Page 4 of Best Laid Plans
He just smiled, in a perplexed sort of way that made the skin prickle on the back of her neck, and gestured for her to walk into the elevator before him.
‘No, no, after you,’ she said, sweeping her own hand in an exaggerated arc towards the centre of the car.
Shaking his head in amusement, he stepped inside and moved to the back to allow her plenty of room to follow him in.
Once she was safely past the doors, he hit the button for their floor and the doors closed on them with another gentle swish.
Heavy silence fell between them.
Indigo shifted from one foot to the other.
Well, this is awkward.
‘Perhaps we should introduce ourselves, since we’re going to be suite-mates,’ she said, raising a questioning eyebrow at him. ‘I’m Indigo. Indigo Hughes.’
‘Julien Moreaux,’ he replied, catching her off guard by stepping forwards and kissing her gently on both cheeks.
Being English, she’d forgotten about this traditional French greeting and almost jumped away in shock, only managing to hold her nerve at the last second. His scent hit her nose again, even more intensely this time due to his proximity, and instinctively she breathed him in, intuiting cool nights after hot days, the crisp tang of cold wine in the sunshine and the musky scent of warm skin.
Delicious.
After he’d stepped back it took her a full couple of seconds to pull herself together again. She gave him a friendly smile, but what she really wanted to do was pull him back towards her, bury her face in the scoop of his neck and drag his scent deep into her lungs again.
What was wrong with her? She’d never had this kind of visceral response to a complete stranger before, but there was something so commanding about this man. He made her feel safe, somehow.
Oh, get a grip, Indigo!
The honeymoon suite was exquisite, decorated in those amazing heritage colours that Italians employed so effortlessly, the furniture simple but refined, with an art deco theme tying the room together. Romantic aspiration seemed to ooze from the walls, as if they’d been infused with the happiness of all the newlyweds that had stayed there over the years. She felt sure this place had to have been included in everyWorld’s Best Honeymoon Suitesarticle written for the glossy magazines she judiciously avoided buying these days.
After thoroughly investigating the living area of the suite, she turned to look at Julien and realised that he hadn’t even glanced around him and was instead staring down at the screen of his phone.
Clearly, he was already au fait with the finer things in life.
Shaking her head at his lack of interest, she went to explore the bedroom, which was just as overwhelmingly beautiful as the rest of the suite. This whole experience was like stepping into a fantasy.
Despite her protests about it being a waste of money, Gavin, her ex, had insisted on booking the first night of their stay in this expensive hotel – he’d wanted to start the holiday in style – before spending the rest of the week moving between smaller, more basic places, so this would be her only chance for luxurious pampering.
She was going to have to make the most of it.
After grabbing a blanket and pillow for Julien from the wardrobe, she floated back out of the bedroom and dumped them on the sofa before turning to find he was still staring down at his phone, lost in his own world.
‘Stay in the honeymoon suite a lot, do you?’ she asked, edging her voice with dry amusement.
He glanced up at her and for a split second a dark expression flickered across his face. ‘Only once.’
His change in demeanour unsettled her. ‘You’re married?’ she asked to cover her discomfort.
‘Not any more.’
She could have sworn the temperature dropped a few degrees.
‘Oh. Sorry to hear that.’
He flipped her his teasing grin again, breaking the tension. ‘You English are always sorry for something.’
‘I was just being polite,’ she said, bristling.
His grin deepened.
