Burn

by Shey Stahl

  Scarlet knows I’m lying and practically spits out, “He did not, Mila.” She smacks my shoulder. “I know he’s holed up in the penthouse suite avoiding the media, and you need to let me in there.”

  “Nope. Checked out.” Fuck, I’m getting better at this. Maybe I learned to lie overnight. I can lie about things like this because it’s a matter of protecting a VIP and after the other night in Shade’s room, I’d do anything for that poor broken man.

  Especially after Willa told me what happened.

  “Stop lying. You’re awful at it.” We step inside the restaurant, the sounds of hundreds of guests at the tables filling the silence. “Is it true?”

  I attempt a blank face. “Is what true?”

  “That his girlfriend killed herself?”

  There’s no sense in lying to her because she wouldn’t tell anyone anyway. She’s in love with him and worried. In love might be a stretch, but she cares and wouldn’t go blabbing to the media.

  As far as the media is concerned, Shade checked out yesterday morning. I know it’s a lie, but I need everyone to believe it. “Scarlet,” I whisper, “yes, he’s here, but I can’t tell you any more than that. I don’t know much other than he doesn’t want to see anyone and wants to be left alone.”

  “Which is why you should talk to him about letting me in. I can make him forget.”

  She’s relentless when she’s focused. “Really? He’d known that girl since he was a baby and he’s tried to protect her just as long. And when she needed him the most, he wasn’t there, and she died.”

  “She shot herself in the head,” Scarlet deadpans. “At least that’s what the news articles say.”

  “I don’t know what she did and it’s not my concern.” Willa spots me and waves me toward the table she’s at. “He’s my concern.”

  Scarlet points to herself in a panic. “Mine too. Let me in that damn room!”

  “I can’t.” I wave her off. “I have work to do. So do you.”

  I make my way over to Willa, and she looks about as wrecked as Shade. Maybe she knew the girl too, but I’m not about to ask.

  The main lobby restaurant has views of the streets of Seattle. I like to sit in here and work sometimes just to people watch. You never know who you’ll see walking around. I find it interesting how many people talk to themselves when they’re walking.

  “Hey, Mila,” Willa greets me when I sit down at the table. “Thank you for meeting me this morning.”

  “No problem.” I set my phone down on the table and Hector, one of the waiters, delivers me an ice water to the table. “Thanks, Hector.”

  Willa clears her throat. “Shade’s a mess, and I need to get him to Vegas by tomorrow night.”

  Taking a small sip of my water, I nod. “Anything I can help with?”

  “I just need to know that security measures are taken for his privacy. It’s a very tough time for him, and the last thing we need is the media in his face because he won’t react appropriately.”

  “And by appropriately you mean?”

  Her lips purse and I know where this is going. “He’s done some . . . damage to the room.”

  I want to cry. Or laugh. Or just sit here dumbfounded because if she’s saying damage, it’s bad. When he glued the chairs to the ceiling, she said it was just a small mess.

  When the pool incident happened, she didn’t even say anything, and I know her publicist ass knew about it because she knows everything Shade does. Everything, and who for that matter. I bet you she has a file in her brain of everyone he’s ever slept with and who has NDAs on file.

  Which by the way, I do, so yet another reason why I can’t tell Scarlet anything about him.

  My heart starts to race. “And by damage you mean?”

  “Damage. He had a temper tantrum the other night, which was to be expected. Rhya was . . . Let’s just say she was important to him.”

  I know I shouldn’t ask, but I do because I’m interested. I saw him the other night, and that man wasn’t the same man I met before. “Were they dating?”

  Willa shakes her head. “No.” And she leaves it at that, scrolling through her phone. “So we’ll check out sometime early in the morning.”

  Nodding, I make a note for the security here to ramp up and make sure the east exit is clear for him. That’s usually where we have him go since it’s more secure.

  As I’m doing that, someone catches my eye.

  Not just someone, Caleb fucking Ryan does.

