Page 16 of My Surprising Valentine

Brandon continued typing away at his keyboard, his eyes flicking briefly between Max’s shiny American Express card and his screen. “Well, thereisone of two premium suites available. Typically, it would have been rented in conjunction with the bridal suite for the groom and his attendants, but for whatever reason, that hasn’t happened. It doesn’t have two beds, but itdoesfeature a separate living area with a pull-out sofa, so it’s almost like having two rooms,” he offered hopefully as he swung the computer screen around to show us a photograph of what could only be described as the most beautiful hotel room I’d ever laid eyes on.

Brandon’s description of the suite didn’t do it justice. The photos showed a sprawling sanctuary bathed in natural light from floor-to-ceiling windows that opened onto a privatebalcony. A magnificent four-poster bed was draped in crisp white linens and accented with what I could only guess were cashmere throws in shades of pale blue and gray. A separate sitting area boasted a leather Chesterfield sofa and mahogany tables, all arranged to take advantage of both the sweeping views and the elegant fireplace. The ensuite bathroom was a masterpiece of veined marble and polished chrome, featuring a deep soaking tub positioned beneath a crystal chandelier and a separate glass-enclosed rainfall shower large enough for two—a detail I immediately tried to force from my mind.

I stared at the photo, my mouth going dry. The room wasn’t just beautiful; it was romantic. Intimate. The kind of suite honeymooners dreamed about.

I opened my mouth to protest—there was no way I could let Max spend that kind of money on a room like this—but he was already nodding. “We’ll take it.”

And I was going to have to share it with Max.

Brandon’s relief was palpable as he swiped Max’s credit card from the counter. “Wonderful. Let me just run this and grab your keys.”

I turned to Max, ready to argue in earnest, but the words died in my throat. His expression was carefully neutral to anyone who might not know him, but there was a tension in his jaw that hadn’t been there before. His eyes flickered to photographs on the computer screen, lingering for a beat too long before snapping back to mine.

“Max,” I hissed under my breath. “That room has to cost a fortune.”

“It’s fine,” he said softly, though something in his voice suggested it was anything but. “I’ll take the sofa.”

“That’s not the point?—”

“Hannah.” The way he said my name—low and rough like a man might speak his lover’s name in the heat of the moment—made heat immediately pool in my belly. “It’s two nights. We’ll make it work.”

I swallowed hard, trying to ignore how my body hummed. Two nights. In a beautiful, romantic hotel suite. With the man I’d been secretly in love with since I was a little girl. The man who, less than a week ago, had kissed me senseless. What could possibly go wrong?

Brandon returned with our keys and directions to the elevator, and I watched as Max signed the registration card, his movements controlled but somehow lacking his usual effortless grace. A muscle ticked in his jaw as he handed back the pen.

“All set,” Brandon announced. “Room 742. Elevators are to your right.”

Max grabbed both our bags before I could protest, and we made our way to the elevator bank. As we passed the sitting area, my Aunt Marie called out, “Hannah! You two make such a handsome couple!”

I managed a weak wave, painfully aware of my cousins’ knowing smirks. This was fine. Everything was fine. I just had to survive two nights in a hotel suite with Max Bennett without completely losing my mind.

The elevator doors closed behind us, and I let out a shaky breath. In the confined space, Max’s cologne wrapped around me like a heady fog. When I dared to glance at him, he was staring straight ahead, his grip on our bags white-knuckled.

Well. At least I wasn’t the only one affected by this situation.

We stoppedin front of the door to our suite, and Max swiped his key card against the small black square to unlock it. The door swung open, revealing a small marble foyer that opened into asuite even more breathtaking in person than in the photos we’d been shown. A beautiful winter sunset glowed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting everything in a burnished light that made the whole space feel almost ethereal.

I stepped inside, trying to ignore how my heart hammered against my ribs as I slowly wandered the space, my jaw practically hanging open. The photos hadn’t captured the little details that made the space feel so intimate—the way an already-lit gas fireplace cast dancing shadows across the walls, the subtle scent of fresh flowers from an arrangement on the entry table, the plush carpet that made me want to kick off my shoes and curl up by the fire.

Or that massive four-poster bed, which suddenly seemed to dominate the entire space.

“Well,” Max said, dragging my luggage into the room and setting his leather duffel next to it. He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m going to check out the rest of the suite.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. He disappeared into the separate living area, leaving me alone with my thoughts and that impossibly large bed.

Numbly, on legs that felt suddenly made of lead, I made my way to the bathroom, closing the door behind me with trembling hands. I gripped the marble counter and stared at my reflection in the mirror.

“Get it together, Carlisle,” I whispered fiercely to myself. “You’re a 35-year-old woman who handles obstetric emergencies without breaking a sweat. You can certainly handlethis.”

My reflection looked unconvinced.

From the other room, I heard the distinct sound of closet doors opening and closing, followed by Max’s footsteps. “Han?” he said, tapping lightly at the bathroom door. “You okay?”

I closed my eyes, drawing in a deep breath. “Yeah,” I managed. “Just … freshening up.”

There was a pause, and then, “Take your time. I’m gonna get the sofa bed made up before the rehearsal.”

The sofa bed. Right. Because Max Bennett—the man who’d starred in approximately eight thousand of my dirtiest fantasies—would be sleeping less than twenty feet away from me.

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