Page 53 of The Vigilante's Lover

Even though this is a new hotel for me, I can still hear the subtle click of the door in the room next to us.

Very few sounds escape me, even without enhanced hearing devices.

One of the earliest Vigilante trainings centers around listening to the normal background noise of a room, and immediately detecting anything that changes.

I’m not alarmed, however. The person who has arrived is here at my request.

Mia hasn’t been exposed to many things, so what she’s doing next might be new to her. But I take her hand and pull her to standing.

It isn’t wise to start anything here, not with someone in the next room, but I do want her relaxed. I pull her up against me and clasp her head, my fingers running through her hair.

She sighs and rests on my chest. When her breathing has slowed and she seems past the anxiety of our conversation, I lead her out of the dining area and into the bedroom next door.

A young man is there, setting up a massage table.

Mia promptly halts. “Who is this?”

The man extends his hand. “I’m Peter. I will be administering your massage.”

Mia looks up at me, eyebrows raised.

“Thought you could use it,” I say, although I’m not thrilled the masseur is a man. In fact, picturing his hands on her body is starting to make me doubt this decision entirely.

He holds up a fluffy white robe. “You ready?” he asks Mia.

She takes it from him uncertainly. “Okay.” She walks toward the bathroom to change.

I stare down this Peter guy.

“Viscount,” he says, with a half-assed bow.

I settle in an armchair in the corner. The Peter person checks the bars beneath the table and arranges his tubes and bottles of oils.

Mia emerges from the bathroom in the robe. She looks small and timid in the piles of white terry cloth.

Peter pats the table. She’s not terribly tall, so when she turns, she has to hop a little to sit on it. The robe parts to reveal her slender legs. Peter notices.

Yes, this might have been a bad idea all around.

“Just untie the front and lie down on your belly,” Peter says. He unfolds a towel.

Mia does what he says, shooting me an uncertain glance.

Peter spreads the towel across her, then expertly peels the robe down so that only her back is exposed. Still, I can see the side of a compressed breast.

“Chin here,” Peter says, shifting her position.

The movement causes her to lift a little, and I see more of her. I decide to escape for a moment to avail myself of the bar. We might be in Tennessee, but it’s five o’clock in New York. Close enough.

Rather than mix my own, I head out into the shared space of the executive floor. The bartender spots me and smiles. He’s an older gentleman, as they often are in these positions.

“What can I get you, Viscount Argetti, sir?” he asks.

“An Old Fashioned,” I say. “Short splash. Bourbon.”

He nods.

I try not to think about a naked Mia under Peter’s hands as I survey the room. “Are the other suites occupied?” I ask.

“Just you here tonight,” the bartender says as he expertly swirls the bitters at the bottom of the glass. “Tomorrow night, though, we have some singer. Hopefully it won’t be an issue.” His tone is dark.

Great. A musician.

The elevator opens directly into this room, four exits, plus the windows. The rooms are probably laid out identically, although mirrored. The bedrooms are to the inside. This hotel has eighteen floors, but none are above. Out the window and up to the roof would be the wisest escape in a pinch.

Not that I think anyone knows where we are. But positions like bartenders in posh hotels are prime locations for retired Vigilantes.

I assess this man. Sturdy, fairly fit, gray haired. I’d put him at 65. One of the telltale elements of old-school operatives is the way they always scan a room. It’s something very difficult to get out of the habit of doing.

He passes me the drink, and I take a sip. “Excellent,” I say.

He nods and wipes the bar.

Nope, not Vigilante. He’s let several minutes go by without a visual sweep. We’re in a good place for the night. I never let down my guard, but my assessment of our security ensures that I am able to focus on other, more delectable things.

I turn back to my suite and enter the spacious living room. I hear a groan from Mia and realize the bedroom door is closed.

I’ve crossed over to it in three seconds.