Page 7 of Sweet Escape
“Fucking hell, Liv.”
I deflect, not wanting to delve further into the hellscape that is my current life. “Alright, well, let’s call some hotels and find somewhere to stay. With my luck, we’ll end up with bed bugs or something equally horrendous, so you might want to do the honors.”
After an awkward drive to the only hotel with vacancies within a hundred-mile radius, Wilder helps me drag my luggage inside, stopping at the back of a line that leads to the front desk. There are three families ahead of us, and I’m instantly on edge. If we don’t get a room, we’re screwed. I’m running low on funds, so I can’t exactly catch an Uber one town over, and sleeping in a busy airport is a no-go for me.
Wilder’s expression is pinched as he checks his watch for the third time, stroking a hand over his thick beard. When we left the airport, he put on a backward baseball cap, and my panties disintegrated. I’ve never experienced beard burn before, but I’m not opposed to the idea.Not opposed at all.
Lucky for me, the man in question is completely oblivious to my inner turmoil. When the last family heads off to their room, Wilder motions for me to go ahead. The man at the front desk barely spares me a second glance as he taps away at the computer. When he finally acknowledges my presence, he asks, “Do you have a reservation?”
“Oh. Um, no. We called earlier. We were told to come down right away.”
“No problem. We have one room left. It’s a standard queen, and it has a lovely view of the riverfront.”
I open my mouth to speak, but Wilder slaps a credit card down on the desk. “We’ll take it.”
“Wh—”
Before I can utter a single word of protest, he leans in dangerously close to my ear, the same way he did on the plane. “It might not be your lucky day, Cupcake, but it’s looking pretty damn good to me. Looks like we get to share, after all.”
His words elicit an involuntary shiver, settling deep in my bones. I’m pretty sure I could come just from listening to this man talk. It wouldn’t even have to be explicit—he could read the damn Declaration of Independence, and I’d fold like origami.
Maybe it’s the fact that I haven’t had anything but self-induced manual orgasms in months. This man could take me up against the wall in front of the desk clerk, and I’d thank him after. I just know he’s the kind of man who makes sure his partner is satisfied first.
When Wilder finishes the check-in process, he takes my bag and guides me to the elevator with a hand on my lower back. Even through my clothing, the light touch sears into me like a brand. “I was thinking we could order in. I don't know about you, but I’m starving.”
I’m starving, alright, but it has nothing to do with food. I don’t dare say that. “I could eat.”
The elevator bell dings, and he quirks a surprisingly well-manicured brow as we step inside. “You can’t say things like that, or I’ll take it as an invitation. As it stands, I think we both need dinner before we doanything else.” As if on cue, my stomach rumbles loud enough for the entire hotel to hear, and Wilder’s lips tip up ever so slightly. “Good. We’re in agreement then.”
Ever the gentleman, Wilder slides the card over the reader and holds the door open for me to enter our room first. It’s sweet, but I’d love to see what he looks like when he’s not being chivalrous.
The room is surprisingly spacious, with floor-to-ceilingwindows on the far wall. The queen bed takes up half of the wall on the right, with pristine white linens, and a nightstand on either side. There’s a door leading to the bathroom on the left, with a simple standup shower and the usual amenities lining the white marble countertop. It’s nothing special.
He stops near a dark wood armoire and deposits our luggage there before heading over to the window and tugging open the curtains. The view of the river takes my breath away as the last light of the setting sun reflects off the water’s surface, painting it in a riot of vibrant color. As I step up beside Wilder, peace settles over me, and the worries of the day dissipate.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper.
“Yeah. It is,” he says, but he’s not looking at the river. His gorgeous eyes seem to hold more depth now, from the richest brown on the outer edges to the lighter, almost golden swirls closer to the center.
I clear my throat and take a step back. “So, what do you want to eat? For dinner. I mean.” I didn’t need to clarify, but I’m flustered, and every word is suddenly steeped in innuendo.
His shoulders shake with quiet laughter as he tugs his phone from his pocket. “I’m not picky. Any preferences?”
“I’m allergic to shellfish, but I’m good with anything thatwon’tkill me.”
“Probably for the best. How about Chinese food?”
I nod, and he proceeds to order half the menu for us to share. When the food arrives, we settle against the headboard and dig right into the takeout containers with our chopsticks. I fumble with my lo mein, narrowly missing my mouth before slurping it up.
“What do you do for work?” I reach for one of the spring rolls.
“Short answer, I’m a farrier,” he mumbles around a bite of chicken, covering his mouth with his hand, “but now that I’mheading back home, I’ll probably be thrown into the business side of things, too.”
I swallow around another bite then ask, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but what the fuck is a farrier?”
Wilder chuckles. He drops his chopsticks in the container and swipes a hand over his beard in a move that I probably shouldn’t find sexy, but here I am, damn near drooling into the box of noodles. “We take care of horses' hooves, forge and fit their shoes, that kind of thing.”
“Wait. Are you a cowboy? That’s so hot.”
