by Julie Kenner
“Huh?” she asked, taken aback.
“Which floor?” the man repeated, louder, as if she were foreign and thus more likely to comprehend the English language when it was spoken three decibels higher.
“Oh.” This was one of those old-fashioned hotels that retained a useless elevator operator. Figured. She gave a sniff, trying to ignore the overwhelming Old Spice the man had evidently doused his body with before coming to work. “Hm.”
It wasn’t that she couldn’t smell Collin. In fact, his scent was nearly overpowering. But all she could tell from her vantage point in the elevator was that it was somewhere, well, up. She glanced at the numbers. Ugh—fifty-eight floors.
“Floor twenty-three?” she suggested, deciding to go for something near the middle. Maybe once she was there she’d get a better sense of whether he was higher or lower. The bellhop pressed the button and the elevator chimed as the doors slid shut.
They were off.
She sniffed again, closing her eyes to concentrate on the direction of Collin’s scent. Sure enough, as they rose, the smell grew stronger and stronger. Then, somewhere around the fifteenth floor, it started fading again. She glanced over at the yawning elevator operator, wondering what she should do.
The elevator dinged, announcing its arrival at floor twenty-three. The doors slid open.
“Er,” she stammered, as the bellhop looked at her expectantly. “I think I meant floor . . . um . . . thirteen? Yeah. Definitely floor thirteen. Sorry about that.”
The guy threw a bland smile in her direction, but something in his eyes made her realize that perhaps he was not entirely pleased by this misstep.
“What?” she asked.
“Madame, this hotel has no thirteenth floor,” he explained. “Hotels rarely do. It’s said to be unlucky.”
She restrained from smacking her forehead in a “duh” moment. “Sorry,” she said. “I meant the fourteenth floor. Silly me.” Maybe she should get out and walk up and down the stairs. . . .
The operator nodded stiffly and pressed the button labeled fourteen. Once again the doors slid shut and the elevator began its descent. She watched the LCD display above the door drop in digits, sniffing each time it did, until—
“Sixteen!” she cried triumphantly. “He’s on floor sixteen.”
The hotel employee glowered at her. The elevator dinged and the doors slid open to the fourteenth floor, as had been directed. He made no move to push the sixteen button.
“Sixteen,” she repeated, annoyed that this chump was now getting in the way of her meeting up with Collin. Why did they even have a guy operating the elevator to begin with? Surely most guests could figure out how to press the buttons themselves. . . .
The man smiled again, this time giving off a distinct, “I hate my life” look. She resisted the urge to suggest he hit Monster .com at home to look for a real job.
“Perhaps Madame would like to go down to concierge and check her room number with the staff?”
Perhaps Monsieur would like me to shove a Karma Kitty boot up his ass? “Nah, that’s okay. I’m sure now. Sixteen. Definitely sixteen.”
“Very well.” He pressed number sixteen and away they went. A moment later, the doors slid open. “Where to now?” asked the operator, not expecting for a moment that she had indeed reached her final destination.
“Nowhere. This is it.” She breathed in deeply, taking in Collin’s delicious scent. Musky, dark, heavenly. “Thanks, man. Sorry about that.”
“Not a problem.”
Yeah, right. Feeling bad, she grabbed a few crumpled bills from her pocket and shoved them into his hand before exiting the elevator. He took them without a thank-you. Then she headed down the hall to complete her Collin-finding quest, sniffing each and every room as she passed.
At room 1623 she paused. Another sniff told her this was it. Collin’s room. When she lifted her hand to bang against the door, she realized it was shaking.
“Okay, here goes nothing,” she murmured and knocked.
“Just a minute!”
Panic slammed into her with the force of a ten-ton truck at the sound of Collin’s voice, mixed with his heady scent. In addition to Jil Sander, he now smelled like honeysuckle and jasmine. Which could only mean—
The door swung open, revealing Collin, half naked, clad only in a towel slung low across his narrow hips. Dripping wet, obviously just out of the shower from the smell of it, beads of water clinging to chest hair.
