As I was fumbling around for the light switch, though, I figured out that it wasn’t going to be a problem. I hit some kind of sliding dimmer switch, and the glass went from transparent, to vaguely translucent, to completely opaque. I found myself plunged into complete darkness.
“Oh… my… God,” I whispered.
I was spending the night in a sci-fi movie.
I moved the dimmer up and down several times, transfixed by how the glass went from totally clear to a wall of black. Then I realized I should probably move along before Connor came in and found me acting like a three-year-old playing with a car’s door locks.
I moved my hand over and found the lights.
And was transported into paradise.
The room was exquisitely decorated in neutral colors that shaded into darker territory. The dark coverlet on the bed looked so soft and plush I wanted to run and jump on it (again, like a three-year-old). Over the bed hung a billowing, white cloth canopy that made the room look like a tent out of 1001 Arabian Nights. Little sofas and chairs with overstuffed pillows, beautiful hanging lamps… I was in love. I wanted to stay in there forever… until I finally tore myself away and went into the bathroom. Then my fickle heart found another infatuation.
I’m a sucker for big, beautiful bathrooms, and this one was larger than my apartment.
The décor continued the lobby’s theme of black obsidian with gold fixtures. There was a giant jacuzzi bathtub set into the floor that looked almost as deep as I was tall. It sat in front of a massive window overlooking the twinkling lights of Los Angeles. I could imagine relaxing in there, the water bubbling sensually around me, with a glass of champagne and Connor as we…
Ahem.
I’ll move on to the rest of the bathroom now.
The shower was gorgeous, a wide open space with two golden showerheads on opposing walls – and a huge one, three feet in diameter, directly overhead! I guess it was for that ‘summer rainfall’ feel or something.
Oh – you know how a hotel will give you a teensy little bottle of shampoo and another of body wash? Unless they just combine them into one generic mishmash of ‘shampoo / body wash’?
Ten different bottles in the shower, all with expensive-sounding names. Three types of conditioner, too.
There were mirrors everywhere. Two sinks set into the obsidian counters with gold faucets. Next to them, an assortment of exquisite-smelling soaps and lotions.
The towels were heaven – thick, luxurious expanses of softest white, with ‘The Dubai’ embroidered in black thread. Oh, and bathrobes of the same material hanging on the wall.
A few flowers graced the room, arranged tastefully in glass vases. Orchids and – in what I took as a good omen – lilies. There were only a handful, but I figured that was because their scent was already pleasant enough. Any more in such an enclosed space, and it might have been overpowering.
After I’d finished up, I took one last look around, reluctantly tore myself away, and returned to the main room of the penthouse.
6
When I came out of the bedroom, I surveyed the rest of the penthouse: plush leather sectional couches. A widescreen TV bigger (and thinner) than I’d ever seen before. A magnificent dining table. And most surprising of all, a pool of water in the floor that glowed sapphire blue.
That’s when I realized that the pool – about ten feet square – extended under the glass walls to the outside, where it joined a much larger swimming pool on a private patio. Sumptuous outdoor chairs and more potted jungle plants ringed the glowing blue water. I could start in here, swim under the glass wall, and end up outside with a few strokes.
Johnny saw me looking at the pool. “Yeah, I’m not too fond of that,” he said to Connor.
Connor was over by the sofa taking off his tie and jacket. I had a lovely little flashback to less than an hour ago as he shrugged off his clothes.
“Relax, there’s a gate,” he told Johnny.
I looked closer. Sure enough, a sturdy metal gate extended from the bottom of the tiled pool to the bottom of the glass wall.
“Don’t worry,” Connor said to me, “if you want to go swimming, there’s a button that retracts it. Or…”
He pushed a glass door open to the outside patio area.
“…you could walk outside like jus’ plain folks.”
Johnny shook his head in disgust. “This room is way too unsecured.”
“No, it just looks that way,” Connor answered.
“Whatever, I’d still feel better if – ”
Knock, knock.
Someone was at the door.
Johnny tensed up, and his hand reached unconsciously towards the inside of his jacket.
“Relax, it’s room service,” Connor said. “But, just to be sure it’s not a crazed killer, why don’t you check for yourself?”
“I will,” Johnny shot back. He walked past the luggage, which had already been left before we walked in, and opened the door.
A man in a crisp white uniform stood behind a rolling table disguised under a linen tablecloth. On top were two domed metal dishes, a crystal decanter of red wine, two bulb-shaped glasses, and two lit candles on ornate silver bases.
“Room service,” he announced brightly.
Johnny stooped down, peeled up the tablecloth, and looked underneath.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” scowled Connor.
“Better safe than sorry.”
Now it was Connor’s turn to sigh in disgust. He turned to the room service man and said, “Give yourself a hundred dollar tip.”
“Thank you, sir!” the man said with a gigantic smile just before Johnny closed the door on him.
“He gets a hundred dollar tip, I get ridiculed,” Johnny muttered.
