The laid-back attitude, however, positively evaporates when, after sitting for an hour on the tarmac at Nice, we’re informed that the plane hasn’t been cleared for takeoff, and we’ll have to catch a connecting flight to Rome the following morning.

  But, on the plus side, the airline is going to accommodate us in hotel rooms for the night.

  By the time we get to the “hotel”—more of a dingy airport motel with flimsy walls and questionable stains on the carpet—the mood has definitely dampened.

  So much for the luxury travel experience I wanted to give Reese. Before arriving at the hotel, we had to queue to retrieve our luggage at baggage claim, then wait to be put on a bus and be shuttled here, and now we’re stuck in an endless line with all the other plane passengers to get assigned to our rooms. Somehow, we ended up almost last in the check-in line—the hotel apparently doesn’t differentiate between first-class and economy ticket holders.

  When our turn arrives, I gesture for Reese to go ahead.

  “Thanks,” she says and proceeds to the check-in.

  I wait next to her as she gives her data to the receptionist, a nice young lady called Amélie, according to her name tag. Amélie inputs everything on her computer and, finally, with a smile, announces, “You’re in room 708. Is one key okay or would you like two?”

  Reese scoffs. “Why would I need two keys?”

  Amélie’s smile falters, and her gaze shifts to me uncertainly. “In case you both want a key?”

  Reese follows the receptionist’s gaze and chuckles nervously. “Oh, no, we’re not sharing a room.”

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “We”—Reese flips a finger between us for emphasis—“are not sharing a room.”

  “But you were under the same booking,” Amélie protests.

  “It’s a business trip, we work for the same company but we’re not, you know…”

  Amélie nods. “Let me check real quick what I can do for you.” She types furiously on her keyboard, then lifts a worried gaze to us. “I want to apologize for the mistake, but it looks like we’re out of rooms.”

  Reese, who’s kept smiling up to now, frowns. “What do you mean out of rooms?”

  “We only have one room available for you to share, all other rooms have already been assigned or have been reserved for the remaining passengers of your flight.”

  “That’s unacceptable,” Reese complains, then turning to me, she adds, “Say something.”

  I try to summon some inner indignation, even if, to be honest, having to share a room with Reese seems like a gift from the heavens. “Is there another hotel we could stay in?”

  Amélie shakes her head before she even replies. “I’m sorry, sir, but the Marathon des Alpes-Maritimes Nice-Cannes will run tomorrow; most hotels in town are fully booked.”

  Reese is positively puffing smoke out of her ears and nostrils. “What about out of town?”

  Amélie goes back to typing. “Maybe you could find some place to stay, an hour, an hour and a half away, but I would advise against that option.”

  “Why?”

  “The airline has placed you on an early connecting flight tomorrow morning. If you go out of the city, you’d have to leave at four in the morning to get back to the airport in time. Plus, with all the traffic restrictions and diversions downtown and along the coast because of the marathon, circulation will be a nightmare. I’m not even sure you’ll be able to get back here from there.”

  “We’ll take the room,” I interject.

  “What?” Reese snaps. “Are you crazy?”

  “We’ll take the room, thanks.” I ignore the protests and make to steer Reese away, whispering in her ear, “I can sleep on the floor, no big deal.”

  Her eyes drop to the stained carpet, and when she looks back up at me, doubt is written all over her pretty features. She fights against me to stay put at the reception desk, asking, “Is the room at least a double?”

  “Yes, Miss.” Amélie is finally happy to deliver a piece of good news and Reese seems to accept her destiny. “Your room is on the seventh floor; elevators are that way.”

  The receptionist points us to the back of the hall and the very smart, very pissed woman next to me finally lets me lead her that way.

  As the slowest elevator in the world makes its climb to the seventh floor, Reese maintains a frowny, grumpy attitude, keeping as far away from me as she can, arms protectively crossed over her chest.

  “Come on,” I tease. “I promise I don’t snore if that’s what’s worrying you.”

  She glares at me. “It’s not that. I don’t have any pajamas.”

