He leans closer. “Are you sure? I was certain my sister said two rooms.”
Clarice shakes her head. “I’m so sorry, but we just have the one. And unfortunately, we don’t have another room available at this time. Would you like me to call The Dixie down the street? They might have something free later in the day.”
Mick glances at me.
I sigh. “Let’s take it. I’m so tired the thought of waiting ten extra minutes to sleep makes me want to fall on the floor and cry like a two-year-old.”
Clarice coos beneath her breath and clucks her tongue. “You poor thing. Let’s get you two settled so you can get some rest then.” A moment later she slides a small envelope with key cards inside across the desk. “You’re in room seventeen, end of the hall on the second floor. You can take the staircase to the left of the lobby. Please give me a call if there’s anything you need, or if I can do anything to make your stay more comfortable.”
“Thanks so much,” I say, as Mick takes the keys and nods good-bye to Clarice.
He leads the way around the desk, then reaches back, taking my hand as we walk toward the staircase, which is nothing short of Grand with a capital G.
“Wow. I feel like I’m in an old movie,” I say as we start up the steps.
“I feel like I’m walking through quicksand.” He stretches his neck to one side and then the other. “I didn’t realize how tired I was until we got out of the truck. I’m sorry about the mix-up, but I was going to join you on the floor for that toddler meltdown if we had to wait to book another room.”
I laugh. “That wouldn’t have been very manly of you.”
“My manhood takes a serious hit when I’m this beat.”
We reach the top of the stairs and he swings his arm around my shoulders as we weave our way down a long, eggshell colored hallway with lush oil paintings of the Louisiana bayou hanging on the walls between the rooms.
“Is the carpet moving, or is it just me?” I blink at the paisley pattern beneath my feet. I swear the tails of the paisleys are wiggling like tadpoles.
“It’s not just you.” His breath rushes out. “I see it too. Whoa.” He hugs me closer. “Hold on. Only a few more minutes, angel, and we’ll be snuggled under the covers.”
I giggle. “Angel? Are you kidding me?”
“You don’t want to be my angel?” He kisses my forehead before pulling away to pluck the key card from its envelope.
“I’m nobody’s angel,” I say in a voice that’s surprisingly husky. And sort of sexy, if I do say so myself.
“Behave, Miller,” Mick says as he opens the door. “Just because I’m so exhausted the carpet is crawling doesn’t mean I’m immune to your hot voice.”
I giggle again. “I didn’t know I had a hot voice until just then. I’m delirious.” I pat his cheek as I slip past him. “Come on, let’s pass out.”
Inside, the room is every bit as grand as the staircase, with a four-poster bed covered in a white duvet so fluffy the mattress looks like a cloud hovering in the center of the space. I’m dimly aware of vaulted ceilings, a chandelier, impressive furnishings, and a sitting area with an antique claw-foot sofa, but it’s the bed that makes me sigh with relief.
“Oh, man.” Mick shudders beside me. “Race you to see who can get ready to jump in that bad boy first.”
“You’re on.” By the time I reach the bathroom door, I already have my toothbrush and toothpaste out of my backpack.
The bathroom is swanky too—with marble countertops, two sinks, a shower and a tub, mounds of thick, fluffy towels, toiletries in tiny glass bottles, and a toilet with a separate door of its own—but I’m too tired to properly appreciate the fancy. I feel like a zombie fresh out of the grave. I brush my teeth and wash my face in record time, tag-team Mick for the toilet, and am back beside the bed in five minutes flat.
It’s only then that I pause, realizing all I brought with me was a change of underwear and a spare T-shirt.
“What am I going to sleep in?” I mumble, the problem baffling my exhausted brain. There are fluffy, white robes in the closet, but they’re too hot and bulky to sleep in.
“Underwear.” Mick steps out of his jeans beside me and drags his sweater over his head. “I won’t look. I swear.”
He moves past me, wearing nothing but boxer briefs and a white undershirt, looking so good half-dressed that I almost hate to see him disappear beneath the covers.
I hesitate for a second, a little nervous about stripping down in front of him for the first time. But he did promise not to look, and I want to be in that bed with my eyes closed so bad my bones ache with it. Shoving body insecurity aside, I wriggle out of my thermal shirt, peel off my jeans and socks, and circle around the bed to crawl in beside Mick wearing nothing but my white tank top with the built-in bra and a sensible pair of pink bikini panties.