My heart does a funny little flip-flop in my chest. ‘I’m mine,’ I say with a wry glance at his face.
‘Oh, no, Grace. Between now and dawn, you’re all mine. Every little bit of you. And I intend to make the most of it.’ He pauses meaningfully. ‘Per our agreement.’
My pulse ratchets up a gear. ‘I think I like the sound of that.’
‘I kinda hoped you would.’ He brushes his lips over mine. ‘But I’m starving. Dinner first?’
It’s still early evening. It makes sense to eat. ‘Room service?’
He laughs. ‘Definitely. But my room. I want a bed within reach that’s not such a swimming pool.’
I nod. ‘Fine by me.’
His room is exactly the same as mine, but flipped. I stroll into it, looking around, and perhaps my confusion shows because he smudges a thumb over my perplexed smile. ‘What’s up?’
‘How come you stay in tiny hotel rooms?’
‘I have to sleep somewhere. You think the street would be better?’ He’s being deliberately vague.
‘I mean instead of somewhere more high-end.’
‘Why would I?’
‘Because you’re a gazillionaire,’ I remind him, smiling, dropping my handbag to the floor inside his door and padding to the small balcony that overlooks the edge of the golf course and, beyond it, the ocean. The smell of salt hangs in the air, tropical and breathtaking.
He’s right behind me. ‘A bed’s a bed,’ he says simply.
I turn around, bracing my elbows on the railing, regarding him thoughtfully. ‘You don’t like the trappings of wealth?’
‘I don’t like wasting money on crap I don’t need.’
‘You have a private jet.’
‘That’s necessary.’
I laugh. ‘Really?’
‘Sure. I fly a lot. I need a plane that can be at my disposal. I work on the plane. Entertain. It suits me.’
‘But extravagant hotel rooms...’
He shakes his head. ‘I have homes in the cities I travel to regularly. When I’m on the road I just need a bed. A gym in the hotel. That’s it.’
I admire his attitude. Having known a lot of people who value status symbols over just about anything, it’s refreshing to talk to a guy with a serious fortune in the bank who’s happy to live like a normal person.
‘What’s your house like?’ I ask out of curiosity.
He traps me with his hands, one on either side of my body, and I like the feeling.
‘A penthouse.’ He shrugs. ‘Big. Glass. Open. Easy.’
‘Why not have something smaller?’
‘I spend a lot of time at home. I like the space.’
It makes sense.
‘Plus, Brinkley really takes up most of the room.’