  I raise my eyebrows questioningly. “You didn’t pack your PJs?” Then, I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t resist a little dig. “Or are you telling me you prefer to sleep naked?”

  Her cheeks flush crimson. “I don’t sleep naked, and, of course I packed my PJs, they’re just not appropriate for a room-sharing situation.”

  Oh. My attention levels spike. “Why not?”

  She points down at her baggy clothes. “I know I dress pretty casually, but I like fancy sleepwear.”

  “And by fancy you mean?”

  “Silk…”

  An image of her in underwear the first time we met pops into my head, and I can’t resist smirking.

  “Don’t make that face,” she chides.

  “I wasn’t making any face,” I lie. I probably had the expression of a pervert ready to pounce on her. “And I also have nothing against silky sleepwear.”

  “It’s not that I try to be sexy,” Reese blabbers, clearly nervous. “I just like the sensation of the silk on my skin.” She touches her belly as a demonstration. “How cool and soft if feels against⁠—”

  Before she can continue, I close the distance between us and press my hand over her mouth to stop her from talking.

  Her eyes widen in surprise, and I have to muster all my self-control to talk in a steady voice as I say, “You’re describing freedom to a man in prison. Please stop.”

  We stare at each other, and I’ve no idea what’s going through her head. But I know I’m afraid that if I remove my hand from her mouth, I’ll lose a battle I’ve been fighting with myself for the past few weeks and kiss her.

  22

  REESE

  Kiss me.

  Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me.

  It’s all I can think while my back is pressed against the hard metal wall of the elevator and with Thomas standing so close to me. His beautiful eyes sizzling with intensity.

  I want him to remove his hand from my lips and replace it with his mouth. Worse even, I want him to press me all the way into the wall and kiss me senseless. I know I shouldn’t want this. That it’s wrong. But I can’t deny the pull anymore, the attraction is there, and it isn’t going anywhere, no matter how hard I’ve been fighting it or trying to deny its existence.

  Thomas seems to battle the same instincts. His breath is coming out ragged and heavy. And the way he’s looking at me…

  Kiss me.

  When he, oh so slowly, removes his hand from my mouth, I hold my breath, thinking he’s finally going to do it. I can’t help the little gasp that escapes my lips as his gaze drops to my now-uncovered mouth.

  Now. He’ll kiss me now.

  But then his gaze drops further down to the floor, and, with an imperceptible shake of his head, Thomas takes a step back just as the doors of the elevator slide open.

  I flee more than exit the elevator car, heading down the hall in the wrong direction until I realize the arrows leading to our room number are pointing in the opposite way. I retrace my steps and scoot past Thomas, not daring to meet his eye. With trembling hands, I try to insert the room key in the proper slot and fail. Okay, steady breaths. Thomas didn’t get a second key, so I’m the only one who can let us into our room. But this stupid key just won’t fit in the narrow slit.

  “Need a hand there?” Thomas’s deep voice vibrates against my ribcage from behind.

  He’s standing a couple of steps back, and, even if we aren’t touching, the heat of his body on my back is an open flame. Even more so when he reaches out and covers my hand with his big one, steadying my arm enough to slit the key in and pop the door lock open.

  I push my way in, desperate to put some much-needed distance between us. But it looks like that won’t happen because, of course, the room only has one bed.

  I groan in disbelief. “She said the room was a double!”

  Thomas slides in after me and takes in the single bed—not even a king size, barely a queen—more likely a full. “She probably meant double as a room for two not one with two beds. Few European hotels have separate beds.”

  “Sorry.” I wheel on him. “I don’t jet to Europe that often. So, what are we going to do?” I demand, because if we can’t even share a five-minute elevator ride without keeping our hands to ourselves, there’s no way I’m sleeping in the same bed as this impossibly sexy man who didn’t kiss me just now.

  Thomas shrugs. “I told you, I can sleep on the floor.”

  I stare at the yucky carpet, which I doubt has ever been properly cleaned. “You’re not sleeping on the floor.”

