by Jordyn White
That last one actually keeps us talking for some time, long after he’s turned off his car and the air inside starts to get nippy. We talk about the aspects of the project that go beyond his part in it, and discuss everything from the marketing campaigns to my plans for the Grand Re-Opening to the complex logistics of folding the Cottages into the overall operations of the resort.
It’s as that conversation winds down that the atmosphere inside the car begins to change. This is the part of any date that gets tricky, when it comes to my rule. I usually know how to handle it and am sure to keep any good night kiss under control, but Brett is an exception. Before I know what’s happened, what was supposed to be a short goodnight kiss has turned into so much more. His hand’s in my hair and he’s kissing me deeply and I’m kissing him right back. I’ve never let a first date get so heated at any time, let alone at this point, when I know he has to be wondering if there’s going to be more.
Our kiss goes on, getting more intense. His hand travels up the outside of my thigh. I’ve never been so at war with myself. No small part of me wants to throw my rule out the damn window. But I can’t. I know I can’t. I learned the painful lesson a long time ago that it’s not good for me to go too fast.
It takes all the willpower I have to pull away. We linger close together, and both take deep, heated breaths. I have to come out with it, before I lose my nerve. “I, uh, would invite you in for coffee or... something—” we both know what the ‘something’ would be, “—but I actually... I kind of have a rule about first dates.”
In addition to being tempted as hell to pretend no such rule ever existed, I’m feeling a little guilty. As intense as I’ve let things get tonight, I’d hate for him to think I’ve led him on somehow.
Maybe he senses my concerns, because he says reassuringly, “That’s not a problem. I’m not expecting anything from you.” He squeezes my hand as I relax a little bit, though I’m still horny as fuck. “Even if I were, you certainly don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”
“I know, but... I’m awfully tempted,” I confess.
A slow, sexy grin emerges on his face. “I’ll take that as the compliment I think it is. And believe me,” he says leaning closer, ratcheting my temperature right back up, “I find you plenty tempting.”
His lips slowly come to mine, and I meet him halfway, wanting it too. Our kiss starts slow, but it’s oh so sensual, and I’m sinking deep into it. Even though I’ve just said I’m not going any further, I’m arguing with myself already. I want to just climb onto his lap and wrap myself around him. Maybe it would be okay this time. Maybe?
But the lessons that came with this rule of mine were hard-learned, and painful as hell. I don’t want to make a mistake with Brett. I really, really like this man and I want to give us a chance to grow.
My body is weaker than my mind, though, and soon my hands are wandering over his body, and I’m allowing his to wander over mine. I rub his hard chest, his firm stomach, his muscular back, his thighs. I deliberately avoid touching his cock, feeling that would be unfair to us both, but I take the rest of him.
He’s careful with me too. For though he’s burning a path along my arms and neck and stomach and legs, he does no more than edge the side of my breasts with his thumb, leaving my nipples hard and aching. I’m throbbing and wet. I manage to keep myself from grabbing his cock or opening my knees in invitation, but I can’t stop groping him everywhere else or kissing his perfect lips.
When I’m damn near out of my mind with longing, he puts an end to it. Holding on to my face with both hands, he pulls away determinedly, breathing hard and looking at me with fire in his eyes.
I give a whimper of protest, betraying myself.
“I think it’s time for you to get on inside,” he says thickly, “before we do something we regret.”
Would I regret it? Would I?
Ever since I made this rule for myself, I’ve never wanted so badly to break it. The thought of ending our date here is almost painful. It feels incomplete somehow.
His eyes drop to my lips. “Yeah,” he says, eyeing them hungrily. “Definitely time to stop.”
“You are so tempting,” I breathe. I want it. I want him. I don’t know if I want to keep resisting.
“Well then,” he loosens his hold on my face and caresses his hands gently down my cheeks, “I guess I’d better stop tempting you.” He releases me and sits back just slightly. Taking my hand, he brings it gently to his mouth and plants a soft kiss on the back.
