Once Upon a Time

by Luna Doerr

  “What? A guy can’t be into romance? I’m making millions peddling hearts and flowers, love.”

  My phone vibrates in my pants pocket. I pull it out and check the message.

  “Our dinner is ready.”

  7

  Caterine

  Hotel restaurants are usually on the ground floor, I think, as the elevator opens onto the eleventh floor. But then, I’ve never stayed at a hotel this upscale before. Perhaps they do things differently.

  I follow Alaric as he makes a left and heads down the long, carpeted hallway. Honestly, I’m not seeing any sign of a restaurant up here. It looks like a normal hotel hallway with numbered rooms on each side.

  When he stops in front of room 1135 and inserts a room key into the lock, I nearly plow right into his back. He pushes open the door, drops the shopping bag with my clothes and his book on the floor, and waits for me to enter.

  Inside is … a hotel room. A large one, to be sure. A suite, in fact. But most definitely not a restaurant.

  “This isn’t a restaurant,” I say quietly. I am suddenly afraid of Alaric White. What do I really know about this man, independent of what he has told me? Hell, I haven’t even done an online search on him.

  My feet remain rooted to the carpet in the hall.

  “No, this is my suite. The restaurant brought a meal up for us. Glorified room service.”

  “I don’t know about this.”

  “I’m not going to hurt you, Caterine. I’m very well-known. I can’t just disappear into the woods.”

  Still, I hold back. He looks questioningly at me, then shakes his head.

  “I’m not going to rape you or force myself on you, dear. If I just wanted to get laid tonight, any of those women at the book signing would have happily obliged. What I want to do with you is discuss a job you might like to have. I thought we both would be more comfortable doing so in the comfort and privacy of my suite.”

  Only … I can’t entirely shake the notion that discussing a job is not the only thing he wants to do. I’ve been on a lot of interviews lately and at none of them has the interviewer looked so darkly at me. Or rubbed his thumb over my wrist, which clearly is one of those erogenous zones Zoe is always prattling on about. Or taken my hair down.

  In the bar, Alaric White had looked as though he wanted to devour me.

  Or maybe I am simply projecting. Maybe it was me who wanted to devour him. After reading a few chapters of his book, it was hard not to have sex on the brain. It’s hard not to have your head turned by a devilishly handsome and famous author who, in the space of one day, has given me a luxurious spa day, bought me the nicest dress and shoes I’ve ever owned (not to mention the underwear) and is now about to feed me a meal from an expensive restaurant.

  What would he want with you anyway?

  He’s right. He can have his pick of women and, given that, why on earth would he pick a nobody like me? He can march back down to the bar and just wait for the sexiest women in the room to come on to him. He’ll have a dozen room keys in five minutes.

  I unplug the danger sign flashing in my brain and step across the threshold. He makes no effort to hide his loud sigh, as he shrugs out of his navy linen jacket. Underneath is the same tight grey tee shirt he’d had on that morning. And those tattoos. They covered his forearms and biceps like sleeves.

  I allow myself to look over the rest of him while he methodically checks the dishes atop a large room service cart. He had changed out of the worn and torn jeans he wore earlier. I bite back a tiny surge of disappointment. He had looked incredibly sexy in those. I always thought men looked sexier when they were dressed down. But Alaric isn’t too shabby in dark tan linen slacks, either. The fabric drapes nicely over his ass.

  “Hope you’re hungry.” He turns around before I can elevate my eyes. “Like what you see?” The bemused, sexy smile on his lips sends my pulse racing.

  “You look nice this evening.”

  “Why, thank you, Caterine. You’re allowed to admire a man’s ass in the privacy of his hotel room.”

  My face burns.

  “Why do you do that?”

  “Try to make you blush?”

  I nod, pressing my palms to my cheeks, willing the blood to return to other parts of my body.

  “You’re beautiful when you blush. Plus, it’s so easy to do, Caterine. Like shooting fish in a barrel. Come. Let’s eat and discuss your career.”