  “Then I’ll sleep above the covers, no big deal.” He throws me a look I can’t interpret, all intense and frowny. “I’m sorry about the elevator, I’ll keep my hands to myself, I promise.”

  The only thing he should be sorry about is that he didn’t kiss me. Why didn’t he kiss me?

  I’m pretty sure I was sending strong kiss-me vibes.

  I nod.

  He smiles. “Ready to pull out all that silk?”

  I glare. “I’m sleeping in my dirty travel clothes.”

  My travel leggings are comfy and underneath the sweatshirt, I’m wearing a plain white T-shirt, so it won’t be too bad.

  Thomas smiles. “The hardships you put me through.”

  I try to keep a stern, this-is-still-a-strictly-professional-relationship face, but my stomach chooses this moment to loudly grumble and make me lose all credibility.

  “Hungry?” he asks.

  Thomas goes to check the minibar, which of course is empty, and looks up at me. “I doubt this fine establishment has room service, but I’ll go scavenge for something to eat, okay?”

  While he’s gone, I relax on the bed and have a mini breakdown.

  I can’t believe I’m stuck in a hotel room sharing a tiny bed with Thomas Mercer. The man I’ve been fighting my attraction to and future CEO of Mercer Robotics. And now, here we are, about to sleep in the same bed. Well, he’ll be sleeping above the covers, but still. It’s too much.

  I flop down on the mattress and let out a deep sigh. I’ve been trying to squash down my feelings for him for days, but every time he’s near, they come bubbling to the surface. There’s an electric current running between us that I can’t escape.

  Now all I can think about is kissing him, touching him, being with him. And why he didn’t do all those things to me in the elevator. Has he lost interest?

  What is wrong with me? Whether he’s interested or not, it’s irrelevant. I can’t let anything happen between us. We work together, we’re here on a business trip. I need to maintain a professional relationship with Thomas. My. Future. Boss.

  But as he comes back into the room with some grab-and-go sandwiches, a heap of tiny bags of chips, and some candy bars he scavenged from the vending machines downstairs, my resolve weakens.

  “Not exactly gourmet food, but it’ll do,” he says as he hands me a bag of chips and a bottle of water.

  I smile, I can’t help myself. “How’s this for a downgrade from your usual travel standards?”

  Thomas shrugs. “Not at all.”

  I frown. “You mean you often sleep in dingy motels with dubious hygiene standards?”

  “No.” He levels me with a golden-speckled stare. “Yet, I’ve never had a view quite like this.”

  The view of the airport out the window is foggy and mildly depressing. But he’s not looking out the window, is he? No, he’s looking straight at me. And he’s so close, so tall. Oh, gosh. I avert my eyes before I do something very stupid.

  Thomas sits on the bed next to me to eat, and I want him so badly it hurts. The tension between us is palpable. I struggle not to meet his eyes; I’m afraid of what will happen if I do. I’d probably get lost forever in their hazel-green-golden depths, if I’m not already.

  I need to break this tension because I can’t bear it. So I say the first silly thing that pops into my head. “Which program do Jedi use to open PDF files?”

  I finally meet his stare as I finish the question.

  After I saw him dressed as Kylo Ren, I googled a couple of Star Wars puns. I’d intended to use them in our notes like I did in my goodbye yesterday, but now I’m glad I have a conversation filler.

  Thomas blinks at me with a helpless expression, his lips curling at the corners.

  “Adobe Wan Kenobi,” I say.

  He throws back his head and laughs, and the sound is a corkscrew in my belly.

  “What did Obi-Wan tell Luke Skywalker when he had trouble eating Chinese food?” Thomas fires back, not missing a beat.

  Has he been researching Star Wars puns to share with me, too? This one wasn’t on the website I used.

  My turn to stare at him blankly.

  “Use the forks, Luke.”

  I laugh, and after that, the tension relaxes throughout our impromptu dinner of vending machine food.

  Thomas lets me use the bathroom first, and when I come back out, he’s already changed into a clean white T-shirt and gym shorts. He’s hardly indecent, but even the inch of toned thighs covered in a flurry of blond hair visible above his knees seems somewhat scandalous.

