CLAUDE
THE SUN HAD dipped behind the sky when we got to the hotel. It was big—absolutely gorgeous and luxurious—and his hand never left my back as we were escorted to the elevator.
The doors opened directly into the suite. No hallway. No detour. Just the quiet click behind us as we stepped inside.
Nikolai didn’t say a word. He took off his jacket, dropped it over a chair then looked over his shoulder at me, one brow raised.
“You must be hungry,” he said.
I rubbed the back of my neck, exhaled through my nose. “I’m not.”
He didn’t push. Just nodded once, already moving past me toward the bar. “Shower, then. Take your time.”
The bathroom was as beautiful as the rest of it—sleek, gold-trimmed, expensive. I locked the door, and stepped in. Water hit tile, steam rising almost instantly. I
