by Eden Summers
And his mouth—oh, boy, his mouth. The way his tongue snaked out to moisten his lips, the slow, confident lethargy of the movement. And his smile. She sighed at the visual pleasure of him.
“You make me wonder what’s going on in that mind of yours.”
His gradually building smirk said it all. There were dirty things driving his thought process and she wanted to be involved in every single one of them.
She lowered her focus to the table and chuckled. “I wish you could tell me. It’s frustrating not being able to have a con…ver…” Her gaze snapped to his as she realized what she was about to say. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” Dread settled over her, along with shame that heated her cheeks.
Her apology came too late, he’d already stiffened, his shoulders broad, his chin stubbornly high as he pulled his hand from hers.
She hadn’t meant what she said… On second thought, she had. It was frustrating being unable to hold a conversation with him when her mind wanted to hear all his secrets at once. Only she hadn’t realized how ignorant and insensitive her insult was until it echoed in her ears. “I just mean, I’d love to be able to talk with you.”
The narrowed disgust of his eyes stabbed through her. She’d done it again, adding more heartless fuel to the blazing fire.
“It’s not criticism.” Okay, that’s exactly what it was. It was rude and harsh and entirely unforgiving. Word by word, she was digging a hole and burying herself. “I’m sorry.”
His smile was feral as a scoff fell from his lips. He stood, his chair abruptly screeching against the tile. She sat in shock as he pulled his wallet from the back pocket of his pants and dumped cash on the table.
“Keenan.” He couldn’t be serious. They hadn’t even touched their bread, the main meal was still to be cooked. He couldn’t leave. He had to give her a chance to make it right. Or was he really that sensitive? “Please, sit down.”
They were gaining an audience. People were looking, judging her, but nowhere near as harshly as Keenan was with the sneer curling his lip. He flipped the black leather closed and shoved his chair under the table. He didn’t meet her gaze again and she was thankful. She didn’t want those powerful eyes sending her to hell and back with one glance.
“Please forgive me,” she whispered.
He heard her, it was visible in the way his jaw ticked, and he walked away nonetheless, taking any respect she had for herself along with him.
Email
Date: 21st December
Subject: The Sated Palate
Dear Savannah,
So many weeks later and the thought of that night still makes me fucking crazy. If only you knew how many times I had to clench my fists from the need to speak to you. I would’ve given anything to say your name, to whisper it in your ear, to make you shiver with the beauty of that one word.
I’ve told you before that you saw more in me than anyone else, yet you also stoked to life insecurities that I haven’t felt since childhood. You made me want to be someone else. You made me wish for a perfection I wasn’t capable of.
How did you do that?
Without even asking for anything, I want to give you the world. I would’ve given anything to be able to smile back at you that night and brush off the disappointment of your comment. Anything, Savannah.
I could’ve explained the possibility of communicating with sign language. I could’ve taken out my cell and messaged you words that would distract you from my defects. If only you hadn’t knocked my legs out from beneath me.
You know me now, Savannah. You know we can communicate without the need to speak. Please come back to me so we can work this out.
Keenan
Chapter Ten
Days passed without communication from anyone apart from the employees in the hotel Savannah currently inhabited. There was no sign of Penny, no emails from Mr. Rydel, no calls from Dominic, and definitely no word from Keenan. She’d even spent an entire day calling recruitment agencies to fill the holes in their current staff levels to ensure the upcoming wedding didn’t go to hell, but she was still waiting for even one reply.
She’d become ostracized, cocooned in her own little world. Her friends back home were busy with work and their upcoming plans for Thanksgiving. Spencer was the only one going out of his way to connect with her, and she was trying to dodge his calls as best as possible.
The positive result was her workload being up to date. She’d found a semblance of routine in her work hours, and staff even began to smile at her in greeting. They trusted her, and she was devoted to strengthening that trust through continuous conversations and responding to unending emails of concern.
But the nights were lonely. She’d spent five evenings alone in the bath, a gossip magazine clutched between her fingers, and now the luxury had worn off. Evidently, relaxation wasn’t her thing. Even the frangipani salts the concierge had bought her hadn’t increased the enjoyment of tonight’s soaking.
It didn’t leave her optimistic for the rest of her stay in Seattle, either. It was only Friday night—a mere two weeks since she’d arrived, and there were still so many desolate nights ahead of her. If only Dominic would call. He was her only hope for a social life. She couldn’t even risk contacting her Aunt Michelle regarding another dinner invitation in case Penny or Keenan showed up, too.
She’d successfully backed herself into isolation and the feeling wasn’t welcome.
Resting her head against the edge of the bath, she closed her eyes and willed Dominic to call. She was even prepared to admit he’d been right about Keenan. Not that the sexy, silent man had been the problem. It had been her. But she’d take the blame if it meant having a conversation with someone that didn’t involve Rydel and the upcoming sale.
She shimmied lower under the water and her eyes snapped open at the vibration of her silenced cell against the tile floor. “No way.” She sat up straight and wiped the moisture from her hands onto her dry arm before picking up the device.
