Easton’s hotel room is nothing short of spectacular. It’s a suite, of course. The room is so beautiful that when he flips on the lights, my nerves fall away and all I can do is wander around and take in the opulence. Parquet floors, high ceilings, big windows, and chandeliers. It’s not fancy the way upscale U.S. hotels are. This is old-Europe fancy. I grew up wanting for nothing, but I’ve never in my life stayed in a place this nice. I didn’t even know Europe had hotel rooms this big. They’re known for their tiny spaces.
It’s not until I make it to the back of the suite and am studying the piles of plush bedding that I remember why I’m here and what’s about to happen. My nerves tie my stomach into knots.
“It’s a really nice room,” I say lamely, turning to him.
He looks around, and I’m suddenly aware that he’s been so busy watching me that he’s just now taking in the space for the first time. “I made my assistant track down the nicest available suite in the city. I got lucky that this one had a last-minute cancelation.”
His assistant. For a beat, I wonder if I even know this Easton—the one who doesn’t have to worry about money, the one who reserves the nicest available suite in Paris, the one who has an assistant and a driver. But that worry’s gone in a blip. He’s still Easton. He’s still the boy who bought me a signed copy of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone for my fifteenth birthday. The one who always looked back for me when I was swimming to the dock with the boys, just to make sure I was okay. The one who makes me feel beautiful when he touches me.
“Do you want some wine?” he asks.
Toeing off my shoes by the door, I shake my head. I don’t want anything that might make me forget part of this night.
He drags a hand through his hair. “We should’ve gone by your dorm and gotten you clothes. I’m not thinking clearly tonight. I’d like to blame jet lag, but”—he drags his gaze over me—“I’m totally distracted by your presence.”
I snort. He’s been saying stuff like that all night, so maybe I should be used to it by now, but it’s so outrageous. Him distracted by me. “I can just sleep in one of your T-shirts or something.”
He prowls forward, his eyes skimming slowly down my body. “I wouldn’t mind if you slept in nothing.” When he’s a breath away, he slides his hands up under my tank, and I’m way too conscious of his big hands on my soft stomach.
“I’ve gained weight,” I blurt.
He cocks his head to the side, studying me. “Are you worried about it?”
“It’s just college, you know? Stress and convenience food and . . . beer.” I laugh, nodding. “There’s definitely a beer factor in this tummy as well. Anyway, I wasn’t exactly little before, and now . . .” I shrug, hoping the gesture says, What you see is what you get.
He squeezes my side with one hand and brings the other hand to my lips, pressing a finger against them. “Do you think the freshman fifteen is going to make me suddenly not attracted to you anymore? I think you’re beautiful.” He slides his hand from my side to my breast, and his thumb grazes my nipple. “These curves have driven me crazy for years. The summer before I left, I couldn’t look at you without my brain serving me really dirty thoughts. Every day we were both at the cabin, I was fighting embarrassing erections and trying to hide my infatuation from Carter. Unsuccessfully, I might add. You can ask him about it.”
The thrill of his admission sends my stomach into a series of somersaults. “I had no idea.”
He shrugs. “I promised myself I wouldn’t touch you until you were eighteen.” He gives a bashful smile. “I’m honestly surprised that I made it.”
I study his face, looking for any sign of a lie or exaggeration, but I see none. I want to believe Easton really has been attracted to me all this time, but it’s so incongruous to the way I see myself that it’s hard. “I think you’re crazy,” I say with a nervous laugh.
“I might be a little. When it comes to you.” He dips his head, skimming his lips up and down my neck. No sucking, no open mouth, tongue, or teeth, just the slightest pressure of his soft lips. I shiver. “You know what you do to me. You felt it on the way here.”
The reminder sends a thrill through me. I felt it, all right. Felt him.
“You turn me on so much. That hasn’t changed in the last twenty minutes, but if you’re not ready for us to—”