Meet Me at the Honeymoon Suite

by Charlotte Phillips

  She pulled an incredulous face. There were times when this job absolutely sucked, and this was one of them. She glanced quickly around them.

  ‘Where are the rest of his mates?’

  ‘Still out on the lash,’ he said, pulling Luke to his unsteady feet and pulling one of his arms around his own shoulders. ‘I told them I’d get him back here. There was no need for everyone’s evening to be shot. He didn’t seem too bad until he hit the fresh air.’

  ‘What did I say to you?’ she snapped in disbelief. ‘Do not let him get pissed and ruin the wedding. Or words to that effect.’

  Luke stumbled. She made a loud, exasperated noise and heaved herself under his other arm, glancing around the lobby. Where the hell was the useless concierge team when you needed them?

  ‘Let’s just get him up to the second floor,’ she said. She called across to the Receptionist. ‘Can you have some coffee sent up to Room 210? Strong and black. We’ll take it from here.’

  The woman picked up the phone as they began shambling across the lobby. Luke was a dead weight. She turned her head away from his whiskey breath. Bleurgh.

  ‘I take full responsibility,’ Owen said, as if that made it somehow better. ‘I took them all to Loco.’ He glanced across at her questioning expression. ‘That’s my bar in Chelsea. Everything was great, Luke was dancing, everyone was partying, but we were short staffed and the place was heaving. I kind of pitched in behind the bar for a bit and then before I knew it…’

  Was he serious?

  ‘You pitched in? You mean you took your eye off the ball because you ended up working?’ She shook her head at him in exasperated disapproval.

  ‘Says the workaholic who’s still up and on call in the small hours,’ he countered.

  They argued over Luke’s slumped head as he stumbled between them across the lobby.

  ‘Don’t try and criticise me when you’re the one at fault here,’ she hissed. ‘You should have kept an eye on him. He never could take his drink.’

  The lift doors opened and they manhandled Luke onto the velvet bench at the back of the lift. He slumped in the corner, eyes closed. Amy stood up, grateful to be free of the weight and pressed her hands into the small of her back. She felt Owen’s eyes on her.

  ‘You look different with your hair down,’ he said.

  She avoided his eyes.

  ‘Do I?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he added. ‘I know I’ve caused you grief you don’t need. I should have kept a better eye on things.’

  She glanced up. His face was serious and her heart tugged a little in her chest. She relented.

  ‘I’ve dealt with worse. At least you had the sense to bring him back here. Although he wouldn’t be the first AWOL groom I’ve ever had to deal with.’

  That special distinction was reserved for Roger Corbett, onetime stepfather-to-be, who in 1997 had decided that, on balance, family life wasn’t for him. It would have been so much easier if he’d reached that conclusion earlier. Before his actual wedding day to her mother would have been good.

  The lift trundled to a halt and Owen grappled Luke to his feet. Amy walked ahead down the passage with the key card and opened Luke’s room. Tomorrow night, of course, he’d be joining Sabrina in the Honeymoon Suite. She saw immediately that based on that he’d clearly made minimal effort to settle in and was simply treating the place like a crash pad, which tonight it certainly was.

  A battered suitcase lay open on the bed, oozing clothes and male grooming products. Luke’s guitar case stood in the corner leaning against the trouser press and she realised with a flash of recall that it was the same old acoustic guitar he’d had when they were together. However far he might have come from his old life back in Wiltshire, some things were obviously beloved enough to take with him. She dragged the suitcase onto the floor and Owen helped Luke across the room and onto the bed. She leaned in to prop him up on the pillows and his eyes fluttered open.

  ‘Sabrina?’ he slurred. ‘That you, babe?’

  She moved her face in front of his so he could get the full effect of her disapproval.

  ‘No it’s bloody not. Drink this or your head will kill you in the morning, you muppet.’ She handed him a bottle of water that Owen had grabbed from the mini bar. He took a couple of swigs and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  A tray of coffee arrived at the door courtesy of room service and Owen carried it into the lounge area.

  ‘You want a cup?’ he asked, putting the tray down on the low table next to the sofa. ‘I’ll give it ten minutes, just make sure he’s settled. He hasn’t been ill again so hopefully he’ll sleep it off now.’

