Gray Wolf Security: Back Home

by Glenna Sinclair

  “Not your fault.”

  “It is. I shouldn’t have let her talk me into going to the bar.”

  I waved a hand at her as the phone was answered. I quickly expressed the issue, suggesting the night supervisor send one of the floor finishers up to clean the elevator I’d stopped on this floor.

  “You can come rinse them out in my room if you’d like. It’s the least I can do.”

  She surprised me, this woman. Just yesterday she was telling me that she didn’t want some minimum wage earning person going through her things and now she was offering to allow me to wash my vomit-soaked pants in her bathroom. No amount of guilt would cause such a twist in opinion in less than a day, would it? She was a ball of contradictions.

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  She glanced into the room where Alison rested peacefully, then led the way out and across the hall. She gestured for me to go first.

  “You know where it is.”

  “Thank you.”

  I locked myself in the bathroom, the smell making my own stomach churn. It was enough to temper the guilt I would normally feel in taking advantage of a guest by using their facilities for my own purposes. I had a change of clothes downstairs, but the idea of walking around in this filth longer than I had to was simply impossible.

  I slipped out of my shoes and realized that the smelly vomitus had pooled in them as well. I cleaned them as best as I could, removing my slacks and socks and rinsing them in the sink, disgusted by the recognizable chunks of food Alison had eaten for dinner. It was too much…I was pretty sure I would never take another sip of gin or eat another helping of rice for the rest of my life.

  Once I was finished and the smell of gin and sour stomach acid was replaced by the sickly sweet scent of the hotel hand soap, I dried my things as best as I could by wringing them out. I carefully put them back on, just as disgusted by the wetness sticking against my ankles as I was by anything else this night. I simply wanted to go home and take a long, hot shower.

  Shaw was standing on the balcony outside the bedroom, the doors left standing open so that the breeze blew the sheer curtains dramatically into the room. She’d shed her own clothing, still drenched in gin, in favor of a light t-shirt and a pair of men’s boxers. She turned when she heard me step out of the bathroom, her face a complicated mix of regret and guilt.

  “I’m sorry,” she said again as I approached the balcony. “She’s going through a hard time right now. I don’t think she would act that way otherwise.”

  “It’s fine. I work housekeeping. I’ve seen worse.”

  She smiled softly, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Can I offer you anything? A drink?”

  I laughed. “I think I’ve gotten my quota of alcohol for today through osmosis.”

  She nodded, her eyes falling from my face to my ankles. “I’m really sorry. You can send me the dry cleaning bill.”

  “It’s not your fault. I’m sure Mrs. Michaels can take full responsibility for herself once she’s sober.”

  “She won’t remember any of what happened tonight.”

  “I don’t suppose she will.”

  There was this wistfulness about Shaw in that moment, this sort of desperation that I didn’t understand. But it made her beautiful in a strange sort of way. It softened the curve of her lips, the deep blue that was the color of her eyes. And it made me lose my head a little.

  I touched her. I had my place in this hotel and I knew mixing business with pleasure was a mistake I couldn’t afford to make. I’d been so careful for too many years to allow myself to cross this particular line. But I couldn’t help myself. As dangerous as it was, I wanted to touch her.

  She looked up at me, her lips slightly parted in surprise. How could I resist that?

  I kissed her, my lips lingering against hers. She sighed softly, her hand coming to rest on the center of my chest as it had the day before when I came to her door. There’d been something about the way she touched me then, about the way she looked up at me, that I hadn’t been able to resist. I didn’t break that particular contact and I had no intention of breaking it now, either.

  I liked the feeling of her hand on my chest.

  I grasped her upper arms and pulled her closer to me, pressing my lips almost roughly to hers. She opened to me almost immediately, not even waiting for me to ask with a certain movement, with a flick of my tongue. She opened to me like we had known each other a lifetime and this was something she’d been waiting a long time to experience. And, the thing was, that was exactly how it felt to me. She was familiar to me in a way she shouldn’t have been.

  We kissed for a long time, the cool evening breeze brushing over us. I could feel her chest heaving against mine, could feel her pulse racing where my fingers pressed into her arms. I wanted to pick her up and carry her to the bed. In fact, my hands moved down her back, moved over her hips, her ass, grasping her high on her thighs in a place that would have made it easy to lift her legs over my waist. But when my mouth slipped over her throat and the reality of what I was doing rushed through me in that split second of clarity between deciding and doing, I knew I was going to regret this.

  If she knew the truth about me…

  I grasped her wrists as I’d done to Alison earlier, her pulse rushing in a way Alison’s had not done, and pushed her gently back.

  “I should go.”

  Her eyes darkened slightly, but she only nodded.

  “Shaw, I just…I work here.”

  “I know. It’s fine.”

  I backed away, suddenly very aware of the wetness of my socks and my slacks, of the coldness coming from the moisture. “I’ll be by in the morning for the daily housekeeping.”

  “You could just leave a stack of towels, save yourself the trouble.”

  Her tone was cutting, but there was a flash of hurt in her eyes before she turned and leaned her arms on the balcony railing.