  He pulls out a chair for me. I sit and allow him to slide me in.

  “Wine?” He holds up a bottle of burgundy. I nod and he pours two glasses, then retrieves two salad plates from the cart. “Rocket salad with garlic-pepper vinaigrette.”

  “My mother always called arugula rocket, too.” I lift some of the spiky greens to my lips. “She picked it up in Europe.”

  “When I went to London the first time—when I was a teenager—I had to ask a waiter what rocket salad was. My sister was nearly on the floor laughing, even though I know she had no idea what it was either.”

  “Must be nice to have a sibling. I wish I did.”

  Alaric shrugs. “We’re twins. Sometimes it was a little too much togetherness.”

  He clears away the salad plates, pours more wine, and brings over the entrees. “It occurred to me, after I tucked you away in the spa, that I had no idea whether you were vegetarian or vegan. Allergic to shellfish or don’t eat red meat. So the chef offered to make a portobello ravioli. It’s normally on their menu in the fall, but for us he made an exception.”

  I taste a ravioli. “It’s delicious. Although I’m not sure employers can discriminate based on whether or not one is a carnivore or a herbivore.”

  Humor glimmers in Alaric’s eyes. “You’re very direct, Caterine. I like that about you. Sim and I are both devoted carnivores but if you are not, we will make appropriate arrangements for you. So absolutely no discrimination there.”

  “I am not a vegetarian.”

  He laughs loudly. “You are so perfect for this job, Caterine, I can’t even begin to tell you.”

  “So tell me more about it. What kind of research do you need?”

  “Internet research, some actual library research. When I write and I get in the zone, I don’t like to stop to look up facts like how many miles is it from point A to point B or what’s the name of that drug that does whatever. So my assistants find out those things for me.”

  “Do you make a list of these questions as you go?”

  “No, my assistant is in my office with me as I write. You would research questions as they arise. Harder ones you would get back to me on.”

  “What hours do you work?”

  “I try to stick to a nine to five schedule, but I would also need you when inspiration strikes. So the hours can be irregular. Sometimes intense.”

  “Internet research wouldn’t seem to warrant a two-hundred-fifty-thousand dollar salary.”

  “Well, that salary is buying confidentiality. I can’t afford to have details of my books leak before they are published. That’s why I offer room and board to all of my assistants. It reduces temptation for you.” He pauses. “There are other duties, as well, besides mere research.”

  “Such as?”

  “Modeling, acting. I use my assistants to pose for me or act out a scene so I can describe it more accurately. Details are important to me.”

  “I don’t have any experience modeling or acting.”

  “Nor do I want you to. I need someone who comes to the scenes naturally, not acting with a capital A.”

  I think back to the book I read in the tea room. My eyes widen at a dawning realization. I’m acutely aware of Alaric watching me, an expectant look on his face. He knows the question that is on the tip of my tongue.

  “Would I be acting out the …” My stomach clenches tight as the rest of the sentence fades away. The dark expression on his face is all the answer I need.

  “With whom?” I ask.

  “Me and Sim. Mostly Sim.”

  “At the s
ame time?”

  His laugh is deep and growly. “I don’t have that in this book, no.” He thinks for a moment. “Yeah, I don’t see that getting worked into the story.”

  “Have you … had a woman with Sim?”

  “Yes, we have. When it’s in the story. Everything is done solely for the sake of the story.”

  “And what will this story be about?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t tell you that until after you sign an employment contract and a non-disclosure agreement.”

  “So you can’t tell me what kind of scenes I’d be acting?”

  “Beyond that they will involve sex, no. And I won’t give you those specifics even after you sign the contract. I will tell you who the characters are and the general premise of the book, but other than that you will find out what happens each day as we go along.”

  I quietly think this over. The job would include having sex with two men. Two handsome men. In the cell phone picture, Sim had been rather imposing with hard features that look carved out of granite and long dark hair that hangs straight past his massive shoulders. Alaric and Sim are not the college boys I’m used to.

