by J. D. Chase
I hope he managed to sleep okay.
Oh my God. When I woke up, I was naked! Oh I hope I didn’t embarrass him by stripping off in front of him. He’s such a sensitive creature, he’d be mortified.
Should I wake him? He doesn’t start his shift for a couple of hours yet but he might have things to do. But he looks so peaceful. I’ll leave him for now and if he doesn’t surface in an hour or so, I’ll wake him then. Yeah, that’s probably the most sensible option.
She made another coffee and tiptoed out of the suite. The hallway was empty.
Finally. Something goes right today.
It was only when the door clicked shut behind her that she realised that she didn’t have her handbag. Or her master room key.
Fuck it! Now what do I do? Do I knock on the door and wake Dean up? No, that’s unfair. I’ll go down to reception and ask Belinda for a room key. I can swear her to secrecy.
Waiting for the lift, she heard the sound of vacuuming coming from the room opposite. She knocked on the door, heard the vacuum cleaner go quiet and then the door was opened by a bemused looking Dina whose eyes kept flitting to her head.
Following a brief and frankly untruthful tale about locking herself out of her own room, Isla managed to procure Dina’s key. She let herself into the suite and selected a severe looking black trouser suit from the wardrobe. When she caught sight of herself in the mirror, she suddenly knew why Dina had been unable to stop looking at her head. She’d forgotten that she’d not washed it in the shower and that she hadn’t brushed it. Now it was a semi-dry replica of a bird’s nest.
Reaching for her hairbrush, Isla began to wish that she’d succumbed to the temptation of getting back into bed. The state she was in, the hotel would probably benefit from it. God knew she was in no fit state to work. Her hair took some detangling and she couldn’t bear to even tug on it gently. So, when she’d finished, it still looked a mess and she had a sore scalp and the headache from hell. She looked longingly at the bed. Should she?
Before she had a chance to weaken she heard a disembodied voice coming from the dining area. She eventually ascertained that it was coming from the walkie-talkie device that Jones had given her the day before that she’d left on the window sill. It was his voice that she’d heard. She picked it up.
‘Hello. Jones?’
‘Oh thank fuck for that. I mean, excuse my French. Miss Hamilton, are you safe?’
‘No, I think I’m dying. If anyone asks, I wish to be cremated and I’d like everyone at my funeral to dress in circus costumes.’
There was a pause.
‘Miss Hamilton, I take it you’re joking. Just tell me where you are please.’
‘I’m in my room.’
‘But I checked that. Twice. So did Smith.’
‘I . . . um . . . I slept in a different room last night.’
‘Ah, did you sleep with Mr Rogers?’
‘No I did not. He slept on the sofa, I’ll have you know.’
Another pause.
‘I meant did you sleep in the same room. I’m simply attempting to ascertain that Mr Rogers is safely accounted for this morning. We were about to mount a full-scale search involving the authorities.’
Isla’s jaw dropped. ‘What?’
A somewhat irritated Jones’ voice continued, ‘The last time either of you were seen by our team or anyone else for that matter, was when he carried you into the lift. When you didn’t arrive at the office at your usual time, I tried to contact you using all agreed methods. Then I visited the suite but there was no reply when I knocked – even when I half-battered the door down. The receptionist let me in. Then I requested Mr Rogers’ contact details but when we called his mobile, there was no reply. So we sent an accomplice to visit his home address. He wasn’t there and we were informed that he’d not returned from work, yet he always did. The last time he’d been seen, Xander Rhodes was threatening to kill him. Since Mr Rhodes was no longer waiting outside – he left in the early hours – and neither of you could be found, it raised a serious concern for your safety.
‘I wanted to search every room in the hotel but the receptionist said I couldn’t do that because of the residents’ privacy and that I’d need permission from you or the police. She also refused to allow me to bring a sniffer dog into the building in an attempt to locate you. Given that you were missing and my brief is to protect you, I was about to call one of my contacts at the Met and get permission. My team mates were confident that you’d not left the building but there was always a remote possibility that Mr Rhodes—’
‘Whoa! Back up. We’re both safe. I can vouch for both of us. Xander threatened to kill Dean? When was this?’
