Free Intimate Exposure by Portia Da Costa

most gorgeous hotels in the country.
    The Ivory Pavilion, yet another Shanley holding, stood on a high promontory, commanding its own private bay like an ocean liner from the golden age of glamour, frozen in time and set on dry land. As Red had helped her from the limousine and led her into the lobby, a delicious air of luxury and sophistication had seemed to reach out and envelop her like a vintage satin wrap.
    The entire atmosphere of the Pavilion was hushed, rarefied and discreet. Drifting around the lobby while Red dealt with check-in, she’d formed the impression that it was a place where anything was possible. A magical aura hung in the air, like an external embodiment of the secret realm she enjoyed with Red in their sexual dealings.
    Everything was tasteful. Everything was immaculate and stylish. Yet every sense in her body told her she was in a den of erotic decadence. It was like being in a thirties movie—all it lacked was a hawkish Sheikh with his hand up the skirt of a promiscuous Good Time Girl in the shadows.
    And I’ve just let my own Valentino bamboozle me into sharing a suite with him?
    Red had definitely tampered with the bookings. She hadn’t been able to make out what he’d said to the receptionist, but there had definitely been complicity in their hushed voices and the woman’s faint smile. Vicki had no idea if this sumptuous suite was actually part of their sweepstake prize, but she didn’t care. The take-charge woman she usually was had somehow got left behind at Wickham-Drake.
    Is this part of the sex? The submission? It could be, but it also felt suspiciously like having finally found a man she trusted to take care of her.
    Unsettling thoughts began to stir and turn over in her mind, their tricky undulations disturbing her relaxation. Suddenly, she didn’t want to be in here, lolling around in scented foam all on her own. She wanted to be out in the sitting room, trying to understand the complex and mysterious man with whom she’d become so inextricably involved.

    As she toweled herself off and applied moisturizer to her face and body, she became aware of voices in the room beyond. They were muted, indecipherable, but the quality of the sound suggested that Red was watching television.
    Slipping on her kimono, Vicki decided to join him, and as she turned the cut-crystal door handle, her heart fluttered dangerously.
    A unexpectedly domestic scene met her eyes, despite the high-glamour décor and the luxuriousness of every fitting and item of furniture in the room. Red was sitting in one of the capacious Lloyd Loom chairs, wearing a white toweling dressing gown, sipping a cup of tea, his long legs stretched out in front of him, utterly relaxed.
    We could be an old married couple. Missus having a bath while Mister watches the telly.
    The bizarre thought rocked her. She tamped it down immediately, but a vague sense of unease told her it was only banished to her subconscious.
    Don’t be silly, Vicki. He and I are nothing like that.
    Turning his attention from the screen, Red set aside his cup and stood, the looming quality of his imposing body not in the least diminished by the soft fluffiness of his cuddly robe. It was the first time Vicki had ever seen him in anything but dark, sober clothing, and it was a shock to the system. Yet even in a perfectly normal, if high-end, bathrobe, Red still retained his pervading aura of shadow and mystery.
    “Enjoy your bath?” he inquired.
    Vicki nodded, trying to work out if there had been any kind of innuendo in the question. Any implication that she might have been touching herself while she soaked. But it seemed there was none. It’d just been a companionable enquiry.
    “Tea?” He nodded towards the chic white tea service laid out on a black lacquer tray on the small table beside his chair.
    “Yeah, that’d be great,” she answered, suddenly feeling nervous and awkward. How could things be so…so… ordinary between them? After what had happened