  As if on cue a rattling snore emanated from across the room.

  ‘Go on then,’ she said, sitting down next to him. ‘No point giving Luke a cup.’

  ‘Not exactly running as smoothly as it could, is it?’ Owen commented, stirring her coffee and handing it to her. ‘The wedding, I mean. Sorry about all this.’

  ‘They never run smoothly,’ she said. ‘There’s always some problem or other to be ironed out. The key is not to panic. That’s partly why I’m good at it.’

  He raised his eyebrows.

  ‘I don’t get sucked into all the angst and emotion of the day. Like I said this afternoon, to me it’s a series of logistical tasks, not a magical fairytale. I’m not about to have a meltdown if the groom gets plastered or the bride’s hairstylist doesn’t show up. I get things sorted. It’s what I do. I treat it like a business.’ She stirred her coffee. ‘You must be able to relate to that. You’re obviously unable to cope with downtime.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ He gave her a mock-offended grin.

  ‘This evening.’ She pointed at him with her teaspoon. ‘You’re meant to be at the heart of a night out with the lads and first of all, you take them to your bar. You could have gone anywhere in London.’

  ‘So what? It’s a great bar. You should come.’

  She tried to deny the way her mind zeroed in on that last comment. That was not him asking for a date. She’d misconstrued enough comments in her time to know a throwaway flirt when she heard one. She took a steadying sip of coffee.

  ‘Second of all, when you should be at the centre of the party, you can’t stop yourself getting behind the bar and doing some work. You’re a workaholic.’

  ‘Takes one to know one,’ he said immediately.

  She smiled.

  ‘Fair point I suppose.’

  She leaned back on the sofa. Luke’s heavy breathing seemed to be getting steadier.

  ‘It must be great knowing it’s your business,’ she said. ‘I’ve spent a long time trying to get on in my job. I worked in three different hotels as an assistant manager before this job came up and in all of them I knew I could do the manager’s job better than they could. It must be great to see proper results for the work you’re putting in. Proper return.’

  ‘It is. It helps that I love the business I’m in. I’m not sure I could be this productive if I didn’t enjoy going to work every day.’

  ‘Dairy farming didn’t really cut it for you, then,’ she said.

  Her tone was matter of fact but Owen’s pulse jumped at how right that comment was. The farm hadn’t really cut it for him, proving against his parents’ insistence that having something as a birthright and a way of life didn’t automatically make you passionate about it.

  ‘No it didn’t. Much to my family’s horror.’

  She glanced at him with interest.

  ‘Things haven’t been easy,’ he said.

  ‘They must be pleased with how well you’re doing now though,’ she said, in between sips of coffee. ‘I mean, you’ve built the concept up into a chain of bars. You’ve obviously hit on something that works.’

  ‘You’d think,’ he said. He toyed with his own coffee cup, not wanting it. He’d only suggested it to buy time with her. No point denying it. He’d thought about her all evening. ‘To be fair, they never had a clue I was thinking of doing anyt
hing else. When I was growing up it was all ‘when you take over, Owen…’ and ‘keep this in mind for when you’ll be running things…’ As a kid I never really questioned it. You live for the moment then, don’t you, never thinking ahead. I got older and went to college for a business studies course. My parents really encouraged that, at the end of the day that’s what a farm is after all – a business. So it was a bit of a kick in the teeth when they finally realised the business I really wanted was totally different.’

  ‘It is a bit of a leap,’ she conceded. ‘Cows to cocktails.’

  The grin on her face was infectious. He found his eyes drawn to her mouth again and again. The cute smile that touched her eyes with sparkle, the full upper lip that had felt so maddeningly soft against his own.

  ‘I liked socialising as much as anyone at college. Probably more if anything because it gave me a sense of freedom for the first time. We lived out in the sticks, I went to a village school, my upbringing was all pretty idyllic. Lots of fresh air and being outdoors.’

  She was easy to talk to. Easy to be with. It felt odd talking about the farm when he’d put so much effort into keeping it at the back of his mind along with the guilt he felt for leaving it. It was easy to lose the family childhood fun of the farm in the mire of bitterness that had followed.

