Hush

by Jo Leigh

  “Then you’d probably be wiser to stop stalling and get naked.”

  “Are you going to stand there and watch?”

  His brows came down for a moment. “No. That’s not on the agenda, either. I’ll be in there.” He pointed to the bathroom.

  “Are you going to run me a bath?”

  “No more questions.”

  “Oh, God, all right. Just go. I promise I’ll strip, I’ll do anything, if you’ll just go away.”

  He smiled brilliantly and walked into her bathroom.

  She stared at the empty door for a minute, and then she gave in. She wasn’t going to sleep with him, no matter how charming he thought he was being. Even if he poured her a bath and scrubbed her back, he was out of here. What, did he think this made up for everything? That she’d forget his words, his obstinacy?

  She dropped her dress right where she stood, then took off her bra and panties. Her shoes came off at the same time, and she wrapped herself up in the big robe. She would have done this anyway, so it didn’t matter that he was still in the bathroom. Although she didn’t hear the water running, so what was he doing?

  Padding across the smooth wood floor she felt the beginnings of a headache forming at the base of her skull as she went in search of Trace. She’d kick him out, then get on with her night. Not on the agenda. Who did he think he was?

  She stopped and stared.

  Caroline. What’s-her-name, the newest masseuse. Two massage tables. Eucalyptus and freesia. Oh.

  “Surprise.”

  Trace was in his robe, too, which was interesting, because she didn’t remember having a robe for him in her suite. And where the heck had he undressed? “What’s all this?”

  “Massage.”

  “Thanks, I figured that part out for myself.”

  Caroline walked over to her, smiling soothingly. “It’s been a rough week, Piper. Let’s get you on the table.”

  “Thanks, Caroline, but there’s been a little mistake.”

  “No, there hasn’t,” Trace said. “No mistake at all. This is part of me understanding Hush.”

  “We’ve been over this.”

  “And you were right.”

  She blinked. “Pardon me?”

  “I’ve been narrow-minded. I haven’t given the hotel a chance. That changes now.”

  “With a couples’ massage.”

  “Right.”

  “And then?”

  “And then, you sleep. Tomorrow, we talk.”

  “Who are you, and what have you done with Trace?”

  He sighed. “I don’t know about you, but my back is killing me. And what do you know, there are two professional masseuses right here ready to take away the pain.”

  The headache was getting worse. The tables were already set up, and there was the hotpot with the scented oil, and the music was Delibes… “I won’t get rid of you any other way, will I?”

  He shook his head.

  “Fine.”

  Caroline put her arm around Piper’s shoulders and led her to the far table. She held up the sheet while Piper took off her robe, then gently covered her as she lay down on her stomach. The table was covered with another sheet, but this one was warm.

  Her eyes closed as soon as she was flat. She heard Trace settling next to her, close enough that if they reached out at the same time, they could hold hands. Of course, she wasn’t going to reach for him. Not a chance. This could actually be considered research. She was supposed to try all the massages, and she hadn’t gotten to couples yet.

  Caroline pulled down the sheet to bare her back, and an instant later, warm, oiled hands began their work. Piper moaned at the first touch.

  The music, the duet by the two ladies that was her favorite piece in the world, filled her head as bliss filled her body. Even the fact that Trace Winslow was getting equal treatment a foot away couldn’t disturb the magic. She moaned again as Caroline manipulated her neck.

  Deep breath in, deep breath out. Nothing but calm, soothing breaths.

  But the thoughts wouldn’t stay away. Thoughts of her meeting with Kit. New campaign concepts. More subdued. Not Devon, but not exactly Hush. Hush quiet. Hush…light.

  “Trace?”

  “No talking.”

  “I’ve been thinking.”

  “Good for you, but don’t think now.”

  “It’s about your wacky compromise idea.”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Trace…”

  “Piper!”

  “Never mind.”

  “There you go.”