‘A little after twenty three hundred hours. Mr Rhodes had attempted to make contact with you through the windows of the bar. He was apprehended but when Mr Rogers appeared in the lobby holding you in his arms, Mr Rhodes managed to free himself and get inside the building. By that time, Mr Rogers had managed to get you into the lift so Mr Rhodes took the stairs. The security detail gave chase and apprehended him before he located either of you. They removed him from the premises. Under the circumstances, it was felt that the use of some force was warranted. Not maximum force; you’d forbidden that but let’s just say that Mr Rhodes probably has a few aches and pains this morning.’
There was silence. Isla couldn’t believe what she was hearing. How could I not know this? I was there . . . in Dean’s arms . . . Xander chased us . . . what the actual fuck?
‘Miss Hamilton? Are you receiving me?’
‘Loud and clear, Jones. I just don’t know why I don’t know this.’
A brief pause followed before Jones continued in an odd voice that was either borne out of embarrassment or mirth.
‘You were somewhat inebriated, Miss Hamilton. In fact, the phrase that was used at this morning’s security handover was “pissed out of her skull and most likely comatose” since you didn’t so much as raise your head throughout the whole incident. If you ask me, that was probably a good thing too. Mr Rogers was able to sprint you to safety. From the sound of things, if you’d been on your feet, you wouldn’t have been able to make it to the lift in time, given the condition you were in. I believe you had fallen over shortly before things kicked off.’
Isla closed her eyes. Fucking wine! There should be a government health warning on the label. ‘Pissed out of her skull . . .’
Feeling slightly aggrieved that the security staff were being entertained at her expense, she snapped, ‘It’s your lot’s job to keep him out of here. You failed. Dismally. And, if I get even a hint of further incompetence, I’ll be on the phone to your boss faster than you can wipe that smirk off your face. I want a full report of this incident on my desk within thirty minutes. Is that clear?’
‘A comprehensive report hit your desk several hours ago. And yes, crystal.’
She growled in annoyance and threw the device on to the sofa before rifling in her handbag for painkillers. She doubted they’d do much but since her head was now threatening to explode, she figured that any effect they gave, no matter how minute, would be better than none. She barely registered the fact that her master room key wasn’t in her bag; her mind was reeling from the revelations about Xander’s behaviour. She knew he’d be determined but threatening to kill Dean – that was way over the top. No wonder Dean had stayed at the hotel overnight – he was probably too scared to leave. She needed to find out exactly what had gone on and what she needed to do about it, primarily to ensure Dean’s safety. The knowledge that Xander was no longer waiting outside should have been pleasing. However, she found it deeply disconcerting. If she knew him at all, she strongly suspected he’d be planning something and she needed to be ready.
Her eye caught the set of keys to the Holden. She pursed her lips and then forced the tempting thought from her mind; her hangover was too bad to stand there contemplating rash decisions. And, it was likely that she’d still be over the drink-drive limit.
Once
she’d tied her unruly waves back in a loose ponytail – anything else would be too painful – she slapped on some make-up and headed down to face the music, pausing to return Dina’s master room key. Her first port of call was the kitchen. If wine was her nemesis, caffeine was her saviour.
Within minutes of entering her office, Belinda was at the door.
‘Oh God, you look awful,’ she announced as she took a seat.
Isla studied her for a second. ‘Thanks, Belinda. That’s just what I needed to hear.’
Belinda shrugged. ‘Sorry, but it’s true. Nadine sent me a text last night saying that you and Dean were getting pissed and that the last time she’d seen you, you were both lying on the floor of the bar. Oh and Dean told her he was taking you to bed.’
