by Carsen Taite
Tray didn’t ask what she wanted, didn’t even seem to care. She wasn’t an attentive lover, but she was focused. On what, Ainsley couldn’t be sure. It almost felt as if she could have left her body in place and Tray would have exorcised her desires without noticing Ainsley, the soul, was no longer present. The strange thing was, Ainsley was present and felt every touch as if it were the most intense sensation she had ever experienced.
They moved from the love seat to the bedroom. Tray positioned Ainsley on the large bed, making her more accessible with every move. She pinned Ainsley’s arms over her head with one hand and spread her legs with the other. Ainsley writhed against the restraint, but desire quickly replaced resistance. Her body rose to meet Tray’s tongue, her fingers, her thighs. Tray was everywhere and Ainsley couldn’t keep up with the source of her own sensations. Her only awareness was that each touch lit a new fire that burned her to the core. Each time Ainsley came, Tray waited mere moments before bringing her quickly back to arousal again and again. When Ainsley no longer had the energy for her own release, she rallied to please Tray, but Tray wasn’t interested in being touched. She pushed away Ainsley’s advances and curled into a ball, racked with sobs.
Ainsley didn’t know what to do. Nothing about this evening fit her usual script. She was tempted to suggest Tray leave, but Tray’s tears weren’t conducive to conversation. Perhaps she should try to comfort Tray. This was new ground, but Ainsley was determined to dig in. As competent as she was at handling any situation the hotel might throw her way, surely she could provide a little TLC to Tray, who had spent the night bringing her to orgasm again and again. Ainsley slid close and gingerly drew Tray into her arms. The closeness of their still bodies rivaled the pleasure she’d felt earlier. New ground indeed.
Chapter Ten
Where the hell am I? It wasn’t anything new for Greer to wake up in a hotel room with cotton coating her tongue. But through the fog of her hangover, she knew this wasn’t her room, and the last time she’d felt like this she had woken to find Macy Rivers dead on the floor. The memory tore through her, and she grabbed her stomach to quiet the rolling waves of nausea it provoked. Greer leaned back on the pillows of the bed and tried to sort out her surroundings. Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. Seconds later, Ainsley appeared from somewhere in the room. Ainsley. Oh shit. Greer knew she had better start remembering what had happened, and fast. Looking down, she noted she was fully dressed in last night’s clothes, and Ainsley looked like she was ready for a business meeting. She was sporting a well-tailored skirt, soft silk blouse, and tall heels.
Ainsley didn’t look at Greer as she walked to the other end of the suite and opened the door. Greer heard a softly spoken exchange and the sound of a cart being rolled into the room.
“I ordered breakfast for you.” Without a sound, Ainsley had reappeared in the bedroom. Greer watched her pull on her suit jacket and head to the door as her mind scrambled to process what was happening. Ainsley paused with her hand on the door handle. “Stay as long as you like.”
“Wait!” Greer had no idea what she was going to say if Ainsley did wait, but she couldn’t let her leave without puzzling out the pieces of what had happened between them. Ainsley stood in place, still facing the door.
“I think I’ve done something to make you angry with me.”
Ainsley laughed, but it was clear she was not amused. “I’m not angry.”
“Or something else, then.” Greer fought hard to find the right words, a difficult task since she knew she was walking through a minefield. “I lost my head last night.”
Ainsley faced her then and Greer knew she had hit her mark. Ainsley’s expression was hard, but sadness lingered in her eyes. Whatever had happened, Greer knew she had definitely lost her head. For once in her life she was sorry about the lack of control. She chanced casting another line. “I want to see you again.”
Ainsley’s expression stayed cool, but the tone underlying her words betrayed her desires nevertheless. “Stay as long as you like.” And she left.
*
When Greer woke up again, the omelet and coffee were cold, but she ate them with heavy doses of fiery green chile as if it were the only way to warm her soul. Several times, she started to leave the room, but knew if she left before Ainsley returned, she would never see her again. Memories of the evening before had finally cued up and played like grainy porn shorts in her mind. She saw herself, grasping for control, taking Ainsley over and over in her quest to dominate something in her out-of-control life. She shuddered at her shameful display of aggression and wondered why Ainsley had been so gracious this morning. She had to find a way to make it up to her.
She decided to start by staying. Her habits leaned more toward writing off past embarrassments by moving on to new opportunities. She didn’t want to reflect too much on whether she had wasted most of those opportunities. The events of the previous night might be hazy, but significant memories included Ainsley shielding her from the crowd and guiding her safely through the night. Greer’s embarrassment at how she had handled herself was not greater than her desire to make the most of the opportunity to get to know more about Ainsley Faraday.
*
“What in the world happened here last night?” Ainsley pointed at the boarded-up glass door panes on either side of the bell stand, as if it wasn’t readily apparent to everyone within earshot what she was referring to.
“I’m not sure, Ms. Faraday.” The young man who spoke was unfortunate enough to be right in Ainsley’s line of sight. “When I came in this morning, Drew sent us to buy boards so we could keep guests from getting cut on the shards of glass.”
