Room Mates_The Series

by Kendall Ryan

  I smiled at my reflection again. It was go time.

  Only when I got downstairs to the hotel restaurant for dinner—nothing was like what I’d planned. Yes, my brother and Smith were here already, but rather than being seated at a table in the dining room, they were at the bar with glasses of wine in front of them.

  Wine? Since when had Smith ever drank wine?

  And even more concerning than the wine were the two busty blow-up Barbies practically in their laps.

  Swallowing a sudden wave of nerves at the first sight of Smith I’d had in over a year, I took a deep breath.

  His broad shoulders tugged at the material of his suit jacket, his long, powerful legs were stretched out before him, and his chiseled jaw was in need of a good shave. His hair was a bit longer then I remembered on top. Something to grab onto. I smiled.

  When I got closer, I could see the woman standing beside Smith had her hand curled around his bicep. She was sipping a drink, flirting . . . encroaching on my territory.

  What the hell? This wasn’t a scenario I’d planned for.

  Pulling a deep breath in my lungs, I stopped between my brother and Smith.

  “Gentlemen,” I purred, my gaze finding Smith’s and then dropping away in a way I hoped was sexy. Then again, I’d spent far too much time reading the sex tips in Cosmo magazine but no time actually practicing them, so it was entirely possible I looked like a cross-eyed, sex-starved weirdo.

  “Evie,” Smith’s deep voice boomed, his smile blossoming into something full and genuine.

  His hazel eyes locked on mine, and I felt a shiver race down my spine.

  “Hi, Smith,” I said, my voice shaky.

  “Hey, sis. You finally made it.” Cullen rose to his feet and gave me a brotherly one-armed hug. “This is Francesca and Giada. They’re here for the fashion show.”

  Of course they were models. It was the universe’s cruel joke at my expense. Standing next to the two of them, I suddenly felt that twenty pounds I’d worked so hard to lose should have been forty.

  “Join us. Would you like a cocktail?” Smith asked. “Or a glass of wine?” When I squinted at him, he shrugged. “When in Rome.” Then he raised his glass to his perfectly plump, full lips and took a long swallow, the thick column of his throat working.

  Signaling the bartender, I ordered the strongest thing I could think of. “A martini, please.”

  He nodded and scurried off to grab the bottles that would give me the liquid courage I needed.

  Smith chuckled low under his breath beside me. “Are you sure you don’t want a Sex on the Beach?”

  I looked at the pink cocktail in front of his date and shook my head. “I’m good. Thanks.”

  Apparently Francesca and Giada didn’t speak much English, but that didn’t stop them from communicating in sultry glances and suggestive body language with the guys.

  Smith laughed at something Francesca said and patted her hand like he had no idea what she was talking about, but he was amused nonetheless.

  If I had one ounce of the self-confidence and charm these women had, I wouldn’t be in this position in the first place. A knot formed in the pit formed in my stomach.

  Why the hell was Smith so enamored with her anyway? She had entirely too much makeup on, and he acted like her ordering a Sex on the Beach was the most interesting thing in the world. I could order a froufrou drink too, but that didn’t make me special or interesting.

  As I stared straight ahead at the bottles lining the shelves behind the bar, anger bubbled up inside me. A wave of fresh laughter broke out when the women were trying to inquire, I thought, if Donald Trump was actually the president.

  After sucking down half my martini, I set it down with a shaking hand. “You know what?” I said, turning toward my brother and Smith. “I thought we were going to have dinner, but if you guys want to play grab-ass instead, I’m out of here.”

  Plucking my clutch from the bar, I rose to my feet. Forget this. I knew what I wanted, but I wasn’t going to be anyone’s pushover.

  Smith stood too. “Hey, don’t go.”

  His hand came to rest on my lower back, and since my dress was backless, his warm fingers landed on my bare skin. My eyes sank closed, and I felt my knees tremble.

  When I opened my eyes, Smith’s hazel ones were locked on mine, looking apologetic.