“We both know you’re making considerably more today than he is,” Connor said, and lifted up one of the metal dishes. Steam rolled out over a succulent filet mignon, a humongous lobster tail, and a baked potato the size of Idaho. “You want to taste it, too, make sure it wasn’t poisoned?”
The bodyguard shook his head and looked at me. “If he tries to take you someplace, will you promise to call me first?”
“Don’t answer that,” Connor warned me, then escorted Johnny to the door. “Night-night, Johnny. Get whatever you want off the menu.”
“Five pounds of Beluga caviar, coming up,” Johnny said as he exited and Connor closed the door.
“I love that guy, but he’s a damn worrywart,” Connor sighed.
“Well… it sounds to me like there’s a reason for it.”
Connor crossed over to me, looped his arms around my waist, and smiled. “Yeah – women like you.”
He leaned down and softly, slowly, kissed me on the lips.
A surge of warmth fluttered in my belly. But… despite what had happened between us just an hour ago… I couldn’t let go. Not all the way. I couldn’t sink into the kiss.
There was a nagging little voice in my head whispering, He does this with every girl he meets. You can bet on it.
Connor seemed to sense my reluctance, because he pulled back and looked into my eyes. “Is something wrong?”
“I’m just… it’s a little overwhelming,” I murmured, which was true. Fifty minutes ago I was pondering working till midnight and going back to my crappy little apartment. Now I was standing in a more extravagant room than I’d ever seen in my life.
With a guy I’d just had sex with.
Who was probably a major player.
The edge of his mouth quirked up a little. “You’ll feel better after we eat.”
I wasn’t so sure about that, but I was starving.
First he fiddled with a stereo system set into the wall. Smooth, light jazz started to play, but he turned it down so it was nothing more than a whisper in the background.
He pulled the room service table towards the window, got a couple of chairs from the main dining area, and pulled one out for me to sit. Once I was established, he poured out a glass of wine for me,
then another for himself.
“To amazing beginnings,” he said, and clinked his glass against mine.
We both drank.
Good Lord that was excellent. Strong and powerful to start with, but with an aftertaste like vanilla and cherries, and smooth as silk.
“What is this?”
“Just… a little something I like. Good, isn’t it?”
“It’s better than good, it’s amazing.”
He smiled. “Glad you like it, too. Now eat, before it gets cold.”
7
We ate mostly in silence.
At first.
To tell the truth, I was incredibly self-conscious. I didn’t want to look like a pig, so I took tiny, ladylike bites.
Also, I was obsessing over my table manners. I’m a fried chicken, lick-my-fingers kind of girl. I didn’t eat out in fancy restaurants growing up, so I was a little worried about whether I was using the right fork and whatnot. My fears were justifiable, seeing as the food was fancier and more extravagant than anything I’d tasted in years – maybe ever.
Plus there was that whole ‘I just slept with this guy and he probably does this with every hot woman he meets’ voice muttering louder and louder in my head.
Which made me feel even worse, because I am so not hot. Eventually I began wondering why he had even bothered with me.
He sat back and took a sip of wine. “You look absolutely miserable.”
I looked up at him in surprise. “What? No. I’m fine.”
“Really.” His tone indicated he didn’t believe me.
“Yes, really,” I said testily.
“What’s going on in your head, right now?”
“Uh… the food is amazing… the wine is wonderful…”
“Bullshit.”
My eyebrows raised the tiniest bit. It was only the second time that evening I’d heard him do anything more than PG cursing.
“You’re saying the food’s not amazing, and the wine’s not wonderful?” I asked, amused.
“It’s fine. But that’s not what’s going on in your head.”
“‘Fine’? You must eat like a king every day if this is just ‘fine.’”
“You’re really good at that.”
“What?”
“Dancing around the question. Outright ignoring it. You should be a politician.”
“You probably know a few, don’t you,” I said with an edge of sarcasm.
“As a matter of fact, I do, and let me tell you, you’d be very good at the evasion part of the job.”
Of course he knew politicians. Judging from the crazy events of the last three hours – things like getting the CEO of my company on the phone and calling him by his first name – he probably knew the President and a couple of Prime Ministers.
I sighed. “What do you want to know, then?”
“What I said before: what’s going on in your head?”
“Yeah? Well, I’d like to know a couple of things, too.”
He broke out into a huge grin. “You did it AGAIN.”
“You don’t get to control everything, Mr. Mysterious Big Shot, just because you have a lot of money and last-minute reservations to a penthouse.”
His voice suddenly downshifted into something darker, something sexier. “Oh, don’t I?”
I could feel the blood in my cheeks – and other parts. “No, you don’t.”
“That sounds like a challenge.”
“Take it however you want,” I snapped, annoyed with myself that I was getting turned on, and took another bite of lobster.
He sat there in silence until I’d finished swallowing a bit of wine.
“How about a game?” he asked.
“What?”
“A game. How about a game?”
I frowned slightly. “A game of what?”
He shrugged. “Poker.”
