Page 4 of Scarlet Secrets

We jump around topics, landing on favorite comedy, the cutting edge one that’s set here in the Big Apple on Netflix.

“So,” Kara says, topping off our drinks from the bottle, “about that casual sex?”

“It’s not my style and you know it. I’ve never had a one-night stand.”

“Are you sure?”

“I think I’d know.”

She rolls her eyes. “I meant the casual sex. Because there’s a hot and sexy man who keeps checking you out.”

I’m saved by the concierge, who comes over and gives me a key card. “For your room, Miss Banks.”

“That,” I say as he disappears, “is my cue to leave.”

“With the hot man?”

“Alone.”

“If you don’t go for him,” Kara calls out as I get up to go, “I will.”

I turn back and laugh. “Knock yourself out.”

The elevator takes me up to the top floor and when it opens; I check the card and the number. But lucky for me, I don’t have to use it as the door’s open, a maid coming out of it. Hurrying, I hold the door for her and her cart, which is loaded with fresh towels that steam.

When I step inside, I’m in another world.

I grew up well-off. But this… this is another thing completely. There’s a ground floor with a large lounge suite and TV and a bathroom that looks like something out ofVogue. There’s even a balcony. A real one.

There are other rooms, but I hurry up the sweeping stairs to the immense room. A king-sized bed dominates it and there’s another bathroom, this one with a view from the bed to a giant claw-foot tub set against a window overlooking the park. I press a button and the windows darken a little, but I can still see out and a thrill passes through me. Tinted. And as I turn to the vanity, there’s a towel, wet, steaming, and scented. I pick it up and hold it to my face.

I’m in heaven.

What I should do is work on tomorrow’s meeting, but I know it backward—every word of my presentation all the counterpoints. And I’m a little tipsy and need to wind down. So instead, I fill the bath, pouring in some of the spiced scented oil. I can’t place it, but it’s divine, with a hint of dark sugar to it, clean and rich and something I sort of want to eat.

Then I strip and sink in.

It’s so relaxing I could do with a drink and my Kindle or an actual book, but doing nothing is Zen, too.

I’m half dozing when something shakes me. Footsteps.

My skin buzzes and before I can do a thing other than start to sit up, a shadow falls over me.

“I didn’t order an escort,” says a deep voice of fine gravel, “so would you mind explaining what you’re doing in my room?”

Panic hits. And before I can scramble up, he’s there and I can’t breathe.

The man from the bar. Dark hair. Bespoke suit in the richest blue-hued charcoal. He’s tall—much taller than I guessed in my brief glimpse—and he’s older.

Even better-looking.

My mouth goes utterly dry. But I manage to gather my wits and glare. “This is my room. How the hell did you get in?”

“Role-play? Didn’t order that, either, though if I did, it wouldn’t be quite so… mundane.”

Outrage takes me over, and I rise from the water, intent on kicking him out, intent on?—

He’s staring at me. Ice-blue eyes, like the tundra, are on me and melting fast as his gaze traces over my wet breasts and my nipples tighten, and then when he’s had his fill, he drops to my bare pussy.

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