  “Evie’s right. Come on. Let’s go to dinner. We don’t want to lose our reservation,” he added, pulling his gaze from mine and casting a glance at my brother.

  My mouth lifted in a smile. I was relieved and a little surprised that he actually noticed I was mad, given that Francesca had been pressing her large fake boobs against his arm while she grinned at him.

  As Smith tossed a couple of bills onto the bar, Cullen reluctantly rose to his feet. “Yes, I guess it’s that time.”

  Just as the hostess approached to lead us to our table, I saw Francesca scribble down her number on a cocktail napkin and shove it in Smith’s pocket.

  Taking a deep, calming breath, I followed the hostess to our table, my hips swishing seductively. I could have sworn I felt Smith’s gaze on my ass. Maybe that number in his pocket meant nothing. Maybe I could still try to salvage tonight.

  At our table, we were looking at our menus when Cullen cleared his throat. “I would like to make a special announcement concerning the company.”

  Smith raised his glass. “No business talk tonight, brother. We’re in Paris for what could be a once-in-a-lifetime trip. Let’s just enjoy this good food, good wine, and good company.”

  I smiled at him and took the last swallow of my martini. I assumed that Cullen’s big announcement was that Smith was going to become a financial backer in the company. It was something Cullen had mentioned before, taking on an investor. And since I knew Smith was a numbers guy, it was no small mystery that he’d be a silent partner—funding our next round of purchase orders, if it came to that.

  Cullen nodded approvingly. “Fine. There will be plenty of time for work talk later.”

  “Then cheers,” Smith said, his glass still raised. “To old friends.”

  We clinked glasses, which were now mostly empty.

  “Shall we order another bottle?” Smith drained the last drop of his wine and met my gaze.

  “I’m game if you are.”

  Though unspoken, I couldn’t help the deep wave of satisfaction I felt at the desire building between us.

  Cullen signaled the waitress and ordered a bottle of merlot while Smith continued studying me from across the table. The wine was delivered with three fresh glasses and a loaf of warm bread, and since my stomach was tied up with nerves, I would have been fine with just this for dinner. Merlot and a good crusty bread? That was my idea of heaven. No way I could survive on one of those no-carb diets.

  When the waitress returned, Smith asked about the specials and listened attentively, then ordered the steak. I smiled. My night was back on track.

  Throughout the meal, I couldn’t help but notice the weight of Smith’s stare on me, the flash of heat I felt when his gaze roamed along my skin. Even little things about him—like the way his lips closed around his fork—enthralled me, and it was maddening.

  Finally, dinner was done, the last of the plates cleared away, and I was ready to pull a page from my playbook and enact Plan: Fuck Smith’s Brain Out.

  As my brother and Smith fought over the check, I excused myself to the restroom, needing to quickly relieve myself and check my appearance. After all, there’d be nothing worse than trying to get your freak on only to realize you had a piece of spinach between your teeth. Considering I hadn’t even eaten spinach, it would be especially troubling.

  Rinsing my hands at the sink, I gazed up at my reflection in the mirror.

  Am I sure about this?

  I remembered that Maggie had told me most men preferred a woman shaved bare. But that was just too bad. I wasn’t going to change who I was for a man. I was neatly trimmed, and that would have to be good enough.


  I ran through all the details in my mind. I had already tucked a condom inside the zippered pocket in my purse. Applying one last swipe of nude lip gloss, I gave myself a satisfied nod.

  Not about to let my self-confidence waver now, I held my head high and strutted from the restroom. Back inside the restaurant, I spotted Cullen alone at our table as I approached.

  “Where’s Smith?” I asked, stopping beside my brother.

  Cullen stifled a yawn. “He said he was tired. I think the time difference is messing with him.”

  He up and left? Just went to bed? He clearly didn’t read the fuck-me signals I was shooting him with my eyes all night.

  Men.