This chaste little kiss only makes my heart want him more. I’m wavering, but before I know it, he’s got out of the car, retrieved the little basket from the trunk, and is opening my door.
When I climb out, alternately praising my willpower and kicking myself, he takes my hand and walks me through the courtyard. We proceed in silence and squeeze each other’s hands tight all the way to my front door.
I could just pull him inside. I could so easily bring him inside and say, Never mind. Forget what I said.
He turns me toward him, still not touching me anywhere except my hand. He leans in just slightly, smiling and holding my eyes. “I’ve enjoyed every minute.”
I nod, his presence swirling around me. “Me too.”
I wonder if he has the will power to follow through, but I have my answer much sooner than I wanted it. He says goodnight, puts his hand on one cheek, his lips gently on the other, hands me the basket, and takes a determined step back, waiting for me to unlock my door.
I do what I’m supposed to do, and let myself in, giving him a smile and a wave before closing the door and falling against it, my forehead against the hard wood.
I wait like this until I hear him drive away. Even then, I linger, my heartbeat still elevated, still reacting to him. Not just to what he did either, but to what he didn’t do. Every last bit of it won me over.
Damn, that man.
Once I’m able to peel myself off the door, I drop the basket on the entryway table and head straight upstairs to my old room, where I still sleep. I’m stripped down and under the covers in moments, my fingers dipping into the substantial wetness between my legs. It only takes a few seconds of working my hard bud to release the climax that’s been lingering under the surface of my body for the last hour.
Intense as that Brett-induced orgasm was, it’s not enough to really satisfy me. Not when he’s what I want. By the time I’ve put on my nightshirt, checked on the dog, and turned out the lights, I’m already throbbing again. I can’t stop thinking about Brett, his kisses and his hands running over me.
My capacity to resist is at its limit for the night and I indulge again. This time it’s a little more effective, and when I’m done I feel slightly less agitated. I lie in bed, trying to sleep but replaying our date in my mind instead. I’m not sure how much time goes by while I lay here pondering our conversations, smiling again at those moments when we laughed together, and eventually feeling the heat creep back into my body as I remember the rest.
I can’t believe what I already need to do again. I’ve never been so worked up before. This time I do try to resist, telling myself I’ve had enough already. But in the end, I imagine being with him as I bring myself to another desperate climax. My mind and body truly release at last, and I’m asleep before my heart rate has fully returned to normal.
Chapter 13
Brett
Three. That’s the number of times I had to take care of business before I finally let off enough tension to be able to sleep. All it took was fifteen minutes of thinking about her and my dick was standing at attention again, ready to go, wanting her. My hand was a poor substitute, but a guy has to make do.
It was disappointing not to be with her last night, I’m not going to lie. I was telling the truth when I said I wasn’t expecting anything from her, but with the draw between us as powerful as it was, I’ll admit I was hoping.
When she mentioned her first date rule, though, I could see she meant it or she wouldn’
t have said anything. That was all it took. Other than, you know, kissing the fuck out of her, I certainly wasn’t going to push her. I might be wrong, but I had a feeling that rule was important to her. Why else would she have been so clearly torn?
It was a line I couldn’t risk crossing. As much as I wanted to be with her, I definitely didn’t want her to regret it afterward. That’s a sure way to let a good woman slip through your fingers.
I fell asleep thinking about her, and wake up thinking about her too. A long run and a cold shower later, I’m still thinking about her. In fact, even though I’m going through my day as normally as I can, I don’t feel normal. I feel... shaken. She’s lingering on me, for sure.
But it isn’t just that. This may be strange to say, but the thing that gets me most is this: thanks to my date with Lizzy, I’m starting to wonder about what might have been missing in my first marriage, even in the good days.
And I loved my wife then.
