He usually shares rooms with male colleagues? But he’s mega wealthy, could probably buy the whole hotel with his pocket change. He doesn’t seem gay … and he warned me off earlier. Was it all a cover?
Embarrassingly, he catches me studying him. His eyebrows fold down together, then his mouth quirks up on one side. ‘It’s a suite with two separate bedrooms.’ He shakes his head. ‘It’s for convenience. Your room would be accessible from the outside corridor as well as the lounge of the suite.’
I release a breath. Separate rooms and he’s not into men. Not that I care, about the latter, I’m just pleased he isn’t suggesting we share a room, as Tony probably would have done.
‘Charley?’
‘In that case, no problem. Take it.’ It’ll be a pain to try and find somewhere nearby and I doubt we’ll be in the suite much anyway.
‘If you’re sure? That’s helpful, thank you.’ After a moment Alex hands me a key card and I take it, careful not to let our fingers touch. I so need dinner and then bed. I’m exhausted, and annoyed with him. Some time to get my head together would be heavenly.
‘I will call someone to take your bags up,’ the receptionist says in her lovely lilt as the concierge rolls up with our luggage in a gold trolley.
‘We can manage,’ Alex replies, ‘but thank you.’
I raise an eyebrow. For a billionaire he’s oddly humble. From the bewildered expression on the receptionist’s face she thinks the same but simply nods, handing Alex a slip to sign and asking if he knows where he’s going.
‘Yes, thank you.’ Walking round me, he starts unloading our luggage, looping the strap of his bag diagonally across his broad chest, retrieving his briefcase and folding the suit carrier over the same arm. When he bends over to grab the handle of my case with his free hand, I step forward.
‘That’s okay, I can get it,’ I say hastily.
‘It’s not a problem, honestly,’ he looks up at me.
His dark lashes are so ridiculously long. I edge away. ‘Honestly,’ I echo, ‘I’m fine.’
‘I’m trying to be a gentleman. Are you always this stubborn?’
‘I’m not being stubborn,’ I defend. ‘I just like taking care of myself.’
Picking my case up, he gives me a small smile that curls my toes. ‘Being independent is admirable but it’s okay to accept help sometimes. Now let’s get upstairs and get rid of our bags so we can eat. We have a table booked for eight thirty.’
‘We do?’ I squeak. Being with this guy in a professional setting is one thing, but at a cosy table for two?
‘It’s what usually happens when people go on business trips together.’ He gives me a pointed look. He’s right, damn it. Leading the way to the lift, he stabs a small round button set in a gold panel. ‘Besides, we need to discuss the schedule and how we’ll work best together.’
With me blindfolded so I can’t see your gorgeousness? The knee-jerk thought flashes across my brain.
‘Or do you suggest we sit separately and shout across the restaurant at each other?’ he asks drolly.
‘No, of course not,’ I mutter. Couldn’t he have filled me in on the plane? Although I guess he had other work to do then, and it’s not for me to challenge. But won’t dinner be a bit uncomfortable? My cheeks go hot with irritation as I mentally rehash his snotty remark in the car about almost believing me.
His blue eyes focus on my face like a satellite tracking device. ‘You’re a funny colour again. Are you all right?’
‘Uh-huh. Just a bit warm.’
He stares down at me, eyes narrowed, but thankfully the lift arrives with a discreet ping. He gestures for me to go first and once we’re both in stabs the P button. Excitement leaps up. I’ve never stayed in a penthouse before. Have I fallen asleep and woken up in the middle of Pretty Woman? But of course, I’m not a prostitute and sex is definitely not going to form part of the arrangement for the next few days.
We sink back against opposite walls of the lift. I fan myself, trying to cool down. The memory of his words reverberates through my head and a pressure builds behind my jaw.
‘Did you mean it?’ I blurt.
He raises an eyebrow, ‘Mean what?’
‘What you said in the car? About not believing me? What I said about men and money?’
‘I didn’t say I didn’t believe you. I said I almost could.’
‘Same difference,’ I shoot back. ‘And not very nice.’ Then I snap my teeth shut so I don’t say anything I might regret.
He looks at my hands where they’re clenched at my sides and then back at my face. ‘As far as I’m concerned that discussion was simply an interesting debate.’ Shrugging broad shoulders, ‘But if I upset you I’m sorry.’
