Love, Unexpectedly

by Susan Fox

  Two weeks from now, back in Montreal, my old world and my friendly neighbor would be waiting for me. For now, what was wrong with enjoying a sexy stranger?

  “Phone and cancel your room,” he urged.

  The steward collected our cups, but I barely noticed. I was so focused on my seatmate.

  When it came to men, trusting my instincts often proved to be a mistake. And yet, I hadn’t felt so wonderful in a very long while. It was only one time. A special time, with its own special rules.

  “I won’t cancel my room, but I will come to yours.” No matter how tempted I might be, I wouldn’t spend the whole night with him. I only did that when I believed a relationship was becoming serious, which this one never could.

  “Good.” A relieved expression crossed his face.

  I’d expected a smug, masculine smile, a grin of victory. Relief was a bigger ego boost.

  “When we get there,” I said, “I’d rather not go in with you. I have a professional relationship with the hotel, and some of the staff know me. I don’t want them thinking…” I shrugged.

  “After I check in, I’ll call your room and let you know my room number.”

  “All right.”

  Around us, passengers were stirring restlessly. I turned to glance out the window, seeing the CN Tower in the distance and the first blush of a peach-colored sunset painting the sky. “We’re almost there.” I had completely missed more than four hours of sunlit landscape. Lakes, rivers, farmland—as scenic as it all was, the view inside had been much nicer.

  The train crossed the Don River, and I turned back to him, nervous again.

  Across the aisle, a petite woman struggled to retrieve her bag from the overhead storage. My companion sprang to his feet and did it for her, body lithe and powerful. She smiled and thanked him.

  “Kat? Any bags I should bring down?”

  “Yes, please,” I told him. “A black wheelie with a pink scarf tied to the handle.”

  “Got it.” He lifted it down easily, then collected his own bags as the train pulled into Union Station.

  When I rose and stepped into the aisle, he pulled me to him in a quick, close hug. The press of his firm body through his clothes was tantalizing. The times I’d hugged Nav, I’d always been aware of his muscular body, but had forced myself to think of him only as a friend.

  Now, I wanted to see him naked. See every inch of that superhot body.

  Pritam’s body, I reminded myself.

  Leaning down, his breath warmly erotic against my ear, he murmured, “Can’t wait to do this properly,” and then he stepped away, freeing me.

  “Me, too.”

  We maneuvered our luggage off the train, into the underground station.

  “Let’s go aboveground,” he said. “Get some fresh air. See the sunset.”

  “Yes, that’s nicer than the tunnel.” In winter, I was glad for the tunnel connecting Union Station and the Royal York, but on this lovely June evening his idea was much better.

  We emerged into warm air, a busy street, deepening color in the sky. Across Front Street stood the grand old hotel. I gazed at it appreciatively—and with anticipation.

  My companion squeezed my hand.

  Could I really pretend he was Pritam? Play the game and separate this adventure from real life? Nervously I said, “D’you know, when the CPR built this hotel eighty years ago, it was the tallest building in the British Commonwealth?”

  “Really? Times have sure changed. It’s classic, though.”

  “As a Bollywood producer, you’ll be interested to know that lots of movies have been made here. Wait until you see the inside. Or have you stayed here before?” It was well beyond Nav’s normal budget, and I wondered how he’d managed to afford a room.

  “No, this is my first time.” He turned his gaze from the hotel to me. “And it’s not the hotel architecture and décor, or moviemaking, I’m most interested in.”

  Tingles of sexual awareness raced through me. Oh, yes, I wanted this. “I’ll go ahead and you follow in a couple minutes.”

  He bent down and brushed his lips across mine in a quick, hard caress that made me crave more. “See you soon.”

  His kiss still burning on my lips, I headed across the street.

  For the first time since I’d been introduced to Pritam, I was free of his compelling presence. This was the time to reflect and make sure what I wanted.

  Sex with him? Oh, yes. But not at the risk of losing my best friend.

  When I’d first moved to the apartment building off St. Catherine, I’d been saving up a down payment, shopping for a condo. Then Nav had moved in. Now, I had a huge amount of money saved and I’d long ago stopped checking the real estate listings. Because home didn’t mean a fancy condo, it meant living next door to Nav.

