Hotel Magnifique(44)

His stomach muscles flexed between my legs, and my neck heated against my will. He gripped my wrist. I struggled against him.

“Stop wiggling,” he said. “Look.”

Chest heaving, I touched the edge of the mattress. Miraculously, the bed had stopped shrinking. “How?”

“I have an idea,” Bel said, and let go of me.

The moment his fingers left my wrist, the mattress dissolved under one of my hands. I shrieked, and Bel wrapped his arms around me, his fingers threading through mine.

“It wants us to touch,” he said. “Skin to skin.”

The mattress was now the width of a banquette, but it wasn’t getting any smaller. Instead, glowing star ornaments floated down from somewhere above us, transforming the nightmarish room into something out of a dream. It was achingly romantic.

Bel shifted against me, and I tried not to think about how closely I was pressed against him, so I looked away. At our entwined hands. God.

My pulse hammered, and I desperately hoped he couldn’t feel it. When I didn’t think things could get more awkward, soft music began playing and rose petals rained down from above, filling the room with a heady fragrance that made my mind swim.

I swallowed. “This is . . .”

“I know.”

I tried to slide over so I wasn’t directly on top of him, but there wasn’t enough bed left. The skin on my neck burned, overly sensitive to every puff of air Bel exhaled against it. “How long are we stuck here?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” He shifted, tucking one hand under his head. His other hand wrapped around my waist, and I froze.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“We’ll have to wait until the tour leaves regardless, so I’m getting comfortable.”

I cut him a glare. “Let me guess, you’ve been waiting weeks for this.”

The edge of his mouth lifted. “I dream of it every night. Your elbow jabbing my side, a murderous bed . . .”

It might have been nice lying here if I wasn’t painfully aware of how every corner of my body pressed into his. I didn’t dare move for fear of brushing something.

Bel tipped his face to the stars. The kiss marks along his neck were still visible, along with a shadow of stubble. My own mouth was inches away, and I couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to kiss him there. Probably rough.

He drummed his fingers against my arm. “What are you thinking about?”

“Absolutely nothing.”

A laugh shook him. “As long as we’re trapped here, I suppose you could explain what exactly you were doing on this floor.”

“I—I can do that,” I said, utterly relieved to switch topics. I told Bel about Alastair’s reaction outside, then about Alpenheim in the atlas and the woman in the painting matching the ripped page in the book, the wolf-capped inkwell in her hand. Bel wasn’t surprised at any of it. Although he’d probably searched the room himself dozens of times. “There was also a sketch of a signet ring beside the atlas, just like the last time I was there with you.”

His muscles tensed.

“It’s an artéfact, right?”

“It’s one of the artéfacts Alastair has me looking for. I don’t know what it does, and I’m not supposed to speak of it. So please don’t ask again,” he said, bitterness tinting every word. Evidently the ring was a sore subject. “Is that it?”

“I also saw a map to Durc.”

“We do travel there from time to time,” he said dryly.

“That’s exactly my point. You could take us back. I could find Bézier, tell her everything. She could call the authorities before the hotel moves at midnight.”

“I can’t. Alastair would be skeptical if I changed our destination so suddenly unless it had to do with finding an artéfact.”

I groaned. “Then find another one in Durc.”

“It’s too soon. I’d be punished for not finding everything the last time we were there. Besides, going back would be a waste of time for many other reasons.”

“What other reasons?”

“Too many to go over right now.” His words were as sharp as a knife.

The way he said it felt final, as if I wasn’t allowed to question him.

Everything that had been building inside me over the past two weeks bubbled to the surface. “You don’t know how hard it is to pretend to be Mol, knowing the only person I care about is trapped somewhere in this place and I might never see her again,” I said. “I don’t know what to do with myself, or how much longer I can handle feeling this . . . lonely.”

Shame barreled into me, and I immediately wished I hadn’t said the last part. Fortunately, Bel didn’t seem to hear the end of my outburst.

“Shh,” he said, his ear angled toward the door. “I think the tour left.”

Gently, he scooted out from beneath me and slipped down the edge of the bed.

“Don’t!” I lurched toward him. But instead of falling, his foot hit a black staircase. It carried him to the floor.

The moment both his feet were on the carpet, the bed returned to its previous size. Except I now sat in the center of a crimson bed with my skirts pushed up my thighs.

Bel dragged his eyes over them. His throat bobbed. “I have to get back downstairs. Can you find your way to the kitchens without any more trouble?”