  I rolled my shoulders, needing to relieve the pressure I felt building.

  Panicking internally, I plastered on a neutral expression and let my brother escort me to the elevator and up to my room, all the while my mind worked overtime. What am I going to do now?

  Once in my room, I punched out a text to Maggie, pacing the floor as I waited for her reply.

  Several minutes passed until I realized that it was four in the morning back home and a response wasn’t coming. Not anytime soon, at least.

  This was it, now or never. And I wasn’t about to squander this opportunity.

  I knew what I needed to do.

  It was time to be bold.

  Drawing a deep breath into my lungs, I headed toward the elevator again. But this time, my destination was the hotel lobby, where I prayed I could convince the hotel staff that I was the wife of Smith Hamilton and had lost my room key.

  Chapter Four

  Smith

  All in all, it had been a damned good night.

  I closed the lid on my travel grooming case, my teeth minty fresh and flossed, before heading back into the bedroom of my hotel suite.

  I’d gotten to hang out with Cullen, which was always fun. We’d managed to talk some business, and we were both on the same page there. Plus, I’d met a couple of women, one of whom might make my stay a little less lonely at night. So, why the fuck was I restless?

  I climbed into bed feeling edgy and out of sorts, and considered grabbing my laptop. Maybe work would settle me down some. Lord knew we had enough ahead of us if I really wanted my bail-out plan to work well enough to help Cullen’s company. He’d busted his ass building it to what it had become, and to have him fail now would be devastating. He’d always had my back, and I was going to do my damnedest to return the favor.

  I’d just reached for my computer bag when I caught sight of the napkin on the nightstand and smiled.

  Francesca’s number. But that wasn’t what had me grinning. It was recalling the pissy way Evie had reacted when she thought she was being ignored that made me want to laugh out loud. She’d always been like that, quick to tell us exactly how she felt about any and every situation.

  Little Evie.

  Not so little anymore, my cock reminded me with a twitch.

  I shifted under the sheets and gave my balls a warning squeeze. None of us should be thinking about her right now. Yeah, so maybe she’d finally graduated from college, but she would always be Cullen’s baby sister, and a birthday cake or a diploma wasn’t going to change that.

  Then why did she have to torture me by looking so hot?

  I could almost hear Evie’s snappish reply to that. Yeah, it’s all about you, Smith.

  I grinned again despite myself, and flicked off the light. There was no point in beating myself up about it. I’d never act on it, and it wasn’t like we had to spend a lot of time together. A little time and space, and I’d forget all about her. Chicago was a big city, and once we were back home, I doubted I’d be seeing much of her.

  The second I closed my eyes, though, the way she’d looked came flooding back, bringing a hot rush of blood to my cock along with it. It wasn’t just the clothes, although they didn’t hurt. Her low-cut dress had clung to every wicked curve, leaving me wondering if she’d even been wearing a bra. I’d have given my left nut to check and see . . . until she turned around and I noticed the damned thing was backless.

  I let out a growl and flipped my pillow over to the cold side. Evie had always been a good girl. In fact, I distinctly remembered her telling me that she was still a virgin just over a year before. Who made it through more than half of their college life without fucking someone?

  Evie, that was who.

  She hadn’t meant to tell me. It had come out in a drunken ramble on the night of her twenty-first birthday. Cullen and I had taken her out, and she got plastered after sucking down her weight in sugary Sex on the Beach cocktails. I probably should have stopped her, but it was a rite of passage, and I wasn’t about to be a killjoy. Besides, it was kind of fun to see her taking risks and being a little wild for once.

  She’d spilled her guts in more ways than one that night. The only saving grace was that she didn’t seem to remember most of it. I’d thrown a little test her way when I’d mentioned the drink to her at dinner tonight, and she didn’t even flinch. Probably for the best. She’d wound up hunched over the toilet at the local bar with me holding her hair. If she knew how the night had ended, I was sure she’d be mortified.