  But, okay, he’d said our friendship wouldn’t change. Though my grandmother had always said you couldn’t have your cake and eat it, too, Nav had promised me differently.

  The doorman—not one I recognized—tipped his hat as he ushered me in. “Good day, miss. Enjoy your evening.”

  I gave him a nervous smile. “I plan to, thanks.”

  When I’d first entered this hotel more than ten years ago, I’d stood and gaped at the grandeur: chandeliers and a painted ceiling, pillars with light sconces, ornate furniture. Tonight I didn’t pause to admire the golden opulence but strode toward the registration desk.

  The check-in was efficient, and in less than five minutes I was in my room. Quickly I freshened up, awaiting his call.

  When my room phone rang, I hurried to answer.

  He told me his room number and I said, “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  Taking only my purse and key, I went to the elevator.

  My heart raced as the elevator rose, floor by floor.

  The doors slid open and I took a deep breath, then walked down the hall. When I located his room, the door was ajar. I stepped inside, closing it behind me. “Wow!”

  I’d assumed he’d be in one of the standard rooms like mine, an upscale version of the traditional hotel room with a bed, dresser, TV cabinet, and so on. But no, he had an expensive suite with a sitting room area and a bedroom—the king-size bed visible, already turned down for the night.

  Decorated in the hotel’s Victorian style, the suite was elegant and warm in shades of gold and garnet. Two ornate lamps were lit, but the curtains hadn’t been drawn across the window. Outside, the sunset had deepened, a striking backdrop to tall buildings sparkling with lights.

  He turned from admiring the view and came toward me. “Oui, c’est une chambre agréable, n’est-ce pas?” A knock sounded behind me, and he veered to swing open the door.

  Nav couldn’t possibly afford a room like this, much less the train tickets and the clothes. One day I’d learn the truth, but for now, I was with Pritam.

  From this moment on, this man was Pritam. I wouldn’t allow myself to think otherwise, or I couldn’t go through with this.

  A room service waiter came in bearing an ice bucket, a bottle, and two flutes. Champagne. Pritam had ordered champagne.

  The waiter displayed the bottle, and I saw the lovely painted anemones that graced Perrier-Jouet’s La Belle Epoque, and noted the excellent vintage. This was very good, and very expensive, champagne.

  “Do you like this wine?” Pritam touched my shoulder.

  I jumped nervously and cleared my throat. “Oh, yes. It’s a subtle, perfectly balanced champagne. One for a sophisticated palate.” Great, I sounded like a sommelier.

  Pritam gave a teasing grin. “Well, then, since we’re both so sophisticated, it should be perfect.” Still speaking Parisian French, he said to the waiter, “Please go ahead and open it.”

  “Bien sûr, monsieur.” The waiter did so deftly, the cork easing out with a hushed puff of air. Pritam thanked him and said we’d pour the wine ourselves. Then he signed the tab and the waiter left with a quiet, “Merci, et bon soir.”

  When I’d left Montreal five hours e
arlier, I’d imagined a quiet night in my room checking e-mail, working on the wedding e-vite, going to bed early.

  Now here I was in a gorgeous suite, with as sexy and fascinating a man as I’d ever met, and a bottle of excellent champagne.

  Not to mention the memory of that sizzling first kiss.

  Chapter 7

  Nav’s heart beat so fast and hard, it was a wonder Kat couldn’t hear it. The love of his life stood beside him in his hotel room.

  A suite that had cost, for one night, almost as much as a month’s rent in Montreal. But a normal room wouldn’t do. The trappings of this seduction had to be extravagant. He must keep Kat from seeing him as Nav and slamming him back into the buddy trap.

  He poured champagne into two elegant flute glasses. Not having drunk much champagne in the past few years, he hadn’t relied on memory but had asked room service to bring something special that would appeal to a lady with excellent taste. The flowered bottle was certainly pretty, feminine, and he’d seen Kat’s smile of recognition.

  Now he presented a glass to her, holding it by the stem. When she took it, he made sure their fingers touched before he let go. Then he raised his own flute. “To meeting each other and beginning a wonderful adventure.”

