How To Have Surprise Quadruplets (How To... Book 2)

by Layla Valentine

  “Just one,” I said firmly.

  If Alexis walked in later, I would ask her to join me. If she didn’t, I wanted to get through breakfast as quickly as possible so I could go find her. I hadn’t planned on being stuck in a hotel in the middle of China’s jungle, but now that I was, I was intent on putting the time to good use.

  And I couldn’t imagine a better use than finding a way to get Alexis Taylor to smile again, the way she’d been smiling last night.

  I finished breakfast in record time and strolled back out into the lobby, looking around to see whether anything had changed.

  Nothing had.

  So, that left me pretty much completely up to my own devices. And I felt…. I wanted a massage. Some acupuncture, if they offered it—which they likely did, considering this was a high-end hotel in China. I’d always wanted to try it; I’d just never slowed down enough to have the time.

  Also, the whole headline of Rian Cassady Chooses New Age Alternative Medicine would have chased me for the rest of my life. It was disgusting how many of my choices came down to what the press would think of it—or rather, what they’d write about it. How they’d try to smear my reputation with it.

  The fact that there was a good chance I’d find Alexis in that very spa didn’t even come up. I swear, I didn’t even think of it. At all.

  But just to be safe, I did head to the reception desk to ask whether they had any openings—and whether there was anyone currently making use of the spa. You know, just so I would know what to expect when I got down there.

  The man at the desk scanned the handwritten schedule at my question, then nodded.

  “They do have openings for both massage and acupuncture,” he said in a smooth, cultured, made-for-fancy-hotels tone. “There is only one other client there right now.”

  I tipped my head to him in thanks, and in congratulations to myself. Just as I had suspected. It was sure to be Alexis.

  I turned on a heel and headed for the hallway he pointed out, which was very helpfully labeled Spa This Way, already thinking about what I was going to say to Alexis first.

  I didn’t even consider that she might be down there naked, oiled up, getting a full-body massage. I’m serious. I don’t even know why I would have.

  As it turned out, when I arrived, she was getting a foot massage—which meant her feet were naked, but the rest of her was, unfortunately, very clothed.

  I did my best not to let any of those thoughts show on my face, though.

  “Fancy meeting you here,” I said, dropping into a chair beside her.

  “And you,” she returned, putting down her magazine and giving me a sly grin. “You here for a pedicure?”

  I looked at my feet, frowning, and trying to remember the last time I’d paid any attention to them. That thought alone made me think a pedicure was probably a good idea.

  “Now that you mention it, I could probably use one,” I said with a shrug. I glanced up at the woman manning the desk and asked, “Is there room for one more in here?”

  A snort from the seat next to me told me that it was maybe a stupid question. Hey, I’d never had a pedicure before. I didn’t know the rules.

  I turned to Alexis and tipped my head, giving her my best do-you-have-a-problem look. “I’m sorry, I don’t know the rules for this sort of thing. Is there a problem with me asking about any openings? Is that not the thing to do in these sorts of joints?”

  “The place is practically deserted, Rian. I’m pretty sure she won’t have any trouble fitting you in.”

  “That’s what she said,” I whispered under my breath.

  “Excuse me?” she asked, with exactly the amount of outrage I’d expected. But I was shocked as hell to see the smile on her face as she said it.

  “Sorry,” I told her with an answering grin. “I couldn’t help it. You set yourself up for that one.”

  “Except, I’m pretty sure you screwed it up,” she noted, one fingertip to her lips in thought. “As a girl, I have to tell you that it would be a pretty big disappointment if I didn’t have any trouble fitting you in. I mean…”

  She lifted one eyebrow to make sure her meaning was completely clear, and I could feel the blush rising right up my neck.

  What was I, fifteen years old? Since when had a girl been able to make me blush with a dirty joke?

