Harte Strings: The Billionaire Matchmaker, Part Two Read Online Free PDF

they’re harmless.” His voice was always so charmingly jovial and teasing.
    He patted her on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ve never actually seen one.”
    When he took my arm, his touch was electric. “Ashley, you’re across the hall. I have some work to catch up on. Let’s meet by the pool for drinks in an hour.
    “In the meantime, if you’re thirsty or hungry, there’s a fully stocked bar and mini-fridge in each room. Help yourself. It’s all free. I don’t change an arm and a leg for a small can of pop and the pretzels like the hotels do.” He winked and smiled adorably.
    Lottie stepped into her room. He guided me to mine. As he opened the door for me, he leaned in and whispered, “I gave you the best guestroom. The one I reserve for partners. The corner room. I think you’ll like the view. It’s better than Lottie’s, believe me.”
    Why did his tone have so much innuendo in it?
    “Thanks.” I met his gaze, my throat dry. “I appreciate it.”
    “You have your own private balcony,” he said as I stepped inside.
    My eyes went wide, but I tried to play it cool. I also had my own fireplace and bearskin rug. This wasn’t just a room. It was a corner suite, with views in two directions—to the west across the end of the cantilevered deck and mountains beyond, and to the south.
    Fresh flowers sat on the nightstand. A beautiful white robe was placed artistically on the upholstered bench at the end of the bed. The décor was definitely woodsy, but elegant, with clean lines.
    “You should have everything you need,” he said. “If we’ve missed something, let the staff know. They’re here to wait on you. Text them or grab them in the hall. The numbers are in top drawer of the nightstand. The guys will be staying in the other rooms down the hall.”
    I forced my gaze from the room and looked him in the eye. “Where’s your room?” It slipped out, but yes, I was curious. Unfortunately, my eagerness to know might have been a little too obvious. I remembered his bed at the condo only too well.
    His eyes danced with amusement and the corners of his lips curled up. “My master suite is an entire floor to itself.” He leaned close to me. “I only show it to special guests.” He cocked one eyebrow suggestively.
    “You’re terrible!” I laughed. “If I’m understanding your meaning, according to the rules of the matchmaking game, you’re not supposed to be showing that room to anyone until you’re exclusive.”
    His killer smile didn’t slip in the slightest. “Who says I play by the rules? I’ll see you by the pool in an hour.” He turned and left, pulling the door closed behind him. Leaving only a lingering scent of his intoxicating cologne.
    I let out a deep sigh and simply stared around me for a minute, trying to grasp how anyone lived like this. The room was huge and airy. Filled with afternoon light, yet, despite the southern and western exposure, neither too bright nor too hot. I walked around the suite, trying not to openly gape at all of its many wonders.
    My suitcase was already stowed in an oversized, rough wooden armoire, a one-of-a-kind piece that only a high-end designer could find.
    I couldn’t help ogling and fondling the robe on the bench. It was the most beautiful thing. French terrycloth. Unlike typical terrycloth, incredibly thin. And softer than the finest pima cotton. Styled with a built-in belt and a one-of-a-kind handmade gold closure that was a collector’s piece itself.
    I recognized the designer. I’d been lusting for one of these robes forever. But even if I could have justified the expense, they were nearly impossible to get your hands on. Unless you knew someone. They sold out as quickly as they were made.
    I picked it up and held it in front of me before a full-length mirror. The cut! The way it draped—absolute perfection! A robe like this cost over a thousand dollars, sometimes much more, depending on how elaborate the handmade clasp was.
    I laid it