Room Service

by Jill Shalvis

  She didn’t understand it, but he had this unsettling way about him of getting her to do what he wanted.

  What was that?

  She had no idea, but she waited. But only because she wanted to.

  4

  HE’D MADE HER SQUIRM, Jacob thought, intrigued. He walked into the restaurant kitchen, grabbed a plate and loaded it himself, intending on sitting with her to watch her eat, and to see if he could make her squirm again because it was damned arousing.

  She was arousing, with her wide, expressive eyes, her full lips that she kept licking nervously. Her voice. Her taste. The way she looked at him. As if he was some forbidden treat tempting her to the ends of her restraints.

  He moved back into the dining area, which was filled with contented diners, and felt that same surge of fulfillment he got every single night. She was still sitting there, watching him approach with both wariness and something else, something he recognized well. Awareness.

  Let the dance begin, he thought, and smiled as he sat. “Try this. Bouche S’mores. House-made marshmallow, fresh graham crackers and imported semisweet chocolate, all melted over an open flame.”

  “House-made marshmallow?”

  “Yes.” He met her gaze. “We get a lot of requests for marshmallows via room service, melted of course.”

  She stared down at the plate, a lovely flush working up her cheeks.

  “People are very fond of melted marshmallow,” he said. “Specifically, they’re fond of licking them.”

  She gave a slow blink. “Oh. Um—”

  “Off of each other,” he clarified. “Not the plate.”

  She reached out to touch the stack of marshmallow. Felt the soft, warm, gooey texture. She cocked her head as if considering exactly how to lick it off another person and, just like that, the tables turned, and Jacob was the one squirming.

  “Interesting,” she said, throwing him further off balance. “Seems a bit fattening, but I’m sure it’s worth it.” She bit her lower lip, each of her thoughts chasing another across her face.

  She was picturing it. With him.

  He sank a fork into his fun creation and leaned across the table, touching the marshmallow to her lips. She opened her mouth, tongue darting out to catch a dollop.

  Their gazes locked, and when she moaned in delight at the taste, he nearly moaned, too, at the look of rapture on her face.

  “Delicious,” she said when she’d swallowed. “But I have a feeling you already know it.”

  Ah. She was quiet but not shy, and that in itself was another unexpected turn-on. “Yes. I know it.” When she laughed, he decided he liked the sweet, musical sound because it wasn’t silly, it wasn’t fake. It was real.

  She was real, and damn if he didn’t want to know more about her.

  “I don’t even know who you are,” she murmured, clearly having some of the same thoughts. “And yet here we sit, discussing your marshmallows and their incredibly diverse uses here at the hotel.”

  A conversation he most definitely wanted to have, but…“You don’t know who I am?”

  She slid him a self-deprecatory smile. “Okay, so you’re Chef Jacob Hill.”

  “Which leaves me at a disadvantage.”

  She smiled. “I doubt you’re ever at a disadvantage.”

  He laughed and relaxed, realizing his instincts had been right. He was going to enjoy himself with her, immensely. “What’s your name?”

  “Emmaline Harris. Television producer.”

  “Emmaline,” he repeated, liking the way her name rolled off his tongue. “Are you enjoying your stay here at Hush?”

  She seemed surprised that he hadn’t jumped on her profession. But they were nothing if not discreet here at Hush, where they hosted celebrities and movie stars all the time, and she guessed he wouldn’t bring it up again unless she did.

  “Yes, I’m enjoying myself,” she said. “It’s very lovely here.”

  Lovely. Not a word he’d have used to describe the more adventurous and eclectic services the hotel had to offer, which meant she was either being coy, or she hadn’t experienced any of it. “Are you staying for business or pleasure?”

  At the word pleasure, her tongue darted out again and nervously licked her lips. “Business.”

  “That’s a shame.”

  She laughed, a little nervously now. “Yes.”

  It should have given him pause that he’d flustered her, but instead, it excited him. He was thinking of all the ways he could fluster her some more when she spoke again.