She expected her imagination to have had the better of her, but no, the light in the top corner flashed with a notification. A message. The number was unfamiliar. The text equally puzzling.
Unknown: I apologize for my behavior. It was uncalled for.
She had Dominic’s number stored so it couldn’t be him. Maybe it was Penny. Hell, the apology could’ve come from any number of irate employees she’d had to talk down this week. Even Spencer, who had a list of things he could apologize for. But her heart kick-started at the possibility of it being someone else. Someone dark, mysterious, and deadly silent.
Savannah: Who is this?
She brought her knees to her chest, suddenly chilled in the warm water.
Unknown: How many people owe you an apology? I’m not sure if that makes me feel like more of an asshole for my behavior, or better because I fit in with the crowd.
She bit her lip, determined to calm her excitement. She wanted it to be Keenan. Her body hadn’t been able to let go of the intimate moments at the bonfire. Or the kiss at the restaurant. She craved him, even though she’d done her best to forget him.
Savannah: I have high standards. Most people don’t even know they’re on my shit list.
She placed her thumb between her teeth and began biting her nail.
Unknown: I deserve to be on that list.
Damn it. She was dying.
Unknown: It’s Keenan.
Everything inside her shifted. Her heart fell to her stomach, her stomach to her feet, then they all climbed back up again in a rush of euphoria.
Savannah: How did you get my number?
She didn’t care, didn’t even want to know, but her brain lacked the clarity to find another sentence to continue the conversation. He was speaking to her. These were the first words they’d shared apart from his scribbled message to meet her at the Sated Palate.
Keenan: I’m silent, mysterious, sexy, AND resourceful. Accept my apology?
She smiled at the echo of what she said at the
bonfire and pretended her chest wasn’t about to explode.
Savannah: There’s no need to apologize. I’m the one who should beg for your forgiveness. I was insensitive and I’m sorry.
Every time she relived last Sunday night she shuddered. Her comments had been heartless. They were unintentional insults, but insults all the same.
Keenan: I guess both of us were out of our element. But I have a better excuse for being flustered. I acted like an A-grade ass because I’m completely enamored by you.
Her trembling fingers threatened to drop her cell into the bath. She frowned, questioning the legitimacy of his message, questioning whether it was really him texting at all. She even questioned if this was all a dream and she was about to drown in a pool of frangipani scented water.
Keenan: Savannah?
How could she reply? There was no response, only internal giggling like a schoolgirl. He’d turned her into someone she didn’t recognize, again, in the space of seconds. She didn’t know how or why. If anything, her time with him was constantly awkward. Yet she wanted more.
Savannah: Have you been drinking?
It was a legitimate question. It had been days since he walked out on her. Alcohol or drugs had to have played a part in his desire to make contact.
Keenan: Can’t when I have to drive home soon.
Ah, so this was a spontaneous conversation.
Savannah: Are you at work?
She tried to picture what he did in his day-to-day life and made sure her mind didn’t stray to menial tasks in a position that lacked authority. He deserved a powerful position. He’d brought her to her knees, after all.
Keenan: No. I’m on the street outside your building.
Her heart stopped.
There was a second of surging blood through her ears. Then another before she scrambled from the bathtub and pulled a heavy white robe over her soaked skin. She rushed to the window and pulled the curtain aside. She didn’t need to search to find him. He was near the curb, leaning against a lamp post. Everything about him spoke of casual indifference. He was dressed in dark jeans and a cream jacket, his ankles crossed at a GQ cover model angle.
“So damn fine.” Even from three floors above, he was suave. Dark stubble lined his face and his penetrating eyes peered up in search of her window.
Savannah: I’m not dressed for visitors.
She pressed send and enjoyed the resulting smile that crossed his face. No man had ever been more appealing, yet all he did was lean against that lamp post like he owned it and tapped something back into his phone.
Keenan: I’m not asking for an invitation. Although I wouldn’t protest being beside you right now, staying down here is a better option.
After nights spent tossing and turning, all for the sake of hearing his words, talking seemed overrated now. She was beyond the need for conversation. She wanted that smirk right in front of her, and those hands that were always controlled.
Savannah: And why is that? You don’t think you can keep your hands off me?
It was an off the cuff joke, but as soon as she pressed send, she was dying to read his reply.
Keenan: No thinking necessary. My hands would be all over you. You’d be incapable of stopping them.
She shuddered, head to toe, totally digging the underlying threat. She didn’t even have a chance to reply before her phone beeped again.
Keenan: But you need to know all those wishes you had in the restaurant will never come true. I’ll never be able to hold a face-to-face conversation with you. I’ll never be able to murmur in your ear and tell you how fucking sexy you are, no matter how much I want to. I don’t like being this way, Savannah, but it’s who I am.
He gazed up at the building, his focus catching hers. She would’ve liked to believe his lips quirked at the image of her, but in honesty, she couldn’t tell.
Savannah: I’m sorry. I never should’ve said what I did. I didn’t mean it.
It wasn’t a lie. Not in hindsight. He was enough without his speech. In fact, she wasn’t sure if she would like him any other way. The slow progression to get to know him without conversation was a thrill.
