Proposal in Room 309. Joss Wood

were from the same period. Despite having a double-volume ceiling and a fountain with a brass statue of a naked sprite in the middle of the lobby, it still retained the feel of a rich country house…if the country house was Blenheim or Buckingham Palace.

      Ben looked at his watch and cursed when he saw that Joely was fifteen minutes late. He was just reaching for his mobile when it rang and he knew it was her.

      ‘Honey, you’re late…again.’

      ‘Working on my birthday is contrary to all the rules of the universe but my day is over and it’s time to play!’ Joely replied and, despite her jovial tone, Ben could hear the exhaustion in her voice.

      ‘You ok?’ he asked, immediately concerned.

      Joely sighed. ‘I really need that drink…and you.’

      ‘Bad day?’

      ‘Kind of…and really busy. Apart from being such a treat, having a drink at The Chatsfield is a nice bridge between the blood and gore of the patients from an RTA and my weekend off. Thanks for thinking of this, Ben, you spoil me.’

      Only Joely, so undemanding, would think a drink was him spoiling her. He grinned, thinking of the flowers in the shockingly expensive suite upstairs, the rose petals on the bed, the champagne on ice. ‘Well, it is your birthday and tomorrow you can have the day off. Maybe, if you’re really good, you’ll get breakfast delivered to you.’

      Which he wouldn’t have to make. Bonus.

      ‘That sounds like heaven; my only problem is that I’m not really dressed for The Chatsfield,’ Joely said.

      Joely had the type of body that would look good draped in a Hessian sack and, for a doctor working in Accident and Emergency who spent most of her days in scrubs, the sense of style of a catwalk model. She always looked fantastic.

      ‘You’ll be fine.’

      Besides he’d packed her a black dress, the sexiest underwear he could find and shoes – he hoped they were the right ones - for her to wear when they had dinner at the two-star Michelin restaurant on the second floor.

      ‘Well, I’m about three minutes away. Meet me in the lobby.’

      ‘Already here, babe,’ Ben answered on a grin before disconnecting the call. Standing by the huge fountain in the centre of the lobby, he turned as someone cleared his throat behind him. It was Harrison, the same concierge he’d spoken to when making all of the many, many arrangements it took to set this evening up. Ben, easily able to read people’s faces, immediately noticed that something was wrong.

      He lifted his eyebrows.

      To his credit, Harrison didn’t waffle and jumped right in. ‘Mr Duncan? The flowers and rose petals you ordered have been mistakenly delivered and set up in the wrong room, sir. My sincere apologies but in the confusion of making arrangements for a very picky celebrity and a demanding sheik and his entourage, my staff entered the incorrect room number and it was set up in room 390, not 309.’

      Ok, easy to fix. ‘Can’t you just move it?’

      Harrison shook his head. ‘Well, I would but the couple came back to the room unexpectedly and one half of the partnership believed his lover had organised it for him and the other begged me not to let the cat out of the bag.’ Harrison gestured to two well-dressed men walking through the lobby. There was a rose petal in the hair of the blonde.

      ‘Ah.’

      ‘While you are having dinner, we’ll dress the room again,’ Harrison said, wringing his hands. ‘Would that be in order?’

      ‘Sure.’ Ben shrugged.

      ‘Things like this don’t happen at The Chatsfield. Obviously, we’ll compensate you for our error and we’ll leave a thank gift in your room.’

      Take a breath, Ben wanted to say, it’s flowers not a broken vial of the Ebola virus. Jo probably wouldn’t even notice; the woman could spot a potential melanoma at fifty paces but flowers? Not so much.

      ‘Thank you for your understanding,’ Harrison gushed before leaving.

      Hell, in the scheme of things he had a lot more to worry about. Like whether he would ever be able to get his woman down an aisle. Or even talking about it…

      He felt her hand on his shoulder and then caught her scent; something fresh and light that suited her vibrant personality. Ben turned and looked into those deep eyes surrounded by sooty lashes; traced the contours of her wide mouth, her high cheekbones. He knew he wanted to wake up to that face for the rest of his life…

      He grabbed her and yanked her to him, sipping at her mouth while holding her head in place.

      Let the campaign begin, he thought before he got lost in her kiss.

      ***It didn’t matter how tired she was, how flat, being in Ben’s strong arms, feeling his masculine solidness always picked her up, Joely thought as she looped her arms around Ben’s neck and sank into his kiss. They’d been together for eighteen months, living together for six and she was still amazed that their relationship was as much fun as it was when they had just met, dizzy with the wonder of each other.

      He was everything she’d ever wanted in a man and a part of her still couldn’t believe that she’d found him. Intelligent, yeah, you couldn’t be one of the country’s youngest venture capitalists without an overdose of smarts, and sexy with his ripped body and deep grey eyes. Having a lover with a hard body who had superior sack skills was a huge bonus.

      But best of all, Ben was steady. Reliable. Thinking. While he wasn’t unemotional, far from it, he wasn’t volatile and she loved that about him. Unlike her crazy, hot-blooded, impulsive blood and step-parents and half and step siblings, there was no drama with Ben. He didn’t upset apple carts, throw his toys, make quick decisions without talking it over with her. He was rational and he didn’t make rash decisions.

      She felt safe with him. Loved. Treasured.

      ‘Hey, Doc.’

      ‘Hey you. Want to buy a girl a margarita? Tequila makes me easy…’

      Ben grinned. ‘I make you easy.’

      ‘This is true but buy me a drink anyway.’

      ‘Sure.’ Ben tugged her head back by gently pulling her ponytail and smiled down at her from his six-two height. ‘Happy birthday, Jo. What is it, your thirty-fifth?’

      Joely mock glared at him as he placed a broad hand on her back and guided her to the bar off the lobby. ‘It’s my twenty-ninth, you twit, as you well know.’

       Chapter Two

      In the downstairs trendy, classy bar, Ben snagged a free bar stool and Joely wiggled her bum onto it as Ben ordered a margarita and a beer from the barman. The place was full of suited men and smart woman, coming into the bar for a Friday night drink. Just next to them sat a glossy couple who were looking everywhere but at each other.

      ‘Trouble brewing.’ Joely tipped her head towards them and Ben slid his gaze to the left.

      ‘Maybe they are both tired.’

      ‘She’s wound tighter than a spring and he would rather be having a root canal,’ Joely scoffed. She’d witnessed far too many failed relationships - her parents treated love like ping pong - and she’d become a master at spotting relationship trouble at an early age. You had to if you didn’t want to get caught in the emotional fallout that their marriages always ended in.

      ‘Ignore them,’ Ben said, picking up her drink and handing it to her. ‘Sip…’

      Joely took the drink from him and tasted salt, the tang of citrus and the hit of tequila. Yeah, this was what angels would drink on their hen’ nights. Joely took another sip just to make sure that the first wasn’t a fluke and closed her eyes. Yeah, it was sooooo good. ‘My evening is