She swallowed hard, doing all she could not to pass out with desire. Wow. Just . . . wow. She’d forgotten what an amazing body her former boyfriend had. All hard planes of muscle, encased in a smooth, olive-toned skin. No middle-aged spread for him; he had a perfect six-pack. And just enough five o’clock shadow dusting his chiseled face to make him look dangerous.
He was perfection. And suddenly Hailey felt rather lame.
“Um, hi!” she exclaimed, holding up the bag of takeout. “Hungry?”
If Collin had opened his door and found Bigfoot standing there, grinning from ear to furry ear, he couldn’t have been more surprised. Hailey Hills, hovering at his hotel room door, arms full of Chinese food. His brain told him he should slam the door shut in her face, locking her out of his life forever. After all, he’d just wasted a damn hour in a very fine restaurant, waiting for her to show up for an elegant dinner for two. He’d dressed up. He’d bought roses. He’d ordered a bottle of their finest champagne. And she was a no-show. Again. Just like on their wedding day. And he’d had to endure the pitying stares all over again from the other patrons and waiters and maitre-d’. Yes, I got stood up. I am that chump.
And now, here she was, plastic sack of dim sum and noodles in hand, probably armed with a wild tale of why she couldn’t make it to the restaurant on time, expecting that once again he would see fit to forgive her flakiness and lies.
Yes, his brain was right. He should shut the door in her face. But, of course, he didn’t. The dumplings smelled good. She smelled even better. He was human, after all.
Sighing, he widened the door to allow her entrance. “Come in.”
“Thanks!” she cried, sounding too eager, too cheerful. She was obviously nervous. As she entered the room, Collin realized the suite was a mess—underwear strewn on the floor, work papers everywhere. He walked over to the sofa to clear off a space. “Sorry about dinner,” she said, as he set his suitcase on the floor. “I got . . . held up.”
He turned to look at her, bracing himself for what would come next. The infamous Hailey Hills excuse. What would she come up with this time? He grabbed his jeans and headed for the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. “By aliens?” he asked through the door. “Bigfoot? The evil Loch Ness monster?” A bit cruel, but it couldn’t have been unexpected.
“Try my evil publisher.”
He opened the door, surprised. “Publisher?” he asked, peeking out at her. That certainly wasn’t the answer he had been expecting.
Hailey nodded, slumping onto the couch. She was still wearing that crazy short plaid skirt she had on earlier and the gap of skin between it and her thigh-highs was making his jeans way too tight. He hoped she wouldn’t be able to notice.
“Yeah,” she said, staring at the coffee table, as if the copy of Variety held the answers to life, the universe, and everything. “She had a bunch of questions about my next issue and would not let me get away, no matter how I pleaded. I, um, actually pulled into the restaurant just as you were leaving. Tried the old ‘follow that cab’ trick, but the driver wasn’t having it. Cabbies! I feel so stupid that I didn’t get your cell phone number when we made plans. Then I could have at least let you know what was going on.”
Collin let out a breath, relieved and delighted at her story. A real excuse. She had a real, legitimate, couldn’t-be-helped excuse. No crazy, made-up conspiracy theory. No Marilyn Monroe ghosts or demon hunters. Just a good old-fashioned reason why a girl couldn’t make it on time to a dinner with a guy she liked.
“
Anyway, I rushed here as fast I could to apologize,” she continued, putting her boots up on the coffee table and revealing more leg in the process. God, she was hot. How had he let her get away? “I’m so sorry for leaving you hanging. Especially since we all know I have a kind of . . . history . . . with that sort of thing.” She blushed. “But I’ve changed. I’m a new person now. And the weird things that used to happen to me? Well, I ignore them now.”
He joined her on the couch, daring to reach over and pat her thigh-high-clad knee with his hand. “It’s okay,” he said. “Things happen.”
Hailey squirmed with delight under Collin’s casual touch, wondering if he was half as turned on as she. The electricity crackled and sparked as he lingered half a second too long for an innocent pat. His fingers trailed, nails lightly scraping her thigh-high tops.