Keenan: You did mean it and that’s okay. Most people aren’t comfortable with my silence. But if we spend time together again, we’ll do it someplace private so I can show you how I like to communicate.
His message had a hair-trigger on her shudder reflex. Everything he said had an underlying edge of sexiness. He probably didn’t mean it that way. It was her own mind leading her astray.
Savannah: If we spend time together again?
She didn’t want there to be any question of if. They would spend time together again. And they would do it soon.
Keenan: That’s up to you.
Was he kidding? Of course she wanted to. She was practically falling over her salivating tongue to grasp the opportunity.
Keenan: Savannah?
She nodded and held his stare.
Savannah: I want to see you again, Keenan.
He typed again.
Keenan: Name the time and place and I’ll try to make it happen.
Her fingers trembled as she looked down at herself. She had no makeup on. No suitable clothing either. All she wore was a white hotel bathrobe.
Savannah: Here. Now.
She held her breath and squinted to catch his expression. A smirk tilted his lips, a devilish, pussy-fluttering smirk she wanted to taste.
Keenan: Are you sure?
“Ha.” Her sanity had the same question, but her body had a mind of its own.
Savannah: Yes.
She opened the curtain wider, letting him see her, properly see her. Robe and all.
Keenan: Be certain, Savannah. We both know I won’t be coming up there to talk.
Oh, Christ. He was giving her an out and there was no way she could take it. She was already lost to anticipation. Her mouth was watering, her nipples hardening. She wanted to be taken by him, to drown under the command of his touch and become a slave to sensation.
Savannah: I’m in room 305.
She watched as he read her message. There was no sly gesture or cocky arrogance at her reply. He merely settled his cell into his jeans pocket and continued to stare up at her.
For long minutes they held the connection. No words. No movements. Just eye contact that grazed every inch of her skin. It was foreplay. Successful foreplay, to say the least. She was already burning for him. Shaking, too.
He pushed from the lamppost, his gaze still locked on her, and strode for the hotel.
Chapter Eleven
Within seconds Savannah was on the phone, insuring reception gave Keenan a card to gain access to the elevator. They weren’t going to mess things up this time. They would see this through. There would be no interruptions from meddling cousins, no misunderstandings. She would have him. No words, no doubts, just no-strings, high-cardio sex that she could shove back in Spencer’s face.
“Oh, shit.”
Her heart rate increased from excitement to horror. She was naked under the robe, her face was probably a smudged mess of mascara and foundation, and she wasn’t even sure if her legs needed a decent shave.
“Oh, fuck.”
Breathe. Relax. She’d just bathed, her body parts should be prime frangipani goodness. But her hair… She ran to the hall mirror and the air left her lungs in relief at her reflection. Her mascara was tight, her cheeks flushed, and her hair pulled up in the butterfly clip had a messy, damsel in distress vibe going that didn’t look all that unappealing.
It would have to do. She wasn’t going to pull out the girlie card and leave him standing at the door so she had a few more minutes to impress him. Yeah, he was sexy. Yeah, he was mysterious as all hell. But she wasn’t going to hyperventilate over imperfection. Not any more than she already had.
She turned back to the room, skimming her vision over the perfectly made bed, the messy table with her laptop and notes scattered everywhere, and finally rested her glare on the disaster t
hat was her suitcase.
A knock sounded on the door behind her, loud and authoritative. The noise ricocheted through the room, her chest, and settled in her heart. Thump thump, thump thump.
She padded down the short hall, an extra sway to her hips, and opened the door. She stood tall, barefoot, and surrounded in fluffy, white material, while he held an air of cool, calm, and collected. His hands were in his pockets, short wisps of his hair falling over his forehead as he peered up under his thick lashes at her.
“Hi.” She tried to clear the arousal from her throat. Tried and failed. His eyes were intense. Dark silver depths holding her against her will.
“I…um…”
He raised a lazy finger to his mouth, demanding silence in the simplest of actions. He stalked forward, once, twice, and even though she didn’t want to retreat, the pure confidence ebbing off him had her sliding from reach. His presence frightened her. It also invigorated. The mere sight of him placed her on a roller coaster rife with sharp bends and terrifying dips.
She’d never been nervous around men, yet Keenan wasn’t merely a man. He was above and beyond. He was one in a million, someone unique and fascinating.
The door drifted shut as he continued to stalk her into the middle of the room, the bed to her right, the television to her left. She was running out of space. Running out of oxygen.
She planted her feet, raised her chin, and swallowed over the palpable chemistry flittering through the air between them. He stopped, too, mere inches from her. His gaze raked her body like a feather, deliciously soft, gliding over her skin, lingering on places she wanted him to touch. To taste.
His hand rose, the calloused palm moving to cup her cheek and steal her breath. There had never been a moment in her life when she’d wanted to be controlled. Not at work. Not in previous relationships. But in this moment, every part of her ached for his mastery. She wanted to be commanded by his eyes alone. To be manipulated by the strength in his grip and the fierceness in his expression. She didn’t need his endearments or his compliments. She didn’t need words at all.
