The Millionaire Makeover by Simone Naima

Author:Simone, Naima [Simone, Naima]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Entangled: Indulgence
Published: 2016-02-08T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

An hour after Niall had left her home, Khloe walked into the lobby of the elegantly appointed, five-star downtown Boston hotel. But even the softly glowing old-fashioned globes lighting the reception area and lending the room an old world charm couldn’t banish the images of her parents’ faces after Khloe had respectfully told them off for their behavior toward Niall. Inhaling, she tried to woosah her simmering fury away and focus on her reason for showing up unexpectedly at this posh hotel so late in the evening. The heels of her knee-high boots echoed on the pristine black and white tiled floor, echoing like small blasts in the quiet area. God, were those real crystals on that chandelier? She wouldn’t be surprised. Hell, even the air in here smelled expensive.

“Excuse me.” She smiled at the suited young man behind the front desk, hoping she exuded a confidence that didn’t exist.

“Yes, ma’am. Welcome to the Mayflower Suites,” the attendant greeted pleasantly. “How can I help you?”

“A, um,” she faltered, “friend of mine is staying here. Niall Hunter. Would you mind calling his room and letting him know Khloe Richardson is here to see him?” Jesus Christ, why don’t I just throw on a blonde wig and wear safety pins in my boots? It worked for Julia Roberts.

The hotel employee didn’t bat an eyelash. As if he were accustomed to women requesting his male guests at different hours of the night. Although, only a couple of hours had passed since Niall had dropped her off home, and her parents had busted them on her doorstep like two horny teens. Ten was relatively early for a booty call.

“Just a moment.”

A few clicks on his computer, a murmured phone conversation, and minutes later, Niall strode into the lobby. Her breath caught. It hadn’t been that long since he’d left her, but God, it could’ve been twenty hours instead of two. He never failed to have that effect on her. Like inhaling and never releasing. Heart thumping in her chest, pulse pounding in her ears, caught right on the edge of floating…or plummeting.

His dark hair grazed the slash of his cheekbones and the granite of his jaw. He still wore the black sweater and jeans from earlier, and with his brilliant eyes narrowed on her, he more closely resembled the stalking panther he reminded her of.

He halted inches in front of her, regarded her in a silence that wasn’t silent but so thunderous, she wondered why the front desk attendant didn’t have his palms slapped over his ears.

Just when she parted her lips to say anything to break the pulsing tension, he gripped her elbow. “C’mere.”

He led her toward the bank of elevators several feet away. During the ride up, his gaze traced and trailed over her, though he continued his unsettling quiet. Nerves snapped and jumped beneath her skin, and when they finally arrived at his floor with a soft ding, she almost leaped out of the steel, claustrophobic box.

Not that the hallway offered any alleviation.

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