Room Service

by Jill Shalvis

“Oh, forget him,” Liza said with a sniff, but she flipped over, revealing her thong bikini bottoms. Or more to the point, her extremely perfect yoga-tightened butt.

  From Eric’s chair came a choking sound. When they looked over at him, he turned his head away.

  Liza sent Em a smile. “See? Right where I want him.”

  Em shook her head.

  “So tell me again why we sent coffee to a man who could probably get any coffee in the city that he wanted, especially from his own hotel?”

  Em sat back against the cushy lounge chair and sighed. “Because I’m trying to apologize to him.”

  “Because why?”

  “Because he deserves it. I should have told him sooner, Liza.”

  “Really? When, exactly? When he was kissing you in the elevator?”

  “Yes, well, certainly by that second kiss.”

  Liza’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head.

  Even Eric sat up for this one.

  “Second kiss?” they both asked together.

  Em rolled her eyes. “Look, this isn’t exactly the time to discuss how many kisses there were.”

  “When exactly would be a good time then?” Liza asked. “The next time I find you two having wild monkey sex in your room?”

  “We were not having wild monkey sex,” Em said with exaggerated patience.

  “What about regular sex?” Eric asked hopefully. “Because you could tell us about that.”

  Liza shoved him back to his lounge. “Perv.”

  “I’m just saying she should get it off her chest,” he said innocently. “That’s all.”

  “There’s nothing to get off my chest,” Em assured the both of them. “And we’re here to talk about the real issue, that being the chef for the show.”

  “Or the lack thereof,” Liza pointed out.

  “Yes, thank you, Liza. Or the lack thereof. A situation that needs to be fixed, immediately. I’m going to find a way to talk to Jacob. I’m not giving up there, but…” Em’s stomach clutched yet again. She felt funny opening her briefcase and pulling out a pad of paper in her bikini, but desperate times…“Any thoughts just in case?”

  “Hire me,” Eric said.

  Liza laughed.

  Eric turned his face toward the sun, his expression unreadable. “Well, if that’s so funny, audition for other chefs.” He sprawled facedown on his lounge again, stretching his long, lean body as he sunned. “Right here at Hush.”

  Liza and Em looked at each other in shocked surprise. “You know,” Liza said, “once in a while he actually has a few productive thoughts.”

  “I’ve got a few more,” Eric assured her with a naughty tone in his voice. “Want to hear them?”

  “No,” Liza said.

  Eric shrugged and lay back down, facing away from them.

  This left Liza free to openly study his slicked-up, smooth back and butt, with such an expression of longing it hurt to look at her.

  “Tell him you want him,” Em mouthed.

  Pride blaring from her gaze, Liza shook her head.

  Em sighed and began to make her list. “We’ll need to book a conference room.”

  “And get the word of the auditions out,” Liza added.

  “I can do that.” Eric mumbled this into his lounge pillow. “I’ve got agents I can call. Don’t worry, I’ll get you a decent showing.”

  It had to be done, Em thought as Eric and Liza continued to come up with good ideas. They had to have a viable backup if Jacob truly wasn’t interested. She could do that, find someone else with the charisma and talent she needed. Because she couldn’t lose sight of the real issue—this was her last chance. If she screwed this up, by this time next month she’d be standing behind a counter in a silly hat, asking customers if they wanted red or green sauce with their tacos.

  “Excuse me,” came a low, soothing female voice. “We’re ready for you in the spa.”

  Eric and Liza jumped up eagerly. Em wrapped herself in one of Hush’s thick towels and followed the woman through the gorgeous garden that someone worked very hard on. The moment they entered the spa, Em let out a deep, tense breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding.

  She could smell a myriad of special scents, mostly lavender, and the walls glowed with a gentle light that was nearly as soothing as the scent. In the reception area there was a wall of cascading water that both looked and sounded incredibly appealing. It was so beautiful in here it made her ache, and the quiet surrounded her, a calming balm on her shaky spirit.

