Page 77 of Reputation (Tempt)

CHAPTERSIXTEEN

“Whoa,” Brooklyn gasped as Jackson pulled up to the Huxley Grand Abu Dhabi. “It’s like something out of a fairy tale.”

Jackson parked beside the VIP entrance, the black-and-white tiles beckoning to us like a giant checkerboard. He’d joined us on the flight, but the rest of his team had arrived several days ago. Everyone at Hudson always did a great job of making sure everything ran smoothly and safely, and this time was no exception. Though I knew it had to be more of a challenge, considering the increased media scrutiny surrounding my engagement.

When Jackson opened the door, I climbed out first, offering my hand to Brooklyn, then Emerson.

“Oh. My. God. This place is…incredible,” Emerson said, breathless as she scanned the courtyard. Our hands were still linked, and I didn’t move to release her.

Instead, I followed her gaze, lifting my free hand to shade my eyes from the desert sun. The hotel had a huge dome on top and looked as if it were dripping with gold. Majestic palm trees swayed overhead, shading the path between a symphony of fountains.

Best of all, it was blissfully quiet. There wasn’t a photog in sight, and I could only hope it stayed that way. Though, with all the drama currently swirling in my life, I knew it was only a matter of time before they found us.

A hotel employee appeared as if by magic, his gilded tailcoat formal and elegant. I was sure even Graham would be pleased. “Welcome to the Huxley Grand Abu Dhabi, Mr. Crawford. My name is Saeed, and I would be happy to serve you during your stay.”

“Thank you, Saeed.”

“Please, follow me to your room.”

Only then did Emerson seem to notice we were still holding hands. She dipped her head as she slid her hand from my palm. I hated the loss of her touch, so I placed my hand on her lower back, unable to resist.

For the first time in my life, I didn’t mind having so many staff and other people constantly surrounding me. Giving me an excuse to touch Emerson under the guise of perpetuating the story of our engagement. It was pathetic, and yet I couldn’t stop myself.

We passed through shaded courtyards with tranquil fountains where Emerson stopped to smell one of the large, colorful flowers. She was radiant, and I couldn’t stop touching her now that we were engaged. She’d always been too tempting, and it was so nice to finally act on my feelings, even if she thought it was only pretend.

Even if it was only short-term.

My relationship with Emerson—much like this peaceful interlude—wouldn’t last. One day, our fake engagement would end, and Emerson would leave. That was the last thing I wanted, but I’d all but assured that when I’d set a one-year expiration date on our relationship.

“Welcome to the Palace Suite,” Saeed said, opening a large wooden door covered in ornate carvings.

Brooklyn and Emerson continued “oohing” and “aahing” over the accommodations. No expense had been spared for the $15,000-a-night suite and no detail overlooked. Our lodgings were fit for a monarch, from the glittering chandeliers to the mosaic tiles to the large vases of fresh flowers that perfumed the air.

“There is a private pool just outside the living area,” Saeed said, and Brooklyn rushed over to the windows.

“Dad, come here! You have to see this.”

I joined her at the window, admiring the rooftop pool. It certainly looked inviting. And it was very private, with walls and plants shielding it from view.

“Here is Miss Brooklyn’s room,” Saeed said, continuing the tour to a large bedroom with a king-sized bed and private bathroom. “And you and Ms. Emerson will be in the room next door.”

Wait. What?

Emerson flashed me a panicked look over the top of Brooklyn’s head.

I peeked around the corner into the primary suite. There was a bed—onelarge bed. An upholstered bench at the foot of the mattress, a desk, a massive full-length mirror set in a gold frame.

Saeed glanced between the two of us, a worried expression firmly in place. “Is there a problem?”

“No,” I said. Because—of course, everyone would expect that we were sharing a room, including my assistant, who’d arranged the travel. Emerson and I were engaged. Madly in love. “No problem.”

“Great. Can I get you anything else?” Saeed asked, still wary.

“That will be all,” I said, walking over to the balcony. It boasted uninterrupted views of the Arabian Sea. “Thank you.”

“Excellent. Please do not hesitate to call should you need anything. We are available to you anytime—day or night.”

I nodded, the staff soon excusing themselves. Brooklyn was still in her room, and Emerson joined me on the balcony. The wind blew her hair around her face, her eyes the color of the Arabian Sea. The scenery was gorgeous, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the woman standing next to me.

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