  “I’ll drink to that, Pritam.” Her voice was light, breathy. Nervous? Excited? Or both?

  They sipped. The bubbles fizzed on his tongue as he savored the elegant complexity of the wine. Once, he’d drunk fine wines on a regular basis, and his palate appreciated this one even as he thought that no wine in the world was worth the kind of money he’d laid out.

  Seducing Kat, on the other hand, was worth whatever it took.

  “Come over here.” With a hand on her lower back—touching her the way a confident lover would and Nav never had—he guided her to the window. “Isn’t this a wonderful view?”

  They stood side by side, sipping champagne and looking at the cityscape. Lights glittered in hundreds of windows, bright against the deepening purple sky of approaching night.

  If he hadn’t been with Kat, he’d have been reaching for his camera. But now his hand still rested on her back, just above the waistband of her jeans, and he felt the heat of her skin through the thin layers of camisole and filmy blouse. He longed to touch her naked flesh, and his dick pulsed at the thought.

  “The city’s shifting from her daylight persona to her evening one,” he commented.

  She glanced at him. “What a lovely way of putting it.”

  “Inside all those windows, people are making that same shift. Getting dressed up to go out, or changing into comfy clothes to curl up with a book or TV show.” He smiled down at her. “And then there’s us.”

  He put his glass on a table by the window, took hers and did the same, then rested his hands lightly on her shoulders. “We aren’t going out.”

  Gazing up into his eyes as if mesmerized, she shook her head. “No.”

  “Nor watching TV or reading.”

  Another head shake. Her pulse fluttered in the hollow of her throat. A spot he very much wanted to kiss.

  “Here’s what we’re going to do while the sun finishes setting.” He tilted his head and bent down, letting his intent show on his face.

  She came up on her toes, rising to meet him. “Yes.” Her soft breath whispered against his mouth. Wine, mint. She’d brushed her teeth for him, as he had for her.

  Her lips were pink, gleaming, full. Parted the tiniest bit. And then his lips touched them. Softly, but with no tentativeness. He claimed her mouth with a gentle, sure kiss.

  When she responded, he angled his head and explored her lips thoroughly, kissing and nibbling, darting his tongue around the outside rim but not plunging inside. He’d wanted to kiss her for so long, and now they were alone together, so he could savor every moment. He sucked on the fullness of her bottom lip and she gave a soft moan.

  His blood thickened, surged through his veins. Finally, he had no need to fight back an erection, to conceal the effect she had on him. He wrapped his arms around Kat and, as his dick grew, pressed the front of his body against hers.

  She didn’t hesitate before returning the pressure.

  Her cheeks were flushed; her eyes drifted shut; her hands stroked down his back. He wished he wasn’t wearing a shirt; longed to feel her flesh against his.

  Now that her eyes were closed, he could stare at her face all he wanted and not bother to hide his joy and love. Holding her securely around the waist with one arm, he touched her face with wonder. Arched brows. Slim nose. Cheeks that were rosy with passion. For him.

  A firm jaw on that heart-shaped face, to suit the determined, independent woman she was. He stroked it, featherlight, then tightened his grip, holding her where he wanted her as his tongue dipped between her lips.

  Her tongue met it, delicately at first, then with fervor.

  As they kissed, his hand continued its exploration, drifting down the slender column of her throat as she stretched her neck in encouragement. Circling the silky soft hollow at the base where her pulse now throbbed wildly. As he traveled uncharted territory, places Nav had only gazed at and hungered for, he delighted in each sensation.

  Reaching between them, he unbuttoned her filmy blouse, hands fumbling as he felt the curves of her breasts, the hard nubs of her nipples under her camisole.

  She stepped away so she could peel off the blouse, and he cupped her breasts through the thin pink fabric. Firm, with a deliciously soft, feminine weight, they filled his hands perfectly.

  She arched her back and dragged her hands through her hair, pulling it away from her face, tousling it. The movement was sensual, abandoned. It lifted her breasts and thrust them even more firmly into his hands.