  15

  PIPER REALIZED somewhat groggily that she wasn’t laying on a beach in Cabo. She was still in her suite being pampered and petted like a spoiled kitty. She also realized that the sheet that had been tucked over her butt had disappeared leaving her naked on the table.

  She lifted her head a bit. “Caroline?” Her voice came out scratchy and thick.

  “Shh.”

  “But—”

  “Hush.”

  She let her head rest again in its little nest, but something about the whispered word stayed with her. Along with the feeling of the hands running up her thighs.

  Big hands. Male hands.

  She tensed, and he stilled.

  “Relax,” he whispered. “It’s all right.” He touched both her hands with his, then in one long, firm stroke, he moved up her arms, across her shoulders, then down her back. The flow continued down her buttocks to her thighs and her calves. He didn’t stop until he’d gone all the way to her toes.

  It was an amazing sensation, made more so by the knowledge that it was Trace touching her with such care, such firm strength.

  As he worked his way back up her body, her breathing changed along with her awareness. She felt her breasts against the sheet, the warm air between her legs.

  His attention shifted to the cheeks of her ass, squeezing the flesh from the crease at her thigh to the base of her back. It was incredibly sexual. Every time he squeezed, her cheeks parted just a bit. And when he moved down to knead her inner thighs, his knuckles brushed her sex.

  Piper gasped, no longer in that blissful state of relaxation. “Trace.”

  “Hush,” he said again. “This is what it’s about, right?” He bent over her, his warm breath tickling her ear. “I want to make you feel good. In every possible way.”

  She whimpered as he slipped one finger inside her and stroked, lightly, up and down. “I’m still mad at you.”

  “I know. You can beat me up later. Now, all I want you to do is let go.” He nipped her earlobe and made her shudder, never stopping the intimate rubbing. “You’re getting so wet,” he said. “So ready.”

  “Oh, God.”

  He kissed the back of her neck. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”

  She couldn’t if she wanted to. Every bone in her body had turned to rubber. She felt heavy on the table and all her private parts were begging for more attention.

  He didn’t keep her waiting long. She heard him before she felt him and even then it wasn’t his hands on her skin, but the softest, most tantalizing sensation. Fur. He had gotten the fur gloves from the night table and he was rubbing them all over her back, her legs, her arms.

  She moaned again, unable to hold back.

  The fur disappeared and a moment later his hands slipped under her side. “Let’s turn you over,” he said.

  She wasn’t quite sure she wanted to be on her back. Yeah, she’d been naked with him before, but she felt really exposed. Still, she didn’t resist. In fact, she helped, settling herself on the middle of the cushioned table.

  Trace hadn’t dressed. He was as naked as she was, and he took her breath away. So beautiful, and the way he looked at her made her forget their argument. Almost.

  “We keep ending up like this,” she said. “But it never changes anything.”

  “Don’t be so sure.” He brushed her face lightly with his fingertips. “Will you trust me?”

  “Never.”


  He laughed. “Please? Trust me here. I want to show you something.”

  She closed her eyes. “Okay.”

  He leaned over and kissed her, a shuddering brush against her lips which grew deeper as the seconds went by. His tongue slipped inside her, and as he’d done with his finger, he stroked back and forth, a teasing sweetness that made her long for more.

  He pulled back instead. “Keep your eyes closed,” he said, his voice lowered to that smoky whisper.

  His hands were on her wrists, lifting her arms above her head. More fur, only this time it was cuffs, and when he was finished, her movements were restricted—she couldn’t lower her hands.

  His bare feet on marble, hands on the inside of her thighs, parting them to the edges of the table. Fur cuffs on her ankles, too. Nothing tight, nothing uncomfortable. She could still arch her back, thrust up with her hips, moan with need.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he said. “I could look at you forever.”

  “More,” she said, although if pressed she couldn’t have said whether she wanted him to touch her harder or say more pretty things.