Things happen, he’d said. In other words, he totally forgave her for standing him up. She was so right to come here. Thank you, Karma Kitty. Thank you, magic boots.
Maybe they’d make up tonight. Maybe they’d make out, too. Maybe even . . .
Her brain chose that inopportune moment to give her a reality check. Collin only believed her because she’d out-and-out lied to him. Gave him a “reasonable” excuse. What kind of start to a reconciliation was that? Lying to get someone to believe you. Not a very good one.
Still, what was she supposed to do? Tell him the truth? That the magic boots she’d bought online had morphed her into her comic-book character, giving her the magical powers she needed to save a pirate-comic-book artist from a roving band of ninjas set on his demise? Just like the alien thing on their wedding day, he’d find it unbelievable. Sure, she could kind of prove it—do some gymnastic tricks in his hotel room or something—but then she’d come off even weirder than ever. And the last thing she wanted was for Collin to think she was weirder than he already thought.
If he really loved you, he’d love you weirdness and all, the inner voice nagged. And he’d believe you, no matter what.
She pushed the thought out of her brain. She was going to have sex tonight and didn’t need rationality to interfere with the rare opportunity for multiple orgasms. So she’d told one little eensy-weensy lie. People told each other lies all the time. No, that dress doesn’t make you look fat. I think bald is beautiful. No big deal.
“So, how have you been?” she asked in her brightest voice, digging into the bag of takeout and pulling out the cardboard containers. “What’s LA like? Where do you live? Do you like your job?”
He held up his hands, laughing. “Whoa. One question at a time,” he said, his beautiful eyes dancing in amusement. “LA is fine. Smoggy, just like they say. I live in Santa Monica, a couple blocks from the pier. Really nice place, but a hell of a commute to Studio City every day. And my job’s okay. It pays the bills.”
“But your job sounds so glamorous.”
“It sounds that way, yeah. But it’s a lot of work. A lot of meetings and asking for money. A producer isn’t on the set every day, doing the actual filming. That would probably be a lot more fun.”
Hailey pulled off the cardboard top of the noodles, allowing a puff of steam to escape. “Do you ever . . . draw anymore?” she asked.
He stared down at his chopsticks. “Not really,” he said with a small shrug. “Not since, well, you know.”
She did. She remembered the you-know like it was yesterday. The day they’d gotten their fiftieth rejection. The one that said something along the lines of “We love the concept and the storyline—come back to us once you get a better artist.” The one written by Straylight Comics. He’d told her right then and there he was giving up art forever. She begged him to reconsider—said Karma Kitty was nothing without him—but he just shook his head. He was keeping her down, he told her. She could be great. She just had to let go of the dead weight—aka him.
That had been the beginning of the end for them, she realized, looking back. Collin started applying for Hollywood jobs and she had found Thomas to take over Karma Kitty. They were still planning to get married in a few months, but the joy had been sucked out of the relationship. The hope, plans, and dreams they shared had evaporated. And a few weeks before the wedding, when Hailey got her acceptance from Straylight for a Karma Kitty series, she found it nearly impossible to face Collin with the news. She’d felt guilty for her own success as it was just another dig at his failure.
He didn’t say too much when she’d finally told him: Congratulations, he was happy for her, etc. But the pain clouding his eyes made it impossible for her to completely rejoice in her good fortune.
“It’s too bad,” she said, finding her courage now that she no longer had anything to lose. “You were a great artist.”
“Not according to the comic industry.”
“What do they know?” she scoffed. Then she shrugged. “I just hate to see people give up on their dreams.”
He swallowed hard. “I’ve got new dreams now. And they’re working out quite nicely.” He set down his chopsticks and reached over to her knee again, this time caressing it, smoothing his hand over the nylon. “Dreams and fantasies,” he added, in a husky voice.
She sucked in a breath, trying desperately to control her racing heart. He was right. What good did it do to dredge up the past? He was happy as a movie executive, and he had his hand on her thigh. This was a time when art should step aside for life.