  “I’m here to find the next new reality TV star.”

  Reality TV. The genre appealed to him about as much as a trip to the dentist. “Hmm.”

  “You don’t like reality TV?” she asked.

  “Actually, I’m not into any kind of TV,” he admitted. “Not my thing.”

  “What about if you could be on it?” she asked. She was watching him carefully. “On your own show.”

  “Sounds like a nightmare.”

  “Oh.” She looked at him for a long moment, assessing for God knew what. Speculating on the mysteries of the female mind was always a bit like tiptoeing through a minefield. “Tell me something,” she said. “Do you kiss every strange woman you meet in the elevator?”

  “Ah.” He’d been waiting for her to broach the subject. “That.”

  “You must have known we’d have to talk about it.”

  He lifted a shoulder.

  “What if I’d been married?” she asked. “Or attached?”

  “Are you?”

  “No.”

  “Then no harm, no foul.”

  “Is that a life motto for you?”

  “Pretty much.” He smiled.

  She returned it, but he could still see the wheels spinning. Her eyes were clear on his, such a mossy, pretty green. The rest of her was pretty, too. Shoulder-length brown wavy hair with long choppy bangs that she kept shoving out of her eyes, a narrow strong face, with a most lovely mouth, as he had reason to know. She had good height on her—another bonus for him at six foot four—and plenty of curves, he was happy to note. He didn’t approve of skinny.

  “Why did you do it?” she asked, taking another bite of the s’mores, which meant that while she might be a tad shy, she went after what she wanted. He liked that. “Why did you kiss me?” she pressed.

  “Because I wanted to.”

  She laughed, and took another bite. “Do you always do whatever you want?”

  He thought about that. “Mostly.”

  “There was another reason you kissed me,” she insisted.

  “Okay, yes.”

  She waited, a brow raised.

  “You see, I have these two extremely nosy, bossy, interfering people in my life,” he admitted. “They’re very annoying.”

  “Then why are they in your life?”

  He sighed. “They’re my friends.”

  That wrangled a laugh out of her. “Okay, I’ll buy that. I have two of those myself.”

  “They think because I’m single that I need to be fixed. In their mind, that fixing requires a woman.”

  “So? You’re a big boy. Say no.”

  He smiled. “Tell me something, Emmaline.”

  “Em,” she said softly, staring at his mouth as if maybe she liked his smile.

  He hoped so, because he liked hers, very much. “Em, then.” Yeah, that suited her even better. Em was even softer, more feminine. It fit her to a tee. Which didn’t explain why he wanted to sit here with her all night. “You ever successfully say no to the people in your life?”

  “I’m a sucker when it comes to the people I care about.”

  Why the hell that attracted him, too, he had no idea. “Exactly.”

  She was still shaking her head. “You’re no one’s sucker, Jacob Hill.”

  “No, I’m not. But I still care about my friends.”

  Her eyes softened. “That’s very sweet.”

  “Actually, I’m the furthest thing from sweet you’ve ever
met.”

  Her gaze searched his for a long moment, while all around them the restaurant continued to buzz with life—talking, laughing, music. There were a few celebrities here tonight, as well: a big movie star, and also a national newscaster, both being left alone thanks to his discreet staff. There was also a rock star at the center table, not being left alone, but then he’d come here to be noticed and fawned over. The guy undoubtedly had his pick of the women here tonight.

  Emmaline kept her gaze locked on Jacob’s. “Something’s not adding up.”

  “What?”

  “Why would you need to be set up?” The moment the words left her mouth, she looked embarrassed. “It’s just that you don’t look like you’d need any help in that area.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Actually, I didn’t mean it as a compliment.”

  He grinned. Yeah, he liked her. “My friend Pru, the sommelier who helped you pick out your wine, she thinks I need to experience a ‘real’ relationship. That’s because hers have all been so important to her—she’s convinced I’m missing out by not experiencing that.”

  Em shook her head. “See, now this should be in the friendship handbook. When you fall in love, you should be required to contain your happiness and not try to spread it around.”