  He lifted his hands. She waited impatiently, struggling to keep her eyes closed. Every part of her longed for his touch, his caress. What she got was warm, almost hot, oil in a steamy trickle between her breasts, down over her stomach. She almost laughed when it pooled in her belly button, but then she felt the warmth on her mound, dripping between her legs.

  He started with a proper massage, moving from top to bottom. Well, not all the way to the bottom. He stalled about three-quarters of the way down. Slick with more than just oil, he did things to her that needed to be added to the Kama Sutra.

  Piper couldn’t keep still. Her hips lifted, she arched her back, she cried, she begged, and he just kept on tormenting her with pleasure just intense enough to keep her right there on the edge.

  “Come on, baby. You can take it. Just a few more minutes.”

  “No. Please. Oh, God, please. There, right there.”

  The table trembled and at first she thought it was from her own shaking, but then she felt his leg move over hers. He stopped touching her.

  “Trace, dammit—”

  He laughed. “Patience.”

  “No!”

  He lifted her knees with his own, and then his fingers were back and this time, he wasn’t fooling around. He found her clitoris and circled it with his thumb. Perfect pressure, perfect tempo, perfect…perfect, and oh, God, her muscles tensed and she came, straining against her bonds as the spasms hit one after the other, spreading through her body.

  Before she could even catch her breath, he was inside her. No more hands, at least not there. Just his hard, thick cock, and there was no better feeling, not any massage, not anything in the world that was more intense and perfect than that first thrust.

  His low groan told her it wasn’t half-bad for him, either. She gasped, pulled at her wrists, needing to touch him. “Please,” she said, “undo my hands. Please.”

  He paused. Nodded. Leaned over her body while still deeply inside her, and unclipped the restraints. The second she was free, she wrapped her arms around his neck. Pulled him down into the kiss she’d been wanting for too long.

  HE TURNED OVER so that he could feel more of her body. Piper still smelled like the floral bath soap from the shower, and he needed to find out what the scent was so he could buy her a case. The smell was intoxicating, making him want her all over again.

  But it was too late, and frankly, he was so spent, he wasn’t sure he could get it up again. Nah, for her he could. Anytime, anywhere.

  But she was all snuggled next to him, and she’d been tired before all the fun and games.

  “Trace?”

  “Hmm?”

  “You said you wanted to show me something.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “What was it?”

  He grinned. “The brand-new me.”

  She opened one eye. “What?”

  “Did you wonder where I was all day?”

  “I figured you were telling Dad to change the will.”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Okay, then where were you?”

  “In my suite. Looking at your market research.”

  Both eyes were open now. “Oh?”

  “You did a good job, Piper.”

  “I know.”

  “Well, I didn’t. Not until today. You were thorough and meticulous and I couldn’t find a stone unturned.”

  She shifted away, balanced her head on her hand. “And?”

  “I can see where the concept of Hush is a timely idea. There isn’t a hotel like it in New York, but there are all kinds of special hotel packages that offer an erotic experience, and from your records, they’re doing a fantastic business.”

  “I know.”

  “So I can tell Nicholas that the money will come.”

  “But?”

  “There’s still the issue of the Devon name.”

  “Oh, come on, Trace. The Devons can’t live in the past forever.”

  “It’s not a question of modernism, Piper. It’s image and it’s not a joke. The Devon name means a great deal.”

  “Dammit—”

  “Hold on. Just hold on a minute. I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but your father’s in his seventies. He won’t be around forever. And then—”

  “You’re kidding, right? He’s strong as an ox. He’ll outlive the continental shelf.”

  “He won’t. And then you’ll be able to do whatever you like. But not if you’re disinherited. Is it really worth it? Fighting so hard?”

  She let her head drop to the pillow. “I don’t know. Maybe it is.”

  “Hey.”

  “What?

  “Come on, look at me.”

  She pulled herself up and packed a pillow behind her back. “I’m all attention.”

