by Serena Grey
We both laugh. “It’s going to be fine,” I tell her softly, after the moment of mirth has passed. “No matter what happens, we’re going to be fine.”
She nods, and just then my phone starts to ring. It’s Landon.
“You set?”
“Yeah. Almost.”
“Joe is on his way over to pick you,” he tells me. “I have a conference call, but I’ll be done in about twenty minutes, so he’ll swing by the office to get me.”
“Okay.”
“Fine.” He seems reluctant to get off the phone. “So I’ll see you soon.”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.”
“You should get to your conference call,” I tell him, smiling.
“I know.” There’s a deep chuckle from his end, but he makes no move to end the connection.
I laugh. “Seriously, I’ll see you soon.”
“Hmmm, yeah. Soon.”
Laurie rolls her eyes, and leaves my room, laughing softly as she closes the door behind her.”
“Okay, I’m going to go now,” I say determinedly. “I have packing to finish.”
“Okay.” There’s a long pause. “What are you packing?”
“Sheer lingerie,” I tease.
“Now I most definitely have no desire to get off the phone.” He pauses. “Are you going to describe it to me? Give me something to think about for the next few minutes.”
“No. no.” I laugh. “I’m getting off the phone now.”
“Okay. Okay.” He’s laughing too. “I’ll see you.”
After our conversation, I can’t wipe the silly grin off my face. I love him. It isn’t possible that there would ever come a day when I wouldn’t be in love with him. You’re setting yourself up for an excruciating heartbreak, a warning voice whispers in my head. The thought is saddening, depressing, but not enough to take away the excitement, the reckless elation of knowing that soon I’ll be with him.
A few minutes later, there’s a knock on the door. It’s Landon’s driver, Joe. He also doubles as some sort of bodyguard. He’s probably very skilled, I think now. Or else Landon wouldn’t trust him with his safety.
Suddenly fretting about imaginary scenarios where Landon would need protection, I wave goodbye to Laurie, who’s already nose-deep in one of her unattractive law books. I follow Joe downstairs to where the gleaming black car is waiting on the curb.
Joe doesn’t say much, and the drive is quiet all the way to the entrance of the Swanson Court Tower, Landon’s downtown high-rise building, which houses the offices of the Swanson Court International. The memory of my first time here rises unbidden into my mind, and I bite back a smile. I’d been so mad at him, and yet, after our encounter in his office, I’d stopped struggling against the fact that I was helplessly attracted to him.
I’m still smiling when Landon emerges from the building, looking as immaculate as he did in the morning. He says something to the doorman, then strides purposefully towards the car, joining me in the back, and bringing with him that slight hint of his cologne coupled with his aura of inescapable sexual magnetism.
“Hello sexy,” I say with an appreciative smile.
“You’re the sexy one,” he says with a grin, leaning over to place a kiss on my lips. “What were you smiling about?”
I shrug. “Nothing. Just memories.”
“We have some of those,” he muses.
“Yes,” I agree. We’d only known each other for such a short time, and yet he had taken over almost every part of my being.
It’s a long drive, and somewhere between talking about plays we’d seen, arguing about which movies were better than their book adaptations and which ones were not, and me confessing that I’d never been able to see constellations, I fall asleep with my head on his lap.
“WE’RE here.”
The whisper is soft against my ear, and Landon’s warm breath stirs the hairs on my neck. My eyes flutter open. It’s still dark outside, but we’re parked in the drive of a beautiful house. Landon has his arm around my shoulders, his hand gently caressing my arm.
I stretch slowly. “How long have we been on the road?”
“Four hours,” he replies, “and you’ve been asleep about two of those.” He waits while I smooth my hair. “You ready?”
I nod and he gently removes his arm from around me, then opens the door on his side just as Joe comes to open my door.
Immediately I’m hit with the smell of salt and surf. I can hear the distant sound of waves, though I can’t see the sea from where we are. The driveway is paved and edged with shrubs, up to the steps that lead to the porch. There, a wide, green door leads inside, while the porch stretches across the whole front of the house.