“Well, of course,” Ainsley roared. “We wouldn’t want our guests to slice open their skin while looking at the new jagged glass design of the front door! Where is Drew?” She spat out her name and watched him step back from the force of her words. He didn’t move. “Find. Her. Now.”
“Looking for me?”
Ainsley whirled. Drew Lancer was dressed casually in jeans and a polo shirt. Her only deference to business attire was a lightweight blazer. She wasn’t tall, but the western boots she was wearing gave her height. Perched in high heels, Ainsley was uncomfortably conscious of how uptight her sharply tailored wardrobe made her appear. Her discomfort spilled into her attitude and she snapped, “Any particular reason you think a plywood façade is acceptable for a Steel Hotel?”
Drew strode slowly over to the busted doors and glanced at the make-do repair. “Simmer down, corporate lady. We had some broken glass and I had the guys board it up until it can be fixed. They did a good job. No need to get your panties in a wad.” Drew seemed intent on getting a rise out of her.
“We don’t mask our problems with tape and string, we fix them at the source.” Ainsley wondered if Drew got the message. “You should have called a glazier.”
“Uh—looked outside lately? Fiestas?”
Ainsley wondered if Drew had lost the ability to speak and reason. “Yes, what about it?”
“People here don’t work during Fiestas unless they’re selling food or rooms. We’ll call someone to fix the glass on Monday.”
Ainsley wondered if she’d suddenly been transported to another country where people took naps in the middle of the day and went on holiday for months at a time. No, she was still here in the good old capitalist US of A, and if a glazier lived within a hundred-mile radius of this godforsaken place, she knew she could convince him to get these panes replaced. Before lunch.
*
“Any luck, boss?”
“Are you trying to get your ass kicked?” Ainsley threw the phone book on the desk and slumped into a nearby chair. Paul picked up the discarded volume and offered to assist. “Don’t bother. I’ve called every glass shop, handyman, you name it. Either I get a message saying they’re closed for Fiestas or they don’t answer at all. What kind of business doesn’t have an answering machine with at least some kind of outgoing message?”
Paul shrugged. “They do things a little differently out here.”
“In the middle of nowhere?”
“Darling, we’re not exactly in the sticks. Have you not driven around this city? You’re surrounded by some of the most expensive real estate in the country. This mountain town is a playground for the rich and famous. This town has some of the best restaurants and galleries in the country. Not to mention a world-class opera.”
“I know, I know. We’re in a mecca for the highly cultured. I flew here from a world-class city and so did you. You know what this place is lacking?” She didn’t wait for a response before answering her own question. “Tall buildings, real mass transit, people who are on call twenty four/seven for whatever you need. Like having a broken window repaired. What kind of city completely shuts down for a street festival?” Ainsley continued her rant. “And seriously, why would anyone pay top dollar for the houses around here? How many shades of brown could there possibly be? The architecture is all early American mud hut.”
Paul laughed. “Easy, girl. Frank bought a rather large one of those ‘mud huts’ when he was last out here.” He poked her in the side. “What did he bribe you with to get you to come out here?”
It was Ainsley’s turn to shrug. Frank’s promises were implied. If she did her job, she would be rewarded. She wondered how much of her sour mood was a hangover from the strange night she’d spent with Tray. She had woken up feeling used, like she had spent the night as a vessel whose only purpose was to catch Tray’s powerful emotions and hold them in check. Though physically satisfied, she was mentally battered from the experience. Ainsley knew her feelings were affecting her attitude on the job. Part of her wanted to return to her hotel room and take Tray as hard and fast as she had been taken the night before, but the sensible side of her knew she would be better off working here long enough to ensure Tray would be long gone from her room. Ainsley was nothing if not sensible, and she imagined Tray had already left her room. Surely Tray had better things to do than hang out in a hotel room all day, and it wasn’t as if Ainsley had left a key. All she needed to do was make it through the day and then she would hole up in the room with a bottle of champagne and the oversized bath to keep her company. The heated jet spray would soothe her aching muscles, and the bubbly would relax her busy mind.
In the meantime, the task list for the hotel transition grew. “I need you to talk to Drew Lancer about her wardrobe.”
Paul raised a hand in protest. “Slow down. We have a lot of other things to accomplish before we start playing fashion police.” He continued in the face of Ainsley’s glare. “I know you two didn’t get started on the right foot, and I know you’re in charge.” Paul paused.
“But?”
“Well, I’ve done a lot of wandering around the city, and Drew Lancer definitely reflects the local flavor.”
“Local flavor?”
“This is a casual place.”
“Are you staying at the same hotel I am? Everyone working at the El Dorado is dressed for business, from the uniformed bellman to the desk clerks in tailored suits.”
“Maybe, but hear me out on this. People here are pretty eclectic.”
“We’re not catering to the rich has-been hippies who live here. Our business comes from the rich tourists who come to ski, buy art, and visit the spas.”
“And I’m saying those rich tourists could go anywhere to spend their money, but the reason they choose to come here is the offbeat charm of this place. This is the City Different, after all. Why can’t we offer them something a little different?”
Paul’s words resonated, but she wasn’t ready to let go of her strongly held perceptions about what constituted an acceptable addition to the Steel line. She’d had something different the night before. She wasn’t prepared for more of the same.
