Room Service Page 17

  “Rhys…” she began, her voice soft and hot with need.

  “No more talking,” he murmured, crawling up the bed on top of her. “Shhh.” And with that he took her mouth roughly, plunging his tongue inside as his cock thrust into her dark heat.

  Oh God… Olivia couldn’t even think when he was inside her. Especially not when he was thrusting so deep, braced above her with his arms locked in place, touching something so deep inside her, it echoed with startled pleasure.

  She hung on to him, wrapping her legs around his waist, her fingers digging into the lean muscle of his back. The sudden fierceness of his lovemaking was startling, as if he wanted to drive everything but the feel of him, the taste of him, out of her head.

  That way lay danger, though. Every day he’d been at the hotel, every night he came to her room, every moment he looked at her with those smoky eyes full of mischief and desire, she’d gotten a little bit more lost. A little bit surer that when he left, she would be nothing more than a splattered puddle of hopelessness on a sidewalk somewhere.

  Every day, she was a little bit more in love.

  After years of drifting through her life, dating once in a while, ensconced on Memory Lane with the hotel and blissfully unaware of all the changes she needed to make, Rhys had woken her up. With a siren, clanging bells, and a fire alarm instead of a whispered greeting, but that didn’t matter. She was awake now, and life was better than ever, because she was living it instead of dreaming it.

  But she would be a fool to believe that she would get to live it with Rhys forever. Rhys, who was leaving for L.A. much too soon.

  His tongue stroked inside of her mouth hungrily as he thrust even deeper, but more slowly now, drawing out each slide until she wanted to sob with the aching pleasure of it.

  It wasn’t fair—it was so good between them, not just in bed, but always, and she couldn’t help wanting to hold on just a little longer. But he was the one who had walked into her life out of nowhere, into a life she was committed to. And he would walk out of it, whether she wanted him to or not.

  But she wanted him to know that she cared. She wanted him to know that she’d changed, that she’d woken up…

  She wrenched her mouth away from his and wriggled her arms between them, pushing hard. His grunt of surprise turned into a growl when she twisted, rolling them over until she straddled him.

  “My turn,” she said, and the gleam of approval in his eyes flicked her arousal higher.

  Digging her knees into the bed on either side of him, she planted her palms on his chest and sat up so she could take him as deep as he would go. He thrust upward, his eyes never leaving her face as he did, and she answered by leaning forward to lick each of the flat, masculine discs of his nipples in turn.

  Oh, he liked that. His throat vibrated with the same purring growl as she kissed it, but he pushed her away a second later, grabbing her around the waist to capture one of her nipples in his mouth. As he suckled, his hands moved down to her bottom, palms firm against each cheek, seating her deeper as he plunged, again and again…

  She was strung so tight now, every nerve ending pulsing with sensation, with heat, with the glorious slide of him inside her and below her, with the look in his eyes as she wrestled away from him, stretching backward to plant her hands on his thighs. She was so close now, but she wanted this to last, she wanted to keep him right where he was…

  He stretched up with her, his hands finding her breasts, rolling the rigid nipples with his thumbs—and then he pushed up, all the way up, grabbing her around the waist and launching them both off the bed. She clung to him, gasping in surprise and a shock of fresh arousal. Suddenly it was a competition, but that didn’t matter. They were both going to win, weren’t they?

  At least here, in this bed, they were.

  He twisted around and dumped her unceremoniously on the side of the mattress, but instead of climbing on top of her, he kept his feet on the floor, holding onto her hips as he thrust inside her.

  It was almost savage, this new ferocity—he was sweating, and his eyes glittered with need. All she could do was hang on, groaning with each fierce plunge, until the heat was too bright, too sharp, and it broke over her in a million shimmering pieces.

  Rhys roared his release a moment later, shuddering with the pleasure. When he collapsed on top of her, he pressed a hard kiss to her lips, and she wrapped her arms around him.

