Page 100 of Breeding Her: The Red Flag Edition
I whistled as I slid the keycard in.
It wasn’t long before there was a knock at the door.
Perhaps she’d come to me.
I sauntered over, already half-smiling—only to find Garrett standing there with the luggage.
“Expecting someone else?” he asked, rolling my suitcase in with zero shame.
I ignored him, but my mind flicked to what I’d packed.
“Leave it in the bedroom,” I said, already heading for the shower.
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I adjusted the cufflink on my shirt—subtle gold, sharp against the black fabric. My reflection was crisp, cold, controlled. The kind of man people didn’t question. The kind of man she still hadn’t figured out.
Good.
I checked my watch. One minute to seven.
Right on time, a soft knock landed at the door.
I exhaled slowly and walked over, already anticipating that slight tremble in her voice when she realised we’d be alone again.
But when I opened the door—my hand froze on the handle.
There she stood.
Lucia.
Hair twisted and pinned high in some elegant arrangement, wisps escaping to curl like gold-dipped threads along her cheeks. Her dress was sleeveless, modest—almost conservative—until your eyes reached the skirt. A perfect ombré fade, gold to dark and gold again, pleated like something out of a dream. Regal, flowing, yet dangerous.
She looked like she belonged on a private pedestal. Or on her knees, in my suite.
My tongue pressed against the back of my teeth.
She clutched a small bag and shifted slightly, unaware of the storm she’d just triggered.
Her lips parted. “Hi.”
That voice. Soft. Controlled. But I saw the flicker of nerves in her eyes. She’d dressed to kill—but she didn’t expect to have this effect.
She didn’t realise that she’d just sealed her fate.
I stepped aside without a word and let her pass, inhaling the faint trail of whatever perfume she wore. Floral. Feminine. Designed to ruin me.
When I finally shut the door behind us, I let myself look. Really look.
“You wore that,” I murmured, voice low.
Her brow creased. “Is that… a problem?”
I crossed the space between us in three slow steps.
“No,” I said, letting my eyes drop to the curve of her waist. “It’s not a problem. It’s just going to make dinner… difficult.”
Her breath caught.
