Page 127 of The Girlfriend Clause
But that had nothing to do with Novexia and Hugo, and everything to do with what happened to my heart every time he looked at me like that.
“You’re welcome, Liam,” I said.
And I meant it.
*
The hotel reception was stunning. Wide, wooden floorboards ran the length of the space, broken up by dark patterned rugs. The ceiling rose high above pale-blue-and-white-striped walls, and tall Gothic arches framed the room. A white staircase with a runner fixed along the center curved upward behind the front desk, the counter made of paneled wood with carved lettering across the front.
The Radcliffe Hotel was right in the city center, about three minutes’ walk from the Union, according to Liam. If Liam and I could have just hung out here, I wouldn’t have minded.
“My suite’s next door,” he said. “We don’t have to be there till five thirty, so if you want to order room service, we’ve got an hour. No time to go for a sit-down dinner before the address, I’m afraid. I’m still finishing off my speech.” He gave me a small smile and left.
For a second, I thought he might say something else, but he didn’t.
Crap. He was nextdoor.
Close enough that the connecting door between our suites suddenly felt… noticeable.
He’d be sleeping on the other side of it.
All night.
I slid my case across the floor and looked around. Everysurface was patterned. The blue-and-white walls reminded me of old-fashioned china teacups, and the navy carpet was patterned with geometric flowers in turquoise, burgundy, and cream. Even the coffee table had some kind of fancy green-and-gold design. Not exactly understated billionaire chic. I’d never seen anywhere so colorful.
I stood there a moment longer than necessary, listening for sounds of him through the walls. He was probably showering already, hot water running over his skin, his hair dark and wet, the muscles of his back tightening under—
No. Absolutely not going down that road.
I took some photos of the room to send to my sister, then flicked through the menu for room service. Just an hour, and then we’d be on display again.
Except this time, it was only him and me—nobody policing my words, taking in my clothing, noting how I behaved.
The memory of his hands on me last week arrived without warning, and I set the menu down a little too quickly. Maybe I should have a shower too. A cold one.
If I was honest, I was looking forward to spending this time with Liam, which felt like the sort of mistake a sensible person would stop making by now.
Unfortunately, I had never been especially sensible where he was concerned.
*
The Union building was just off the busy Cornmarket Street shopping area, and the golden stone buildings towered above us on either side of the street, gift shops and pubs and banks jostling against each other on the ground floor. It had stopped raining, and the sun was making the pavement steam.
“Where is it?” I asked. I’d expected something obvious and imposing for somewhere prime ministers apparently trained, but I still couldn’t see it.
“Here.” There was a round blue plaque about ten feet up on the yellow stone wall that edged a skinny alleyway. Liam reached out behind him like he was about to take my hand, then caught my eye and stopped. For a second, his fingers hovered between us. I didn’t expect it, didn’t react in time, and he pulled his hand back, the moment gone.
But of course, there was no audience, so no reason to pretend.
Still, something inside me dipped slightly, like missing a step I hadn’t seen. Ridiculous. And very inconvenient.
“This way,” he said instead.
The red brick alley couldn’t have been more than five feet wide and smelled faintly of wee. A couple of old bikes leaned against the wall. It was distinctly unimpressive.
“Are you sure this is the right place?” I whispered.
He laughed. “The students usually enter on the other side, but yes, this is it. It’s the more discreet entry for VIPs. I’m a member, Andrea. I’ve been here before.”
