The Mammoth Book of Hot Romance

by Sonia Florens

  “You sound like you’re really into this stuff,” Marianne said as a uniformed doorman sprinted up to the car.

  “I’m a …” Rob hesitated.

  “Never mind,” she said. “I don’t want to know.”

  The doorman eyed her with a tad too much interest as he was helping her from the car. Looking down, she saw that her trench coat was hanging open, revealing the sexpot garb beneath. She yanked it closed, but the damage was done. As Rob was guiding her into the elevator, she glanced over her shoulder and saw the doorman whispering to the desk clerk, a small, bespectacled, pointy-nosed man who looked like a cartoon rat. They were both looking in her direction.

  Rob didn’t notice. He had other things on his mind. No sooner did the old, oak-panelled elevator begin its ascent than he punched the stop button, making it groan to a halt. He lifted her against the wall and took her right there, fast and furious, bringing her to a volcanic climax in about half a minute. Slowing down, he used deep, grinding strokes that made her come again, even harder than the first time. He stopped moving and just held her there against the wall for a long moment while he caught his breath, and then he withdrew from her, set her on her feet, and straightened her skirt.

  As he was zipping up his fly, she said, “Um … you didn’t … Don’t you want to …?”

  “Oh, yeah,” he said as he pushed the button to make the elevator rumble to life, “but not here. I don’t have another condom on me. I shouldn’t have gone as far as I did. And I don’t want you thinking I’m always as quick on the draw as I was before, during the hail storm.”

  “Rob, that was great. It was wonderful. You have nothing to apologize for.”

  “You are sweet, aren’t you?” He sounded like a man who’d just discovered something fascinating. “I mean, for real.”

  “Too sweet,” she said. “My boyfriend gave me no end of abuse when I cried during Casablanca. He laughed and emptied a whole box of tissues on to my lap and called me a simpering sentimentalist.”

  That seemed to give him pause. “You have a boyfriend? Wait, forget I asked. No questions, no—”

  “It’s OK. I meant my ex-boyfriend. I’m not seeing him any more.” She smiled to herself when she realized that was true.

  “Sounds like a smart move. There’s no such thing as too sweet,” Rob said as he ushered her out of the elevator into a Persian-carpeted hallway. “There is such a thing as being a cynical, arrogant, insulting dick, and it sounds like your ex had that role down pat.”

  Rob’s hotel room was an opulent, Victorian-style enclave of dak polished wood and overstuffed furniture against a backdrop of cabbage rose wallpaper. He hung up her coat and offered her dinner from room service, which she declined, opting for a cold ginger ale from the minibar.

  “Cross your fingers that I’ve got some condoms in here,” Rob said as he went into the bathroom and flipped the light switch, igniting a pair of antique-looking sconces. He unzipped a leather Dopp kit sitting on the vanity beside the sink and started rummaging through its contents. “I can’t recall the last time I packed any. My business trips are usually, well, all business.”

  Joining him in the bathroom, Marianne found it to be on the small side – not surprising, given the building’s age – but quaint and cosy, with lots of marble and bevelled glass reflecting the soft amber glow of the sconces. The only modern touch was a whirlpool tub set into a marble surround within a little oak-panelled alcove.

  “A whirlpool,” she said. “You lucky duck.”

  “I’m a shower man, myself. Yes!” he said, brandishing a strip of condoms.

  “My aunt and uncle had a hot tub when I was a teenager. They could never get me out of it when visiting. My parents didn’t complain. They said it mellowed me out for about a day afterwards, took away that adolescent testiness and made me all sweet and obedient. I wouldn’t complain about chores, just do what I was told without question.”

  “Do what you’re told without question, eh?” With a villainous cackle, Rob stoppered the tub and turned on the faucets. “Maybe I won’t need that chloroform after all.”

  Marianne fought off a twinge of embarrassment as he divested her of her pink angora sweater and bra and started tugging down the zipper of her miniskirt – an absurd reaction, considering what had transpired between them. Remember the role you’re playing, she told herself. You’re no bashful kindergarten teacher tonight.

