Page 132 of The Business of Love Box Set 1: Books 1 - 4

KATIE

T he night went by far too quickly.

One minute, Peter was wiping cold water from my bare legs, and the next, we were bickering over the bill like an old married couple.

Despite our arrangement that I would buy drinks and he would buy the food, I ended up caving and let him leave his credit card on the little black tray beside the two breath mints.

We both took a mint.

The restaurant was empty except for three occupied tables when we made our way out.

It was half past ten and The Wreck closed at eleven on weeknights.

On the weekends, there would be a live band and a dance floor, and it wasn’t hard for me to picture coming back here with Peter to dance, have a drink or four, and let the music take the lead.

He put his hand on the small of my back and opened the door for me. We stepped outside and I wondered what it might feel like to be pressed up against his chest on the dance floor. Based on our track record, there was a high chance he would drop me right on my ass. Or my face.

But that was a chance I was willing to take with him.

“Can I drive you back to the hotel?” Peter nodded at his little blue truck parked on the far side of the lot.

“That would be lovely, thank you.”

He was a perfect gentleman. He opened the passenger door for me and held it open until I was inside. He closed the door softly and I watched him walk around the truck.

He has no idea how handsome he is, I thought to myself as he raked his fingers through his hair. No idea at all.

How was that possible? How did a thirty-something-year-old man with a body and a face like that have a complete lack of self-awareness when it came to his looks? Didn’t he own a mirror? Didn’t he find himself being ogled by women everywhere he went?

I’d noticed several women at The Wreck checking him out and I couldn’t blame them. I’d had a hard time sitting across from him and keeping my thoughts on the conversation at hand. It had been hard not to inspect every exposed body part.

Like his hands.

My stomach did a little roll of nervous excitement when he got in the truck and gripped the steering wheel. I indulged my inner girlie-girl and stared unabashedly at his knuckles and the tendons in the back of his hands as they flexed.

What sort of damage could he do with those?

He put his seatbelt on, turned the ignition, and reversed out of the parking spot with an arm resting on the back of the seat.

Part of me wanted to slide into the middle seat so I could sit closer to him, but I suddenly felt like a teenage girl now that we were alone again.

So I stayed where I was, blushing for no reason, and gazed out the window as we pulled out onto the main road and made for the El Cartana.

“I had a nice time tonight,” Peter said after a couple of minutes of comfortable silence. “Thank you for agreeing to come with me after I knocked you on your ass at the market.”

“You keep me on my toes, Peter. I like it. And for the record, I had a nice time too. A very nice time.”

“Even though I spilled water on you?”

I giggled. “Especially because you spilled water on me.”

He gave me a puzzled look. He really had no idea how charming he was.“Maybe next time, I’ll stiff arm you,” he teased. “Or trip you. The possibilities are endless really.”

“Next time?”

He nodded earnestly. “I’d like there to be a next time.”

“Me too.”

We pulled through the hotel gates and came to a slow stop in the roundabout outside the lobby. He put the truck in park. His arm was still draped over the back of the seat when I took off my seatbelt.

His fingers grazed my shoulder. “So when can I see you again?”

“Give me your phone.”

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and handed it to me. I put my name and phone number in it before handing it back.

“Call me,” I said simply. “We’ll make plans. Dinner next time?”

“Dinner sounds good.”

I put my hand on the door handle and pulled it. The cab light winked on. “Then I’ll talk to you soon, I guess.”

Peter caught my arm when I went to slide out of the cab. He pulled me effortlessly across the seat until my hip bumped his. He let his hand move up from my shoulder to my neck, which he traced with delicate fingers to my jaw. He cupped my cheek and leaned in.

My heart fluttered and my breath hitched in my throat. I closed my eyes.

His lips grazed mine in the softest, most delicate kiss I’d ever had. It started slow and patient, like an ember catching a piece of tinder in a fire. It deepened, and I yielded to the press of his tongue. He tasted like the breath mints we’d taken from the little black tray back at the restaurant.

His hand on my cheek moved to the back of my neck and I turned to putty as he drew me in closer still. I pressed up firmly against his chest and it took every ounce of control I possessed not to climb into his lap and stick my tongue halfway down his throat.

He let out a soft sound, something between a moan and a sigh, before breaking the kiss and pulling away. “You have an early start tomorrow,” he breathed. His voice was strained. He didn’t want to stop.

Neither did I.

“I wish I didn’t,” I said.

He gave me one more kiss before releasing me. “You never should have given me your number.”

I giggled and stayed pressed up against him a little while longer. “And why is that?”

“I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to leave you alone.”

I woke on Wednesday morning to someone knocking on my suite door. I groaned, rolled over, and blinked at the clock on my nightstand.

It was six twenty-five.

My alarm would go off in five minutes, so I swung my legs over the side of the bed, turned the alarm off, and rubbed my eyes vigorously. Another knock sounded at the door.

“Coming!” I called.

I stood up and indulged in a stretch. A yawn took me, and my mouth was still half open when I made it to the door and opened it.

