Page 164 of Wild Then Wed
She actually blushes. Pink rises on her cheeks and she bats her lashes like this is a Jane Austen adaptation and not a hotel lobby. Her eyes do a slow sweep of him, pausing briefly at the rolled sleeves of his shirt, and I swear to God she licks her bottom lip.
I let out a quiet breath through my nose, sharp enough to fog glass. It’s a reflex, the same one I developed in middle school when girls started giving Ridge that same look.
She’s not doing anything wrong, necessarily. Just ogling my husband like he’s a steak dinner and she skipped lunch. Andshe’s allowed to look. He’s not doing anything to encourage her. It’s not like I have a claim on him beyond whatever this situation is. Temporary. Technical.
So why do I hate how it feels?
I shift my weight and glance down at Hank. He lifts his head and licks my wrist like he knows I’m off-kilter.
Maureen’s gaze slides over to me and her face scrunches like I’m a chewed up piece of gum stuck to the heel of her designer shoes. Her eyes drag from the top of my baseball cap down to my scuffed sneakers, pausing just long enough at my oversized sweatshirt to make her point. Her voice comes out sugary and tight. “And this is…?”
I narrow my eyes at her, matching her sweet with something a little sharper. She may have a name tag and a pension, but I’ve had a resting bitch face since seventh grade and I’m not afraid to use it.
Before I can open my mouth and say something I’ll regret later, Sawyer slips his fingers into mine. Smooth as anything, he lifts our hands like we’re debuting a damn engagement photo.
“Didn’t you hear?” he says, all casual charm, like this moment hasn’t just scrambled every signal in my body. “She’s my wife.”
Maureen’s eyes snap to the ring, her brows climbing high like they’ve seen a ghost. I should probably be focused on the fact that this little performance just bought us a smoother check-in—but all I can think about is his hand wrapped around mine. How it’s like there’s a cord running from his palm to every nerve ending in my body.
That…can’t be normal. Right?
I glance up at him just as he throws me a quick, smug smile. He knows what he’s doing. The bastard.
Maureen’s lips twitch into something that might be a smile, if you squinted and tilted your head. “Well. Congratulations are in order.”
It sounds like she just swallowed a lemon whole.
I flash her the brightest, fakest smile I can muster—teeth and all. “Thanks,” I say, syrupy sweet. “We’re justsohappy! Wehadto celebrate. You know…take some time to catch up on newlywed activities.”
Maureen’s cheeks flush, her lips parting like she doesn’t know what to say and Sawyer clears his throat, his mouth twitching as he tries not to laugh. I can feel the tension in his arm where it’s pressed against mine. It’s subtle, but it’s there. Like he’s holding it in, just barely.
And I hate how much I like that, too.
“I just wanted to check into our room, please,” Sawyer says, stepping closer to the counter.
Maureen nods, her fingers flying across the keyboard with practiced speed, the click of her acrylics sharp against the quiet of the lobby. The screen casts a faint glow on her face as she squints at the monitor.
I keep a hand on Hank’s head, more for me than for him. He’s already settled, lying beside my feet like this is just another errand. Meanwhile, my heart’s caught somewhere between the polished floors, the ceiling that could house a basketball court, and the distant sound of water trickling from a fountain I can’t even see. It’s too much. All of it.
Maureen’s mouth softens into a smile. “Here we are. Queen Suite. Queen bed.”
There’s a pause—short, but enough for my brain to clock it.
Did she say bed? As in…one? As in,singular?
My stomach knots. I glance at Sawyer, but he’s already leaning in, his brow creased.
“I’d requested two beds,” he says. “Is there a note about that?”
Maureen’s fingers fly over the keys again. “Hmm. Looks like your reservation was modified this morning. There was a mix-up with the adjoining suite—it had a plumbing issue, so they moved you to this one instead.” Her eyes flick from him to me and back again, like she’s enjoying this way too much. “But one bed shouldn’t be a problem for a newlywed couple though, right, Dr. Hart?”
My chest tightens. Not because of the bed, necessarily. But because I didn’t expect this part—sharing a space that intimate, with no place to retreat if it gets weird between us.
Sawyer smiles—easily, confidently. “Not at all.”
I bite the inside of my cheek.
Maureen reaches under the desk, pulls out an envelope with our keys and something that looks like a packet of spa coupons, then hands them over with a satisfied tilt of her head. “Your bags will be sent up. Room’s on the eighteenth floor. Enjoy your stay.”