  “I don’t really have that much experience with men.”

  God, am I actually considering this? My mother would have killed me. Or probably not. My mother was the girl who slept her way across Europe after college.

  “Nor does the character in my book. In fact, she’s a virgin when the story begins.”

  “Oh. Well, I’m not that. I have a little experience.”

  “I don’t want my assistant for this book to be a complete virgin. I don’t want to be responsible for that.” He shrugs his eyebrows. “Sim probably would, though.” He looks at her nearly full plate of ravioli. “Eat. Before your food gets cold.”

  We eat in silence until our plates are empty. Alaric refills the wine glasses.

  Am I seriously considering this? It’s a hell of a lot of money, more than I would ever make in any library job. I could save nearly all of it, if I were living with Alaric and didn’t have housing or food expenses. I could start my real career next year with a healthy nest egg. I didn’t inherit much from my mother. Her assets were all spent on her care, on the chemotherapy that hadn’t worked anyway, on the morphine to ease her pain once the obvious became clear.

  But having sex with two men I don’t know? Well, I would get to know them, I suppose, if I were living with them. I glance up at Alaric, who is staring intently at me, watching me think.

  I would completely embarrass myself with them. Make a total and utter fool of myself. My sexual experience is so limited. With the boys I was with, I had never felt like I knew what I was doing. I’d simply followed their lead, did what they seemed to want me to.

  “Caterine,” he says quietly, sitting back in his chair, stretching his legs out in front of him.

  It’s easy for him to be so casual about this.

  “Tell me about your experience. Your boyfriends, how many of them there were, what you did with them.”

  My face flushes hot again. This time, Alaric doesn’t smile or give an amused laugh. This time, his lips are set in a straight line. His eyes bore right into me with an intensity I’ve never had directed my way before.

  “Well, I really haven’t had a boyfriend,” I begin, tentatively. “In school, no one really dated. Officially, you know. We went out in groups and then people would sort of—”

  “Hook up?”

  I nod. “I had hookups in college.”

  “How many?” He laces his long dark fingers together and rests them on his chest.

  “Three.”

  He lifts his eyebrows, in surprise or approval, I can’t tell.

  “So not very many. And what did you and these boys do when you hooked up?”

  I frown. “We had sex.” Does he not know what a hookup is? He doesn’t look that old.

  “What kind of sex, Caterine.”

  “You mean like positions?”

  “Yes, positions. What things did you like? Not like?”

  “I guess the only position we did was the, uh, missionary one.”

  “And what else?”

  I look at him, confused. What else is there? Zoe raved on and on about the men she fucked, but to me sex had always seemed rather overrated.

  “Kissing?” I add.

  “Kissing where?” There’s an undercurrent of exasperation in his voice.

  I touch my lips and neck, then flutter my hands above my breasts.

  “Have you had an orgasm, Caterine?” He’s leaning forward, not so casual now.

  “Yes.” But even I can hear my voice waver. Truthfully, I’m not completely sure. There had been one hookup where maybe …

  “You don’t sound so sure.”

  “I’m pretty sure I did.” I try to inject more confidence into my voice but it’s obvious that he’s not buying it.

  He pushes himself out of the chair. “There’s only one way for you to know for sure.” He comes around the table and holds out his hand. “Come.”

  I let myself be lifted to my feet. He takes my hand and heads toward the bedroom. “What are we—?”

  “I’m going to give you an orgasm. And anyway, I need to see your body before I hire you. I need to make sure you don’t have implants, don’t have any tattoos I can’t abide. I don’t care if you have one but I need to see it first. People get the damnedest tattoos and I don’t want to laugh every time I see it.”

  He peels off the tight grey tee shirt and toes off his shoes but leaves his pants on.

  “I’m not sure this is really necessary. I can show you the tattoo.” What if he doesn’t like my tiny little rose? “But I don’t think an orgasm …”

  I can’t finish the sentence, not with his bare chest just … right there. All I can do is stare. I haven’t spent much time—okay, any time—wondering what authors look like. But if I had, Alaric White wasn’t it.