  He’s walking past the restaurant windows and into the main lobby of the hotel.

  My hotel.

  I do a double-take, my eyes widening with each step he takes and then I choke on my spit. “I need to go,” I tell Willa in a rush and grab my phone off the table. “Do you need anything else?”

  She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, her wide-set brown eyes dilated. “Nope.”

  Rushing out of the restaurant, I practically sprint into the lobby only to find Caleb standing there, hands in his pockets with a dirty smirk on his face.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Coolly, he raises an eyebrow. “Do you want me to leave?”

  Christ, he knows I’m not going to tell him no. Goddamn this guy. He’s really something else. Remember when I said don’t date drummers?

  I’m beginning to think maybe firefighters should be on that list too. Mostly because once they get under your skin, there’s no stopping them from bringing the heat.

  “I have to work today. Go away.”

  “Make me,” he challenges in a whisper, his eyes tightening. “And why is it you’re mean to me here, but then you were practically begging to see me last night?”

  Begging? I do not recall begging. There could have been some desperation in my movements, but I wouldn’t go as far to say begging.

  “I wasn’t begging you,” I growl, glaring at him. “And you kissed me. I thought we agreed we’d meet up tonight?”

  “I don’t remember it that way. You pushed me up against the side of the truck. I remember that much.” He makes a humming sound and touches my hand with his. “And I couldn’t wait until tonight to see you.”

  Is he joking? He looks like he’s teasing me.

  I knock his hand away, and his eyes jerk up to meet mine. I might be giving in, but I have to keep him on his toes somehow.

  And then his mouth cracks, a widening of his lips and a peek at his perfectly white teeth. “So, do you rent rooms by the hour here?”

  “We don’t rent rooms by the hour here.”

  “Hmm.” He knocks his knuckles against the granite. “That’s a shame.”

  “You’re awful!” I whisper, my gaze darting around the lobby to make sure no one can hear us. Heather’s at the end of the counter assisting guests, but her assessing stare keeps moving our way.

  He leans in, his forearms resting on the counter, dipping his head until I meet his gaze. And when I do, he says, “I want to get you naked again,” he admits, a flicker of amusement in those green eyes I dream about. A hint of a smile forms but he masks it by rubbing his hand of over his mouth and straightens his posture. “But if you’re too busy . . .”

  He leaves his words hanging there, like I should take the bait.

  My stomach twists because the way his words roll off his tongue, it claws at me, like if I don’t give in, he’s going to get it somewhere else and that’s just not going to fucking happen. I think for the briefest of moments, there’s no way in hell I’m going to let another woman have this guy.

  I grab his hand. “Come on. I know a place.”

  And what I really mean is I know a storage closet.

  I’m going straight to hell.

  When I have him down the hall in the west wing before the restaurant, I hold up my hand. I don’t have keys to the storage closets. I have master keys to all the rooms but storage closets, nope. Tom keeps those. For whatever reason. He parks cars but has the key to a closet. “Wait here.”

  Caleb smirks and leans back
against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. “I like a woman who can boss me around.”

  I shove my finger into his chest. “Of course you do you.”

  I don’t mean it as an insult, and he knows it by the smile.

  Leaving him standing there, I run down the hall to where I know Tom is with the keys to the storage closet.

  When I find Tom, he’s pretending to be busy, but I know better because his phone is in his hand and keys in the other, and he doesn’t even notice me walk up to him.

  “I need your keys,” I tell him, practically out of breath and holding out my hand at the demand.

  “For what?”

  “The storage closet.”

  He raises an eyebrow and smiles. “And why would you need a key to a storage closet?”

  Remember when I said I can’t keep a secret? It’s like my face gives it away right before my mouth does. “Because I need it. Don’t ask questions. I can have you fired.”

  He knows in part I’m serious, but he also knows I wouldn’t have him fired over something like this. If anything, I’d fire him for simply being friends with Judah.

  Tom sighs, rolling his eyes at my idle threat. “Yeah, right, Mila.” And then he hands me the keys, dropping them in my left hand.

