Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

N ick gripped Britt's hand as he slid their room card into the slot and waited for the tiny green light to flash.

Their room. They'd be sharing a room tonight, their wedding night. He could barely think of anything else as he pushed the door open and gestured to her to step inside.

‘Wow.' Her gasp of surprise had him standing taller.

Every inch of this hotel was his idea, from the boutique-styled foyer with its casual elegance to the extensive range of 'fantasy' suites designed to please the most discerning traveller.

Having the woman he'd married, the woman whose opinion he'd always valued, admire this room filled him with pride.

'You like it?'

She nodded, her eyes wide as they swept the room before fixing on the massive four-poster king-size bed covered in gold and ivory cushions and draped in yards of filmy chiffon—he'd labelled it 'some fancy thin material' and stood corrected by the aghast interior designer who'd taken him through the hotel suite by suite when he'd first dreamed up the idea.

The memory brought a smile to his face, a smile that quickly broadened when Britt turned her wide eyes, now filled with mischief, towards him.

'Knowing your sense of humour, for a second when you mentioned French suite I had visions of a maid's outfit hanging in the wardrobe rather than fluffy robes, and baskets of…' She trailed off and he raised an eyebrow.

'Of?'

With crimson cheeks, she said, 'French letters.'

He chuckled and urged her into the room with a hand in the small of her back. 'I haven't heard condoms called that in years.'

'Forget I said anything. Speaking before I think.' She looked adorable with her flaming cheeks and wobbly smile, in stark contrast to her wedding gown and upswept hair.

He shouldn't tease her, he really shouldn't, but he didn't have her on the back foot very often and he couldn't resist.

'If this suite is too boring, we could always change to another. The Roman room, complete with marble columns around a central spa bath in the bedroom is impressive. Or there's the Scottish room with its lavish fireplace and fur rug in front of it. Or if you're feeling really adventurous there's always the Tack room, complete with whips, for those who need a little added excitement in their lives.'

'Whips?'

Her voice came out a squeak and he laughed.

'Okay, so I lied about the Tack room but hey, it might draw a few customers.'

'What sort of hotel are you running here?'

'I resent what you're implying, lady.'

To his surprise, the mischief had returned to her eyes as she quirked an eyebrow. 'It's wife to you now.'

Just like that, it hit him all over again.

They were married.

It was their wedding night.

And no amount of kidding around would douse his driving need to consummate this marriage.

Business might be the motivator behind their nuptials, but his unquenchable desire to have Britt in his arms again was a definite bonus.

Taking a step closer, he ran a fingertip down her arm, delighting in the slight tremor, proving she wasn't as immune to him as she'd like him to believe.

'Wife…I like the sound of that.'

'In name only, of course.'

Her biting response might've been edgy but she didn't move when his finger continued its leisurely exploration, reaching her shoulder, skimming along her collarbone, resting in the hollow where her pulse beat frantically.

'Of course,' he said, ducking his head to replace his finger with his lips, turned on by her low moan and the way her head fell back to give him better access.

Her skin tasted better than he remembered, deliciously sweet with a hint of vanilla, and it took every inch of his rapidly dwindling willpower not to devour her on the spot.

'This isn't supposed to happen,' she murmured as his lips trailed upwards, nuzzling behind her ear, nipping the lobe, before swooping on her mouth in a fiery kiss that branded her as his.

Raging need exploded as her tongue touched his, the same overpowering, overwhelming need that had driven him to possess her years earlier. Nothing had changed, absolutely nothing. He was still the same star-struck guy helplessly under her spell.

The realisation should've angered him, because he was nothing like the blue-collar farm boy he'd once been. But he didn't give a damn that she had him as ready and raring for her as he'd been as a horny eighteen-year-old.

Wrenching his mouth from hers and dragging in a breath, he captured her face in his hands, noting the swollen lips, the rosy cheeks, the eyes midnight-blue with passion. His libido roared.

'You know something? This was meant to happen from the first moment you came back.'

To her credit, she didn't look away, didn't take a step back. 'You're wrong. Nothing has gone to plan since I returned.'

The flicker of pain in her eyes hit him hard and he lowered his hands, giving her space, and she took it, putting enough distance between them for him to feel the loss.

'Tell me you don't want to consummate this marriage as much as I do.'

He said it as a challenge, knowing the firebrand she used to be would never back down from it.

However, the forlorn bride in an elegant dress staring wistfully out the window was a far cry from the feisty girl he'd known and the thought that he'd made her this unhappy was a kick in the guts.

And the wake-up call he needed.

'Forget it. I'm going out for a while. I'll be back later.'

Failure didn't sit well with him, never had, and, hating how he'd botched this, he wrenched open the door.

'Nick, wait.'

But he didn't.

He walked out on his bride and slammed the door shut on his dreams of a memorable wedding night.