Hot Nights in Morocco by Catherine Wiltcher

Author:Catherine Wiltcher
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: vacation romance; forced proximity romance; contemporary romance; romance novels; romance stories; sexy contemporary romance novels; sensual contemporary romance; sexy women’s fiction; love stories; alpha hero; contemporary love stories; romance with sex; love stories with sex; super sexy books; super sexy stories; sexy books; alpha hero romance; bad boy romance; bad boy stories; bad boy heroes; riveting romance books; international romance; international settings; desert romance; romance in Morocco; movie producer hero; Hollywood romance; romance in the movies
Publisher: Entangled Publishing, LLC (Amara)
Published: 2019-10-21T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Three

It’s midnight by the time we arrive back at the hotel. I still haven’t phoned Jake back. He’s probably tearing the place apart looking for me, and I’m exhausted just thinking about the confrontation that’s heading our way.

“Bedtime,” declares Rachel, touching my arm as we enter the lobby together.

“Thanks again for tonight.” I lean in to give her a quick hug. She’s been up since five a.m. and her blue eyes are opaque with tiredness. Jake is as unforgiving a boss as he is a lover.

“Sure, it was fun. I still don’t know jack shit about you, though.” Laughing, she disappears into the elevator as I hover by the front desk debating my next move. I don’t want to go upstairs and lie in a darkened room obsessing over Jake and Cassie all night, so I head for the hotel bar instead.

What a difference twelve hours can make. The place is packed. All around me British and American accents are jostling for volume control, a thick fog of cigarette smoke hanging in silver curls above each table. I scan the crowds of sweaty, self-confident bodies for a glimpse of tall, dark, and stupidly handsome, but he’s not here.

Max is, though.

“Hey, Charlie!” he shouts, homing in on me straightaway.

Heads swivel as he rises up from a table in the corner and makes his way over.

“Is this my chance?” His face stretches into a grin as he approaches. “I haven’t forgotten what you said this morning. All that crap about needing romance to sweep you off your feet? I can do that, you know.” He leans across the bar and calls out to the bartender. “We need a bottle of champagne, Omar, and none of that cheap shit, either.”

“Give it up, Max,” I say with a smile, shaking my head at him. “You and I are never going to happen.”

“Bullshit. You can’t refuse me now. Not when you’ve seen me naked, or nearabouts. Did that GQ interview get firmed up okay? One drink, that’s all. Just don’t tell any of my girlfriends. Deal?”

“Okay, deal.” Reluctantly, I park my ass on a red barstool next to him. It’s impossible to say no to Max sometimes. “And yes to the GQ interview. They’re flying out next Tuesday. What’s my silence worth, by the way?”

“A bottle of Bollinger.”

“I thought you said one drink only.”

“One very long drink.” His brown eyes are sparkling with triumph as he leans over to chat to the barman again. I study his profile as he does. With all those laughter lines he looks like a younger, lascivious version of his brother. There’s no darkness and intensity about Max, just sin and mischief and the promise of a good time. For a fleeting moment I wonder what happened to make Jake so different. Was it his mother leaving, his father’s breakdown, or something else entirely?

“You’re not a bit like your brother,” I blurt out, accepting a champagne flute. “Personality-wise I mean.”

“Thank God for that. I like to smile and have fun once in a while.

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