  They were each led into separate rooms. Em’s had a freestanding waterfall similar to the one in her room. There was incense burning, and the soft sounds of a jungle coming from speakers she couldn’t see. An attendant told her about an Indo-Asian hot oil treatment. “A delight to the senses,” she promised in a soft, quiet voice that went with the atmosphere. “When you’re ready, remove your suit, stretch out on the massage table and just concentrate on relaxing.”

  Braving the moment, Em stripped out of her bathing suit, covered herself with a sheet so soft it felt like a cloud and lay down. The attendant came back in and started the massage, using heated oil that had Em melting into the table. Her skin soaked up the oil, and by the time it was over, she didn’t think she had a single bone left in her body.

  Then she was wrapped in warm, herb-soaked strips of linen and covered with the sheet, left to bake pleasantly under a heat lamp. Once alone, she listened to the sounds of the water hitting the rocks, of the faraway jungle, and nearly forgot all about her troubles. In fact, her entire being began to let go for the first time in a very long time.

  The door opened. “Look at that,” someone said in a very low, husky Southern drawl. “Just what the doctor ordered—Emmaline Harris, bound and stretched out for my perusal.”

  Em, flat on her belly, trussed up in her herb-soaked linens and sheet like a mummy, barely lifted her head. It was all the movement she could manage.

  Jacob’s mouth was curved in a smile, but it wasn’t necessarily a friendly one. It held things, naughty, wicked things, and made her tummy tremble.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, struggling to sit up.

  He held up a piece of paper. Her note, written to him in her own hands, inviting him to please come see her today, anytime, anywhere.

  Admittedly, not her smartest idea. An open invitation.

  Interestingly enough, the note was crinkled, as if he’d balled it up, then smoothed it out.

  And if she took a good look at him, she could see his jaw was tight enough to tic, that those broad shoulders seemed tightened as hard as rocks.

  Chef was looking a little tense.

  “Jacob,” she said, still fighting the linen. “I’m so sorry I hurt your feelings.”

  “You didn’t.” He moved close, watching her tussle with the sheet for a moment before he gave her a hand, helping her to a sitting position so that her legs hung over the edge.

  She kept a hold on the sheet wrapped around her body—her only armor—clutching it close, hoping not to expose any body parts. “I wanted to talk to you,” she said, “about the show.”

  He hadn’t backed up. His thighs bumped her knees. “I’m not here to talk about the show.”

  “Oh.” She smoothed the sheet over her legs, feeling the strips of linen beneath beginning to loosen. “But—”

  “No business in here.” Reaching out, he stroked a finger over her shoulder—her bare shoulder—making her painfully aware that her sheet had slipped. With only the strips of the herb-soaked linen beneath, she wasn’t completely bare, but she felt pretty damn naked all the same.

  Jacob was just looking at her, his eyes dark and unreadable, leaving her feeling like Little Red Riding Hood staring into the eyes of the hungry wolf. She fought with the sheet a minute, tugging, letting out a sound of vexation because it was trapped under her butt.

  Jacob watched, a slight smile on his lips.

  She finally managed to pull some of the sheet free from beneat
h her so that she could cover her shoulders, only she pulled too much.

  And felt nothing but table beneath her.

  Oops.

  To complicate her situation—and this was most definitely a situation—her linen strips were loosening. Feeling extremely naked now, she squirmed about some more, trying to get herself completely covered, but it just wasn’t happening. “Maybe you could give me a hand here…”

  He just slid his hands into his pockets. “You’re doing just fine.”

  Oh, yeah. If fine was giving him a show! With some fancy maneuvering, she got her bare butt covered again—

  A sound escaped Jacob at the exact moment she realized she felt cool air brushing over a breast.

  Oh, God. She’d created her own Nipplegate. She told herself he couldn’t possibly be able to see in the dim room, and dared a quick peek at him.

  His eyes were seriously smoldering. She heard the rough breath whoosh out of his lungs.

