Chapter 4

It was rare that anything shocked the hell out of Laura Holt, but when the bellhop swept open the door to their room, the sight before her did exactly that. The expansive room offered coffered ceilings, plush carpeting and floor to ceiling windows.

"The penthouse?" she asked no one in particular. "Their only available option was the penthouse?" She looked at Remington who seemed equally impressed by the posh accommodations – also hard to do as he was a man with very high standards.

"I imagine there are not many willing to spend what this place must go for a night," he suggested. He tucked his hands behind his back, and walked around the main living area, inspecting it.

"It's two stories?" she asked, surprised to see the ornately decorated stairway. Her focus was immediately stolen by an object beyond. "We have a tree," she commented, reverently as she examined the beautiful decoration that soared at least twelve feet tall.

"And a fireplace," he nodded towards the object.

"The master?" the bellhop called to Remington. He turned and looked at the luggage as though surprised to see it there. "Yes, yes, the master," he agreed. Returning his attention to the room, he fingered back a sheer to peek outside. "Come see this, love." Laura slanted a smile in his direction. He'd taken to the endearment at Ashford Castle, and while used frequently since then, it still warmed her heart each time he used it. Crossing the room, she stepped in front of him and peered out the opening.

"A terrace?"

"With room enough to easily entertain a dozen people," he noted.

They toured the downstairs bedroom and bath, then returned to the living room where the bellhop was awaiting them. Remington gave the man a healthy tip, then once he door had closed behind bellhop and luggage cart, looked towards the staircase with a suggestive lift of his brows.

"Shall we have a look upstairs?"

"By all means," she agreed, and preceded him up the stairs.

Remington turned off the faucet in the shower, and opening the door stepped out of the glass enclosure. After a quick scrubbing at his hair with the thick towel, he watched Laura where she stood in front of the vanity in a pair of scant white lace and silk panties and matching bra. Her eyes on the mirror she twisted from one side to the other, then spun a hundred-eighty degrees and looked back over her shoulder at her image.

"Dare, I ask?" he inquired as he pulled a second towel from the rack and hung it around his neck. She glanced at him, then turned to her side and examined her image some more. Sure, she'd gained few pounds since she and Remington had moved in together, but in the weeks immediately after the fiasco of finding Remington at the altar with the hooker, she'd been uninterested in food and had shed an unhealthy amount of weight. She still ran regularly, although she'd stopped training for the triathlons and hadn't been working out at the barre. Except for a couple shirts and a few pairs of slacks, her clothes still fit fine. She ran a hand over her tummy. Was it thicker now? She wasn't an overly vain woman, but staying in shape and keeping her body at peak performance was imperative for her job.

"Am I getting fat?" He couldn't suppress the bark of laughter that crossed his lips.

"Don't be ridiculous, Laura," he dismissed, as he joined her at the sink, "A good breeze would blow you away." In fact, he'd found himself a bit intimidated the first time they'd made love, for no matter that he'd admired her petite frame for years, when her nude form had lain beneath his, he'd felt positively gargantuan. "Why would you even ask such a thing?"

"You heard what Mother said," she sighed, then turned her back to him to assess her tummy from the opposite side. He frowned at the back of her head. What had he missed? He'd been standing right there. He rewound the brief conversation between him, Laura and Abigail in his head. He chuckled softly when his mind clicked on what she meant.

"It was a compliment to me, not a commentary on your weight." She shook her head, still examining herself.

"She may be right. I've had to replace several items of clothing lately." The surreal conversation was a potent reminder of how easily Laura's mother could get inside her head and shake her confidence. He stepped up behind her, and eased an arm around her waist.

"I assure you, Miss Holt," he told her, while easing a fall of hair over her shoulder, "You've only grown lovelier with each passing year." He pursed his lips and smiled comically at her reflection in the mirror. "Well, except, perhaps for that brief time period after those…" he made a motion near his forehead "…bangs." She snorted a horrified laugh.

"They were awful, weren't they?" He feigned a shiver.

"Hideous," he agreed, unconsciously swaying with her, "Yet even then, I've never wanted a woman more."

"Aren't you the sweet talker?" she commented, drily, although his words assuaged the self-confidence her mother had dinged. "And I suppose if I were to get fat…" He nuzzled her neck with his face, the rested his lips near her ear.

"You might be surprised by the number of fantasies I've enjoyed of you, rotund…" He pressed his lips to her neck "…Although not due to any activities in the kitchen."

Releasing her, he patted her bottom playfully a pair of times, then left the bathroom…

Leaving her standing, stunned, wondering if he'd meant what she thought he had.