  “No one’s in love.”

  “Your friend….”

  He was shaking his head.

  “What was she doing in her ‘real’ relationship then?”

  “Having lots of sex, I imagine.”

  Her brows vanished beneath her bangs. “So you both have something against love?”

  “I didn’t say I did.”

  “You didn’t have to. It was in your tone.”

  He just eyed her while she smiled at him, seeming quite amused at his expression. “So we’ve just discovered something you don’t do,” she said thoughtfully. “That’s good, actually. I’m relieved to find out you’re not perfect.”

  A shocked laugh escaped him. How long had it been since someone challenged him? Too long, if this was giving him a thrill. “I have a thing against the way people fling the love word around,” he said, knowing this area was a deal breaker for most women, who wholeheartedly bought into the love myth, to the point that it tainted their every date.

  Not him. There wasn’t a single dab of naiveté or innocence left in him, and he hadn’t believed in something as elusive and unattainable as the Easter Bunny or love since he was four years old. Truth was truth. Love was nothing but a big, fat pain in the ass. “I’ll tell you one thing,” he said.

  “And what’s that?”

  “The night’s too good to waste it philosophizing on some emotion that may or may not exist.”

  “True enough.”

  He had to get back to the kitchen. They both knew it, and yet Jacob wanted to stall longer, keep her talking. Or at least smiling at him like that.

  But she pushed her now-empty plate away. “That was heavenly. Thank you so much.”

  When she stood, he did as well, taking her hand and bringing it up to his mouth. “Have a great night,” he murmured, his lips against her skin.

  She looked up into his eyes, hers a little dazed as she shook her head. “You’re probably the only man I know who could pull off that ridiculously romantic gesture.”

  Lightly he scraped his teeth against her knuckles, taking the “romantic gesture” straight into raw sexual mode. He noted her sharp inhale. “Enjoy your stay,” he said softly, and let her pull her hand free.

  Still staring at him, she brought her hand up to her cheek, the movement oddly tender and vulnerable. But instead of feeling as if he had the upper hand as she turned and walked off into the hotel, he felt as if he needed to sit down.

  Or touch her again.

  EM TOOK THE ELEVATOR without incident. Meaning no gorgeous stranger stepped on, pulled her into his arms and kissed her senseless.

  She told herself the vague disappointment in her gut was about the cooking program. He’d said the thought of being on his own show sounded like a nightmare.

  God. What now? When the doors opened on the twelfth floor, she looked down the hall at her door, decided she wasn’t ready to be alone and headed toward Liza’s room instead. Hopefully Eric had gotten her tucked safely into bed and—

  And Eric was sitting on the floor right outside Liza’s room, head back against the door, looking miserable.

  “Eric?” She crouched before him and took his hand in hers. “Honey, what’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I tucked her in. She’s out like a light. Did you know she snores?”

  “Like a buzz saw. But what are you still doing here?”

  “I…” Closing his eyes, he lightly thunked his head back against the door. “Nothing. Never mind.” He rose to his feet. “’Night.”

  She caught his arm before he got away. “Eric.”

  He shoved his fingers through his hair, tousling the golden ends. “I brought her up here intending to…” Now he scrubbed a hand over his face. “I wanted to…”

  “I know.” She laid a hand on his arm. “But she was drunk. You did the right thing by walking away, no matter how much in love with her you still are.”

  Eric’s gaze flew to hers. “I’m not…”

  Em just looked at him.

  “I’m really not…”

  Em smiled gently and stroked her hand up his tense arm.

  “Shit,” he said. “I am. Tell me she doesn’t know.”

  “Are you kidding? Our Liza? She’s pretty much only thinking about her own feelings at the moment.”

  “Yeah.” He sighed. “She couldn’t even get out of her clothes—she insisted I unzip her dress. Then the little fool tripped over it and I had to—” He groaned, walked down the hallway and stalked back. “I had to strip her down and shove her into that bed, and the whole time she was teasing me, asking me if I wanted to kiss her, touch her—”

  “She was drunk,” she reminded him softly. “She didn’t mean to be a tease.”

