Page 71 of Pleasure Payback

Fantasy Rooms. Special Edition

Mortimer Royal, London

Tonight or any night that suits you. 8 p.m.

My fantasy. Your rules.

Did he know I was in England? I’d sworn my manager to secrecy while I explored a possible new hotel site.

But Damian was a billionaire with unlimited resources. And somehow he knew I was close enough...to what?

It was thewhatthat saw me alight from a taxi two nights later outside Mortimer Royal, the latest in the illustrious hotel chain.

The doorman doffed his cap and held the door open. As I walked across the stunning atrium it occurred to me that the email hadn’t given me a suite number or specific location.

Before I could complete the thought, a tall, striking man approached. His badge announced him as Head Concierge.

‘Miss Nolan, welcome. If you don’t mind following me, the lift you need is right this way.’

Biting back the questions that rose, I followed him to a lift markedprivate. He accessed it with a black key card, before handing it to me. ‘Please use it if you need to come down. Enjoy your evening.’

The doors slid shut, throwing back my reflection at me. My cheeks were pale and I looked...wide-eyed and terrified. I dropped my gaze, straightened my red cocktail dress and silently willed my insides to stop shaking.

The worst that could happen was another unpleasant confrontation.

Yes, one that could decimate what’s left of your broken heart.

My fingers tightened around the key card as the lift slowed. The carriage stopped. Pain and uncertainty sliced me in two.

When I’d boarded the helicopter he’d sent back for me in Bordeaux, I hadn’t thought I could be capable of loving with my heart shattered in a thousand pieces. And yet I had.

Still did.

I can’t do this.

I lifted the key card, aimed it at the electronic panel. And stopped.

You’ve come this far.

Shaky and tentative, I stepped out and looked around. Plush carpeting rolled towards a single solid door that stood ajar. I approached slowly, nudged it open.

The air evaporated from my lungs.

The bar, and the bartender mopping the shiny counter, looked achingly familiar. In fact, the whole scene looked familiar, right down to the chairs grouped near the window that showed night-time Boston. Except this time, there were no other guests.

Heart thumping wildly, I approached and slid into the farthest seat.

The bartender sauntered towards me with a smile. ‘What can I get you this evening?’

‘Umm...whiskey sour, please,’ I managed past a throat clogged with roiling emotions.

He nodded. ‘Coming right up.’

I took the drink he set before me a minute later with trembling fingers, not even a little ashamed that I was fortifying my wild tremors with liquid courage.

Damian slipped into his seat just as I finished my drink.

This time I didn’t glance his way. I knew every inch of his body, knew what looking at him would do to me. But from the corner of my eye I saw him reach for the bottle of water set before him.

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