Chapter Eleven
It was the longest day of her life. Greer had exhausted every possibility for entertaining herself. Well, she conceded, not every possibility. Probably the highlight of the day had been the difficult task of trying to get the room service waiter to accept cash instead of billing the room for the elaborate dinner she had ordered.
Greer had taken Ainsley at her word that she could stay as long as she liked. She’d spent the day in bed watching TV in between naps. She was surprised at how well she was able to sleep considering the sounds of Fiestas on the street below. Last night’s run-in with the protesters had thoroughly drained her. She had only hazy memories about what she and Ainsley had done once they reached the room. The mostly empty bourbon bottle explained why her memory was faulty, but on some level she knew Ainsley had paid some price for the fear Greer felt. When the large man came toward her as they left the park the night before, she could have sworn the sign he held said something about Macy Rivers. She supposed she had imagined the connection. For years, religious fanatics had protested the burning of Zozobra as some sort of pagan ritual. No one besides her family and Rick knew she was here. She knew it was vain to think the crowd of protestors had anything to do with her.
But last night the fear was real, and it drove her to excess. Her memory hadn’t returned in full, but snips here and there had played back during the day and she was embarrassed at her drunken Neanderthal display of power over Ainsley. A fierce desire to create a better impression forced her to stay the day in this place to which she knew Ainsley would return.
The ice shifted in the champagne bucket, masking the sound of the key in the door. As much as she wanted to see Ainsley again, she was totally unprepared to see her standing in the doorway, wearing an expression that was part surprise, part shock.
“Hi.” It was all Greer could manage.
“Hello.” Ainsley strode across the room, kicked off her shoes, and shrugged out of her suit jacket. Glancing at the elaborate cart of food and champagne stand, she raised her eyebrows. “Did you have a good day?”
“No.”
“No?”
“I missed you.” Greer was tentative. Sticking around and dealing with antics of the night before was new ground. She flashed back to her Chicago hotel room crawling with police but shrugged off any comparison. She was there in Ainsley’s room because she wanted to be. “I ordered dinner. Not on your tab.”
“Thanks, but I’m not very hungry.”
Greer looked away to hide the disappointment on her face. What had made her think some bubbly and a bunch of expensive food would make up for her behavior? Because it always has before. She should have known Ainsley was different than the adoring fans who would forgive anything for a chance to be with the famous Greer Davis.
She stood and grabbed her jacket from the chair by the door. “Okay, well, I suppose I’ll be heading out.” The door wasn’t as close as it seemed. The silence accompanying her progress to it made the journey seem even longer. She had nothing left to say. It was her fault she hadn’t made the most of their night together. She wasn’t capable of something more anyway. Face it, you want to replicate what happened in hopes you’ll remember this time. Greer knew memories didn’t work that way. The chemistry Ainsley had felt the night before had apparently fizzled out. The only thing left between them was ashes and residue. She shut the door behind her and leaned against the wall outside Ainsley’s room, forcing her mind to process her next steps rather than the missteps that had derailed what she had planned for the evening.
“Tray?” Ainsley stood in the doorway of her suite. “Are you leaving?”
“Seemed like you wanted me to.”
“I’m too tired to know what I really want. Dinner doesn’t sound good, but I see you ordered champagne.” Her smile was genuine. “Are you up for something besides dinner?”
Greer flashed a grin. This was familiar territory. “I’m always up for something.”
Ainsley slid her hand seductively down Greer’s arm and clasped her hand. “Why don’t you come back in, then?”
*
The oversized bath was perfect. Greer enjoyed being held even though she wouldn�
��t have chosen the position. Ainsley’s mile-high legs demanded she sit in the back of the tub. The lavender oil Ainsley had added to the water had a relaxing effect, and the champagne was doing its part as well to take the edge off. Greer was surprised to find herself leaning into Ainsley’s embrace, welcoming her tentative touches. Ainsley took her time, gently massaging her breasts, lightly pinching her hard nipples, and nipping at her neck with kisses, both soft and firm.
As Ainsley’s hand drifted from down her stomach and teased the curls between her thighs, Greer resisted the urge to turn and top her again. As much as she wanted to control the situation, her instincts told her Ainsley had the same need. If she wanted to be with her, she needed to make up for her power grab the night before and cede control. Greer opened her legs, signaling her surrender, and Ainsley’s hand moved deeper to stroke her willing sex. She hooked her own long legs over Greer’s and held her wide open. Greer’s head rolled back as she gave in to the rush of sensation: Ainsley’s hands moved against her breasts and the folds around her clit in slow circles, urging her into heady oblivion. Within moments, she could no longer pinpoint the exact source of her arousal. Ainsley’s expert touches swelled into a blurry, mind-blowing sea of pleasure, and Greer was content to ride the waves. Within moments, she bucked with orgasm and Ainsley held her, murmuring soft kisses against her neck until she was finally spent.
*
“Darling, I hate to disturb you, but I fear we’ll both catch pneumonia if we don’t get out of this cold bath.” Ainsley rubbed Tray’s shoulders and was pleased at the soft groan she elicited from the simple action.