  “I’ll see you in the morning,” I repeated.

  I let myself out silently, pleased to see the elevator was clean and working again. I walked around to the service elevator, the stink of my dirty clothing following me all the way home like a mocking laugh follows a humiliated victim of bullies. I tossed the whole mess in a trash bag the moment I walked through the door of my apartment, throwing it all down the trash chute. I didn’t want to deal with it, didn’t want to be reminded of my personal humiliation.

  I had a hard time sleeping that night. Every time I closed my eyes I saw that flash of hurt in Shaw’s eyes. Every time I licked my lips, I could taste her there despite the toothpaste I’d used. She was getting under my skin and I didn’t know what to do about it.

  My mother told me once that this would happen, that I would someday meet a woman who would have incredible power over me for reasons I would never begin to comprehend. She told me that was what had happened between her and my father despite the fact that his religion and his beliefs did not allow for such a union. But he couldn’t fight it and neither would I.

  Was she right? Had I finally found my match?

  Or was I just a lonely man attracted to a very beautiful woman?

  Chapter 7

  Shaw

  I curled up on the balcony with a cup of coffee sent upstairs from room service. Alison was unconscious as usual. I went over to check on her when I woke this morning—woke being an interesting word since I had a really hard time sleeping at all last night—and she seemed fine. Her breathing steady, her pulse normal. She was just passed out from too much gin.

  Joss had told me Alison was a troubled woman. She’d never told me she was also an alcoholic.

  I stared out over the city, thinking about things I didn’t want to think about. My mother called less than an hour ago. She wanted to tell me how disappointed—again—all her colleagues at Stanford were that I’d refused their generous offer of enrollment. I’d left them all with egg on their faces, apparently, after they’d gone out of their way to secure me a spot, only to force them to
turn around and leave the administration scrambling to fill my place with someone on the wait list. I wanted to remind her that I’d never asked for that spot, but she wouldn’t listen any more this time than she had the last.

  I shouldn’t let it bother me, but it did. It was hard to hear disappointment in my mother’s voice and not take it personally. If only she could see how well I’d done in the Marines, how well I intended to do at Gray Wolf. But she saw all this as beneath her, an embarrassment to the family name. She was ashamed to tell her friends what I was doing for a living these days. And that…that bothered me.

  Why couldn’t they be proud that I’d chosen my own path? Why couldn’t they wish me happiness and accept that this made me happy?

  I would never understand my parents.

  I sipped my coffee, silently hoping Alison would feel poorly when she woke and would remain in her room for the rest of the day. I really wasn’t much in the mood to chase her all over town and watch her self-destruct. Again.

  I didn’t want to see anyone. I wanted to sit here and feel sorry for myself. Everyone had a right to do that from time to time, right?

  But, of course, it wasn’t meant to be. There was a knock on the door almost the moment I had that thought.

  I got up slowly, setting my coffee on the small table on the balcony, leaving the bedroom and crossing to the dining alcove in order to cover the electronic equipment. A quick look at the appropriate monitor showed Alison still sound asleep and no movement at all inside her room. There was a maid’s cart several doors down from hers and another outside my door, Malik Bailey standing patiently there with his hands clasped behind his back. I couldn’t see his face, but I could imagine the blank expression it held. Nothing seemed to faze that man, not even—but, no, I wasn’t going to let myself go there. I had enough weighing my shoulders down this morning.

  Yet, it was like a wall we’d built around ourselves that was evident the moment I opened the door.

  “Ms. Easton,” he said politely as our eyes met.

  “I told you, just Shaw.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He gestured behind me. “Would you mind if I enter and clean your bathroom?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  He tilted his head to one side. “We all have choices.”

  It was like talking to a Buddhist or something. I stepped back and watched him cross the room, his eyes darting here and there as he searched for other things to clean besides my toothpaste stains in the sink. I followed, but instead of enjoying the show, I returned to the balcony to finish my coffee. Why watch the show when he made it clear last night he wasn’t interested?

  I sat back in a lounge chair and held my coffee mug against my belly, staring off over the city. It was a beautiful day, the skies clear and a breeze bringing the salty smells of the ocean. I would love to go walk on the beach, but the surveillance equipment wasn’t very portable. Not that I was terribly worried that Alison’s husband would show up. It’d been nearly a week and there was still no sign of him, which implied to me that he really didn’t care enough to come steal her away. But this was the job and I had to finish it.

  I didn’t realize Malik had come to the balcony doors until he cleared his throat. I glanced back at him, the sight of him standing there causing a flash of memory that was almost too strong to push away. I could still taste his lips, still feel his hands on my arms. A part of me really wanted to stand and crawl into his arms, to beg him to touch me that way again. But I’d never begged for a man’s attention before and I wasn’t going to start now.

  “Finished?”

  “Would you like the sheets on your bed changed?”

  I shook my head. “No. Just the fresh towels, please.”

  He inclined his head, a slight frown marring his perfect lips. “There’s nothing else I can do for you?”