“Do you own this too?” I turn to Landon, remembering the beautiful house in San Francisco.
“No.” He takes my hand. “It belongs to a friend. He loaned it to me for the weekend.”
“You have friends?” I tease, laughing. I’d only ever met one of his buddies, the irrepressible restaurateur, Cameron McDaniel. “And here I thought you were a robot.”
He looks hurt. “You met Cameron.”
“I knew you’d play that card,” I reply. “One friend. That’s pathetic.”
“This makes two.”
I shrug, eager to maintain my high ground. “Still not healthy.” I follow him to the front door. “How’s Cameron, by the way? And Julia?
“They’re still heavily pregnant.” Landon opens the door and lets me go in before him. Inside, the décor is simple and almost rustic. Comfortable furniture, polished wood floors, a modern kitchen, and sliding glass doors from the dining area to a wooden deck overlooking the ocean.
“Your friend is lucky,” I tell Landon. “I’d live here and pretend to be writing a book, just so nobody would ask why I never leave home.”
Landon laughs. “You’d miss your job.”
I shrug nonchalantly. “I wouldn’t have to deal with arrogant billionaires nudging my boss into sending me on assignments just so they can seduce me.”
A smile plays on his lips. “One day you’ll forgive me for that.”
I give him a coquettish look. “What makes you think I’m talking about you?”
He makes a sound like a growl. “If anybody else tried to pull a stunt like that with you, I’d probably…” He shakes his head. “I don’t even want to think about it.”
His possessiveness amuses me, and also stirs a small flame of pleasure inside.
I hold out my hand to him. “Let’s go to bed,” I say softly. “I’m tired.”
WE make love, slowly and sweetly, holding on tightly until sated and exhausted, we both fall asleep. In the morning, I’m awoken by the cries of seagulls. Landon isn’t with me on the bed, but I find him on the back patio, watching the waves as they crash against the sand. He’s wearing only a pair of pajama bottoms, the well-defined muscles of his back disappearing at the waistband, and the outline of his firm butt very clear through the light material.
I burrow into his back, plastering my body against him. “Aren’t you cold?”
“Not anymore.” He relaxes into me. “Good morning.”
“Hey,” I reply. “How did you sleep?”
He turns around so he’s facing me. “Perfectly.”
It wasn’t his nightmares that woke him then. I sigh, satisfied, and lift up my face to place a kiss on his lips.
He kisses me back, his hand stroking my waist through my robe. “You must be hungry,” he says, when he releases my lips. “Let’s eat.”
I follow him to the kitchen, where he whips up an omelet and pancakes with the expertise of a professional chef, a skill he picked up while spending most of his growing up years in a hotel.
“Yum,” I tease. “I’m going to get used to you making me breakfast.”
“Why not?” he says with a grin. “You have my skills at your disposal, babe.” He gives me a meaningful look. “All my skills.”
His tone tells me what skills he’s talk
ing about, and I bite my bottom lip, shifting in my seat, and suddenly wanting nothing more than to go back to bed. With him.
“I have to get to work now,” he says regretfully, as if he can guess what I’m thinking. “I have a phone call with my lawyer and some documents to appraise before I go to look at the property.”
“Oh...” The morning stretches out in front of me. “Alright.”
“There’s a caretaker you can call if you need anything.” He shows me the card with the number by the kitchen phone.
What could I possibly need? The house seems to be stocked with the bare necessities, at least. After eating, we clean up after ourselves. Landon remains on the patio with his laptop and phone, sliding effortlessly into his work mode. I take my laptop to the front porch, settle on one of the cushioned wooden chairs, and start to do some of my work for the coming week. It’s mostly reviews, filler pieces, and some editing work, which describes most of what I do at Gilt Traveler.
After about two hours, I look up to see Landon standing at the door, watching me.
“Hey.” I stretch languidly.
“Hey.” His eyes flick to the laptop on my lap. “How’s it going?”
I shrug. “So so.”