Things weren’t perfect, and yes her getting pregnant with Max was the thing that took us from just living together to finally getting hitched, but I’m sure I’d still be with her if she hadn’t suddenly gone down such a dark, destructive road. That was one of the more difficult things about our divorce. I wanted the woman I first married back, and was pissed off that I’d never have it.
But Lizzy. Lizzy is something else. It’s... startling. I can’t stop thinking about the connection I felt with Lizzy last night.
Maybe that’s why in spite of the fact that it’s not even noon yet, I can’t resist calling her. I’m a little nervous she’ll think I’m overeager—even more nervous that I am overeager—but the sound of her voice when she answers the phone puts me at ease. She’s either really glad to hear from me, or a damned good actress.
“What are you up to today?” Her voice sounds amazing over the phone, for the record. “Do you have little Max back now?”
“No, not until eight. Unless his mom calls beforehand.” I’m throwing a load of sheets into the dryer, trying to resist hiding at the office until it’s time for Max to come home. “I’m just putzing around. Chores and stuff. What are you doing?”
“I’m at the resort, actually.”
“Damn, woman. Do you work all weekend long?” Maybe I’m not the only one.
“No, not usually. We got a call earlier informing us that Katherine Camillo will be in tomorrow afternoon, so we’re down here checking her room.”
I pull the final damp, twisted tail of sheet from the washer and shake it loose a bit before tossing it in the dryer. “Shouldn’t the maids be doing that?”
“Housekeeping will take care of their part in the morning, but my brothers and I like to do a walkthrough before her visits to make sure everything else is in order. We’ll open the closet doors to make sure they’re not squeaking. Stuff like that.”
I knew the famous authoress stays at the resort pretty regularly. I didn’t realize she got such special treatment from the owners.
“I guess I should let you get back to it, then.” I don’t want to end the conversation so soon but don’t want to impose upon her either.
“Actually, we’re about finishing up. We’re giving Whitney a tour of the room because she hadn’t seen it yet.”
The scent of fabric softener whiffs up as I grab a dryer sheet from the box on the shelf and toss it in. “Is the room tour worthy? Do you have the original Lucky Purple manuscript on display or something?”
She laughs. Her laugh sounds amazing over the phone, too. Okay, I need to get a grip or I’m really going to be in trouble. “No, but when Katherine dies, the resort will probably have to make her room into a museum or something. She did write The Bridge in there, after all.” The book that put her on the map, way back at the beginning of her long and prestigious career.
I close the dryer door, hit start, and head back toward the living room. “That’s not just a rumor? Something the papers made up?”
“Oh no. That one’s true. The papers are right sometimes.”
“Huh.” I grin. “What do you know?”
“You wanna come see it?”
I stop midstride, ridiculously excited by the prospect of seeing her again so soon. I try not to sound like the eager puppy I feel like. “See what? The famous hotel room?”
“Yep. Room 701. It’s full of family lore and cool literary mojo. It’s the one room in the hotel my parents never renovated. So yes, it’s very exciting. It has all the thrilling things you’d expect to see in a hotel room. A couch. Lamps. Drapes.”
I smile at her teasing. “How titillating.”
“Don’t feel obligated.”
“No, no. I’d love to see it. And you. I’d love to see you, too.”
“Well, then,” she says, a smile in her voice. “Let me know when you get here and I’ll meet you in the lobby.”
Chapter 14
Lizzy
Brett’s been on my mind from the moment I woke up this morning. He’s been on my lips a lot, too. I spent a good hour on the phone with Corrine this morning, telling her every last detail as I sat in the backyard, tossing a ball for Montana. My cousin’s a good listener and swooned in all the right parts.
She did think it was smart that I didn’t break my rule, which I’m still kind of regretting. I confessed how badly I want to be with him, but she remembers well enough why I have this rule and encouraged me not to let my body rush me into sex before it’s time. I teased her about being a traitor for not telling me to go for it. She laughed but didn’t reverse her advice, like I secretly hoped she would.