“And what might those fantasies be?” she asked, closing her eyes and leaning forward to meet his lips with her own. She’d forgotten how good he tasted, the tang of sweet-and-sour sauce just adding to the kiss. His tongue darted out, licking her lips, coaxing her mouth open to him. She obliged and he delved in for deeper exploration, territories once charted but long forgotten.
While his mouth went to work on hers, his hand restlessly explored her inner thigh, dragging along the bare skin, hitching up her skirt. She gasped at the myriad sensations coursing through her body, her nipples hardening into small pebbles under her bra, longing for his touch. He stroked farther and farther up, finding her pan ties and peeling them aside to reach her soaking wet center, all the while covering her face and neck with kisses. He pressed two fingers inside of her and slid two others inside her folds to caress her most sensitive nub. She gulped as he made contact, the tingling feeling spiraling into madness as he relentlessly stroked her.
“Oh God, I’ve missed this,” she murmured, reaching over to touch him. She felt his erection through his jeans, straining for her. It made her happy to realize how much he wanted her—as much, it seemed, as she wanted him. She straddled him, rubbing herself against the bulge. He groaned, closing his eyes and leaning his head back.
“You have no idea,” he said, his voice hoarse and his breathing heavy.
But while Hailey’s in-the-moment passionate part of her brain was ready and impatient to get the show on the road, a waving hand from the sensible part—way in the back recesses—kept staunchly reminding her that inserting one’s diaphragm before engaging in hot and heavy action with one’s ex-lover might be a decision she appreciated making sometime down the road.
So she kissed him once more on the mouth, then pressed a hand to his chest. His breaths came hot and heavy, his heart tripping a staccato beat. Yup, it was time.
“I’ll be right back,” she said coyly, climbing off him.
He stared at her dully—obviously his more passionate brain had taken over as well—then nodded. “Please be quick,” he said, reaching out to brush her backside as she turned.
She looked back at him with a grin. “Oh, don’t worry. I will be.” Prancing in the direction of the bathroom, she grabbed her purse off the floor. Thank goodness she had a habit of leaving random things in her handbag—like the diaphragm, in this case. It wasn’t exactly like she had planned on getting lucky during the trip.
The bathroom was immediately adjacent to the hotel-room door and, as she approached, she heard a weird noise outside. Curious, she peeked through the peephole to see what it might
be.
She jumped back immediately, horrified, at what she saw.
Oh God. It couldn’t be.
She peeked out again.
But it was.
There was a ninja lurking in the hallway of her ex-boyfriend’s hotel. A ninja that looked very much like the ones she had battled earlier that day.
No, no, no! she cried silently. How had they found her? Did the dim-sum dude squeal? Or maybe he was one of their spies. Did ninjas even have spies?
Great. Now what was she going to do? Sure, she could probably take the guy in a fight, but then she’d have some ’splaining to do once again to Collin. About magic shoes and battling ninjas and—oh, he was going to be so pissed! And here she’d been doing so good with her perfectly rational excuse for her earlier tardiness.
“Is something wrong, sweetie?” Collin inquired from the couch.
“Um, no. Nothing. I’ll be right there.” Squaring her shoulders, she determined to forget about the ninja and get back to the hot sex-with-the-ex portion of her evening. After all, how many chances did she get to win back the love of her life? She checked the door. Locked. There was no way the ninja was getting in anyway. He could hang out while she hooked up and she’d deal with him when she was done.
After doing her thing in the bathroom, she headed back to the couch, sinking down on Collin’s lap, sliding her now panty-free self against him. He groaned and grabbed her hair, pulling her head back so he could nibble at her neck—one of his favorite games. She gasped in plea sure at the sensation of his teeth scraping against her sensitive skin. It felt so good. So, so good . . .
She stole a glance at the front door. Was the lock really secure? Could a mere hotel-room door really stop a ninja? After all, these guys were used to karate chopping big hunks of wood or stone. And if they did, she and Collin would be caught in a compromising and very hard to fight position. Trapped and unable to get away.