  He’d seen.

  “Damn it.” Leaping off the table, she pulled the sheet tight around her and prepared to lie back down, but it was too late. Beneath her, the herb-soaked linen began to slide down her body, hitting the floor. Plop. Plop. Plop. “This is all your fault,” she said.

  He lifted his hands. “I’m not doing anything.”

  “You don’t have to. That’s the point.”

  “Except become a cooking show host.”

  She let out a breath and hugged the sheet closer. “Look, if you believe nothing else, believe that I’m sorry about that.”

  With characteristic bluntness, he let his gaze roam over her, from her out-of-control hair, to the sheet she was hugging around her for all she was worth, to her bare toes. Without a word, he again stepped closer, staring into her eyes while the pad of his finger stroked over the very base of her throat, at the pulse she knew was drumming there. An innocent enough touch, but it felt intimate. Forbidden. And she wanted more, a realization that made her swallow hard.

  His gaze locked on the movement her throat made, and his finger trailed down, over her collarbone.

  Her nipples hardened.

  In reaction, he let out a very male sound and slowly ran a finger over her bare shoulder, leaving a line of tingly awareness she didn’t know what to do about. She stood there without a stitch on except the sheet, painfully aware of herself and the picture she must make, completely naked while he was fully clothed and yet…yet so aroused her skin felt too tight.

  His finger retraced its trail, everywhere he touched creating a path of fire. She sucked in a breath.

  So did he. “Tell me what you feel,” he said.

  You, making me shaky with lust. You, taking me to a place I’m not ready for. “I don’t—”

  “Tell me.”

  “Heat.” Her voice cracked so she cleared her throat and said it again. “I feel heat.”

  “It’s the oil,” he told her, his hand smoothing slowly up and down her back. “It’s seasonally blended to create a warming effect in cool weather. It works the opposite way when it’s hot outside.”

  “Oh.” An embarrassed smile escaped her. “I thought—”

  “What?”

  “That it was you.” Her eyes drifted shut. “Whenever you’re touching me, I feel so…”

  “Aware?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s the calamus root and sandalwood powder.” His voice was low and quiet, and incredibly arousing, as much as the oil and his manipulation of it on her body. The man would be a huge asset to any spa, his presence alone making it millions of dollars.

  “The combination is meant to stimulate.” His gaze held hers as his finger kept moving over her, lower than her collarbone now, just barely skimming the upper curve of her breast, right at the edge of the sheet. “But I’m very much enjoying that you thought it was me making you feel so aware.” His finger slipped just beneath the edging of the sheet.

  “Jacob,” she gasped.

  He used the backs of his fingers now, his knuckles brushing over her.

  She couldn’t help it, she watched his fingers on her breast, mesmerized by the erotic sight of his big, tanned hand on her pale, creamy skin. Though her nipple was still covered by the sheet, barely, it poked against the material, begging for equal attention.

  Other parts of her body were clamoring for attention, too.

  He kept giving it, until she was a quivering, anticipatory wreck.

  “I can’t stand any more,” she whispered. “Please…”

  Putting his hands on her shoulders, he slowly turned her away from him.

  She stood there wondering what he was going to do to her, the wondering made more all the overpowering because she could no longer see him.

  “Onto the table,” he murmured, wrapping his fingers in her sheet at the base of her spine.

  “Hey.” She grasped it between her breasts, held on to it for dear life. If she moved, the sheet would stay with him, falling away from her body.

  She was not ready for that.

  “Lie back down,” he said softly from just behind her, his breath rustling the hair over her ear. “I’ll cover you.”

  Unable to let go, she shook her head. “I can’t.”

  “Go on,” he said with a tone she hadn’t heard from him before: tenderness.

  Craning her head, she looked back at him. His eyes flickered with a tenseness that matched hers, but in a blink it was gone.

  “Lie back down,” he said. “You don’t want to waste all the relaxing you’ve done.”