  He undressed her as the bathroom filled with steam, extolling her beauty with every inch of skin he uncovered, and then he stripped down in about five seconds and reached for her hand to help her into the tub. They settled together into the warm, roiling water, their arms and legs entwined, lips brushing, hands caressing and exploring. His body was well muscled and beautifully proportioned.

  “Wow, you’re in amazing shape,” she murmured against his lips. “You must work out.”

  “Nah, I just do a lot of physical labour.”

  Doing what? she almost asked, but she held her tongue. No questions … but that didn’t mean she had no curiosity. Rob was obviously pretty well heeled, even if you discounted his claim that he had ten grand in his hotel safe. Hotel rooms like this did not come cheap. And what kind of manual labourer came to New York “on business”?

  Before long, they were moving together in a sinuous rhythm echoed by their tongues as they shared a long, breathless, heart-pounding kiss. He was as hard as marble, and groaned when she stroked him there.

  “I hate to keep asking you to back off,” he said as he gently removed her hand, “but I want you to come again first. You’re so sensual, so beautiful. It’s the most exciting thing in the world, just watching you. Here.” Lifting her up, he turned her so that she was facing the foot of the tub and held her from behind, adjusting her position until she was kneeling on her haunches with one of the jets was aimed directly between her legs.

  So intense was the carnal shock of water pulsing against her most sensitive flesh that she recoiled with a gasp, but he banded his arms around her, holding her in place as she gripped the edge of the tub.

  “Easy,” he said softly, wedging a leg between hers to keep them apart. “Just give in to it.”

  Her sense of helplessness as he held her crushed against him only intensified the erotic impact of the water thrumming against her. He squeezed her breasts and rubbed against her, his breath harsh in her ear. She moaned helplessly as her arousal escalated, her head thrown back, hips rocking.

  A hoarse cry escaped her when the pleasure detonated, Rob holding her tight and kissing her cheek and throat as it ran its course. With an unsteady hand, he grabbed a folded towel and set it on the marble surround at the juncture of two of the oak walls. He lifted her on to it so that she was sitting facing him as he knelt between her legs.

  Reaching for the strip of condoms, he tore one off and swiftly sheathed himself. She’d expected him to enter her then, but instead, he took her head in his hands and kissed her deeply and lingeringly. When he did release her, it was to pleasure her with lazy, curious hands until, when he finally did sink into her, she was once again at a fever pitch of arousal.

  He renewed the kiss, bracing her hips with one hand while he caressed her with the other. His strokes, at first steady and measured, grew sharper, more urgent, the muscles of his shoulders and back and hips churning faster, faster … He cocked his hips, driving deep, as a strangled groan rumbled from his chest. They came together, holding each other tight through the explosive peak and the ensuing, gradually diminishing tremors.

  “Wow.” They both whispered it together, then laughed.

  “I’ve got to tell you,” he said, “the contrast between how sweet you seem most of the time, and how wild and sexy you are in the throes of passion, really slays me.”

  “You’re kind of the same way. I mean, you come off as this really nice guy, a real gentleman …”

  “Nice? Oh, no.” He let out a chuckly groan. She felt the vibrations deep inside, where they were still intimately joined. “I
t’s what every guy dreads being thought of by a beautiful, sexy woman. We all want to be Superman, not Clark Kent.”

  “No, but that’s not all there is to you,” she said, stroking the damp hair off his forehead. “When you’re … you know, making love, you’re a different man entirely – ravenous, uninhibited. It’s like the caveman shoves Clark Kent aside and takes over.”

  “So Clark Kent turns into a caveman? I think you’re mixing your analogies.”

  “Fine, then. You’re Superman in the sack.”

  “Pure speculation on your part. I haven’t even gotten you in the sack yet.”

  “The night’s young.”

  “Indeed, it is,” he said as he closed his mouth over hers.