Although tempted to slap the smirk off the other woman’s face, Isla forced a laugh. Thankfully, Barbie’s pointed remark had triggered a flashback of her and Dean in the bar so she could put a stop to the rumour before it snowballed. ‘Yeah, I had a couple too many and lost my footing. Dean was trying to help me up when she saw us. Then he made sure I got to my room safely. Of course to Nadine, it would probably look like something else entirely. I guess it depends on what you want to believe – or how much of a gossip merchant you are. But sadly for the gossips, it was all totally innocent. I can assure you of that.’
Belinda’s expression conveyed her disappointment for a second before it changed completely. She looked like a beagle who’d stumbled upon the scent of a fox. ‘Never mind that. What happened with Xander last night? I heard the security guard talking about it – you know, the hot one. He said Xander managed to get inside the building or something. What happened? And where is he? I paid for a cab this morning, only to find that he wasn’t even here when I arrived. That’s money I’ve paid for nothing. If someone had let me know he had buggered off, I could have saved myself a packet. I’m only on a lowly receptionist’s wage after all . . . well, until I get the head receptionist job.’
She gave an exaggerated wink but Isla just glared; her patience was wearing thin.
‘I’ll reimburse you the cab fare. I wasn’t around when Xander allegedly got in but I have a report to read.’ She waved a thin sheaf of papers. ‘That’s when people stop disturbing me for no good reason and I can get on and read it.’
Seeing Belinda’s eyebrows raise in protest, she held up her hand and effectively cut off any retort. ‘Belinda, rest assured that if and when there’s anything about Xander that I need you to know, I will tell you. Okay? Now if you don’t mind, I have a report to read.’
Isla looked down and began to read, leaving a disgruntled Belinda to sidle out of the office. Twice, she had to put the report down in order to take her head in her hands and will herself to continue. It did not make for complimentary reading, not least because of the comprehensive level of detail that was given. She hadn’t given a thought to the security staff when she’d been drinking but they’d been keeping a close eye on her. Two guards had kept Xander in their sights and the other had kept his eye trained on her whenever possible. She’d been under observation . . . her every move documented.
Dean kissed my forehead when I’d passed out . . . what the hell? No freaking wonder Xander saw red. No doubt in his eyes, I’m still his property. Well, I half wish I’d been aware of what was going on . . . I may just have given him something to think about! Actually, if the security staff were watching, maybe not . . . and that wouldn’t have been fair to Dean either. I can’t afford to give him false encouragement. He kissed me! Fuck, I’m going to have to do something about him . . .
With each paragraph she read, she felt more nauseous. And more embarrassed. When she reached the part where Xander had entered the grounds, her mortification turned to anger.
How dare he bang on the windows and shout like some deranged lunatic! What about the guests? And the neighbours? How must all this look to them? And just how pissed was I that I didn’t notice? And why the hell can’t I recall it? Come on memory . . . you usually remember stuff if prompted, no matter how pissed I am. I must really have passed out. Oh my God, they must think I’m a total pisshead.
Shaking her head, she read on. When she’d finished reading, she sat there, eyes staring but seeing nothing and her heart thumping in her chest.
What if Xander had caught up with Dean? What would he have done? And why the fucking hell was he able to tear himself out of the security guard’s hold and barge past another? What the hell am I paying for? And these are former Royal Marines? God help us if that’s the ability of our security forces.
Oh hang on . . . Smith and Jones are former Marines . . . I don’t know anything about the night staff. I think I should put a call in to the office and request better quality night staff.
Actually, if Xander’s fucked off, maybe I don’t need to.
No, I need to. Xander’s plotting something. I just wish I knew what.
Snatching up the phone, she proceeded to give the head of operations the bollocking of his life. He may have led missions in hostile situations under rocket fire and constant fear of his life but nothing could have prepared him for a hungover, utterly pissed-off Isla and the torrent of abuse that flew out of her mouth and down the telephone line. Within minutes, he’d surrendered. He assured her that he would not bill her for the previous night and that there would be suitably qualified and able security staff at her beck and call from that moment on.