  I turned back to the cityscape. “No.”

  He was quiet for a moment, then walked away, the sound of the door closing firmly behind him like a physical blow that only added to the verbal pelting my mother had offered this morning. I closed my eyes and offered the world a few choice curse words before jumping to my feet, determined to get this day started with a little more optimism than it’d held so far.

  This was my life and I was going to live it the way I wanted. To hell with my mother, with Alison, and Malik. To hell with everything!

  I showered and dressed in capris and a long blouse, taking that walk on the beach despite everything. Alison was still where I’d left her when I came back. No harm done.

  And I felt a hell of a lot better.

  Chapter 8

  Malik

  “You should go ask for her number,” Jake said, jabbing me in the ribs with his elbow.

  “How old are we?”

  He laughed. “Old enough to know what she’s thinking with that look. If she was looking at me that way, you’d bet I’d have her number. Hell, I’d have her in the backseat of my car!”

  I looked over at the woman he was referring to and watched her giggle with her friend as she stole quick looks in my direction. She was a pretty girl, young and curvy, just my type. And any other night, I might have gone over there and turned on the charm. But not tonight. My heart simply wasn’t in it.

  All I could think about all day was Shaw and the cold shoulder she’d given me when I went to clean her room. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected, but I was hoping for a little conversation, maybe some indication that she’d had as much trouble sleeping last night as I had. Maybe a kiss or two…but, apparently, that had been wishful thinking.

  “Come on, Malik,” Jake said again. “The girl is melting. Look at her, practically begging you to come over!”

  “You go ask for her number.”

  “She doesn’t want me. But if you go talk to her, maybe her friend will come along.”

  I glanced at the girls again. She did, indeed, have a friend with her, but I wasn’t in the mood for shallow flirtation.

  I dropped some money on the bar and swallowed the last of the bourbon I’d been sipping for the last hour.

  “I’m out of here. Go find your own companion, Jake.”

  I slapped him on the shoulder, ignoring his protests. The silence and the cool air outside were refreshing after all the noise of the bar. I could have gotten a taxi or taken the chance of driving after the single drink I’d consumed, but decided to walk. The hotel was just a few blocks away and I had some paperwork I should have completed before I left early this afternoon. Dinner with Jake was always an involved process—had been since we were roommates in college—and it seemed more prudent to leave it until afterward than to attempt to explain to him while we needed to leave an hour later than he’d requested.

  I walked into my office to find the night supervisor discussing a drunk guest with one of the floor finishers.

  “This is the second night in a row,” the man was saying in Spanish, anger dancing in his eyes. “I am not a janitor. I’m a floor guy!”

  “Yes, but that is the nature of the job,” I said.

  They both turned to look at me, surprise and fear in their eyes.

  “Was it the same guest? The lady in 1003?”

  The night supervisor shook her head. “We don’t know who it was. It was reported by the front desk.”

  “You cleaned it up?”

  The floor finisher nodded, his eyes dark with anger. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. You should return to your other duties.”

  He immediately left the room, brushing past me quickly. I turned to the night supervisor and she blushed, lowering her eyes to focus on whatever paperwork she had laid out on my desk.

  “You shouldn’t allow them to complain that way to you. It’s unprofessional.”

  “He was upset.”

  “I understand that. But emergency clean ups like that are part of his job description. If he doesn’t like it, he should probably find another job.”

  Her blush deepened as her eyes skirted my gaze. “It’s not p
leasant to clean up something like that.”

  “It’s not. But there are many unpleasant things in life.”

  I reached over and grabbed the file folder with the paperwork I’d come back to work on. I’d intended to do it here, but I was suddenly uninterested in hanging out in this dark, dank basement tonight.

  “Please finish the inventory before morning,” I told her as I left the room.

  Summer Collins was at the front desk. She was a college student working her way through by watching the desk at night. It was an easy job, I supposed, giving her plenty of down time to do her homework. She smiled when she saw me approaching. She seemed to have some sort of affinity for me.

  “Summer,” I said, leaning against the counter, “I understand we had an incident with another drunk guest tonight.”

  “We did.”

  “Do you know who it was?”

  She leaned forward, too, touching a finger to my wrist. “You know I’m not supposed to divulge guest information.”

  “Yes, but we both know that I could go ask one of the bartenders and he’d tell me in an instant. But I came to you.”

  Her finger moved a little, rubbing a small circle against my wrist. “What will you do for me if I tell you?”

  Our eyes met. I pretended to think about it for a moment. Then I sighed. “I have a fifty dollar credit in the bar. I could sign it over to you.”

  Her eyes lit up. “Really?”

  “Sure.”

  She straightened again, a little bounce in her movement. I remembered what it was like being a college student, living on just a little better than minimum wage. Meals were often difficult to come by. Fifty bucks would provide her dinner for a week.

  “It was that woman in suite 1003. She came down about eight o’clock and was blasted by eleven. I’m surprised that other woman was able to get her back to her room without issue. The way she was staggering…couldn’t have been easy. And that was after she vomited all over the poor woman!”