Free Pretty Hot (The Pretty Trilogy Book 1) by Donna Alam Page A

you bite,’ I continue flippantly.
    ‘No,’ he answers as the doors chime. ‘Not unless you ask. Verynicely.’
    Sobriety falls like a veil, my stomach clenching somewhere between eagerness and, I think, fright. But there’s little opportunity to over-think or analyse.
    He wants me.
    I want him.
    And I’m going to his room.

Chapter Nine
     
    There should be a moment right about now where recognition truly sinks in. Apart from this being illegal in the UAE, or at least immoral, I don’t go into hotel rooms with guys I barely know.
    My fingers get that static-jump thing brushing against Kai’s as we step into the empty elevator. He swipes a card against the panel and it begins to rise. I’d say I’m numb, but that’s not strictly true as my heart thumps loudly in the pit of my stomach. At least I think it’s my heart. Anyway, something’s definitely thrumming away down there.
    The journey upward is almost a prelude, the air electrified with an anticipation so thick I think it almost visible, curling around the small space. As the doors chime open, we’re almost immediately in a room. On second glance, it’s a suite and a pretty swanky one at that. Tasteful in understated creams and bronzes, it’s a very modern interpretation of Arabesque, dotted with plush fabrics, teakwood and cushions of gold. At least it’s not a room where I’m immediately greeted by the bed. I think.
    But it’s okay. I’m calmer, as Niamh’s words float into my head. Be who I want to be. I pause, still at the threshold. Do what—or who—I want to do.
    Kai turns as I hesitate.
    ‘Wait.’ I hold up my hand at an additional, risen thought. ‘What is it you actually do?’ His brows pull together, his eyes intent on mine, slipping to my mouth and back again super quick. ‘For work, I mean. Are you . . . do you work at the school?’
    His eyes light with understanding. ‘I’m a lawyer,’ he answers without missing a beat. ‘Corporate. I didn’t like to correct you in front of your friend the other day.’
    Breathing again, I follow him in.
    He drops the key-card to a nearby table, shrugging off his jacket as I wander into the room. I wonder if there’s a protocol I should be following, rather than feeling like the late-comer to an aerobics class, a beat behind where I should be and blundering through the steps. I’m drawn to the doors leading to a terrace, the expanse of glass framing a view of the Burj al Arab as it shines in the distance like a garish sail in the night sky.
    I wrap my arms around my torso for support, or maybe to stop myself from reaching out.
    ‘It’s lovely,’ I say over my shoulder. ‘The view, I mean.’
    ‘Yes, it is,’ he agrees lowering himself into a chair. ‘Stunning.’ But it’s me he’s staring at, eyes burning with an intensity that somehow echoes my dream. I touch my lip, recalling how I’d bitten it and wonder if he can hear the beat of my heart. God, I want him. Want to throw myself at him, kiss his pillow-soft lips. Instead, I force myself to turn back to the view.
    ‘Is there something wrong?’
    ‘Just a touch of déjà vu.’ I address the pane of glass, afraid he might see the erotic slideshow playing in my head. With a deep inhale, I turn to face him, smiling in what I hope is an enigmatic way. Who am I kidding? I’m probably drooling like a loon.
    ‘I’m sure I would have remembered if you’d been here before.’ His words are low and loaded as he almost lounges in the chair. One foot propped on the opposite knee, he radiates a kind of dark-eyed confidence. With a sudden disconcertion, I begin to wonder at which point I became an obvious lay. In the classroom? Outside just now? I can’t imagine he gets many rejections.
    He stands with a languid sort of grace, holding out his hand. ‘Shall we?’
    A tiny jolt of panic bursts in my chest and I begin to stammer some kind of justification for no .
    ‘You really don’t think much of me, do you?’ Amusement colours his