  “Thanks!” I yell over my shoulder as I make my way back down the hall.

  Caleb’s in the same spot I left him, leaned casually against the wall. The dark wall behind him makes his eyes stand out even more and makes me wish I had more time. Sadly, this is going to have to be quick.

  “I have a meeting in like twenty minutes. We need to make this quick.”

  “I’ll make it up to you later.” And then he raises an eyebrow when I push him aside so I can put the keys in the lock behind him. “A storage closet?”

  Unlocking the door, I want to smack him. “Is it not good enough for you?”

  “No, it’s fine. I just thought someone like you’d have her own private office. Aren’t you like a manager?”

  “I am and I do, but it has floor-to-ceiling windows. Not happening.”

  He makes that humming sound again, and I find it equally as sexy as I did when he made it in the lobby. “I certainly don’t want any witnesses to what I’m about to do.”

  Yeah, me either, dude.

  Last thing I need is Shaw Investments to see this since they get the glorious view of my office.

  The storage closets in Wellington Suites are a lot like the rest of the hotel. Large. Given the amount of room, I’m actually surprised Tom doesn’t have a bed or even a couch in here. I know for a fact he’s slept at this hotel a few times.

  A quick sweep of the room and I’m sorely disappointed. There’s no bed. Just brooms, mops, buckets, supplies, the usual storage closet shit you’d generally find.

  Caleb kicks the door shut behind me and I drop the keys on the ground at my feet as I’m hauled off my feet and into his arms.

  My heart drums with excitement as he grabs me by the waist and spins me around so my back is against the door, body melting into his.

  There’s a second where we stare at one another, and I’m remembering the kiss from last night, the way his tongue felt meeting mine. It takes everything in me not to sigh at the memory.

  He licks his lips once, eyes darting to my mouth and then dips his head forward.

  The moment his mouth meets mine, he invades my senses with his rich intoxicating manly smell. Caleb makes a groan, low and deep in his chest, pushing me back against the wall next to the mops. Angling his head slightly, he deepens the kiss, his tongue circling mine. Our mouths press together urgently, rough with a desperate need we can’t suppress any longer.

  With my legs wrapped around his waist, Caleb grinds his erection into my center. Pleasure shoots through my body like the rapid firing of my nerve endings. I gasp into his mouth.

  Impatiently, his lips leave mine and make their way to my jaw, my neck, and his left hand travels from my waist to my neck where he wraps his hand tightly around it and angles it up to expose my skin better for him.

  Hot kisses move over me, my eyes drifting closed as I sink into his embrace a little more. I love neck kisses. Heat rushes through me and between my legs as I drag my heated center over his cock, up and down, twice.

  I hear voices outside the closet and I’m reminded of where we are. While I love the hell out of his kisses, we don’t have time to be kissing like this or dry humping.

  Dropping my legs from around his waist, I kiss him once more before pushing back on his shoulders. I don’t say anything as I reach for his belt buckle.

  He doesn’t either when he steps back about a foot and lets me undo them.

  Swallowing, the muscles in his stomach pull in when I take his cock out of his boxers and into my palm.

  In my experience, cocks have never been beautiful. They look like one-eyed snakes, and I’m afraid of snakes. Caleb is the exception to this. And sadly, I think he knows it.

  He rips his shirt over his head, and I sink to my knees, my mouth catching the tip of his cock. He’s smooth and hot, swollen with need.

  “Jesus Christ,” he mumbles when I bring him inside my mouth completely, practically panting.

  I don’t have time to suck on it slowly, so it’s more along the lines of trying to finish a popsicle before your parents find out you stole it from the freezer. Or like a lion attempting to finish off the carcass before the rest of the herd gets there.

  Maybe that last example was a little too graphic, but I’m sure you understand.

  When I pull him in, he responds immediately, heavy breaths and small grunts.

  And just when I think I’m in control and have it all under wraps, I’m wrong.

  Caleb does.