Nobody was there.

“What the hell?” I breathed.

I looked down, and at my feet, there was a cup of coffee and a little pastry bag. Stapled to the bag was a handwritten note on a torn piece of napkin.

I crouched down to get a closer look.

The coffee delivery was from Peter.

Good morning,

I’m sorry I kept you up so late last night. It was worth it for me but I imagine you might be a bit slow getting started today. So here’s a cup of coffee that, luckily, I’m too far away to spill on you.

Peter

I grinned like a damn idiot at the note and pulled it free from the staple. After bringing the delivery inside, I discovered a cinnamon brioche bun smothered in icing inside, and I enjoyed every damn bite of it while reading the note over and over again.

Where did this man come from, and how had I gotten lucky enough to be the one he treated like a bowling pin at the market? Falling on my ass had never been so rewarding.

I had a smile on my face all morning as I got ready for my workday. It was eight thirty when I left my room and made my way down to the lobby to meet Hop behind the coffee-shop counter. As usual, there were three coffees sitting on the bar top.

“Good morning, Katie,” Hop said in his deep Russian voice. He was the only cheerful Russian man I’d ever met. “There are rumors in the hotel that you were out late last night.”

“Oh?” I popped the lids onto the coffees.

“Gossip spreads in this place like it’s a commune. Just thought I’d give you a heads-up. Roman has already been out and about looking for you, claiming he wants the details before anyone else.”

“Of course. Well, he’ll be disappointed to know there are no details worth sharing.”

Hop eyed me suspiciously.

“What?” I asked.

He shrugged and began cleaning one of the steaming wands on the espresso machine. “I could be wrong, but if I were a guessing man, I’d guess you were lying.”

I tried to act offended. “Pardon?”

He chuckled deeply. “If you want to convince Roman that your date was nothing but ordinary, I suggest you find a way to stop smiling like a schoolgirl. And you might want to consider not humming to yourself while you walk.”

My eyes widened in surprise. “I was humming?”

“Like a smitten kitten.”

I laughed. Never in my life did I think I’d hear a big Russian say the phrase smitten kitten . It was as humorous out loud as it sounded in my head. “Well, thank you for the warning, Hop. I appreciate it.”

“Are you going to see him again?” he called after me as I made for the check-in desk.

“I’m sure you’ll hear it through the grapevine if I do,” I called back.

I made a pit stop at the check-in counters that morning to greet one of my all-time favorite guests—the author W. Parker. The staff working the counter knew the writer was about to arrive, and they were buzzing around behind me like a bunch of excited bees.

“Ladies,” I said as I opened the computer and struggled to click my way through the login screen so I could check the guest in. “Mr. Parker doesn’t like a fuss, remember? Play it cool or wait in the back.”

I received some half-hearted apologies from the three young women, who both descended into fits of giggles when they spied Mr. Parker himself walking through the front doors of the lobby. I banished them to the back room for safe measure.

“Mr. Parker.” I grinned as he approached the desk. “It’s good to see you again. How have you been?”

“Katie,” he said warmly. “I’ve been as good as a writer on a deadline can be, I suppose. My agent is breathing down my neck. My story is shit. And my muse is being an elusive, fickle bastard.”

I slapped on my best empathetic smile. “I’m sorry to hear that. But you’re in the right place. The El Cartana has saved you and your work many times before, yes?”

“Indeed.”

“Is this going to be one of those stays where you hardly leave the room? I can alert room service that you’ve arrived and they can build a delivery routine for you if you like. I know you have a tendency to forget to eat while you’re working.”

“What did I do to ever deserve such excellent service?”

I leaned across the counter and winked. “You wrote books that made it much easier for me to be single.”

He laughed. Mr. Parker had a laugh that sounded like honey and molasses. It was smooth and warm, much like the rest of him. His smile was dazzling, his brown eyes kind and deep, and he had a way about him that always made me wonder how he was still single.

I’d fantasized about him more than my fair share of times. Based on the books he wrote, it was practically a guarantee that he would be a God in the bedroom. He knew quite intimately the right way to make love to a woman.

Or at least his characters did.

But I always assumed they were one and the same. There was no way he could get it so right in his books and so wrong in real life. Absolutely no way.

I checked him in and sent a request to room service that he would need meal delivery service three times a day. Mr. Parker thanked me and I gave him his room key.

“You have my number and you know I’m almost always on site,” I said. “If you need anything at all, call me.”

“I don’t want to bother you, Katie. You’re a busy woman.”

“I’m also a very impatient woman and I don’t want to wait longer than I have to for this next book.” I winked. “I promise, I’m happy to help however I can to make your visit smooth so you can get as much done as possible.”

He chuckled. “Ah, of course. Ulterior motives.”

“If you told me a bit of what it was about, I bet it would make it easier for me to wait it out.”

He stroked his clean-shaven sharp jaw. “A girl falls in love with a boy.”

I rolled my eyes. “Such a tease, as always.”

“Don’t worry, Katie. You’ll be among the first to get a copy.”