[ Dany's laugher rings out in the room, echoes off the tiles of the bathroom where she's standing in the doorway. It's a pleasant sound, warm and friendly. If she's faking, then she's very good. But something about her expression says this is honesty (something that runs heat through his chest).

He's got the hotel phone earpiece cradled between his shoulder and jaw, listening to the tinny ringing as it connects to the room service desk. After a beat of this, the bar of soap is landing on the mattress— a good throw, he notes— and his space is full of mirthful blonde. Arthur's eyebrows ratchet up on his forehead as the call connects and he somehow maintains a professional voice as he orders, even though Dany's clever fingers are undoing his tie. His expression remains astonished and amused, mouth curling at the corners.

At least the call doesn't take long and soon he's setting the phone back down, nearly forgotten. Instead he busies his hands with sliding up the sides of Dany's extremely flattering dress, inching the skirt of it up. ]

I'll pass on the tequila. Don't know if those pictures are going to be sleepily incriminating, if I'm catching your drift.