“I’m about to leave,” he informs me. “Why don’t you come with me, so you can tell me what you think?”
“Me?” I laugh. “I’m not a real estate analyzer.”
“You don’t have to be,” he says, serious. “I’d like to know what you think.”
I shrug. “Okay, if you insist.” I get up from my chair. “What is it, anyway?”
“An old ocean-front hotel. It has historical value, and I suppose, sentimental value to the owners. They proposed a partnership.”
I frown. “But you own your properties outright, don’t you?”
He nods. “Usually, yes.”
“So, are you going to partner with them?”
“That’s what I’m going to decide today.” He takes my laptop from me. “If I’m going to pour money into the place, I want to be sure it has a chance, and that it’s going to be run like any other Swanson Court establishment.”
With unstinting care, maintenance, and top class service, like all his hotels.
“When are we leaving?”
He eyes the robe I’m wearing. “I was going to take a shower, and I wondered if you would join me.”
“Well, if you insist,” I say with a smile, letting him lead me back into the house. Inside the well-equipped bathroom, we undress each other and enter the shower stall. Landon sets the temperature with a frown of concentration on his face that would be comical if he weren’t so sexy. Then, he starts to soap my body, from my neck to my back, then my breasts, where he spends an inordinate amount of time, not that I have any intention of complaining. He soaps me until my nipples peak and tighten, then he moves down to my thighs.
When I’m thoroughly lathered, I take over from him, pouring a generous amount of soap into my palms. I rub it over his chest, running my fingers over his taut muscles and firm skin, then I go to his back, before reaching for his hard buttocks. When I reach for his cock, he’s already hard, and I curl my fist around him, sliding my hand up and down his length, the soap providing a slippery lubrication. He makes a sound somewhere between a groan and a sigh and leans back under the spray, letting me pleasure him. The spray of water gets rid of the soap, but I continue stroking him, getting down on my knees to take his cock in my mouth.
He buries his fingers in my hair, his fingers gripping the wet strands and directing the movement of my head. I suck him as deep as I can, feeling him at the back of my throat before I slide back to flick my tongue over his sensitive tip.
I feel his thigh muscles bunch, his belly hardening and tensing. I suck him deep again, and his hips start to flex, the movements in time with my head, stroking his cock with my tongue. I look up and meet his eyes just as I cup his balls gently.
He groans. “You’re going to make me come.”
In response, I suck harder. He makes a sound like surrender, his eyes closing as he pumps into my mouth, over and over, until his muscles tense and he comes with a loud groan.
“Fuck,” he sighs, his chest heaving as I rise back to my feet. He moves me gently so my back is against the tiles, then he gets on his knees, hooking one of my legs over his shoulder. He devours me hungrily, his tongue and lips, hot and wet against my pulsing clit. He nuzzles my inner lips, then licks my clit. The next moment his tongue is stroking the pulsing entrance to my body, pushing inside, tasting me, before going back to flick teasingly over my clit.
I’m screaming his name, wild, my back rubbing against the tiles, my legs so unsteady I have no idea where or how I’m getting my balance. His tongue flutters over my clit, teasing me until I’m close to the edge, then he closes his lips around the mass of nerves and sucks lightly on it. The pleasure is so intense that I almost pass out from the incredible climax that rocks my body.
I’m still reeling from my orgasm when he gets to his feet. His cock is hard again, shockingly erect and lined with pulsing veins. I don’t offer any protest when he lifts both my feet from the floor, wrapping my legs around his waist. He plunges into me, his cock hitting every single nerve inside me.
My hands flutter over his chest as he starts to fuck me. His face is set, his muscles bunched tight under his skin. My back rubs against the tiles as he thrusts hard again and again, and the steam from the shower mixes with the sweat misting on my skin. Pleasure envelopes me, making my blood surge. I cry out his name as another orgasm rocks through me, the powerful surge of his cock and the sweet warmth of his climax taking me over the edge.
