Page 87 of The Mistakes I've Made
She shrugged as we entered the elevator, thankfully alone. “Not exactly, but I had a pretty good idea.”
“You’re pure evil, Leilani Hart.” I grinned.
Her brow rose as the elevator dinged, announcing our floor. “Oh, you have no idea. Wait until you see what I’m wearing for dinner,” she teased, stepping out into the hallway, leaving me to follow behind.
I was about to ask her for a few details when she pointed down to the floor and uttered, “Oh, man! Look at that carpet!”
I chuckled under my breath. I’d lost her to the hotel again. But it was okay. I kind of enjoyed seeing her in her element. It was a healthy dose of excitement, scrutiny, and professional fascination. I could see what she approved of by a simple twitch of her brow, her face lighting up at the subtle color choices. But when we came to something she disagreed with? She’d scrunch her nose in disapproval and simply move on.
“Not a fan of those sconces?” I asked as we finally arrived at the door to our room.
She shook her head. “A surprising choice for my dad. He’s usually a less-is-more kind of guy when it comes to decorating. Let the property speak for itself and all that.”
I let out a laugh, taking one last look at the gold monstrosities. “They are a bit much.”
“That’s an understatement.”
“Maybe he let someone else pick them,” I suggested as I reached for the key card in my back pocket.
“I doubt it,” she said. “He’s not really the compromising type.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Hmm.”
“What does that mean?” Her eyes were bright and playful.
I pushed the door open. “It’s just, you’re not exactly the most compromising type either.”
Her mouth opened wide. “I am very compromising.”
“Really?” Still standing in the entryway, I didn’t budge. I knew she was dying to get inside and check out every inch of that suite, but I couldn’t help but mess with her.
“Yes,” she said, sticking to her guns, her arms defiantly wrapped around her chest.
Of course, I couldn’t help but notice the way it pressed her breasts high and tight against her low-cut top.
“Name one instance in which you compromised. Because I think my fleabag hotel is still being turned into…what did you describe it as? A hidden spa oasis?”
Her head tilted to the side, her face lit up with amusement. “I don’t think I ever said that. And I’m sorry, but whose hotel is it?”
That mischievous grin I so loved sparkled deep in her eyes. It was a look I was starting to crave. It meant that all those perfectly placed feathers of hers were starting to ruffle, and she was looking for trouble.
And I was just the guy to give it to her.
“My town,” I said. “My hotel.”
A wicked grin crept up her face as she pushed me forward into our suite. “Who owns The Cozy Hotel, Taylor Sutherland?”
I’d thought I’d never want to hear those words again.
The first time they’d fallen from her lips, I’d felt such anger.
Anger that I hadn’t accomplished anything in our brief meeting together.
Disappointment that I had been schooled by a woman I’d just met.
And frustration that I couldn’t take her right there, on that very floor.
But, now, I could.
