Page 63 of Reckless Chance
“I wouldn’t mind your first idea, but if you’ve changed your mind, should we go back to your apartment?”
My decision made, I stand, setting her bare feet on the ground. Keeping my arm around her waist, I turn us to face the wall behind my desk.
“No need to go upstairs. See that trophy on the bookshelf to the left.”
“Yes.”
Easing my hold on her, I say, “If you don’t mind, lift it off the metal base.”
She does, and I press my thumb on the nameplate below my favorite painting that’s hanging within arm’s reach.
She gasps as the wall pops open, revealing a narrow entrance.
Lowri peers into the secret room, asking, “What’s in there?”
“It’s a small studio apartment. It comes in handy when I’m working late and want a quick nap or if I’m running late to an event and don’t have time to go upstairs to shower and change.”
“Why hide it? Do you keep valuables inside? If someone wanted to steal something, they could take that painting. It’s an original Miró, right?”
“You know your art. It is. And no, I don’t keep valuables inside. The apartment is hidden because it doubles as a panic room in case things go to hell. It was originally built for my dad after rather unsavory characters threatened him.”
“Do you mean the mob? Is there one in Vegas now?”
“That’s a complicated question, believe it or not. A form of it still exists. The current version of the ‘mob’is quite different than in my father’s day. My understanding is that the threats against my dad weren’t from the mob though. There was a kidnapping attempt that led him to build this room. Since I tookover, security encouraged me to maintain it as a panic room. We recently upgraded it with newer technology.”
“It never occurred to me that you would need a panic room. I guess it’s no different than Prince Evan. You both are potential targets for kidnapping.”
“Unfortunately, that’s true, but let’s focus on happier thoughts,” I say, taking the trophy from her hand. Setting the award back on the shelf, I wrap my arms around her and pull her close, nuzzling her neck with warm kisses.
“Are you okay being stuck inside with me for the next hour or so?” I ask in a whisper.
“Is there a time limit for how long you can stay inside? Do you run out of oxygen after that?” she asks.
I laugh. “No. There’s a timer that prevents the door from opening again for sixty minutes. It’s one of the panic room’s features. I wanted to make sure you were okay with that. If not, we’ll go upstairs.”
“What if I need to pee?”
“There’s a bathroom and fully stocked mini kitchen. You can pee as much as you want, and we won’t starve.”
“You mentioned napping. Does that mean there’s a bed big enough for two?” she asks, coyly.
“Absolutely.”
“Then I’d love to be trapped with you.”
Leading Lowri through the narrow passage, I shut the door behind us, hearing the sophisticated locks click into place. I motion for her to sit on the end of the bed.
Grabbing the remote from the bedside table, I dim the lights and turn on a soothing playlist—my go-to recipe for relaxing.
Now it’s time to make up for my oversights earlier. I should never have let her stand while we watched the videos. So, I gently take Lowri’s shoulders and lower her body, resting her head on a plush pillow. Moving a chair to the end of the bed,I lift her tired feet onto my lap and give her feet a thorough massage, eliciting moans of pleasure from her as my thumb applies pressure along her arches.
“I’d let you do that all night. It feels amazing.”
“I’ve only begun,” I say, leaning over to kiss each of her ten perfect toes.
Reaching higher, I gently knead the backs of her calves while peppering her ankles with kisses and urging her knees apart. Lowering her feet, I stand between her legs as I shed my suit jacket. Loosening my tie, I toss it on the bed and carefully remove my cufflinks. Never taking my eyes off Lowri, I slowly unbutton my shirt, watching her squirm in anticipation, a frustrated look on her face.
“Can’t you do that faster?” she begs.