  Sweaty, still shaking, they stared at one another. Rhys was still buried inside her, and she felt his heart pounding against her breast—hers answered back in kind. For a long, breath-held moment, she could almost see the words neither of them had spoken floating the air, and the room hummed with the electric force of their gaze.

  And then he kissed her again, slow and deep and quiet, and she closed her eyes, pouring everything she felt into the kiss. She was trembling inside, as if she were teetering on the edge of some great height, but when he pulled her up into the bed and under the covers, he put his arms around her, resting his head on top of hers. It was a good place to be, she thought drowsily, letting the tension ebb out of her body as she dozed off. Even if it was just for tonight.

  Chapter 15

  “R hys, your car is here.”

  He looked up from the luggage he’d piled on the lobby floor and caught Roseanne pointing out the window at the street. Even her heavy gray braid seemed subdued today, tied with a neat black ribbon and hanging straight down her back as if in defeat.

  Defeat. Oh, bollocks. It was just this place, making him metaphorical and more than a bit sappy again.

  But he couldn’t help reading disappointment on the faces of those who had come to see him off. To a person, they seemed a bit let down, as if he’d decided to head off and fight an unpopular war, or sign up for the Hanging Puppies Brigade or something. Roseanne, Josie, even Gus and Angel, who had his burly arms crossed over his chest and a scowl etched deep in his forehead.

  He hitched up his backpack and slung it over his shoulder, saving the suitcase for the time being. To a person was wrong. Olivia didn’t look disappointed, did she? Olivia, in his favorite deep pink sweater, the one that made her look a bit like a ripe, full-blown rose, seemed …hopeful.

  If only he knew what she was hoping for.

  He stared into her eyes, bigger than ever this morning and a bit tired. They’d been up late last night, though. Saying good-bye to each other privately, physically, since they hadn’t said so aloud.

  And it had turned out their bodies had quite a bit to express, hadn’t it?

  “You need to remind Rusty that the eggs should be room temperature before the breakfast service,” he told her without preamble. “And that he’s overdipping the French toast. I’ve told him a million times, but he keeps forgetting.”

  She nodded, eyes fixed on his face, as if she were memorizing him. She stood so close, he caught the scent of her hair, and for one wild moment he was tempted to bury his face in it and breathe deep.

  “I told Jesus to go easy on the dishwasher, too—the beast is on its last legs, Liv.”

  “I know. Thank you.” Her voice was little more than a husky whisper, but the faint trace of a smile played around her lips.

  He took a step closer, meaning to kiss her good-bye and said instead, “I told you about the crack in my ceiling, yeah? It’s not an emergency, but I wanted you to know it was there.” He reached out to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. Touching her seemed incredibly important at the moment.

  “As long as the ceiling’s not falling down, I think it’ll be all right.” She had turned her cheek into his hand, and he brushed his thumb over its soft curve.

  “Okay, then.” He needed to kiss her good-bye and get on with this. The car was waiting, but the plane wouldn’t. So he’d say good-bye. Kiss her. Walk out the door.

  Christ, it sounded so easy, but his feet wouldn’t seem to move.

  “You know you’ve got to figure out who pulled that stunt at the ball,” he said suddenly. “Especially if i
t’s someone on staff. Can’t stand for that type of mischief, Liv. Someone could’ve been hurt, and it’s a wonder no one was.”

  “I know, Rhys.” She covered his hand with her own and gently lifted it away from her face. “The car was late, you know. And now you’re going to be later. I don’t want you to miss your flight.”

  “I won’t.” He leaned down and pulled her close with one arm, and she settled against him with a little sigh.

  He’d never felt this before—the idea of leaving here, leaving her, was a bit like walking away without his right hand. Something in him had broken the day he’d kissed her. He’d always moved on, once his physical curiosity was satisfied and the novelty of a new body had worn off. Even with Clodagh, he’d been itchy, and then the only reason he’d stayed hadn’t been his interest in her, but an obligation—one he’d discovered was unnecessary, since she would have lied about the color of the sky and where the sun set if the situation had called for it.