  Within seconds, he’s fucking my mouth. There’s a difference between giving a blow job and being fucked in the mouth. If you don’t believe me, I’ll explain.

  My back is against the wall, my head in his hands and they’re tangled in my hair. Actually, no, they’re fisted in my hair, the whites of his knuckles visible.

  He’s hunched over me, every hard line of his body defined, flexing with his every movement. And he’s not saying a fucking word. That’s how you know it’s a good blow job. If the guys talking and saying things like, “Suck it, baby,” or worse, “Fuck my cock, you dirty bitch,” you’re either not doing it right, or he’s a tool and you should run.

  Where was a girl like me when I was dating all the other wrenches in the toolbox? I could have used advice like this.

  Back to Caleb and the mouth fucking.

  I choke. Many times. And not like oh, gag a little. I think I might have actually thrown up. Dude’s relentless.

  I can’t even imagine what I look like because my eyes are watering so bad it’s like the time I opened my eyes underwater in a hot tub and then couldn’t see for three days.

  And then there’s the spit. It’s drooling down my chin like I’m teething and while I don’t find any of this sexy, Caleb must because he keeps forcing my head down on his cock.

  There are a few times when he tries to slow down, but then he can’t and comes back with more intensity.

  His hips begin to thrust faster, and he stiffens his entire body, his cock twitching in my mouth but then suddenly pulls away.

  Did I do something wrong?

  His cock pops out of my mouth with a loud smack. My eyes seek his and I’m a little shocked by the expression. They’re angry eyes. Is he angry with me? He was just treating my mouth like a jackhammer. He can’t possibly be angry about that.

  Yanking me up by my shoulders, his palms slap against the wall, bracing himself as he gasps, and then his hands move and he’s yanking his jeans down around his ankles. “I need to be inside you. Right now.”

  Tearing my shirt over my head, I unbutton my pants and step carefully out of them and then neatly fold them before placing them on the bucket. Panties and bra too.

  Did you believe that?

  Probably not. I rip
all that off and toss it where ever the fuck it goes. I think my bra is actually hanging above my head on the mop and my panties are caught the door handle.

  But in record speed, I’m completely naked before Caleb with only my black heels on. Left those on for the appeal and to be taller. Again, I have no idea how Izzy Bizzy and Gigantor get it on. This being the same height works well for fucking up against a wall. Which is what I assume we’re doing because no way in hell am I lying on this floor.

  Pulling his wallet from the back of his jeans, he removes a condom, ripping it open with his teeth, discarding the plastic wrapper over his shoulder, just as carelessly as he did his shirt earlier.

  Nothing is said between us. He’s far too caught up in his own need at that point to say anything. Breathing heavily is about all he could do. But then he puts the condom between my lips.

  “Put it on with your mouth,” he demands, his hands on the tops of my shoulders as he pushes me down to my knees.

  At the possessive touch of his hands as they clenched my shoulders, I certainly don’t deny him. The last of the latex is bitter, but I do exactly what he says.

  Have I ever told you about the time I inhaled a condom?

  I won’t, right now, but let’s just say going to the ER because you’ve inhaled a latex condom and you’re worried it might possibly be caught in your lungs isn’t the story you want your mom finding out from an ER doctor when you’re fifteen.

  I know what you’re thinking, Mila, why would it be in your lungs?

  Admittedly, I think I failed high school health class for a reason. I don’t even think I went to that class after the word penis was mentioned.

  Internally, I go through the pointers the concerned lady from Planned Parenthood gave me when I told her what happened with the condom inhale years later. She flat out told me, don’t swallow it. Yeah, I could have told you that one.

  With the tip facing the back of my throat, I roll it on with my lips and rather proud of doing it without inhaling the condom.

  Caleb sighs, a small groan falling from his lips before he’s yanking me back up.

  Lifting my legs back around his waist, Caleb widens his stance, one hand supporting my weight on him and the other guiding himself inside of me as his captivating stare intensifies.