IN ROOM 33

by EC Sheedy

Joy dropped her robe and stepped into the tub. When it was full enough, she turned off the noisy, complaining taps and sank under the water to drench her hair. Her own temperature was so high, the hot water felt as cool as a morning lagoon. She stayed underwater until she needed air and popped up.

  And when she popped up, so did the thought of the two million dollars she had in her First Bank account.

  Wade wasn't going to understand. She didn't understand it herself. Why had she taken it? Anger, rebelliousness... greed? Or because her own genes swam in the same pool as her mother's. She went under again, as if the guilt could be washed away by hot water and a promised glass of cool white wine. She'd have to tell Wade, and in an odd way even wanted to, but not tonight. Unpleasant truths were best served whole, in the morning sunlight, when there were no shadows to hide in.

  Tonight there was only Wade.

  She lathered her body, gave her thoughts to the present; the clean forest scent permeating Wade's bathroom, the liquid seduction of the deep, old tub, and the glide of the soap bar, slick and foamy, over her sensitized skin. Quivery and agitated, she closed her eyes, listened to the soft piano jazz now coming from the next room, and tried to relax. But with her eyes closed, her imagination, all heat and flashing images, heightened every sense until she trembled.

  When she ran the soap over the curls of her pubis and along her cleft, the sexual jolt shocked her eyes open. She looked down at her hard-jutting nipples, felt the heavy throb between her thighs—the deep fever of wanting.

  And there was no need to wait.

  No need to hesitate.

  She rested her hands on the sides of the tub, inhaled to calm herself, and looked at the closed bathroom door. She took another breath. "Wade. Are you there?"

  A couple of seconds passed. "You need something?"

  She knew from his voice he was outside the door.

  "I've been thinking about that back scrub," she lied, knowing her real thoughts were X-rated and, for now at least, best kept to herself.

  The door opened and Wade stood in the doorway. He wore jeans, a denim shirt with half the buttons undone, and he was carrying a bottle of white wine and two glasses. "Back scrub, huh? Can I take that as code for the beginning of phase one?"

  She pulled the facecloth she had covering her breasts under the water. "You can."

  His gaze slid to her water-slicked breasts and his eyes went dark. She saw his chest heave. Wine bottle now dangling from his hand, he looked at her as if he never wanted to stop. "I sure as hell hope you're not expecting too much in the way of foreplay." He smiled but something more serious was going on in his eyes.

  The light in the bathroom was white and harsh and the water without benefit of bubbles; Joy leaned back to let him see all of her. Her nipples were at the waterline, shifting above or below the water on each breath. "I'm expecting to have a good time," she said, denying to him and herself any possible need for more. She pushed her wet hair back, lifted it from her nape, and leaned forward in the tub. "And as I recall, you're the one who mentioned back scrubs. Now you're reneging?" Joy's throat was tight with half-truths and the effort to act as if none of this mattered. Because it did matter, so much more than she wanted to admit.

  Wade didn't move. "Just thinking."

  She lifted her eyebrows. "Can you add something to that? I'm not getting it."

  He set the wine and glasses on the floor near the door, and stood over her, his expression strained. "I haven't had sex in almost two years, Cole. I thought I could handle it"—he scanned her naked body through the clear water, his gaze uncertain—"now I'm not so sure. That good time you want? It's not going to be the first run out of the gate. You ready for that?"

  "A man who apologizes in advance for bad sex. That's a first." She managed a smile, ran a hand along his thigh, felt it tense, saw the damp stains her wet hand left behind.

  He smiled back and rested his hand over hers. "Bad for you, sweetheart. Heaven for me. That body of yours is an oasis after a very long time in the desert." He popped the studs on his denim shirt. He had it off in a nanosecond. His jeans and briefs were next. He was beautiful, his body long and lean with muscles to match.

  And his erection was astonishing.

  He glanced down at her. "I can guarantee I'm healthy, but if you're worried"—he held up a condom—"or need protection?"

  She shook her head. "Pill."

  He tossed the condom, looked at the high bathroom ceiling, and let out a long breath. "I must be living right. Slide down," he instructed. She did and he took a position behind her, spread his legs as wide as the old tub allowed and pulled her against him, pressing his hard length against her buttocks and back.

