“So, what happened?” he murmured his mouth against her skin.

The memory replayed in her head in record time. She had been given the tallest horse, a behemoth of terrifying equineness, and when a quad bike rode by, her horse had shied, and she had landed with a plop on the wet sand. She’d flown home early from that holiday to have orthopaedic hand surgery. It had been a lengthy and painful recovery and Jules still apologised on occasion.

But Chloe had no intention of going into all of that now. “Like you said, I fell.” His hands were cupping her breasts, stroking gently, while his mouth continued its magic caresses on her neck. She could hardly breathe with the anticipation of him.

“Archer …” She turned to kiss him, their mouths meeting with the urgency. Water slopped over the side of the bath and somewhere in the recesses of her mind, Chloe thought of the clean-up—again.

When Archer groaned, Chloe thought it was with pleasure, but he pulled away from her. “What?” she asked, breathless.

“We ordered room service for seven-thirty. It’s seven twenty-seven.” He must have been eyeing the clock over her shoulder.

“Room service is never on time.” She captured his lower lip between her teeth. “Oh.” It occurred to her where they were. “The Four Seasons.”

“Precisely.”

“Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks, bollocks.”

He laughed. “I told you it was a good swear word.”

She shook her head and sniggered, then reluctantly climbed out of the tub. When she’d patted herself dry, she wrapped the fluffy bath sheet around her and, as if on cue, the suite’s doorbell rang. “Shall I get that?” she asked.

“Would you mind?” Archer stood in the bath, the water sluicing from his lean frame, and she handed him a towel.

“I do not mind.”

“Perhaps exchange that for a robe, though.”

She dropped her chin and looked at the towel, which on her small frame looked as though she was wrapped in a blanket. “Sure,” she said humouring him. Sliding into the robe, she let her eyes rove over Archer’s glorious nakedness while he dried himself off.

The doorbell rang again, and Chloe pulled herself away from her handsome, naked lover. She rushed the length of the suite and flung open the door, first taking in the white-linen-clad trolley covered in silver cloches, then the uniformed porter who was wearing a somewhat mortified expression, and then the harried looking woman standing behind him.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Chloe said.

“Is he here? I want to see him. Archer!” Madison craned her neck to see into the room. “Aren’t you ever dressed?” she spat at Chloe.

Chloe, perplexed by this bizarre scene, had no time to form a response before feeling Archer’s arm wrap protectively around her shoulder. She looked between him and Madison—both glowering—then clocked the porter’s expression.

You couldn’t write this shit, she thought before snapping into action.

“Right, could you bring that inside, please?” Chloe said to the porter. The poor man looked so relieved to have an instruction that he wasted no time before complying. Chloe squeezed Archer’s hand on her shoulder, then stepped aside, making room for the trolley. The porter didn’t unload it or even wait for a tip before he hastily retreated.