It’s hardly the apology of the century but sometimes you have to work with what you’ve got. ‘Thanks.’ I pause, ‘An interesting debate?’ Hmm. ‘Have many of those?’
‘No,’ he looks thoughtful, ‘not really.’
The lift doors open and we walk to the end of a long black-carpeted corridor decorated with white and cream flocked wallpaper and elegant crystal chandeliers.
‘You can access your room here.’ Alex indicates a door set into the wall adjacent to the main suite entrance. ‘But come in through the suite and take a look around. You’ll be free to use the lounge and bar. You’ve got to see the view, it’s spectacular.’ He swipes his key card over the reader on the door frame and takes our stuff in without waiting for an answer.
The door clicks shut quietly as I wander through the hall with its luxurious gold-toned carpet. Alex deposits our luggage against a wall as I enter the lounge, but I’m barely aware of him.
The suite’s gorgeous, more like a posh flat on the Thames than hotel accommodation. The room is done out in calming beige tones, with plush gold-hue carpet. Two white oversized leather sofas form an L-shape, strategically placed in front of panoramic windows overlooking the brightly lit city below us and the wide blue Mediterranean beyond it. At the end of each sofa is a glass vase filled with white roses on a black table and there’s a small bar with optics in the closest corner of the room.
The only hotel room I’ve ever stayed in with its own bar was bright yellow with orange and blue swirly covers on narrow twin beds. The bar consisted of a tiny fridge full of miniature bottles costing a bomb and a wonky wooden shelf above it holding a selection of neon plastic tumblers. I may have been a manager but the money wasn’t fantastic and London is so expensive unless you live on the outskirts and commute. Our flat is pretty much in the heart of the city so holiday budgets never stretch to much.
Inhaling the scent of polish and subtle fragrance of the roses, I try to look unimpressed but epically fail by zipping over to the window and pressing warm fingers against the cool glass to take in the view. Amazing. It feels like I could fly. I’m lost in the moment, swept away in the heady sense of freedom and feeling of weightlessness from being so high up. ‘It’s beautiful,’ I murmur at last, turning round to find Alex right behind me, only a foot away, ‘absolutely breathtaking.’
He steps forward. ‘I couldn’t agree more.’ But he’s not looking over my shoulder out of the glass, he’s staring at me, eyes intense.
Breathless and crowded and incredibly excited, I step back but hit the window. There’s nowhere to go. A wall of heat builds in the space between us, a magnetic force field pulling us together.
But Alex obviously doesn’t feel the same. Shaking his head as if rousing from a dream, he swings away. ‘Dining room through here.’ His tone is abrupt. Without waiting, he marches into the next room.
Stumbling in my high heels to catch up, my brain is so muddled that when Alex halts in his tracks I slam into him, my boobs crushing up against the warmth and hardness of his back through his suit jacket. ‘Sorry.’ My face and certain areas below my waist heat instantly.
Going rigid, he throws an accusatory glance over his shoulder as he puts space between us. He looks so stern I want to giggle, but hold back. Stepping awa
y, he stuffs his hands in his pockets, glaring out the window. I frown. It was his fault for stopping like that, so one apology is enough. Leaving him to brood, I run a cursory glance over the long glass table and red velvet chairs, which could comfortably seat a football team, before hurrying back into the lounge. I gasp as I notice the baby grand piano tucked away in the other corner and go over to it. Sweeping my hand over the curved lid, I recall the weekly piano lessons Mum insisted on. She was right to make me take them. Being able to play an instrument is a joy and music has always been there for me, giving me the escape I longed for as a teenager.
Alex marches in, an unreadable expression crossing his face.
I snatch my hand away. ‘Sorry, it’s probably just for show isn’t it?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it.’
‘Never? But if you’ve stayed here before … ?’
He smiles wryly. ‘I hardly even noticed it’s in here. I might have the first time, but that was a long time ago.’
He looks suddenly exhausted, the lines bracketing his luscious mouth, making it more noticeable. An overwhelming need to order him to sit down, fix him a drink and tell him to lay his head in my lap sweeps through me. Hang on a sec. What?