  But Olivia…If anything, he was itchy to touch her again, to throw down his bags and take her upstairs, just as if he hadn’t explored every facet of her face and form the night before. He was addicted to her.

  He was going, of course. No way around that. Two hundred thousand dollars was up for grabs if he could wow the judges in the final competition, plus the perks of new kitchen equipment, a feature in the best international cooking magazine, and a brilliant shot of prestige.

  And then?

  He still hadn’t thought that far ahead. But he knew, no matter what Olivia was hoping for, that when the competition was over, he would…call her. At least.

  Her eyes shone with questions when he tipped her chin up to kiss her, but she wouldn’t ask them. He knew that much. And for that moment, it was better that way.

  She tasted like her morning coffee and the blueberry scones she’d eaten while he finished packing. With his arms around her, he pulled her up on her toes until she was crushed against his chest and deepened the kiss. Her hands were fisted in his coat, and he could feel the frantic stutter of her pulse in her throat.

  He could also feel too many pairs of eyes trained on them. The lobby was electric with tension. But before he could break away, Olivia did, pulling back with another little sigh.

  “You’re really going to miss that flight,” she murmured. She was examining the toe of his boot as if she’d never seen anything so mesmerizing.

  “I’m going,” he said softly and grabbed her chin to angle her mouth up for one more kiss. “When it’s over,” he added, “I’ll ring you, yeah?”

  Surprise and relief flickered across her face as she nodded. “Yeah.”

  When he looked up, the others pretended to be busy with other things, Josie biting her thumbnail and Roseanne flipping through a stack of paper attached to a clipboard. Even Angel had taken a hammer out of his tool belt and was actually polishing the head of it against his pants. Gus was staring at the floor, his hands stuffed in his jeans pockets.

  Bad liars, all of them, pretending that they weren’t watching him and Olivia kiss good-bye. Bad liars who loved Olivia and hated the fact that he was leaving, if not him.

  Bad liars he considered his friends now. It had been a long time since he’d had many of those.

  “Rhys, the car,” Olivia murmured and gave him a little push toward the door.

  He nodded and collected his suitcase, but when he turned to Olivia again, her spine was straight and her jaw was set when she said, “Good-bye, Rhys. Good luck.”

  Right. He was leaving.

  “I’ll ring you,” he repeated and pushed through the revolving door without a backward glance.

  “Come on,” Roseanne said when the hired car was long gone, its red taillights disappearing into the traffic turning onto Madison Avenue in the morning’s gray drizzle. She put an arm around Olivia’s shoulder, warm and heavy and familiar, and steered her back through the revolving doors into the lobby.

  Olivia let her do it without protest. She couldn’t very well stand on the sidewalk all day moping, and she knew it.

  Even though she wanted to. Even though going upstairs and crawling into bed for the next week or so actually sounded even better.

  “Do you want a cup of tea?” Roseanne asked when she’d led Olivia to the banquette. “Or, um, a tissue?”

  Angel, Josie, and Gus, as well as Anna, who was pretending to be busy with nonexistent work at the reception desk, had fixed their gazes elsewhere when Olivia looked up. It was sweet, if a little unnecessary. She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t going to fall apart.

  She wasn’t.

  So she said, “I’m not crying,” and managed a smile for Roseanne, who had sat down beside her in a cloud of musk and a clatter of silver bangles.

  “Oh, I know!” Roseanne actually flushed and appealed for help to Josie with a quick glance.

  Letting go of Gus’s hand, Josie crossed the lobby to sit on Olivia’s other side. “Any plans for today?” she said softly. Her blue eyes, always so sharp, so cynical, were full of concern.

  “I’m fine. Really.” Olivia stood up and shook her head. “Look, I knew he was leaving when we…got involved. He didn’t make any promises to me.” She frowned, suddenly irritated. “And I didn’t make any to him. It was…fun. It was a fling. For now, it’s over. And I’m not going to fall apart.” She glared at Josie and Roseanne in turn. “Okay?”

  Cowed, they said in unison, “Okay.”