  “Yes, she did.”

  “Okay, well, she didn’t mean to be cruel about it.”

  “Which is the only reason I didn’t—” He scrunched up his face. “God. She’s going to be the death of me.”

  “Have you thought about telling her how you feel?”

  “Oh, yeah.” He laughed harshly. “That’d go over well. I’m the one who cried uncle and walked, remember? I can’t tell her now. She’d just use it against me.”

  “I think you’re wrong.” She hugged him. “Look, if you can’t handle this trip, I totally understand.” She needed him, but his happiness meant a lot to her. “You can fly home and I’ll—”

  “I can handle this.” He straightened with great resolve. “Trust me, I can handle this.”

  “If you’re sure—”

  “Very. Did you get the chef tonight?”

  “Uh…not yet. Soon. Just get some sleep, okay?”

  “Yeah. ’Night.”

  She went to her room and sighed at the glorious beach-themed decor that instantly instilled her with a sense of calm peace.

  Or would have if tonight had gone off the way it should have.

  She kicked off her shoes, her toes sinking inches into the opulent carpet. If she had to be stressed, at least this was a damn fine place to do it. After stripping, she took a long bath in her hot tub, and though she didn’t mean to, she stared at the flickering candles and let her thoughts drift to Jacob Hill—to that first moment when he’d stepped onto that elevator and stolen her breath, to the way he kissed her, to how he’d looked at her after he’d done so.

  Silly as it seemed, in that beat of time, she’d lost a little part of herself to him. And whether he admitted it or not, he’d lost a little piece of himself to her, too. She’d seen it in his eyes.

  And it hadn’t been just that. He’d gotten hard. She’d felt him when he’d pressed up against her, and remembering, alone in the tub, her body heated, tingled. />
  The carefully placed jets didn’t help ease any of that but only heightened the arousal, leaving her aching and unfulfilled and…hungry for far more than a kiss, damn it.

  She could imagine it, the two of them in bed. Given the way the man walked, talked and cooked with such utter confidence and effortless ease, she knew he would do things to her that would be out of this world.

  “Ridiculous,” she muttered, ruthlessly draining the tub before she could relive dessert, before she could picture how he’d looked at her as he’d fed her, how his eyes had flared when she’d licked her lips.

  She was here to get him on the show! No more sex on the brain!

  She had to figure out how to reach him, how to prove that her show would be different from whatever he was thinking it would be. Drying off, she climbed into the glorious bed, sliding against the silk sheets and thick comforter, her body still humming with lingering pleasure from the bath. It took a long time before sleep finally claimed her.

  The next morning, after a night of Jacob-filled dreams, she sat up and laughed at herself. “No more,” she said out loud. He was her job’s salvation, which was far more important than a quick toss in the sack. Repeating it to herself like a mantra, she got dressed and called Liza.

  “’Lo,” came a very grumpy, sleepy voice.

  “I need caffeine,” Em said. “You with me?”

  “I need someone to turn off the jackhammer inside my head,” Liza groaned.

  “Meet me downstairs. I have the next best thing.”

  “What’s that, a lobotomy?”

  “Aspirin.”

  “SO YOU DIDN’T TELL HIM you wanted him for the show.” Liza shook her head at Em and downed the aspirin.

  They sat in a corner of the lobby, watching the world go by on the other side of the hotel windows, where pedestrians and cars whipped busily past them with the rushed sense of urgency characteristic of Manhattan.

  “I tried to bring it up,” Em said. “But he wasn’t interested.”

  But Nathan was plenty interested, as proved by the ring of her cell phone. After looking at the ID, Em rolled her eyes at Liza, and answered.

  “Sign the chef yet?” he asked.

  “Working on it.” She wondered if not mentioning that she was close only in her dreams was playing the “Hollywood game” the way he wanted her to.