As he shakes his head, it drags me from my thoughts. ‘Can you play?’ He looks genuinely curious.
I nod, latching onto the question gladly. ‘I’m reasonable, had lessons when I was younger. Occasionally I teach myself songs. I’m lucky enough to have a good ear. Still, if I’d kept tuition up I’d be much better now.’
‘Do you get much of a chance to play?’
‘Only when I visit my family and use the one in the village pub.’
‘The pub has a piano?’
‘Yes. It’s a bit of a mishmash really, traditional versus quirky. Chess matches on Mondays and Rock Karaoke on Wednesdays and Saturdays, live music on a Friday, but it works, you know?’
‘Not really.’ For an instant he looks wistful, but the expression passes. ‘But I can imagine.’ Nodding at the piano: ‘Use it whenever you want.’
‘Thanks.’ I don’t like that I’m touched by his suggestion. ‘I uh, think I’ll go and unpack.’
‘I’ll show you to your room.’ He strolls over to an unmarked door tucked away in the corner.
Grabbing my case, I follow him. When the door clicks shut behind me the room suddenly feels tiny even though it’s huge. Alex in my bedroom. Unsettling. Tempting.
‘Here you go.’ Oblivious to my feelings, he throws the curtains open to reveal a sensational view of the teeming port. I swing my case onto the queen-sized bed, unzip it and hover. I can’t unpack in front of him, it’s too personal.
Alex checks his watch. ‘I’m going to take a quick shower and change for dinner.’ He starts tugging at his tie.
‘Right. I guess I’ll do the same. How long before I need to be ready?’
The tie comes off and is tucked away inside a pocket. ‘Half an hour?’ He undoes his top button as he saunters past me to the door.
I catch a glimpse of olive skin over broad collarbone with a hint of chest hair in the open neck of his white shirt. Hormones take over. He’s mouth-watering. Stop undressing. I beg silently. No, keep going. Oh, heck. His lips are moving but I’m deaf to any words. ‘Pardon?’ I ask.
‘I asked whether you’ll be ready for dinner on time.’
‘Yes, no problem.’
‘No problem?’ A smile plays around his mouth. ‘If you are, you’ll be the first woman of my acquaintance capable of it.’
‘Maybe I’m not like the other women you’re acquainted with then,’ I lift my chin, holding direct eye contact. ‘I’ll be ready,’ I glance at the slim silver watch on my wrist, ‘by eight fifteen.’ Twenty seven minutes. It’s not long but I’ll do it, just to show him.
‘I look forward to it.’ His smirk says he fully expects me to fail.
It feels like I’m at the Olympics, on the starting line. I fling open my suitcase, ready for the gun to fire to begin the race.
‘I’ll see you soon.’ His hand is on the door handle, straight-faced but a glint of humour in his eyes.
‘Fine.’ Picking up my wash bag, I fight back a smile.
‘I’ll be waiting in the suite.’ He pulls the door open.
‘Perfect.’ My fingers inch towards my black stilettos.
‘Actually, I’ll knock for you.’
He’s determined to not give me an extra second isn’t he? ‘Suits me,’ I say lightly. I put a hand on one hip, striving for casual, turn and manoeuvre myself so the other hand can grope around in the case behind me.
He watches every move. ‘I’ll leave you to it then.’
‘Okay.’
Shaking his head, he slides from the room and I spin round to my case. Just as the door swings shut, his voice echoes through the tiny gap, ‘I’ll be waiting.’
It makes me laugh and I shake my head.
Right. Focus. Twenty-five minutes left. I lay out minuscule black lace underwear and a favourite evening dress I packed with two others, just in case. Tight, deep-purple, strapless and with small jewel-encrusted pockets, the hem is just above the knee. It’s one of those dresses that makes you feel good, boosts your confidence. And the hotel is so posh I have to dress up.
I pelt into the bathroom but am still able to appreciate the modern black and white tiles, the corner bath with jets and the gloriously huge walk-in shower. It’s divine. Imagine waking up to this every day. Bliss. Pulling on a shower cap, I push a button and step into the hot blast of water. I’d love to wash my hair – it’s gone wild from snow and wind and dry cabin air – but I don’t have time. Scrubbing with branded complementary shower gel and realising Alex is probably showering only a handful of feet away, my eyes slide shut. Imagine what he’d look like without his formal suit, stripped bare. Broad chest, long muscular arms and legs plus other interesting parts. He’s bound to be a dream naked. The man looks built. I bet he has a six-pack.
