to the gold-plated elevator behind me. Max Lancaster, my target. He beamed at the person manning the elevator. “Do you speak English?”

“A little, monsieur,” a man wearing a uniform like Sebastian’s answered.

My eyes fixated on his mouth. Not because there was something remarkable about his wrinkled lips and yellow teeth. No, I was focused on his lips so I could make out what he was saying. “You people should learn,” Max said. “Eighth floor, do you understand that? Eighth. Floor!” The doors closed and he was gone.

“Monsieur?” Sebastian asked, bringing my attention to his smiling face. He’d been appraising me since the moment I entered the luxury hotel. It was the reason why I chose to stand in his line. “Should we check you in?” His attempt to speak English was accompanied by pointing to his computer.

“Pardon,” I said in apology. “Oui, s’il vous plaît.” I was no expert in French, but my limited ability was enough to get me by.

Pleased that I spoke his native tongue, he proceeded to tell me things about the hotel but I tuned out and went into planning mode. Sebastian’s lips kept moving, but my mind was going one hundred miles per hour. “Sixieme etage,” he said.

“Did you say sixth floor?” I asked.

“Oui.”

I employed my Casanova mask, intent on charming my way to the eighth floor. I curled my index finger, asking him to meet me halfway. “Sebastian,” I said. “I love that name. It fits you. What does your girlfriend call you?” I asked, dragging the tip of my tongue around my lips.

“No girlfriend,” he answered, appearing somewhat flustered. His cheeks blushed a darker shade of red, but he never broke eye contact.

“Boyfriend?” I asked.

“No boyfriend,” he answered, looking down at his joined hands. “I had a boyfriend before, but no more.”

“Aww,” I sympathized. Thankfully, the waiting guests behind me switched to another line. “Look at me,” I whispered, my voice raspy and deep. I removed my sunglasses and met Sebastian’s eyes. “It’s a shame. A man like you deserves to be cherished. Do you understand that word?” I doubled down and reached for his hand, placing mine over his. “Real shame.” I winked.

“Merci,” he said, clearing his throat. “Here’s your key, monsieur.” He slid a golden key card into a black envelope.

I reached for his hand, stopping him. “I was hoping to be on the eighth floor,” I said. “It’s very special to me. You see, my late husband—” Sebastian’s eyes sparkled in delight “—and I used to stay on the eighth floor. But he passed away last year, and I’m trying to visit all the places we loved. It’s helping me to move on, you know.” I didn’t know how revisiting a place helped someone move on, but Sebastian seemed to be buying my story.

“I’m sorry, monsieur, but the top floor is for special guests.”

“You don’t think I’m special?” I caressed the back of his hand with my knuckles.

Sebastian was unable to hide the effect my touch had on him when goosebumps appeared on his forearm.

“So, Sebastian …” I trailed off, waiting. “Gosh, I love that name.” I drew small circles on his wrist with my index finger, while he shivered under my touch. “Are you saying you don’t think I’m special?” I frowned, the feigned look of hurt on my face intensifying. “Here I am thinking we were making a personal connection.”

Sebastian glanced to his sides before leaning closer to me, wheels turning in his head. “Let me check one more time,” he whispered. He brought his attention back to the computer, his fingers frantically typing.

“Take your time. I got all day, baby.” I didn’t, but a few more minutes of flirting wouldn’t hurt anybody.

His face lit up. “It looks like we have one room left.”

“Am I special enough to have it?”

He smiled. “Oui.”

I reached for his hand and kissed the back of it. “Thank you, Sebastian. You’re my hero.”

He handed me a new room card and I tapped his hand one more time for good measure.

“See you,” he called.

I looked back and winked. That was fucking easy. I picked up my bag and walked to the elevator. I made eye contact with Sebastian, who no doubt was watching my every move. I smiled and waved just as the elevator door closed.

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