  “Too late,” she muttered.

  With infinite patience, he waited her out.

  Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and then let go of the sheet.

  He surprised her, holding the sheet up between them, blocking his view of her as she lay down. Then it fluttered over her, covering her from midback to midthigh, and she let out a breath, only to have it clog her throat when he stroked a hand down her back, reactivating the oil, heating her up in an instant.

  She kept her eyes tightly closed, concentrating on what he made her feel, but unable to let go of the tenseness she’d seen in his expression when he’d first walked in. “Jacob?”

  “Hmm?”

  Over the sheet, his fingers moved on her lower back, pressing lightly in just the right spot to make her want to stretch and purr like a kitten. “Are you…okay?”

  Ignoring her question, he moved up her spine and then back down again. “You smell like something a man might want to gobble up.”

  “You’re changing the subject—” She broke off to moan when he got to her shoulders and dug in.

  “Good?” he asked.

  So good she’d beg if he stopped. “Please talk to me.”

  He sighed as his fingers made their way back down her spine, slowly, with unbelievable talent. “You have a one-track mind.”

  And so, she was willing to bet, did he. “Talk.”

  He skimmed over her bottom, which had her clenching her cheeks, but he didn’t stay and linger, not until he got to the backs of her thighs. While he worked there, another helpless moan fluttered out of her lips before she could stop herself.

  “Why don’t you just concentrate on the pleasure?” he asked. “Stop holding back.”

  “Not until you talk to me.”

  “You’re not going to like it.”

  She already knew that. “Try me.”

  One finger traced a silky path up the back of her thigh to the very edge of the sheet, and then a little farther. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

  She tried to turn over so she could see him but he held her down with one big, warm hand at the middle of her spine. “No, don’t move. Just stay on your stomach. I’ll go. Your attendant will be back in a few.”

  “But…”

  But nothing. Whether it had been her reaction, or that he felt he’d said too much, he was gone.

  Letting her cheek touch the table again, she lay there, mind racing, body aching, heart pounding, pounding, poundi
ng.

  He couldn’t stop thinking about her.

  Well, that made them even.

  8

  To: Spa attendants

  From: Spa manager

  Re: Herbal wraps

  New as of today! Stay in room once herbal wrap is applied to keep guest relaxed and immobile. Otherwise, the linens apparently may unravel and fall off.

  “THEY’RE HOLDING open auditions here today for some new cooking show.”

  This was what Jacob heard the next day when he got to his kitchen. Pushing open the doors, he found Caya and two other servers gathered around, talking.

  Caya grinned at him. “Did you hear?”

  “Yeah,” he managed to say without a grimace. “I’ve heard.” Though due to his own stubbornness, he knew none of the details. He didn’t want the details. He wanted things to go back to normal.

  “Maybe I should try out,” Caya said. “I could become famous, and give you a run for your money.”

  “No one gives me a run for my money,” Jacob said.

  Everyone laughed, and they all got to work, but late that afternoon, he sneaked out of the kitchen and headed to the conference level. There he found a long line of chef hopefuls in the hallway holding résumés in their fists, wearing eager expressions on their faces. He moved past them, ignoring the softly muttered grumblings when they thought he was cutting in line to get his shot at stardom.

  Not a chance.

  But as to why he was there, he couldn’t have said. He honestly had no desire to be on a TV show, to be the “it” boy of the week, to have people watch his every move as if he were performing brain surgery.

  He loved what he did too much to turn it into a spectacle. He loved all of it: the physical skills, the easy joy, the variety and the choices. It fed his heart and soul. And after too many years of being forced to prove himself, being evaluated at the blink of an eye, never knowing how long his job would remain his, he just couldn’t imagine willingly putting himself there again, this time at the mercy of an intangible thing like ratings, or the invisible Powers-That-Be.

  No, he was here merely to satisfy his curiosity and nothing else, and with that in mind, he walked to the double doors of their largest conference room.