  It was the truth, kind of. She wasn’t going to fall apart, even if it was tempting. She was awake now, thanks to Rhys. She wasn’t hiding behind daydreams and memories anymore. She had a hotel to save, damn it, and that hadn’t changed simply because they’d gotten through the Halloween ball. And today, especially, it was going to be important to remember that.

  But she couldn’t deny that today, especially, she wanted out of the hotel. Everywhere she turned, she would see Rhys, lounging in a doorway, wicked grin beckoning her closer for a kiss, those smoky, laughing eyes gazing at her.

  Tugging her sweater into place and pushing her hair out of her eyes, she faced her friends. “I’m going out,” she said resolutely.

  Why were they staring at her as if she’d announced she was going to storm a battlement or join the circus? “I’m going shopping,” she amended, lowering her voice.

  “For what?” Josie said in confusion.

  Right. For what? She glanced at the desk, where Angel was showing Anna and Gus a picture of the new baby. He and Theresa had named her Isabella, and he’d promised to bring her in to visit sometime soon.

  “For a baby gift,” she whispered, cocking her head at Angel. “And some…cookies. Or something. For Theresa.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Roseanne said, approval shining on her face. “Can I come?”

  “You bet.” Olivia took her arm as she stood up, feeling better already. Maybe the party was over, but her life wasn’t.

  In a perfect world, she would have been wearing the little black pencil skirt that made her legs look longer, Josie thought two hours later. Of course, in a perfect world she would have had a body that didn’t embrace every carbohydrate she put into her mouth by happily adding another pound, or five.

  But that didn’t matter, she told herself firmly, reaching up to straighten her ponytail in the mirror on the back of her office door. World wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t a surprise.

  And for what she had in mind, clothes were the least of her problems.

  Courage, now that was a different story.

  Gus hadn’t even kissed her the night of the ball. He’d danced with her, he’d brought her drinks, he’d helped her up to her room, but he hadn’t kissed her. He hadn’t so much as touched her the two evenings they’d spent planning their costumes, not even when they’d taken the subway down to the Village to scout out thrift shops and secondhand stores.

  But the way he looked at her…If an expression was worth a thousand words, she was pretty sure Gus could write his next book about wanting to kiss her, if not ac
tually doing so.

  He was a gentleman, she decided as she marched into the lobby and pushed the button for the elevator. A gentleman who was painfully, cripplingly shy, unfortunately. When she’d said she would go to the Monsters’ Ball with him, he’d almost fallen off his bar stool.

  But once she got him talking, the way she had on the subway that night, coming back from downtown, he was smart and funny and so very sweet, she wanted to climb into his lap and hug him.

  And do a few other things, too.

  She stepped onto the elevator when it came and took a deep breath as she pressed the button for the eighth floor. Well, today she was going to do those things. If Gus let her, of course. Because she was going to seduce him.

  Watching Olivia and Rhys say good-bye in the lobby this morning, her knees had practically buckled. Some part of her—some dormant, well-hidden part of her that hadn’t succumbed to cynicism way back in high school—had actually believed that he might stay, she realized. That two people so passionate about each other would get their happy ending, no matter what.

  Maybe they would, in the end. Rhys could come back or Olivia could fly to L.A.—a million different things could still happen. Either way, they’d seized the chance to be together, hadn’t they, at least for awhile?

  Well, today she was going to seize Gus, before she died of waiting for him to work up the courage to make a move.

  He looked startled when he opened the door, and she was charmed to see that his cap was on backward. He looked about ten when he wore it that way.

  “Um, hi,” she said, scrambling as he moved to let her inside. Shit. She’d had a whole script planned, and the ride up in the elevator had sucked it right out of her head.

  “Is anything wrong?” Gus asked, shutting the door. “Is Olivia okay?”

  She’d never been in his suite before, she realized, glancing around the room. He’d made himself at home, though, with his laptop set up on the desk, and piles of books on the rug and the table, and an ancient Yankees souvenir pennant taped to the mirror. In the far room, the bed was unmade, a rumpled nest of sheets and comforter tangled together. Well, good.