I inhale sharply, nipples tightening, an answering throb between my legs. No, stop it. To shake loose the dirty thoughts, I turn the temperature down, gasping as the icy needles chill my skin. It does the trick, reining my hormones in. Turning the shower off, I step from the cubicle, whip off the shower cap and dry briskly with the fluffy bath sheets, finishing up with lashings of moisturiser. Applying light make-up, I unpin and brush out my hair, tying it in a messy topknot and spraying it with gloss-effect hairspray.
Darting into the bedroom, I tug on underwear, ignoring the horrible slide of fabric on cream-dampened skin. Scrambling into the dress, I adjust it to sit right on my waist and hips and hold my boobs in. Threading on dangly jet black earrings and a matching chunky necklace, I spray on perfume before bucketing around the room for a quick tidy. I check my watch as I strap it back on. 8.13 p.m. Last thing is to slide my size-eight elephant feet into black suede-effect stiletto heels.
Although expected, the loud rap at the door still makes me jump.
‘It’s Alex,’ his voice is muffled, ‘ready?’
‘Yes,’ I holler, ‘come in.’
Alex enters as I’m reaching across the bed to grab my clutch bag.
‘That,’ his voice sounds strangled, ‘is impressive.’
Standing, I note the new form-fitting black suit and pale-blue shirt that sets off his eyes spectacularly. No tie tonight, top button undone. I prefer the slightly more casual look on him and gulp. ‘Thanks. I said I’d be ready in time.’ I can’t help gloating.
He smiles, acknowledging my victory. ‘Yes, you did, though I was talking about– Ah, never mind, you look very smart.’
‘Thanks.’ Smart? I can’t remember the last time I’ve been so deflated by a compliment. It’s not as if we’re on a date, it’s a work dinner and we’re just colleagues, but would it have killed him to dream up something better than you look smart? It’s what Mum said on the first day of school or what Gran might remark about one of my more modest dresses. Huh. ‘Shall we go t
hen?’ Moving past Alex, I grab the door handle.
‘Charley.’
‘Yes?’ I’m startled to find my nose practically pressed against his shirt front when I spin around. Too close. Way too close. He smells gorgeous and my knees go liquid.
He puts some room between us. ‘I was just going to say that … ’ he trails off, rubbing the back of his neck.
‘Yes?’ A long uncomfortable pause follows. ‘What is it?’
‘Nothing.’
A silence drags out. I’m ultra aware of my bare legs and tiny underwear, the raw urge to bridge the distance to him, push my hands into that thick, dark hair and kiss him. I tighten my grip around the door handle, using it to anchor me to reality. It’s difficult. His eyes are so blue staring into them all day would be no hardship at all.
‘I mean, I just remembered,’ he says in a deep rock-star husky voice, ‘that I need to make a quick call.’
I blink. Now, just as we’re going to dinner? After how keen he was for me to be ready on time? It must be important. It’s after office hours, so perhaps it’s his girlfriend he needs to phone. In the car he said he didn’t have one, but his definition of girlfriend and mine might be different. I don’t like the twitch in my stomach at the thought.
‘I’ll go downstairs then.’ I murmur. ‘Meet you in the bar?’
‘Yes. I’ll be down shortly.’
‘Okay.’
‘Okay.’
I’m pinned to the door by the intense expression on his face. It’s like he wants to say something but can’t quite get it out. What? Please don’t tell me about your girlfriend. I don’t want to know.
‘I’ll bring a copy of the schedule down with me,’ he states.
His reminder that this is work is the perfect push to break away. ‘Great.’ Whirling around, I leave as fast as possible on my high heels. I need time. I need space. And for the sake of my sanity I need to see him as my boss … not a man.
Chapter Seven
‘Bugger!’ While talking on my mobile to Jess, I hunt for a quiet corner in the hotel bar. The call will cost money I don’t have, but this is an emergency. ‘Bugger, bugger, bugger!’
The Little Shop of Afternoon Delights Page 29