  Once they were dried off and wrapped in the hotel’s plush terry-cloth robes, she did let him order room service. They had champagne and cold shrimp and tiny, perfect raspberries in cream, after which they turned out the lights and slid naked between cool linen sheets.

  And talked. Or, rather, whispered, in the sheltering darkness, of long-ago summers spent skimming across sun-spangled lakes in sailboats. In keeping with their agreement, they never ventured beyond childhood memories. She sensed he was surprised that she’d had such a happy family life, and she knew he must still be wondering how she’d ended up turning tricks in New York. Tempted though she was, she did not correct his assumption about how she made her living. To do so would have opened up a Pandora’s box of feelings best left under lock and key.

  They made love again, slow, drowsy, achingly sweet lovemaking that made her eyes burn and her throat tighten.

  Afterwards, just as she was drifting off to sleep, she heard him murmur, “Which scene was it?”

  “What?” She could just see him by e moonlight filtering in through the curtains. He was lying on his side looking at her.

  “Which scene was it in Casablanca that made you cry? The last scene, on the tarmac?”

  “No. I mean, I teared up a little then, too, but I was careful not to let Alan see. The scene he abused me about was the one at Rick’s where the German officers start singing their anthem or whatever, and then all the French people get up and drown them out with ‘La Marseillaise’.’”

  “Yes!” Rob exclaimed, pushing himself up on an elbow. “Oh my God, what an amazing scene.”

  “So moving. I totally lost it.”

  “Me too. How could you not?”

  “You cried?”

  He blinked. “No,” he said, lowering himself on to his back. The corner of his mouth twitched. He glanced at her, then away. “Maybe a little.”

  “Really? That’s awesome,” she said laughingly. “Oh my God, I love you.” Now it was her turn to look away, her cheeks warming. “I mean … I don’t mean …”

  “I know what you mean,” he said quietly as he rolled towards her, gathering her in his arms. He kissed her hair, whispering, “It’s cool. It’s all good.”

  She fell asleep like that, curled up with him. It was the first time she’d ever fallen asleep in someone’s arms; Alan hadn’t been big on cuddling. The warmth of Rob’s skin, the weight of him, his increasingly steady breathing … She had never in her life felt such deep, dreamy contentment.

  Marianne smiled even before she opened her eyes the next morning, when she remembered where she was – the king-size four-poster in Rob’s hotel room. It had been an incredible night, a night that had changed everything.

  Everything Alan had told her about herself, everything he’d made her believe about herself, had been much more a reflection of him than of her.

  Rob thought she was beautiful, sensual, responsive …

  He also thought she was a whore. She hated letting him think that, but it was the only way.

  No relationships for a year. It was for her own good that she’d made herself that promise. If Rob found out who and what she really was, he might be tempted – as tempted as Marianne was, God help her – to get serious.

  Who was she kidding? She already was serious. She’d done it again, fallen for someone new right on the heels of the last fiasco. The challenge now was to swallow down her feelings, say goodbye and walk away with the memory of this extraordinary night to nourish her sense of self-worth and sustain her over the next twelve loveless months.

  You’ve got to be just about the sexiest, most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen … the most passionate, most responsive woman I’ve ever been with.

  He lost himself in me, she thought with a warm surge of gratification. And God knew she’d lost herself in him.

  Opening her eyes to the new day, she turned her head on the pillow to look at him.

  The other side of the bed was empty.

  She sat up and scanned the room, still shrouded in cool semidarkness despite the mid-morning sunlight glowing through the heavy damask drapes. He’s taking a shower. He must be in the …

  The bathroom door was ajar, so she could see that his Dopp kit was missing from the vanity, where it had been last night. The sliding closet door was open as well; his luggage was gone, and the door to the little safe stood open.

  None of his personal effects were lying around the room, no sign that he’d been there. Except …

  Reaching over to the nightstand on his sn the bed, she lifted the oversized bubble envelope that lay there. Her stomach clutched when she opened it and dumped its contents – a stack of large bills secured with a rubber band – on to her lap.