  Then, her laugh rang out like chiming bells and I found myself grinning rather than blushing. Oh man, how I loved the sound of that laugh. Loved the way it changed her face. She looked like someone who didn’t smile enough—and maybe it was stupid, but something in me wanted to change that. Make her smile more often. Give her something that made her smile all the time.

  Which was either completely insane or completely stupid. And was quickly overshadowed by a sudden memory from last night.

  “Hey, you have my jacket,” I said, my tone turning accusatory in the blink of an eye.

  “And you have my shoe, in case you forgot,” she shot back. “I only took your jacket to make sure you gave it back.”

  I frowned. That didn’t seem right.

  “No! I remember, now; you took my jacket because you decided you were cold. I told you I’d had it since I was a teenager, and I was surprised that it still fit, and you asked to see it, then put it on and ran away from me like you were intent on stealing it. I took your shoe to make sure you gave it back. To make sure you had to trade me for it.”

  I glared at her, remembering the whole scene vividly. Her in my jacket, which had been about five sizes too big in the shoulders and had made her look like a little kid, full-on sprinting in the other direction. Running so hard she’d fallen right out of her shoes and only managed to pick one of them up before she hit her door, slammed the key down on the pad, and busted through it.

  I’d followed more slowly, the world tilting dangerously around me, but had stopped for long enough to pick up the shoe she’d lost. When I knocked on her door, she’d only opened it enough for one eye to peer out.

  “I’m not giving it back,” she’d said childishly.

  “Fine, then I’m keeping your shoe. Tomorrow, you’ll have to come find it,” I’d told her, making my voice as serious as I could for the situation.

  “Fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  And she’d closed the door, leaving me in the hallway by myself. So I’d gone back to my room, her shoe tucked against my chest, the knowledge that she’d have to see me again in the morning filling me with all sorts of pleasure.

  Alexis

  He was damn right I’d kept his jacket. I’d sat in it for another hour in the room’s plush armchair, waiting to see if he was going to come back, cuddled up in that warm leather with the worn plaid interior, the left side pulled up over my nose so I could smell his cologne.

  He hadn’t come back. Not that I’d blamed him. I’d effectively slammed the door in his face. Turned out even a whole bottle of rosé couldn’t smother my inability to deal with my emotions, and my emotions had been doing all sorts of flips at that point. I hadn’t had a good grip on them.

  So, I’d run. Of course I’d run. It was what I’d spent my entire life doing.

  I’d fallen asleep right there in the chair, curled up in his jacket. When I woke up, I made my way to the enormous, lonely bed, stripped out of the jacket—which hadn’t seemed like it would be comfortable once I was lying down—and crawled under the covers. Then, I’d spread my legs, drawn my panties aside, and explored the aftereffects of my impromptu night with him, remembering the heat of his stare, the weight of his hand over my mouth. Imagining the weight of his body on my own, and the heat of him entering me.

  I jerked and glanced at him, wondering if any of that had shown on my face. I was blushing—I could feel it—but I hoped I could put that down to embarrassment over my behavior last night. No, not that behavior. The behavior where I stole his jacket and ran away from him.

  “So, what exactly are you willing to do to get your jacket back?” I asked. “Because I’ve started to r
eally like it. It’s great for sleeping in.”

  I watched the color rise in his face and was pleased to see that my statement—which I’d planted intentionally—was having exactly the effect I’d wanted it to have.

  I’d wondered. But I didn’t wonder anymore.

  Of course, that didn’t really get me anything, did it? He was still a guy who had a girlfriend and who I would probably never see again. A guy who was quite possibly just paying attention to me because I was the only woman in this hotel and we were stuck here. Was it really worth making any sort of effort, with all of that in mind?

  “How about I cook you dinner?” he asked suddenly.

  I had to yank my thoughts back together to remember what we’d even been talking about.

  “What?” I stuttered.

  He gave me a look like he was starting to question my intelligence. “You asked what I was willing to do to get my jacket back.” Leaning forward, he continued in a deeper tone, “And I said, how about I cook you dinner?” But a frown followed that, and he shook his head. “Actually, it would be a lie if I offered that. I can’t cook to save my life. But I can bring you dinner. Room service. Personalized.”