  “You said something to me. When you were on the table. About that wacky compromise idea of mine?”

  “Oh, that.”

  “Come on. Out with it.”

  “I met with Kit. We talked about changing some of the ad campaign.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Under no circumstances will I make this into a Devon hotel. Know that right now. I won’t.”

  “Okay. So what are you willing to do?”

  “We can talk about it. Tomorrow. I asked Kit to put together some new concepts. We’ll look at them. But I’m not promising anything.”

  “Fair enough. Although, there isn’t much time left.”

  “Believe me, I know.”

  “Okay. This was good. Very good. So why don’t we get some sleep? We’ll tackle it all in the morning.”

  “I set the alarm for five.”

  He groaned. “That’s just wrong.”

  “So quit touching me.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Then what’s that on my ass?”

  He laughed. “Okay, okay. I’m officially removing my hand from your delectable ass. And I’m closing my eyes.”

  She sighed. Scooted down under the covers. The quiet was almost total. He could just hear her soft breathing. The slightest snick of silk against silk. Then…

  “Piper.”

  “Hmm?”

  “If you continue to touch that, neither of us will get any sleep.”

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “’Night.”

  “’Night.”

  “I’LL MEET YOU.”

  Piper, looking gorgeous in a little black skirt, white blouse, and absurdly high heels, stopped messing with her hair to look at him. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah. Fine.”

  “You had a bad dream.”

  “What?”

  “You woke me about four. You were calling out.”

  He felt his face heat up and he turned to the mirror to straighten his tie, hoping she couldn’t see him properly. “I don’t remember.”

  “You seemed really upset.”<
br />
  “It was nothing, I’m sure. Probably thinking about my next meeting with your dad.”

  “Funny. You’re a funny guy.”

  “Go. Eat something decent. You’re too skinny.”

  “Ha.” She got her purse and her briefcase, then came to his side. “Last night was…”

  He smiled. “I’ll say.”

  “So I’ll see you.”

  He nodded. Then he leaned down and kissed her lips, sorry she’d already put on her lipstick. He liked her au natural, but it wasn’t so bad. She still tasted like Piper.

  She touched his cheek, then turned and walked out of the bedroom. His smile faded as he heard the outer door close.

  He’d been having the dream a lot lately. Probably just the stress of all this. Nicholas. Piper. Once the hotel opened, he’d be fine. He’d stop thinking about what happened. There wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it, anyway. Bob was dead. No amount of nightmares would bring him back.

  PIPER SAT in her office, her yogurt and fruit untouched as she went through the stack of magazine ads. Of course she’d seen her own ads a hundred times, but she had new eyes this morning. She was looking for context. For shock value. For anything that would help her make some decisions.

  She spread them out across the desk, full-page color ads, all of them starring herself. Looking like she needed a good shag. She laughed, looking at the one with the diamond necklace. If only the world knew that what she’d really needed at that particular moment was a corned beef sandwich from the Broadway Deli. She’d been starving, and the photographer had been achingly slow. She hadn’t had one thought about sex, and yet, she’d been practicing for the pose most of her life, hadn’t she?

  She thought again about what Trace had said. That she was responsible for her own image as well as the hotel’s. And while she still believed with all her heart that an erotic hotel was a wonderful thing, and that people deserved a place to go and be as hedonistic as they wanted to be, why was she still playing the vixen to the press?

  She knew exactly how it had begun. Pictures, innocent pictures, that had been taken without her knowledge. Anyone could have been in her situation. She’d tripped over something in a club. Her blouse had come undone. It wasn’t meant to be provocative, and she’d been drinking soda, not booze. But the paper had painted her as trollop of the year. That had been the start. Then, no matter where she went, they all wanted the nasty shot. They crawled on the ground to shoot up her skirt. One photographer had held his camera over her toilet stall. Her life had been hijacked by the tabloids, and it didn’t matter in the least that she wasn’t the person they lasciviously described.