Cyrus (The Henchmen MC 9)

"Ree, you alright?" he asked, watching me with almost worried eyes.

"This... this place is..." I shook my head, trying to clear it of my awe. "It's beautiful," I supplied, knowing that word didn't do it justice, but at a loss for anything better.

His smile went soft at that, giving my hand a squeeze.

"Wait till you see the room. And the dining hall."

"Have you been here before?" I asked as he pulled me toward the check-in.

"Once," he agreed, then launched into an explanation about the remote check-in to the attractive man at the desk, and was given the keycards to the room.

And so what? Maybe I was taken aback by the gosh darn elevators too. And the hallways. And the cool cleaning carts I saw here and there.

What can I say, when it came to real life, I hadn't seen much, so I was incredibly easy to please.

"Go on," Cy said, pressing the keycard into my hand. "You know you want to."

Of course I did.

So, right there, with Cyrus at my side, I opened my first hotel room door ever.

He wasn't wrong, either.

It was gorgeous.

Not quite as over-the-top awe-inspiring as the lobby, but still stunning.

But the first thing I noticed was two beds. Two beautiful beds with white sheets, pillows, and white tufted headboards, with three separate nightstands. But two beds.

My gaze went to Cyrus, finding him watching me. At my questioning eyes, he shrugged. "No pressure here, Reese."

And I was pretty sure my heart melted right then and there.

He was just so gosh darn dreamy.

Yes, dreamy.

That was the only word.

"Are we just gonna chill in the hall all day, angel?" he asked, making me move inward, looking at the other parts of the room. Like the understated brown carpet, the big flatscreen and dresser across from the beds, the small seating area with a table to look out of the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city.

Just inside the door, there was another door to the left, leading into the bathroom that had a shower enclosure made of tile and stone floor, with a floor-to-ceiling all glass door. And, oh dear, sweet God. The tub. The tub was the stuff of dreams. It was in the center of the room, deep enough to sink under the water fully if you wanted to, white, and not jetted. I wasn't a fan of jets. They made me anxious.

I didn't know how or when, but I needed to get into that tub.

"I'm taking this one," Cy declared as he sat down at the end of the bed closer to the door. "It's customary."

"Customary?" I asked as I moved over toward the other bed.

"Manners and shit. Man walks on the side of the road that is closest to the street. And he sleeps closer to the door. Or so someone once told me."

That someone was me.

And I learned about it in a historical novel.

And brought it up when we were in The Creamery people-watching, and a girl was walking near the street in a pretty white sundress, only to get splashed when a truck went by, making it not only dirty, but see-through. While her man on the store side stayed clean and dry. Then, because he hadn't looked at me like I was nuts in explaining that, I went on to say that a man sleeps closer to the door in case of an intruder.

"You have a good memory."

"Hey, I'm not all just good looks," he said with a smirk. "Well, I'm about ninety-seven-point-five percent good looks, but that other two-point-five still counts." He watched me as I moved toward the windows, looking out on the city that was more frenzied than anything I had seen before, even from so far above it all. "So, are you the type of freak who has to unpack and hang her shit in hotel closets, or can we go explore?"

I turned, smiling. "I kept a book in my fish cabinet, do you really think I'm that kind of neat-freak?" I asked as he moved to stand. "I want to explore."

So then we explored.

We walked out onto the streets, and Cyrus waved a hand, declaring, "The world is yours."

And, for that entire day, it truly was.

We walked past a closed-off street where they were filming an episode of a show I watched. We ate soft pretzels off carts because I wanted to keep seeing things, not stop to eat. We wound up at The Museum Of Natural History, skirting carts and melting-down kids, Cyrus insisting on buying me a giant replica of Knightley from one of the three separate gift shops there.

By the time we made it back onto the streets, Cy with Knighty-Knight (his choice) tucked under his arm like it was no big deal, me tucked under his other arm like I always belonged right there, it was starting to get dark.