It seems like a long while before we both recover, holding each other under the spray as warm water cascades over us. I feel languid and sensual, and totally satisfied. Back in the bedroom, we dress each other. Landon zips up my yellow patterned dress and gets on his knees to slide my feet into my heels. I help him button the long-sleeved shirt and tuck it into his gray pants.
He combs his hair, then sits on the bed to watch me blow-dry mine and brush it to obedience.
“You’re beautiful,” he says.
My heart actually flutters. “Thank you.”
He gets up and takes my hand, his fingers caressing mine. “We’d better go.”
Outside, the smell of the sea is invigorating. Joe and Landon’s car from last night are gone back to New York, but there’s a car in the garage, a shiny, two-door, Italian sports car.
Landon looks at it and grins widely.
“What?” I ask.
“Alex, the guy who owns this place, he thinks the world of this car.” His grin widens. “He’s probably having a heart attack at the thought of anybody else driving it.”
Cars are not really my forte, but even I can see that it’s a splendid machine. “Then why did he agree to let you?”
Landon arches a brow at me. “Because I can be persuasive.”
I chuckle. “Don’t I know it?”
Inside the car, he hands me a small leather case with the bold insignia of a popular fashion designer embossed on the top. Inside is a pair of stylish shades. I put them on, and he does the same with his own pair. Aviators. They make him look like a rich playboy and I tell him so.
He raises one eyebrow. “I was born awesome, baby,” he says with exaggerated swagger, making me giggle.
Our destination is a three story hotel along the beach. The Regency Grace, according to the mounted sign, and even from the exterior, I can see that it’s an old building. Landon drives to the entrance and exits the car, and I watch as he surrenders the keys to the uniformed valet, once again utterly captive to how beautiful he is, how graceful, how hot.
Landon catches my stare and smiles, something carnal in his face promising me all sorts of pleasures for later.
He starts to tell me what he knows about the hotel. Originally built at the turn of the century to take advantage of the popularity of the location as a vacation spot, the architects desi
gned it to evoke the character of the gilded-age mansions dotting the area. There have been two additions and renovations, Landon tells me, with a real effort made both times to maintain the character of the building.
I can see what he means. It’s not hard to imagine the place as part of Newport in the gilded age. Graceful white columns are topped with carved moldings, the cream walls are saved from monotony by white edged windows, and balconies dot the upper floors. The landscaping at the entrance is neat and colorful, but despite everything, there is a sense of something that’s beautiful, but long past its prime.
At the main entrance doors, there’s an older couple waiting to meet Landon. He introduces them to me as the McLaren’s. Mrs. McLaren is the current owner, and she manages the place with her husband. They’re both in their seventies at least.
“Call me Lucy,” she urges when Landon introduces us. She’s a sweet old lady, with her silver hair in a low bun, and her eyes still sparkling with liveliness. “What a lovely thing you are!” she gushes at me before turning to her husband. “Isn’t she Dave?”
Dave McLaren’s face is lined, but still handsome. He gives me a charming smile as he shakes my hand. “Without a doubt,” he says, agreeing with his wife.
Landon raises his brows in my direction, there’s an amused smile on his lips, but I ignore him and thank the old couple for their compliments.
In the lobby, everything is clean and polished. It’s clear that day to day maintenance is not the problem, but the undeniable aura of age that even the efforts of the management have been unable to mask.
There’re a few guests milling about, and a few couples with children. “Dave will show you around,” Lucy tells me. “There’s a lot to see. I’m going to steal your beau for a few hours so we can talk in my office.” She smiles. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“No, of course not,” I reply with a smile. I turn to Dave. “I’m looking forward to seeing the place.”
There’s a lot to see. The hotel has potential, even with my untrained eyes I can see that, but it’s also clear that it’s suffering. The spa is closed indefinitely for maintenance, as is the expansive putting green. The private bungalows that line the oceanfront are also empty. There’s a restaurant on the deck overlooking the ocean and the white sand beach. Only there do I see an impressive number of customers which, Dave tells me, is because the seafood is popular with the locals.
