Page 13 of Wrapped in Winter

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“I understand, but that’s not a bad thing. At the end of the day, it’s the unforgettable experience guests want. It’s the memory that will hold with them the longest. Their stay will be what they enthuse about foryearsafter. That’s a lot of positive PR. And anyway, Chateau Balthazar needs to modernize. WM might be stuck up their ass and living in the past, but if the Balthazar Hotel Group isn’t careful, the world will overtake them too. They need to adjust their offering to a younger, more dynamic, and savvy market.” I take a breath. “Besides, they could give all the profit to charity and make it as philanthropic and respectful as they like. I mean, the hotel has been there for one hundred and thirty years. It predates WM by twenty. It’s like the golden snitch.”

Luca pours the remainder of the exceptional wine into my glass. “A win?”

“A total game changer. Chateau B could even ask guests tobid,especially if there were only ten stays available per year, for example. Now that would garner worldwide interest. There’d be a media and bidding frenzy. And it would elevate occupancy rates across the Balthazar portfolio.”

Those gem-colored, appraising eyes are trained on me again. “That is some blue sky thinking, Winter.”

“Who wouldn’t want to stay in such a beautiful place?”

“Would you?”

I lift my eyes to his, my answer automatic. “Of course. Ever since I first remember setting eyes on that hotel, seeing it rise majestically from the foothills of the valley, I imagined myself living in one of the towers.”

“Like a princess?”

I smirk, the wine talking for me. “More like a queen.”

He nods, like he’s not surprised by my answer. “That’s very interesting.”

He means revealing. And I suppose it is, but my mentality has always been to maximize my life. To wring every possible pleasure from it. And with my family no longer here to share it with, I owe it to them to enjoy my second chance. To not waste a single moment. So I tell Luca, “As Nelson Mandela said:There is no passion to be found playing small—in settling for a life that is less than the one you are capable of living.”

For some reason those words seem particularly evocative, an irresistible frisson heating the air. “A great ethos. Let’s drink to that. Let me get another bottle.”

Immediately, I rise to collect it myself.

“Stay there. I’ll get it,” Luca informs me, already on his feet, halfway to the fridge.

When he returns, his steps slow as he nears me. They pause altogether as he stops completely behind me.

And then I feel his touch.

It’s light, perhaps just the backs of his fingers against the long column of hair I’ve tied back. He doesn’t pull or hurt; he just smooths his fingers along the silky strands, every second feeling like a full minute without breath in my lungs. The next second, he takes his seat as I process what just happened.

I’m conflicted. As a woman, as an employee, I should tell him touching me was unacceptable, and that he is not to do that again. I might be here to assist him, to make his stay comfortable and relaxing, but that doesn’t mean the guests can sexually harass me.

But that’s not what he’s doing.

He’s been reading the signals I’ve been giving out, just as I’ve been reading his. And a much larger, insistent part of my brain is telling me that I want to feel his hands glide over my body as well as my hair, maybe both at the same time. Maybe he’d pull it, a hand around my throat as he took me roughly.

God, I need to go out with Emily and get fucked, quickly and thoroughly, because my thoughts are spiraling out of control with this man here. Sharing his space, sitting within the reach of his masculine presence and allowing him to slowly seduce me would be a bad move. A welcome one, but a bad one. And right now, I’m all about making the right choices.

“It’s getting late,” I say, my attention on my cell. I hadn’t noticed how late it was until now. In his company, time seems to drift by. “I should tidy up.”

I stand, gathering the plates and rinsing them in the sink before stacking them in the dishwasher. I need a moment to recover. To hide. To do the job I’m meant to do while resisting Luca Wolfford’s consuming energy.

“Is there anything else I can do for you tonight?” I ask when finished. I’m contracted to stay until 9 PM, and it’s past that now. I’ve been evading Pothole’s calls for a debrief long enough, so I need to make contact before he turns up here. He’s probably on the steps outside, waiting.

Leaning back in his chair, Luca watches me intently. “That’s an intriguingly phrased question, Winter. Is there something you had in mind?”

For a second I’m confused, trying to remember my question. “Anything else?”

“…No, thank you.”

Gathering the reusable packaging our meal came in, and the thermal food box, I smile. “Thank you for dinner. I enjoyed talking with you. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Luca rises from his seat and approaches the island which I’d been using as a buffer. “Come skiing with me tomorrow. After breakfast.”

“I have to make the beds and clean.”


Tags: Penny Asher-Darke Romance