  "Jesus, you feel good." He pushed her hair aside, kissed her nape, and took the weight of her breasts in his hands. When he gently tugged her stiffened nipples, her lungs emptied of air and her eyes drifted closed. He ran his hand down, across her belly, cupped her. "So good..."

  Her head fell back against his shoulder, the muscles no longer able to hold it upright. She moaned and arched into his hand.

  He let her go, gripped the sides of the tub. She thought of a white-knuckle flier bringing a 747 in for a landing.

  He swore, and the breath he let out across her shoulder was as ragged as if it had been wrung from him by thumbscrews. "This is going to be worse than I thought."

  He rested his head back against the tub. "Give me a minute."

  The tub was wide enough for Joy to shift around and make a turn. When she faced him, she reached under the water and ran her index finger the length of his erection, then leaned close to whisper against his mouth. "How about the first time is for you, and the second time for me?" She lifted herself, drew his need to hers, and centered herself over him. He grabbed her by the waist, held her above him and stared into her eyes, his own half wild. "You sure about this?"

  She heard the rasp of his breathing, felt the heat of his grip to the marrow of her melting bones."Just fuck me, Wade." She closed his eyes with kisses, and trailed a finger along his cheek to touch his lips. "After that... we'll make love."

  He arched up, and at the same time pulled her down hard, filled her completely.

  Water sloshed over the edge of the tub. He thrust up, tested her limits, and Joy gasped, her inner walls stretching to take his penis, deep. Deeper. Inside he touched all of her, his hot, internal strokes rubbing, pulling...

  Her body closed tight around him, claimed him, and throbbed mercilessly in its need for more. She clasped his shoulders and hung on—gave herself in a way she'd never given to a man. The ride was fierce and wild. She was for him. All for him.

  Her nails curled into his straining muscles.

  He groaned, thrust upward again, his penetration straight, deep, and powerful—his ejaculation explosive. Water from the tub erupted, showered the walls, cascaded to soak the bathroom floor.

  Wanting more, she crumpled against him, panted to cool her denied release.

  Holding her close, Wade rested his forehead against hers, and for a few minutes all he did was breathe. "I don't know whether to cheer or apologize." He shifted back, touched her face, his gaze dark and soft. "Will a very sincere thank-you do?"

  "For now," she murmured. Her words sounded alien, forced out while she still tried to cool down, soothe the throbbing ache between her legs.

  "I owe you, Mizz Cole."

  "You do." She shoved his dark hair back from his forehead. "And very shortly"—she pressed herself into the cradle of his thighs, made a circular motion—"I plan to collect."

  "And I'm looking forward to servicing my debt. But not here." He pulled her face to his and kissed her. When she wrapped her arms around him to deepen it, his chest expanded and contracted in a series of uneven breaths. "Somewhere I can do you justice." He ran his hands over her water-slicked buttocks, squeezed. "Although if we stay hip-locked much longer that might not be an option."

  Reluctantly, she let him go and stepped out of the tub. The mirror over the bat
hroom sink held traces of steam, as did she, and it wasn't the draft coming from the open bathroom door making her shiver. It was the emptiness between her legs.

  Wade followed her out of the bath and immediately wrapped her in a towel. Ignoring his own nakedness, he grasped the edges of the towel, pulled her close, and held her to him. Joy tried to control the tremors, the shifting, clamoring need for him coursing like a mad thing through her blood and sinew. She pulled in a deep grounding breath, released it, and reminded herself she was a patient woman. Trouble was, right now she didn't feel like one.

  Wade took a step back from her, tilted his dark head to look into her eyes. "You're in trouble, aren't you?"

  "Good trouble. And nothing that can't wait." About sixty seconds.

  He pulled the towel away from her, dropped it on the floor. "Turn around." He gripped her by the shoulders, guiding her until her back was to him. "Lean back on me." He moved the sodden hair from her nape and kissed her, and she felt him harden against her. His voice was rough when he whispered in her ear. "Open for me." He ran his hands down and across her stomach to cup her, exerting pressure with the heel of his hand.