Earlier today, I gave Rayce and Connor the clean, “brother version” of my date, but divulged the rest to Whitney once we had a chance to be alone. She swore not to tell Connor the “girlfriend version” and gave me a hug, telling me she’d never seen me so lit up.
The second I see Brett crossing the polished marble floor of the resort’s lobby, I feel all lit up. He’s in dark slacks, a checked Oxford shirt with the top button undone, and a casual dress jacket that’s open in the front. He cuts a rather suave figure that’s the perfect blend of relaxed and hot. Oh, I could definitely take a bite out of that.
I can’t imagine this is his normal weekend attire and wonder if he dressed up knowing I’d be here in my work clothes. Dad always said there are very few occasions that justify not being properly dressed at work, and Sunday is not one of those occasions. As owners, we’re the face of this resort whether it’s supposed to be our day off or not. For that reason, I’m in heels, a straight purple skirt that almost reaches my knees, and a fitted white top with an open collar and no sleeves. The silky scarf around my neck matches the skirt.
I go toward him and we meet near the middle of the intricate tile medallion that’s centered under the domed ceiling two stories above us.
“Hi, Lizzy.” He gives me a smile that lights me up even more.
“Hi, Brett.” I’d love to give him a hug and a kiss (okay, and more than that too, but not here), but I shake his hand instead. I’d rather not be too open about such a personal relationship on property, not while we’re still unofficial. It feels weird to just be shaking his hand though, so while maintaining my smile, I lower my voice to explain. “Sorry. I don’t want to start wild rumors...”
He glances around easily, his eyes pausing for the briefest moment on our staff behind the front desk. “So I shouldn’t pull you into my arms, bury my hands in your hair, and suck on that beautiful neck of yours until your knees go weak?”
My cheeks get warm and my smile falters as I struggle to maintain my professional composure after such a remark. “Well,” I lead us back toward the elevators. “Not here, anyway.”
“Somewhere else perhaps,” he says, in a semi-serious, semi-teasing voice.
Let’s hope.
There are some guests waiting for the elevator too, so with one last meaningful look Brett’s way, I lead the conversation in a direction that’s safe to be overheard. We start talking about the Cottages, and that takes us
all the way to the seventh floor.
“Have you stayed in the resort before?” I ask as we step out of the elevator.
“No, I haven’t. Sorry.”
“Oh, no need to be sorry.” I glance down the hall first to the right, then to the left, in search of a housekeeping cart. There’s one halfway down the left hall. “I just wanted to know if I should show you one of our regular rooms first,” I say, leading us to the left, “so you can fully appreciate the contrast that is Room 701.”
When we get to the cart, young Olivia Walsh comes out in her gray and white housekeeping uniform. “Oh, hello Ms. Rivers.” She nods at me, then mutely at Brett. I try not to laugh at the sudden love-struck expression on her face. She’s been with us just over a year and has spent the better part of that year giving that same expression to my brother Connor. I’ve decided she’s too afraid of Rayce to have a crush on him, even though he’s just as good-looking.
I glance in the room, which looks as if she’s just about done with it. There’s no luggage or other signs of guests currently using the room either, but that can be harder to tell with the suites because suitcases are usually kept in the bedrooms, not in the common living areas.
“Is this room a checkout?” I ask, just to be sure.
“Yes, ma’am.” Her eyes are still wide on Brett. “I’m just finished.”
“Thank you. Leave the door propped open. I’ll close up after I show Mr. Carmichael the room.”
She nods and dips her head to him nervously. He gives her a kind smile and she looks about to fall over. I’ll have to tell Connor he has some competition.
I lead Brett into the lush and inviting sitting area that’s filled with light from the double French doors leading out to the stone balcony. There’s a mahogany fireplace and office nook on one side of the room, and a large flat screen TV and entertainment system on the other. I sweep my hand loosely around. “This is one of our Bronze Suites.”