  A little handwritten note fluttered out as well.

  My beautiful Marianne,

  I was just about to wake you up to say goodbye when I realized I couldn’t do it. You probably think that’s pretty goofy. You must have guys getting hung up on you all the time. So I thought it would be best if I just kind of snuck out. I hope you understand.

  There’s almost $14,000 here. I would have given you ten times as much if I’d had it on hand. You were right when you said it wasn’t about money – far from it – but I just wanted you to know I don’t care about the money. What we shared was worth a lot more than this. It was priceless …

  There was more, but Marianne was crying too hard to read it.

  Just two more hours, Marianne thought as she herded her classful of squealing, uniformed hellspawn on to the sunny playground for after-lunch recess. Two more hours of servitude at Our Lady of the Criminally Pampered, and then the school year would be over and she’d be free of this bogus “teaching” job for ever.

  She’d been a busy woman during the week that had passed since her momentous encounter with Rob. First thing Monday morning, she’d handed in her resignation to Scary Sister Ursula, and since then she’d lined up four interviews at public schools in the Finger Lakes Region. She’d told her landlord she’d be out of the apartment by September first, because with any luck, she’d have a job offer by then. She’d even started packing, two months early, desperate to keep herself occupied so that she wouldn’t start thinking about him again, and wondering, if only they’d met under different circumstances …

  Had she done the right thing, letting him go? When she thought it out logically in the cold light of day, the answer was yes. But every night, as she lay awake soaking the pillow with tears, she was all too sure it had been the mistake of a lifetime.

  A chorus of shrieks and screeches jolted her out of her reverie. “Colleen! Jackie!” she yelled. “Stop pulling each other’s hair before it all comes out!”

  “That might be interesting to see,” came a man’s voice from behind her.

  She wheeled around, her heart skidding. “Rob?”

  He was standing about five yards away, on the other side of the seven-foot chain-link fence that separated the schoolyard from the street, wearing the same faded grey polo shirt and jeans he’d had on last week, sans sports coat. His hands were stuck in his pockets; his smile was as toothy and boyish as she remembered.

  “What do you think?” he asked, nodding towards Colleen and Jackie as they tussled on the asphalt, having ignored her scolding as usual. �
��If they pull out all their hair, will you find the number six-six-six emblazoned on their scalps?”

  “Without a doubt.” Marianne walked towards him on rubbery legs, stopping a couple of feet away. “Rob, what are you doing here? How did you find me?”

  “That was your fault, so if you’re sorry to see me, you’ve only got yourself to blame.” Before she could respond to that, he said, “I got the strangest package in the mail the other day.”

  “Ah.” His $14,000. She’d been temptedto keep the money – very tempted – but she’d known that if she did, her memory of that enchanted night would be forever tainted. So she’d stopped at the front desk on her way out of the hotel that morning to ask the clerk – the rat-faced one from the night before – for Rob’s full name and address so she could mail it back to him, only to be huffily informed that they didn’t reveal personal information about their guests. The subtext – especially not to the likes of you – was all too evident from the way Ratface had focused in on her silver stilettos. He’d just smirked when she’d protested that she wasn’t a hooker, she was a kindergarten teacher – in a Catholic school, no less! In the end, she’d had no option but to hand over the bubble envelope to the supercilious little turd, claiming it contained socks Rob had left in the room and asking him to mail it back.

  “I called the hotel when I got the package,” Rob said, “and they told me how you’d tried to pass yourself off as a parochial schoolteacher. That’s when the light bulb went off. I called every Catholic school in New York till I found one that had a Marianne teaching kindergarten.” He smiled as he took in her demure skirt and blouse. “You’re even more beautiful like this. And I dig the ponytail.”

  She took a step forwards, holding on to the chain-link fencing to steady herself. “You’re not mad at me for … misleading you?”