  Oh, what the hell? Did it really matter if I ever saw him again, when all was said and done?

  I leaned in, too. “Dinner sounds perfect. My room. At eight.”

  I opened my door at eight on the dot when he knocked and found Rian on the other side, grinning and dressed better than I’d seen him at any time up to that point. He was wearing nice slacks and a button-down shirt, which looked amazingly good on him. The shirt was just tight enough to cling to his muscles, the pants obviously tailored to his long legs and narrow hips.

  When he pushed the room service cart in, I turned to watch him walk by and appreciate how those slacks clung to his ass, as well.

  What did the man do, spend half his time in the recording studio and the other half in the gym?

  My back arched slightly in response as my body told me what it thought of the picture, and I allowed a smirk to creep over my mouth. Then, I hastily wiped it off my face before he turned around.

  “Glad I chose the black dress rather than my pajamas,” I joked. “I didn’t know we were getting dressed up for this.”

  He brought the cart to a halt and turned toward me, looking me up and down in a way that made my blood run even hotter.

  “You would look beautiful in anything you wore,” he said genuinely. “I’m sure you’re even sexy in pajamas.”

  Look, when you’re in the modeling industry, you get used to people commenting on your looks. You get used to people telling you you’re beautiful, or that you looked really amazing in this or that. After all, that’s your business. It’s what you’re selling, more or less. You need those people to make those comments.

  You’re just not used to them ever putting any real feeling behind the words.

  And that was exactly why I walked right into his arms and hugged him. I didn’t mean to do it, and I’m dead serious about that. If I’d been thinking—actually thinking—I would have stopped myself before I took a single step.

  But I wasn’t thinking. That was the problem. At that moment, I was just feeling. Feeling the loneliness of the last ten years in the industry, when everyone had wanted something from me. Feeling the walls I’d had to build to keep me safe from the people who would have taken and taken until there was nothing left. Feeling the wide-open gap where I should have had true affection, especially from those who were my allies.

  Feeling the sudden, overwhelming realization of someone looking at me and giving me his true self.

  His arms came around me as if he’d been expecting that I’d do just that, and I tucked my face into his neck and breathed deeply, his arms crushing me to his chest, his hands wrapped around my waist in something that was both utterly possessive and at the same time endearing, like he’d needed the hug just as badly. He pressed his lips to the top of my head and breathed out slowly, his body relaxing against me as we both melted into the hug.

  A moment later, it became glaringly obvious that his body thought there was going to be more to it than just a hug. I could feel the hard length of him nudging my hips, pressing against the front of his slacks. He stilled and pulled away a little bit.

  “What was that for?” he asked, looking gently into my eyes. “You okay?”

  And there it was. The problem with letting yourself be seen, letting yourself be vulnerable. At some point, you had to explain exactly what it meant.

  I wasn’t good at letting myself be vulnerable. I was even worse at telling people where it had come from—or how long it had been there.

  “I’m great,” I said brightly. “You just looked like you could use a hug. You know. After all the hard work you’ve so obviously done to get this dinner ready.”

  I shot him a smile and watched him adjust his attitude to something completely different—and I loved him for it. He wasn’t going to force the issue. Instead, he was going to let me derail the moment we’d almost had—again—and bring us back onto safe, joking footing.

  Whoever his girlfriend was, I thought, she was a very, very lucky woman. I mean, aside from the fact that he was obviously attracted to me. Any man who could pull back like that and give a girl exactly what she needed—a safe, friend-zone night—was worth his weight in gold.

  Rian

  I know what you’re thinking. We were both there in her room, all dressed up with nowhere to go, and she’d been close enough to me to notice—unless she was completely numb from the waist down—how much I wanted her.