  ‘It sounds lovely.’

  ‘It was great. The flipside of that of course was that I wasn’t remotely streetwise. Then I went to college and suddenly I was living away from home in a big city. I got a bar job to help pay my way and I loved every second of it. I never got bored with meeting new people, it was vibrant and exciting.’ He abandoned his coffee half-finished on the table. ‘Around that time the market for sexy reinvented spirits was soaring. Flavoured vodkas had really taken off. I started my business on the back of that. I started out with a pop-up bar. You could hire it for events and parties. You must have come across things like that in your line of work?’

  She nodded. ‘Of course. Not quite as cutting edge as yours sounds though. Outsourced bars were really popular where I used to live. For fetes and festivals and local weddings, that kind of thing. Usually a couple of wine options, a couple of popular spirits, a beer, a cider.’

  He warmed to his subject.

  ‘I’d do a huge line-up of flavoured vodkas. Toffee, chocolate, cherry, you name it. I’d do a cocktail menu which went down a storm. Plus all the usual soft drinks. It grew from there really. Eventually I started thinking about branding and looking for premises.’ He paused. ‘And here we are.’

  Amy returned his smile. It was hard not to be impressed by someone who could exuded such enthusiasm for their work at…she checked her watch… gone one o’clock in the morning.

  Silence fell between them and it was laden with tension. She caught him looking at her and cut her eyes away, only for them to creep back and meet his gaze again.

  ‘Amy-’ he began.

  A massive honking snore from around the corner cut him off mid-sentence, killing the moment like a bucket of cold water. She put her cup down on the tray and stood up.

  ‘I’m sure he’ll be OK now,’ she said. ‘He’s obviously just going to sleep it off. I’d better get back to the staff quarters, tomorrow’s going to be crazy busy for me.’

  ‘Of course.’

  He stood up and followed her from the room, leaving Luke propped up against a stack of pillows, snoring at the ceiling like a warthog. More and more since yesterday Amy had begun to think she’d had a lucky escape.

  She was acutely aware of him beside her as they walked together down the hall. He was a good foot taller than her and broad-shouldered. Her stomach skittered madly. Four doors down from Luke’s room, he came to a stop. Her mind immediately treated her to a flashback of what had happened earlier today, the last time she’d come to this room with him. He flipped the keycard into the slot and pushed the door.

  ‘Come in for a bit,’ he said. ‘Another coffee.’ He held the door open with one hand.

  Her heart began to thump because after this afternoon she knew exactly what that coded sentence meant. She could see beyond him into the room. To go in there would be a coded reply. A step in a direction she’d taken before, except that this time she wasn’t deluded about the rules. He would be checking out at the end of the weekend. Whatever went on in there wouldn’t last beyond that. There was a security in that certainty, no leeway in this for her to big it up into something it wasn’t, the way she’d done in so many ways in the past. This close she could pick up the scent of his aftershave, spicy on warm skin. A half-smile played at his mouth. Slow heat burned its way down her spine and tingled between her legs.

  ‘It’s gone one in the morning and you think more caffeine would be a good idea?’ she managed, buying time.

  ‘A nightcap then. Or just a chat.’ He shrugged. ‘I’ll be up for a while yet – my life is pretty nocturnal because of the job.’ He held her gaze firmly in his and narrowed his eyes slightly. ‘Dare you.’

  Her stomach fluttered madly. Heat travelled deliciously down her spine and began to pool tinglingly at the top of her thighs.

  This felt decadent. A moment of madness, he’d called it and her mind latched onto the appeal of that. She could deal with a moment. She could be Miss Right Now. Because those things had no aftermath to drag you down or hurt you. That was the beauty of them. She was in control here. No more reading things into relationships that weren’t there. This was a one-off fling, something delicious and daring and something she’d never have dreamed of doing before. She knew what it was, knew it couldn’t be more, and so there was no way this could come back to bite her on the arse. Why shouldn’t she have this night? They were both single and no one else need ever know.

  Her mind continued to justify her actions as she walked past him into his hotel room.