Feeling placated and slightly embarrassed by her outburst, Isla accepted graciously before replacing the receiver.
Xander Rhodes, you are the cause of all this. I hope for your sake that you’ve crept back under your stone because I’m in no mood for your antics today. Oh, I know you’re licking your wounds and formulating your next attack but rest assured, I’ll be ready and waiting. You may as well just crawl back to your pregnant wife – that’s if she’s stupid enough to take you back. And that’s quite likely, given that she was stupid enough to marry you.
She stomped back to the kitchen and made herself a coffee that bore a striking resemblance to treacle and then locked herself in her office. It was a little after 1:00 p.m. when Nadine came knocking on the door. When instructed, she strolled into the office wearing a knowing smirk. Isla mentally rolled her eyes before asking Nadine what she wanted.
‘Dean’s not turned in to work. Belinda’s tried to get hold of him but he’s not answering his phone.’
Oh my God, I can even hear that smirk. Wait . . . what? Dean’s not . . . oh my God, I forgot to go back and wake him. Shit!
‘Oh, that’s unusual. Okay if he’s not here in thirty minutes, call Carl, he might be able to fill in. Let me know please.’
Pausing for just a fraction longer than was necessary, Nadine nodded, smirk still firmly in place, before flouncing out of the office. Isla waited until she was sure she’d gone and then grabbed her handbag. Then she shot to the goods lift – there was no way she wanted the Barbies to see her dashing upstairs to get Dean. She held her head and groaned as the old lift squeaked and shrieked its way to the second floor. Her hangover was in no hurry to depart.
She scooted down to the junior suite and then couldn’t locate her master key in her handbag.
Fuck!
Forced to endure knowing looks from the Barbies, no doubt gossiping about her and Dean, she managed to procure a spare master key. She then dashed back upstairs, cursing herself for her carelessness. She needed to get Dean out of the junior suite without anyone seeing him. Or her. She thrust the key card into the slot and entered the suite. Thankfully, the corridor was deserted. She thought that maybe she’d be able to get Dean out of there without setting the gossip machine in motion. She took a few steps inside before she realised that the sofa was unoccupied.
He could have popped home to get changed. If he did, he did well to escape the prying eyes of Belinda and Nadine. Unless they were waxing each other a Brazilian in the kitchen again . . . oh, God no, get that image out of my head. Hmm, maybe Dean’s in the show
er.
She walked through into the bedroom, casting her eyes over to the bed – just in case he’d relocated. It was empty. So was the en suite. She decided to open the curtains – remembering that she’d have to get the room cleaned. As she turned back to the bed, a series of images flitted through her mind. She was rubbing her pussy on Xander’s face but it wasn’t doing it for her. He was being far too gentle. In fact, it was almost as though he were asleep. She heard her own voice echoing in her ears, ‘What’s the matter with you, for fuck’s sake?’
It was so vivid, like déjà vu. She froze.
But Xander and I have never had sex like that. I’ve never uttered those words to him like that either. I’ve never needed to.
No, sex with Xander could never be like that. He’s too self-assured and dominant . . . too active, never passive. And he got off on me getting off, taking pride in the number of orgasms he could inflict on my body.
Maybe it’s a dream I had last night. Maybe that’s what happened. Yeah, I’m hardly likely to be dreaming about how good he is in bed right now, am I?
But man, he was good.
What if I never experience that again? What if my dream is an indication of what’s to come? I’ll be back to zero orgasms and boring sex.
Images of Xander clouded her mind and phrases from his dirty mouth began to whirl around her head. Before she knew it, she’d closed her eyes and surrendered to the memories. Her breathing grew shallow, her nipples peaked and her thighs pressed together. When she caught her hand creeping between her legs, she stopped it in its tracks and forced her eyes open.
Get a grip, Isla. You’ll find someone who makes your body reacts like that – perhaps you’ll find someone even better, now you know what it is that you need from a man.
Ah, but all men are bastards. Remember?
You don’t have to get involved with them romantically.
