Page 6 of The Perfect Wife

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His lips met my cheek, leaving me tingling all over. How could a man have such an effect on me? I took the rose from him with a shaky hand as he held it out to me. “Please come in. I’ll put this in a vase.”

Kenzi was still standing behind the counter with her mouth gaping open. She was awestruck with Davian, just like me. Rounding the counter, I bumped her hip with mine, which released her from the stare she had on him. “Do you remember where we put that small vase?”

Kenzi didn’t move from her position as she pointed to the cupboard above the fridge. I wished we had chosen a different place to store it. The cupboard was too high to reach even in my five-inch heels. While I was searching for the stepstool that would give me the height I needed, Davian came around the counter and opened the cupboard with no problem. Even in my heels, he had at least six inches on me.

When he handed me a tall vase for a single rose, I smiled and said, “Thank you,” before walking over to the sink and filling it with water. I could feel his eyes burn into my back as I placed the vase on the counter. When I turned to face him, not only were his eyes on me, but a mischievous grin outlined his perfect features.

Davian pulled me close and leaned in. “You look good enough to eat.”

Thankfully, Kenzi couldn’t hear him or see the effect his words had on me since she had already made herself comfortable on the couch. There was no way I would get through the night if he continued with his suggestive comments. My body was on fire, and if we didn’t leave soon, I would be all over him.

Needing a reprieve, I widened the distance between and rounded the counter to grab the purse I hung on the back of the barstool. Before I could tell Kenzi goodbye, Davian intervened. “Lock the door behind us, Kenzi.”

“Bossy, much?” I asked, receiving an annoying glare from Kenzi and then him.

Davian pulled the door closed and waited until he heard the lock engage. When he heard the click of the lock, we headed toward the elevator. His domineering persona was sexy as hell as he placed his hand on my lower back, nudging me along. I wondered if he always got his way.

~4~

Reyna

I loved the Atlanta lights at night. There was something sexy about the way the city lit up. The city lights disappeared when Davian pulled up in front of the Regency Hotel. Three valets stood in front, ready to assist the passengers out of their expensive cars before driving them to a well-guarded parking garage. The five-star hotel had excellent reviews, not because of the clientele, but because of the stellar accommodations it provided.

The masculine scent of Davian’s cologne mixed with the coolness of the air as we stepped from the revolving door. With his hand against my back, naughty thoughts entered my brain. It might have been the sexy decor of the hotel or the fact that I was having dinner with the sexiest man in Atlanta. Whatever it was, all I could think about was if tonight would bring more than just dinner. Would I finally experience what it felt like to be taken by a man? My top-drawer boyfriend could never compare to the touch of a man.

I needed to tuck those thoughts away.

For a Sunday night, the hotel was bustling, and if I had to guess, most of the patrons were there to see if Lady Luck was on their side. The sound of slot machines echoed through the hotel lobby, along with people cheering. I wasn’t old enough to gamble, yet, and could only imagine what it felt like to hit the big one.

Walking past the reservation desk, we headed down a wide hallway with different specialty boutiques on each side. The windows displayed everything from expensive purses to clothing for men and women. There was even a shop where visitors could purchase hotel memorabilia to add to their collection of souvenirs from places they had visited.

While I was focusing on the shops, a hotel employee greeted Davian. “Good evening, Mr. Cross.”

The attractive woman stopped in front of us, holding a notebook. The name tag she wore read ‘Samantha,’ with the title of general manager in capital letters written below her name.

“I trust you have taken care of the arrangements for this evening?” Davian asked in a business voice.

“Yes, just as you instructed, Mr. Cross,” she winked in a flirty manner, which in my opinion, was very unprofessional for an employee.

I looked over my shoulder as Samantha walked away. I wondered if she needed any fries with that shake and if that was how she got promoted to general manager. Jealousy wasn’t my thing. She was probably a nice person, but the way she looked at Davian made me think they had more going on. “The staff is very accommodating. You must come here often.”

“If you are referring to Samantha, she is one of my best employees.”

“One of your employees?” I asked, confused by his reply.

“Yes, I own the hotel, so that would make her my employee.”

“You own the Regency Hotel?” I sounded like a broken record, repeating everything he said to me. The hotel must be his little bit of everything he was talking about last night.

The conversation between us ended when we came to a restaurant with slow-flowing water fountains on each side of the entrance. They were both covered with ivy that cascaded downward along two white pillars. A woman stood at the door behind a podium dressed in a white button-up shirt and a black pencil skirt. She had her hair pulled back in a modest bun. When we got to the podium, her eyes locked on Davian. “Good evening, Mr. Cross. Your table is ready.”

She seemed to be overly friendly, just like Samantha, the hotel general manager. I didn’t know what to make of her as she led us to our table, but I didn’t feel threatened by her. She was gorgeous, but not as intimidating as Samantha.

The woman led us to a quaint table for two, tucked in the far corner of the restaurant. The table was set in white linen, with fine white china, crystal stemware, and polished silver cutlery displayed on top. A cute waiter stood next to our table, waiting at attention with a white towel draped over his left arm. It was all very formal, and I second guessed my choice of attire and thought I should have chosen something less casual to wear.

The waiter moved to pull out my chair. As I sat, he took the cloth napkin displayed in a fan-like manner on the white plate and draped it over my lap. Once Davian had taken his seat, the waiter took the carafe from the table and filled our water glasses. Looking to Davian first and then to me, he asked, “Would you like to see the wine list, Mr. Cross, or do you already have a preference?”

“Latour, 1990,” Davian replied curtly. His focus was on me instead of the waiter.