Page 58 of The Worst Guy Ever
He makes small talk with me as we drive to the outskirts of town and on to country roads. We pass through a couple of little villages and then take a turning that, as far as I’m aware, only leads to one place.
No. It can’t be here.
Another half mile on, he takes the left turning and there’s no mistaking the giant sign.
“Seriously? This is where we’re going?”
“Yup,” he says, a huge grin spread across his face.
He parks the car and dashes round to open my door, holding his hand aloft to help me out. With his bag in one hand, he takes mine in the other, interlacing our fingers as if we do this all the time. When we walk inside I marvel at the beautiful foyer, its grand domed ceiling and giant floral arrangements, all things I’d neglected to notice the last time I was here at Fettleworth Lodge.
There’s no queue at reception, and I linger behind him, nibbling my fingertips while he checks us in. The reality of what we’re about to do is finally hitting me. I’m no stranger to a hotel hookup, but I can’t put my finger on why this feels so different, so terrifying.
“Welcome, Mr and Mrs Morgan.”Mr and Mrs?Don’t these people have training not to presume their guests names? “You’ll find complimentary champagne in your suite and room service is available 24 hours a day. If you’d like to take advantage of our spa services just call us and we’ll arrange whatever we can to meet your needs.”
“Thank you, Cheryl,” Rob says, tucking our room key into his jacket pocket. He takes my hand again and gives it a little squeeze as he leads me towards the lifts. He hits the button for the top floor and silently pulls me close to his side. The top floor.Oh God, surely he hasn’t?I get my answer when the doors open and he leads me along to the end of the corridor, to the door where I left him just a few weeks ago. My head is spinning. This is really happening.
“Rob, please do not tell me you’ve booked the honeymoon suite.”
With his arm around my shoulders, he grins down at me and wiggles his eyebrows. “They had a cancellation, and I thought we should come back and finish the job.”
Dammit. He has no business being this romantic. “You are such an idiot. That must have cost a fortune.”
“You’re worth it,” he says softly, tapping his keycard and opening the door for me. “After you, darling.”
It’s literally the same room, and a flood of excitement hits me when I see the bedroom through the open sliding doors. I’d forgotten how massive it is. He places his bag in the wardrobe as I wander around the suite, taking it all in. The heavy curtain fabric, the paintings on the walls, the vase of fresh flowers on the side table in the lounge area.
I’m stalling. I don’t know what to do with myself. I can’t even look at him. We both know why we’re here but I have no idea what to say or how to get things started. This is too much, it’s beginning to feel like a terrible idea.
Men pay for hotel rooms all the time but those are cheap, basic rooms and I can’t think about the cost for long or I start feeling that I’m as cheap as they are. Nobody has ever spent money like this on me, or taken the time to do something so thoughtful. I don’t belong here.
“Champagne for my wife?” Rob asks from behind me, and I find him standing with two glasses and a perfectly chilled bottle. I nod and take off my jacket, suddenly too hot.
“Is that the game you want to play?” I frown. “I’m your wife and you’re my husband?”
“I don’t hate the idea,” he smirks, popping the cork. “It’s a pretty hot fantasy, don’t you think?”
I can’t say I’ve ever thought about it. “If I had a husband, he’d probably be sleeping with someone else. Or I’d be shagging the pool boy.”
Rob pours two glasses and stalks across the room to hand me mine. The room doesn’t feel so big at all now, and when he holds my gaze and clinks our glasses, time stands still. I can’t read him when he’s like this. I much prefer him when he’s being a dick to me. I snap out of my trance and take a big drink, the bubbles filling the back of my mouth so quickly it makes me splutter.
“So…” I whisper, staring at the floor when I’ve regained my composure. The silence between us is making my skin itch.
“So?”
“What do we do now?”
“What do you want to do?” He takes a seat in one of the armchairs, and leans back with his legs spread wide. I want to climb him. “This is your one night with my dick, Hattie. You’d better make the most of it.”
Ah, there’s the Rob I know.
“God, your ego really is through the roof, isn’t it?” I shake my head and laugh, perching my bottom on the arm of the sofa opposite.
“Come and sit here,” he says, patting his thigh. Half of me is screaming to run for it, to call a taxi, to never, ever give in to his demands.
The other half wins. I do as I’m told, but I’m awkward about it, sitting too close to his knee and throwing myself off balance when I cross one of my legs over the other. He grabs me around the waist and hoists me further up until I’m fully in his lap. I glance around the room, desperately hoping for something to focus on that isn’t the heat rising from his body and threatening to scorching mine.
“Hattie,” he says, reaching for my face and turning it towards him.
