Read Hooked #3 (The Hooked Romance Series - Book 3) for Free Online Page A

watched as the sun
dipped low in the sky, leaving us in a quiet darkness on the Friday night
highway. I tapped at my leg quietly, peering out the window. “It’s been a long
time since I was out on the road.”
    “You don’t travel much?”
    “Can’t afford it. I don’t know if I would, anyway. Sure. Maybe Europe,
Australia, or something. But not in the Midwest.” I cleared my throat,
watching the signs pass us as we whirred by, going eighty, then ninety.
    “I love to drive. I feel so powerful, you know. Like
the entire world is mine, before my feet.” Drew kept his eyes on the road,
maneuvering the manual stick of the vehicle as we climbed in speed.
    The drive took five hours. He exited the interstate
at around eleven in the evening and whizzed us up in front of a grand,
sparkling hotel. I looked at it wide-eyed, with a bit of bliss. It was possibly
the largest hotel I’d ever seen, and cornfields surrounded it on every side.
“Who comes here?” I whispered to Drew.
    “Only those who know it’s here,” he murmured back.
    A valet driver, similar in dress to the one from the
previous week, emerged from the hotel and came jogging toward the car. He
saluted Drew, who he seemed to know. “Sir,” he said as he escorted me from the
vehicle. “I see you’ve brought a very beautiful woman with you this time.”
    I blushed. I’d never been referred to as more than
just a “pretty girl.” “Beautiful woman” brought me to the next level; a level
of stark grandeur and richness.
    Drew took my arm and led me into the foyer of the
remarkable hotel. The lights were dimmed as we entered. The man at the desk
stood tall in a subtle bit of light over his papers. “Sir Thompson,” he
announced through the cold of the foyer. “So lovely to see
you this evening.”
    Drew nodded his head toward the man, not bothering
to check in. I wondered about this—if he forgot. I remembered my mother
continually heading to the desk, having to enter in her credit card
information, her address, possibly her soul—I never knew. But here, everyone
seemed to know Drew, to respect him. He seemed almost a part of the hotel,
although I thought that was impossible. After all; he lived in Chicago, and we
were five hours away.
    Drew led me to the double-doors of the shining glass
elevator. He pressed the button and the doors opened automatically. He led me
onto the glass floor and I peered down, nervous already about seeing all the
way to the bottom of the shaft. My eyes were large, alarmed.
    He laughed at me as the door closed. “Don’t be
nervous.”
    The elevator glided upwards through the enormous
foyer. I could see everything; every person working, every person drinking,
every person talking. Fires lined the remarkable study, further away, toward
the bar. I squeezed Drew’s hand. “What is this place?” I asked him. He didn’t
answer.
    We reached the eighteenth floor. The elevator opened
and we marched directly into the grandest hotel room I’d ever seen. We walked
down a few stone steps to where the floor was open. It led us to the bedroom,
which was next to a great window that stretched from floor to ceiling. A
kitchen, to the right of the bedroom, featured two glasses of already poured
champagne, glistening in the soft light of a pre-lit candle.
    I gasped, looking at it. I stepped forward. “Drew.
What?” I was half-laughing, half-crying.
    Drew reached forward and picked up both glasses. He
brought one of them toward me and held the other in his own hand. I accepted it
by its skinny stem and clinked the glass into his. The
bubbles skirted up my nose, down my throat, nearly tickling me. I felt the
beautiful color of it, the life of the drink in my stomach. I sighed, looking
at him—this remarkable man. I couldn’t fall in love with him. I couldn’t fuck
him. But this champagne—this room. It was so much more
than anything I had ever known.
    I noticed, then, that there was only one bed behind
me. I turned, looking at it,