  CHAPTER 6

  As she stepped over the threshold she knew there would be no coffee, nor any other drink for that matter.

  He stepped into the room after her and caught her around the waist from behind as he kicked the door shut. Tugging her back against him, he swept the sheaf of her hair to one side with his free hand, exposing the nape of her neck. She felt the whisper of his breath against her skin, her senses slowly enveloped by the scent of him, the citrus of his aftershave, the musk of his warm skin. When he pressed his mouth hard against the side of her throat, the sensation was of light-headedness. Dizzying heat curled down her legs, making her feel weak. Her body, driven entirely by the unfamiliar physical sensations he evoked in her, was hungry for more. She seemed to have lost the capability of rational thought in favour of following every tiny move he made with her mind’s eye.

  Leaning back against him she was deliciously aware of how broad he was, his arms strong as they encircled her. He slid his hands beneath her T-shirt, tugging it upwards and over her head, casting it to the floor and instantly returning to caress her breasts.

  She sent up silent thanks that she was wearing underwear from the mediocre section of her knicker drawer. Could have been better – one of the few silk and lace delicate sets she owned would have been nice – but it could also have been much, much worse. Her underwear repertoire also included a myriad of greying T-shirt bras and comfy big knickers.

  Note to self, Amy: If you are now entering the moment-of-madness phase of your romantic life, a knicker drawer overhaul could be in order.

  Thoughts of underwear choice disappeared like smoke as he turned her gently to face him, tangled a hand in her hair and tilted her head to kiss her. Not the tender, soft kiss she’d been replaying on a loop in her head since this afternoon but a hard, deep, intense kiss. An opportunity to explore and taste and feel her. With a single expert twist of his fingers, her bra was unclasped, and his sigh of satisfaction as he cupped her naked breasts in his hands sent an exquisite thrill skittering through her. He caught her nipples tightly between his fingers and softly brushed their hard tips until her stomach felt like it was dissolving.

  Shaky finger
s found the buttons of his shirt. She undid them one by one, by feel, not wanting to break the kiss for an instant. Then her hands were sliding over the smooth skin of his chest, taut with muscle. Wanting more, gaining momentum as more and more of her senses were taken over by him, she reached for the button of his jeans and tugged.

  She was driving this as much as he was now, and it thrilled Owen to the core after the tentative shyness of the first moments with her. She pulled his jeans lower until he could kick them away and then her fingers were sliding softly over him, tracing the length of his erection, and he thought he might explode. Before he could lose control he picked her up and carried her against him, the smooth flat length of her torso against his, the push of her firm breasts against his chest. She curled her legs around his back and her arms around his neck, her fingers sinking into his hair. Half a dozen strides across the room to his bed and then he lowered her against the pillows. Playing for time, getting his own desire back under some measure of control, he trailed slow, exploring kisses down from her neck, over her firm breasts, finding the stiff peaks of her nipples and sucking gently as she arched her back deliciously.

  For her, sex had never been this hot, this impulsive, this driven exclusively by the instinct of the moment. As his mouth crept lower she tangled a hand instinctively in his hair, her mind following as he traced her navel with his tongue, moving still lower she sucked in a soft gasp as his breath warmed the very core of her. Slow, deliberate strokes of his tongue circled her most sensitive spot. She let her mind linger exquisitely in this moment alone, an isolated spot in time, no thoughts encroaching about what this meant, what it could be. It didn’t mean anything, it wasn’t going to be anything other than this moment. The sensation was liberating, uninhibiting. As he slid two fingers slowly inside her and found her rhythm she clutched at his hair, riding the wave of delicious sensation until she flew over the edge, soft moans leaving her lips.

  A moment to catch her breath and then he loomed gently above her, she felt his erection rock hard for a moment against her core and then with slow deliberateness he took her. She rolled her head deliciously back as he moved in slow, delectable strokes, finding his own pace and then slowly climbing. She curled her legs around his back, fingernails raking his shoulders as they moved together for a long time. As she reached that plateau again his hands were tangled in her hair, his thrusts hard and fast until she cried out her pleasure at the ceiling. In the soft gasp of his breath against her neck and the clutch of his hands she felt him reach his own climax right beside her.