  Joy let her head fall back against his shoulder. The coolness brought by the draft against her skin burned off by the furnace stoked by Wade's deft hand.

  Her skin feverish, she rolled her hips forward, put her hands behind her to grip his muscled buttocks and spread her legs.

  "That's good," he murmured into her neck.

  "This is a bit"—she gasped when he slid his finger through her damp curls, ran it through her cleft—"more"—he rubbed her engorged clitoris, and she bucked into his hand. The part of her brain controlling speech now set to off. She moaned, her body's focus on the sexual strings Wade played within her, the expert fingers separating her folds, caressing her, circling her, stroking her...

  Taut and out of her mind, she panted, strained wildly toward a crescendo, the dark magic of release.

  Her lungs filled, then emptied. "Oh, God, Wade..."

  Moisture came with a heated rush, and when his long, expert fingers entered her to probe and stroke, Joy climaxed in a blur of gasping, grasping lungs and fevered exultation. When her knees started to buckle, Wade held her tight, one big hand enfolding her pubis, the other splayed across her belly. His growing erection pressed against her backside, he turned her to face him. His smile wais slight and lopsided, his own breath patchy when he asked, "You were saying?"

  She took a breath or two, and when she could speak with something close to a normal tone, she wrapped her arms around his narrow waist, and met his eyes. "I can't remember exactly. But I think it was something about the... sex between us, being more, uh, bold than I expected, for a first time. I'm not usually—" She stopped, wondered how far to go. "So..."

  "Hot?" He caressed her face.

  She nodded, stunned by a blush snaking its way up her neck. She never blushed. And after what she and Wade had done, pink was a monumentally stupid choice of color.

  "We wanted each other." He took her face in his hands and his eyes rested on her, at first quiet and warm, then with a growing intensity. "And as for the hot part, you sure as hell weren't alone."

  "I noticed." She smiled at him.

  He looked vaguely embarrassed before grinning and reaching down to pick up the wine and glasses. "At least these escaped the tsunami."

  She followed his gaze, saw his jeans and shirt and her robe were soaked from the tub water. He put a fresh towel around her.

  "Come on. I'll get us dry clothes." He took her hand and led her out of the bathroom.

  Joy followed him to the main room. All the Phil's rooms were originally suites, with a sitting area, a bedroom, and private bath. All had been luxurious in their day, and all—except for hers, Room 33—had been bastardized into live-in apartments with cheap kitchens added to the sitting area as time and the tides of fortune beat the Phil into economic submission.

  Wade went to his closet, pulled out a cotton robe, and tossed it at her, while he stepped into another pair of jeans. Not bothering with briefs, she noticed, and, semi-aroused, very careful of the zipper.

  She wrapped herself in the robe and settled on his sagging sofa while he poured them both a glass of wine. He joined her, rested a plate of cheese between them on the sofa.

  "To bold sex." He lifted his glass, grinned. "And plenty of it."

  Joy laughed and the sound of their glasses clinking filled the quiet room. The sex had been bold, without promises, and unlikely to lead to anything but more of the same. Exactly what they'd planned, what she'd wanted. She should be satisfied, not confused. What had happened between her and Wade was supposed to be just sex, heavy on the just. No life stories exchanged, no connections made—other than physical—and no ambitions for anything more.

  Joy's hand trembled when she raised her wineglass to take another drink. Maybe she was more like her mother than she realized. She might not use men by diving into their wallets, but she'd used her share as conveniences for sex, occasionally for company—without ever truly knowing them or caring to. Until now. Now she wanted to know everything about the man in front of her. She didn't know what this unusual and intense curiosity meant, but she knew she had to satisfy it. And there was a better-than-even chance Wade wouldn't appreciate her inquisitiveness.

  Her chest tense, simmering in fear, she sipped her wine and considered how to take the next step.

  * * *

  Wade's head was a sandstorm. For a man who prided himself on his cool, he felt like an adolescent who'd graduated from looking at breasts in Playboy to copping his first glorious feel. Joy Cole was TNT, and she'd landed on his doorstep unlabeled. He didn't want her to leave anytime soon. But someone sure as hell did. Joy was in danger in the Phil, and he'd better put his acne-faced feelings on hold until things were sorted out.