  For someone who probably spends most of his time sitting at a computer, his chest is surprisingly well-muscled. Clearly he works out or chops wood up there in Maine, or something physical. He has a smattering of dark chest hair, which matches the tantalizing line of hair that disappears into the waistband of his linen pants. I force my eyes back up to his face, which bears a serious expression.

  “I need to know if you can have one, Caterine. I write erotic romance and in erotic romance books, people have screaming orgasms. The kind where they black out and see God. I don’t expect you to do that tonight but I have to make sure you’re physically able to have one.”

  Is this really happening? Am I going to have sex with this man right here, right now? It’s hardly an unpleasant thought. I’m not that uptight about sex. At least, I don’t think I am. Inexperienced, yes, and liable to both humiliate myself and disappoint this man who is so very hot and so very smooth. But I’m an adult. I am free to choose this if I want it.

  Do I want it?

  “I’m just going to make you come, Caterine. I’m not going to fuck you. You don’t have to worry about that. You won’t have to do anything at all, actually. I’ll do all the work.”

  Still, I stand there, balanced between yes and no. I am probably the only person in the history of the planet who would even contemplate turning down a no-strings-attached orgasm.

  On the one hand is the undeniable physical appeal of Alaric White. I have no doubts he is good in bed. On the other hand, I’ve never seen myself as the kind of person to sleep with a stranger. All of my hookups have been with friends, guys I knew and hung out with. Zoe extolled the virtues of picking up hot men and fucking them, but it was something I had avoided.

  Or had avoided me is a better way to describe it.

  “Caterine,” he warns. “I don’t have a ton of patience in the best of circumstances and I am leaving town tomorrow. I was hoping to get this wrapped up tonight. If you want the job, you need to strip and let me find out whether you can come or not.”

  What if I can’t though? Then there would be
no job. A bubble of disappointment swells in my chest. I want the job, don’t I? Yes. I do.

  Oddly enough, it seems like a prudent financial decision. Make two-hundred-fifty-thousand dollars doing basic internet research and having sex with this man. I try not to think of his friend.

  He sighs and takes a step toward me. “Honestly, dear, I have never failed to bring a woman to orgasm. Most of my past assistants have considered this to be one of the perks of the job.”

  He kneels down and deftly undoes the straps on my heeled sandals. “Normally, I might leave these on but I think you’ll be more relaxed with them off. This time.”

  His breath caresses my calf and a rush of heat floods my hips. He stands, grazing his body against mine as he rises.

  “Yes or no?” he asks.

  I close my eyes and take the leap. “Yes,” I whisper.

  With lightning speed, he bunches the fabric of my dress in his hands and pulls it over my head. I’m really doing this. I really truly am. I hear a soft whump as the dress lands on the carpet, followed by Alaric’s sharp intake of breath.

  “You are beautiful, Caterine. Very, very beautiful.” His voice is soft and worshipful.

  I feel his thumb run over my lower lip, pressing my mouth open just a bit. I wait for a kiss, but instead his hands wander down to my bare shoulders. My skin tingles all the way to my toes. I gasp and my eyes fly open when his fingers touch the top curve of my breasts.

  “Keep them closed for now, please,” he requests.

  I obey. I will do anything as long as he keeps those long fingers on me, keeps tracing searing lines of fire on my skin. I let my back arch, pressing my breasts against his fingers.

  “Do you like this?” His voice is thick with lust, as his fingers slip to the underside of my breasts.

  I am dying for him to touch my nipples. They’re hard as pebbles and aching like nothing I’ve ever experienced.

  “Such lovely breasts, Caterine. Like an angel’s.” He cups his palms over them. “See how they fit perfectly in my hands?”

  He rubs his thumbs lightly over my nipples and I feel a rush of wetness between my legs. This isn’t like my college hookups. No one has ever compared my breasts to angels before.