  “Bathroom’s all yours,” I squeak.

  As I wait for him to come back out, I hide under the covers, pulling them up to my chin, which is ridiculous considering I’m fully dressed.

  When Thomas emerges from the bathroom, he chuckles at my childish behavior. “Are you afraid of the monsters under the bed?” he teases. “I can check.”

  More of the monster that will sleep above the covers.

  “I’m not a kid,” I retort, scooting over so he has enough room next to me. “I’m just cold.”

  “Sure,” he says, giving me a knowing smirk. “Cold in a hotel room with the heater on full blast. Got it.”

  I glare. He smiles.

  “What do you say?” he asks as he climbs up onto the bed next to me, above the covers, just like he promised. “Lights out?”

  “Sure. I set the alarm for tomorrow morning but maybe you should set one, too, just to be safe.”

  He does so and then flicks off the overhead light, plunging the room into almost total darkness.

  “Goodnight Reese,” he whispers into the night.

  “Goodnight,” I reply, tucking in close to the edge of the bed away from him and staring straight up at the black ceiling.

  I lie there in silence for what feels like an eternity, not able to sleep or relax. Initially, I can tell Thomas is awake, too, but eventually, his breathing becomes deeper and more regular. He has fallen asleep, but I can’t.

  I don’t know how long passes before he talks. “No, no, I know… fine… claro.”

  At first, I think I imagined the sound of his voice, but then he continues. “…won’t forget… so close now… un mate…”

  His gibberish words make me realize that he’s talking in his sleep. And what’s with the Spanish?

  Cautiously, I grab my phone and unlock the screen to have some light. Yep, Thomas’s head is lolling on the pillow, mouth ajar. He’s totally cute and 100 per cent asleep.

  “Thomas?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you talk in your sleep?”

  “Si.” He snorts and turns on his other side so that he’s facing me.

  “Why in Spanish?”

  “Mi mamá.”

  His mom?

  I lower the light away from his face so as not to wake him.

  I hesitate, biting my lower lip. “If I ask you a question, will you tell me the truth?”

  He hums in response. I consider the ethical implications of what I’m about to do and decide to screw morality. I need to know, so I ask him, “Why didn’t you kiss me… before… in the elevator?”

  The lines on his face relax and he speaks, “I can’t.”

  “You can’t kiss me?”

  He lets out a confirmatory hmm. “No puedo.”

  “Why not?”

  He shifts again, now onto his back. He’s still sleeping and yet speaking as if he were awake. “My brother says so.”

  I frown. His brother? I’ve never met Gabriel Mercer, but now I hate him with a vengeance. Or maybe Thomas just isn’t making any sense. Why wouldn’t his brother want us to kiss? I’m half tempted to put the phone away and to go back to not sleeping… but I’m also very much curious to find out more.

  “Your brother says you can’t kiss me, why?”

  Thomas mumbles something I don’t understand, then says in a clearer voice, “I’m the boss, you have to make the first move.” More gibberish sleep talk follows in a garbled mix of Spanish and English of which I understand only the words harassment and justicia.

  His mouth moves, but no sound comes out. I point the phone’s light back toward him and lean over to see his face better. His eyebrows are pulled together as if he’s deep in thought or having a bad dream. Then finally, after what feels like an eternity of silence he speaks again. “It’s all about the candy, you know. Have to cook it just right. If not, then go back and try again.” His voice is dreamy yet focused on something I can’t understand at all.

  Looks like if I don’t prod him, he’ll keep spinning nonsense.

  So, I poke. “But did you want to kiss me?”

  Thomas’s lips curl up in a smile as he answers. “He said I’d fly away if we do.”

  That makes even less sense, but the next thing I know, Thomas is scooting closer and hugging my waist. Even with the covers between us, I can feel the heat of his body and the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. Cuddling the future boss is risky, inappropriate, and wrong… still, I lean into him, scooting down so that he can lay his head on my chest.