  He looked at her, pensive as hell across from him on the sofa—within arm's reach. And reach for her was what he wanted to do, but he also wanted to give her a rest.

  He'd been rough in the tub. Hell, he was getting hard again thinking about it. He wasn't a small man, and she'd taken all of him, fast and deep, given him exactly what he needed the way he needed it. Not many women would do that.

  He loaded a cracker with creamy brie and handed it to her. "Why so serious?"

  "I'm fighting an uncontrollable urge to ask you questions." She munched on the cracker. "I don't usually do that."

  "Eat crackers? Or ask questions?"

  "You're sidestepping."

  "Some." Wade knew what was coming, and figured now was as good a time as any to face it. For one thing, if he was going to buy the hotel from her, she deserved to know his past.

  He fixed himself a piece of cheese, moved the plate to the low table holding a lamp beside the sofa."You want to ask about my jail time. Right?"

  "Yes."

  "And if I don't want to talk about it?"

  "I'll understand." She tilted her head. "Although you did say you were a pushover after sex."

  He smiled. "I did, didn't I?"

  She nodded.

  He got up, gripped his glass by the rim, and walked to the table. He set the glass down, and took a chair to face her."You know the charges?"

  She waited, her big blues fixed on him, holding him like one of those sci-fi tractor beams.

  "From merchant banking, I set out on my own. Started a company to specialize in financial consulting and mergers and acquisitions. Emerson Inc. No points for a cute name. The economy was hot. The markets were hot. The company was on fire, and I was trying to do everything myself. I was living on a plane and working hundred-hour weeks. I knew I couldn't keep up the pace, so I hired a Chief Financial Officer—"

  "Enter the woman?"

  "Deanna Nash." He met Joy's intense gaze. "She came with degrees and experience to burn. I gave her the financial end, while I looked after the growing list of clients." He poured himself another glass of wine. I was still living on planes, but I figured I had the home
base covered.

  "Deanna was so damned efficient it was scary. The more work I gave her, the more she asked for. We were a good team." He stopped, remembered those heady days. Hot sex, piles of money, and a seriously bloated ego. What an ass he'd been.

  "You slept with her."

  "I thought I wanted to marry her." He watched Joy's gaze slide away, then back again.

  "And?"

  "The short version? She took me. Big time. And I was stupid enough to let her. I found out later she'd come to Emerson's owing some not-so-nice people a lot of money. To pay them she siphoned off clients' funds. After she'd paid them off, she started to pay herself."

  "How did you find out?"

  "I didn't. The IRS did. Then the banks."

  Joy shifted on the sofa, and the robe fell away to show one clean, shiny knee. "And then?"

  "At first I didn't believe it. I stood by her—which ended up helping the DA's obstruction charge big time. Deanna swore she never made a move without consulting me—that my signature was on every transaction." He pulled an earlobe, hard; he hated revisiting his own idiocy.

  "And had you signed everything?"

  "Yeah. I trusted her. And I'd stopped reading the fine print." Just about the time they started sleeping together. He stopped, not sure where to go from here. Even he couldn't admit aloud how he'd let his cock negate his common sense. "Reading the fine print was my job. It was right I take the fall."

  "What happened next?"

  "I paid back all the money, and what might have been an eight-to-ten year sentence translated into under two and a hefty fine."

  "And Deanna?"

  "She got a slap on the wrist for not standing up to the big, bad boss, and walked into the sunset with a much heftier Swiss bank account than she had before she joined me." He laughed, although even to him it sounded hollow. "She married my defense attorney."

  Joy's eyes hadn't left his face—now they did. She set her wineglass on the table and stood. She walked over to where he sat and, standing over him, ran her fingers through his damp hair. "Sounds to me as if you got off easy. You should count your blessings."

  "I do." He grasped her hands, kissed her knuckles, and pulled her onto his lap. "Especially the blessings you gave me in the tub." He parted the flimsy cotton robe, exposed her breasts, and took one in his hand. Smooth, firm, and high, it begged to be kissed. He turned her to straddle him, lifted her until her nipples were mouth level, and licked the one most convenient before sucking it in, hard and deep. Her stomach contracted and she tightened her fists in his hair.