  Nav went down on his knees and, through her camisole, ran the edge of his thumb over a pert nipple. Back and forth. Heated skin under the thin fabric, a scent of jasmine and woman. He put his mouth to the silk and sucked the areola into his mouth.

  She gasped.

  He applied more suction, nibbled the tight bud gently.

  She moaned softly. “That feels so good.”

  Lifting his head from the wet patch on her camisole, he gazed up at her. Breasts rising and falling rapidly under her top, a long, beautiful stretch of naked chest and neck, raised arms, flushed cheeks, glittery eyes, hair in sexy disarray. “I want to make you feel good, Kat.”

  He turned his attention to her other breast as she pressed her hands to the top of his head, holding him there.

  Then, hooking his fingers in the hem of the camisole, he began to peel it upward. When it cleared the waistband of her jeans, he paused to swirl his tongue in her delicate navel. Then he tugged the fabric higher, baring her taut stomach and rib cage, the bottom curves of her breasts.

  Impatient now, he rose from his kneeling position and started to pull the camisole free of her breasts.

  Her arms crossed over her chest, stopping him.

  Damn, what had gone wrong? “Kat?”

  Freeing one hand, she gestured toward the window. “We need to pull the drapes.”

  He glanced out. An indigo night had fallen. Facing them were hundreds of windows, some lit, some dark. He felt a primitive urge to beat his chest like Tarzan and declare to the world that the beauty beside him was his woman. He shook his head. “No, we don’t.”

  “Someone could see in. Our lights are on.”

  “Only if they had binoculars or a telescope. And who cares if they do? No one would recognize us; we’d just be an anonymous woman and man. An erotic image. Let them look.”

  Her lips parted; her eyes gleamed. “You want people to see us?”

  “Yeah. Let them envy us.”

  The arm across her chest eased away and dropped to her side. “All right.” Her whisper was so low he could barely hear it.

  Wasting no time, he went back to peeling the camisole over her head. And there she stood, half naked in golden lamplight. “You take my breath away.”

  “I feel self-conscious.” Bu
t she didn’t cross her arms over her chest again. She reached for the front of his shirt. “I want to see you, too.” Her fingers trembled as she undid buttons.

  Impatient, Nav wanted to help, yet he also wanted her to do this herself. He wanted Kat to hunger for him the way he did for her.

  Finally, she reached the last buttons, her fingers brushing against the front of his jeans, inadvertently stroking his erection. Or maybe not so inadvertently, because they lingered.

  He wanted to thrust into her hands, but restrained himself. Kat deserved to be worshipped. No matter how much he wanted her, how long he’d wanted her, he wouldn’t act like a horny boy.

  She spread the sides of his shirt and now her fingers were dancing up his body, quick and light, touching here, there, everywhere.

  He yanked his shirt off as he watched her face, read the appreciation, the lust, on it.

  “Nice,” she murmured as she ran her fingers through curls of chest hair. “Strong,” as she gripped his shoulders. “Oh, yes, very nice.” Then she closed the distance between them and came into his arms, her naked breasts against his naked chest, the way he’d imagined so many times.

  Sensation jolted through him. Even in his wildest erotic fantasies, she hadn’t felt this good. His imagination hadn’t captured the heat of her skin, the silky slide of it against his as she shifted position. The combined scent of jasmine and mint. The “mmm” sounds she made as their bodies moved together.

  He ran his hands through her hair, lifted her face to his, and then plunged his tongue inside her mouth, letting her feel his pent-up passion.

  Hungrily, she returned the kiss.

  He reached between them, found the fastenings of her pants, and undid them. When he tried to shove the snug jeans down her legs, she took over. He went to work on his own pants.

  Breathless, laughing, they stepped apart to kick out of their jeans. She looked so hot in only a brief pair of pink panties. Then they were pressed together again, kissing frantically.

  His hands caressed every inch of her back, dipped under her panties, cupped her curvy ass, yanked her tight against his rigid erection.

  She moaned and squirmed, trying to get even closer. Her hands paralleled the course his had taken, coming to rest under the expensive Armani underwear he’d bought just for her. His buttocks tensed under her touch, and he wanted to thrust against her. Into her.