  Hell, just thinking about it was getting me flustered again. I turned over onto my stomach on the bed, doing my best to calm my lower half down. This definitely wasn’t the time for that particular head to be in charge.

  So no, we didn’t sleep together. How could I have done that to her? There was something sad about her, something crying out for saving, but she was just as obviously not interested in being saved. She also wasn’t interested in letting me in or letting me see what had happened that had damaged her.

  She wasn’t the kind of girl you just slept with. She was the kind of girl you had to let come to you—and only when she was ready.

  I groaned. Good thing there weren’t any photographers in this joint. I was acting like some lovesick puppy. The paparazzi would have had a field day—and they would have made sure Haley, and my agent, and my manager, and the label, had all the evidence they needed of my bad behavior. I couldn’t afford anything like that. Couldn’t afford to gamble it all away.

  Not on a girl I would probably never see again. This was Alexis Taylor, for goodness’ sake. It wasn’t like she was available. Even if she was at the moment, she wouldn’t be for long. She always had someone chasing after her.

  And even if she was, I definitely wasn’t. At least, not as far as the public knew.

  Then, I grinned. I guessed it all came down to one thing: there were no photographers or press at the hotel. Which meant that what happened at The Jewel, stayed at The Jewel.

  And I certainly had plans for what was going to happen next.

  I knocked on her door at eleven the next morning, hoisting the picnic basket I’d had the kitchen prepare up against my hip. The thing was heavy—and I hoped that was because they’d put champagne inside. I didn’t know if Alexis liked all wine as much as she seemed to like rosé, but I was betting she did. People didn’t normally take to one sort of wine and ignore all the others. And I liked how much it had relaxed her on our first night together. I wanted to see that smile again. See that sense of mischief.

  When she opened the door, a look of surprise on her face, I lifted the picnic basket.

  “We’re staying next to one of the Seven Wonders of the World, and it stopped raining this morning. So, I figured…a hike and a picnic? I mean as long as you don’t have anything else to do.”

  She stepped out of the room and pulled the door quickly shut. “I don’t have a single thing I’d l
ike to do more,” she answered, taking my other hand.

  We were strolling down the hall together, her hand in mine, before I overcame my surprise at the fact that she’d agreed to join me.

  The picnic was the very definition of romantic, if I did say so myself. We were able to get directions for hiking to the wall along a well-traveled trail, which made it not only an easy walk, but a safe one as well. I didn’t want to deal with any mudslides or dangers of the sort, especially since it seemed the most casual pair of shoes Alexis had brought were a pair of ballet flats rather than something sturdy like my boots.

  We got through the jungle without any mishaps, though, and once we got to the wall, we chose the first nice spot we saw—a place where one of the turrets jutted out into the wilds—and spread the blanket for our lunch.

  There was no one else on the wall. Probably because the storm clouds above us still looked like they were ready and willing to do battle.

  Alexis eyed the sky doubtfully. “Are you sure it’s finished raining?” she asked finally.

  I followed her gaze and then shrugged. “My weather app isn’t exactly working out here,” I joked. “But it stopped raining, and that was enough for me. I was starting to feel extremely cooped-up in that hotel.”

  She grinned. “Fair enough. Even you have to stop reading at some point, right?”

  I gave her my most offended look. “Excuse me, have you seen me reading at all since the first day we were here?”

  “Fair enough,” she repeated. “Though it’s not like I’ve been with you every second of every day. You could have been reading on the sly, when no one was watching.” Her eyes glinted at me with her laughter, but then she glanced at the spread. “Now, tell me what we have here. I’m starving.”

  I had no idea what the hotel had packed us, but I was pleased to open the basket and see a bottle of champagne, two plastic glasses, and a whole selection of dim sum, fruit, and small cakes. I poured us each a glass of bubbly—it was clear by her sigh at the first sip that Alexis was a fan of champagne. Then, she and I tried each dumpling, spring roll, and wonton on the count of three together, sometimes fighting with our chopsticks to get to something especially good-looking before the other.