I frowned even more. All the hot-and-botheredness was quickly departing. “Poker?! Why?!”
“I want something from you, and you’re not willing to give it to me.”
My cheeks flushed again. The hot-and-botheredness was starting to come back.
“W-what do you want?” I asked, crossing my legs.
“You. Naked. Doing the things I tell you to do.”
Oh. My. God.
The hot-and-botheredness was back in full force.
I started to breathe a little heavily. “And what do I get?”
He threw his head back and laughed. Then he gave me a wicked grin. “That’s my girl.”
I blushed scarlet. “I didn’t mean money, or – ”
“I know what you meant.”
I crossed my legs again, purely for something to do. “Why do we have to play a game to… to do that?”
“Because I like playing for stakes. High stakes. And if you’re not playing for something worthwhile, it’s not nearly as much fun.”
“This is all just a game to you, is it?” I asked with a touch of anger.
“Everything is.”
“What, just for your amusement?”
He tilted his head a little to the side and looked at me with piercing, ravenous eyes. “That… and so much more.”
The ‘so much more’ part made my heart skip a beat.
Actually, if he did look at life as a game – at everything as a game – that explained a lot about his behavior since the moment I’d first heard his voice on the phone.
“So?” he asked.
“You still haven’t told me what I’m playing for.”
“You could play for the same things I want out of you… but that’s not what you really want most right now, is it?”
Actually, the idea of him naked, doing what I told him to do, was becoming more and more appealing by the second.
But he was right.
“I want answers,” I said.
He closed his eyes, smiled, and nodded. Like, Aha, THERE it is.
“And the truth. I want the truth,” I added.
He opened his eyes and stared at me like he wanted to drink me down like a glass of wine.
“Alright, here’s my proposal: we play poker. You get five cards. You have one draw – you put down any number of cards from your hand and get that number of new cards from the deck.”
“I know how to play five-card draw,” I snapped, narrowing my eyes.
He grinned. “All right, then. The stakes: if I win a hand… I choose what you do. Either you have to remove an article of clothing – your choice of what article – ”
“Strip poker? Really?” I interrupted in a gimme a break voice, though to be honest, I was a little frightened. And turned on.
“ – or you do what I tell you to do. My choice.”
My heart thudded in my chest.
“I have to do… what you say?” I squeaked out.
“Yes.”
“You’re not going to just say, ‘Come over here and do me?’”
Which I wouldn’t mind, given my current state.
He smiled again, that dangerous smile of his. “Not that fast. Think of it more as… foreplay.”
I’m glad my lips were pressed closed, because I might have moaned a little if they were open.
“And in return, I get…?” I asked – when I finally trusted myself to speak.
“You can either have me take off a piece of my clothing – ”
“Which you’d probably do anyway without playing a stupid game,” I said, though in my head I was thinking Yum.
“ – or – which I know you want more – you can ask me any question.”
My eyebrows raised. “Any question.”
He tilted his head playfully. “Leaving aside business deals covered by non-disclosure agreements, and anything that might cause me to compromise national security interests.”
“National security interests,” I laughed, like, Ohhh, that’s a good one.
He just gave me a little sphinx-like smile.
My laughter faded.
I don’t think he’s kidding about th
e national security interests…
“And you’ll answer me truthfully?” I demanded.
“Except for what I just mentioned – ”
“Except for those – truthfully?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
“I have your word?”
“Do I have your word that you’ll do whatever I tell you to?”
I gulped.
“Do I?” he pressed.
“Within reason,” I choked out, then tried a little humor. “Excluding non-disclosure agreements or – ”
“ – national security, right,” he grinned. Then he grew serious. “What’s within reason?”
My heart was jackhammering in my chest.
“Nothing degrading,” I whispered.
“Depends on what your definition of ‘degrading’ is.”
I gave him a look.
“But I’ll err on the side of caution,” he demurred.
“Nothing goes in ‘the out door,’” I said pointedly.
He roared with laughter. “Agreed,” he said, almost having to wipe tears from his eyes.
“And nothing painful.”
“And what is ‘painful,’ exactly?”
I narrowed my eyes. “What exactly are you planning?”
He grinned. “Can’t let all my surprises out of the bag. I’ll tell you what: anything I do, if you don’t like it, use a safe word, and I stop immediately.”
Safe word?
What the hell are you planning to do to me, Connor Brooks?
“What’s the safe word?” I asked nervously.
He considered. “‘Safe word.’”
I shook my head. “‘Safe word’ is the safe word? Seriously?”
“You’ll remember it.”
True…
He looked me up and down, undressing me with his eyes.
I realized that I wanted so badly for that not to be a metaphor.
“So… do we have a deal?”
I sat back in the chair and took a sip of wine. “Break out the cards,” I said in my best bring it on voice.
If only I actually felt that confident.
8
As it turned out, he had to call down to the concierge for a pack of cards.
“And another bottle of wine. And another table, with a selection of fruit and chocolate,” he said into the phone before hanging up.
All That He Desires Page 3