  I shoved away the oddly fond memory and yanked the sheet down to my waist, feeling suddenly overheated. No more thinking about Evie. I was in town to do a job, and I wasn’t going to stop until it was done. Anything else was a distraction I didn’t need.

  I closed my eyes, but my muscles were still tense. Eventually, though, the drinks and the jet lag caught up with me. My mind drifted, and soon enough, my eyes slid shut. The stress of the day faded away, and I could almost feel myself slipping into dreamland.

  The sound of water tickled my ears, luring me from darkness toward the lake I’d dreamed of on the plane. I stood at the water’s edge, bathed in moonlight, when a naked Evie emerged.

  Her breasts were high and full, her waist nipped in and trim enough to span with my hands . . . hands that itched to touch her. She moved toward me, closing the distance between us. Her smile was sweet but a little wicked as she reached out and wrapped those lean, elegant fingers around my throbbing cock.

  I bucked forward and groaned, arching my hips into her tentative grasp. Fuck, yeah. No guilt here. Only a wizard could control their dreams, and I was nobody’s wizard.

  Her grip tightened as I laid my hand over hers, urging her to work my shaft up and down in long, slow strokes.

  “Jesus,” I growled, reaching up to fist my hand in her hair.

  It was that . . . the sound of my own voice, that brought me fully back to consciousness. The pond and naked Evie in the moonlight were gone, but the hand on my cock? Still at it, and doing a fine fucking job.

  Francesca.

  A slow smile tugged up my lips. She must have figured out a way to bribe the front-desk clerk to let her into my room. It was a ballsy move, but I didn’t hate it. Especially now, as she straddled my thighs.

  I’d heard that French women were more sexually forward.

  Viva la France!

  Totally not how I’d expected to end the night, but I’d gone to bed all keyed up and could use the release. No chance I’d be kicking a gorgeous woman out of my bed, whether she’d broken some laws to get in it or not.

  I reached up and spanned her waist in my hands, letting out a groan as I realized her skin was bare. It was too dark to see, but my fingertips were doing a fine job of cataloging what my eyes couldn’t.

  “You’re killing me,” I muttered. Now that I’d released her hand, her strokes grew tentative, more languid, and the need for more was clawing at me hard. “Tease.”

  Her breathy laugh was more like a gasp as I let my fingers trail up her sides to brush against the underside of her breasts. Strange, I had remembered them being larger. Almost too large for her body, but as I cupped her tits now, they felt just right. The full, soft globes fit perfectly in my hands, her nipples taut in my palms as I caressed her.

  She moaned softly under
her breath, the sound almost like a relieved sigh. The motion of her hand increased as I plucked one nipple between my thumb and forefinger. Her hips started rocking against my thighs, and her breathing grew choppy.

  “So responsive, just how I like it,” I managed through gritted teeth. “That feel good, baby?”

  She moaned a noise of affirmation, and that was good enough for me.

  “Now, stroke that dick, sweetheart,” I said on a groan.

  Her careful strokes were torture. She wasn’t going to hurt me. In fact, I didn’t mind when sex got a little rough.

  I released her breasts and removed her hand from my shaft. After placing a wet, open-mouthed kiss against her palm, I wrapped it back around me, groaning when her grip tightened possessively and pumped again.

  I sat up, and her scent surrounded me. It had been more cloying at the restaurant. Now, though, she smelled sweet. Like hotel soap and something citrusy. I buried my face into her neck and breathed deeply before closing my teeth over the spot where her pulse fluttered wildly.

  “Mmm . . .”

  She released my cock and pressed in closer, curling her arms around my neck and resting her forearms on my shoulders.

  I nibbled and sucked, reveling in the feel of her soft chest crushed against my hard one.

  The rocking grew more insistent and had become more of a slow grind. The rhythm was inconsistent and a little hesitant, so I took control, cupping her round hips in my hands and using them to work her over my straining erection. Her silky panties were soaked, heating me to the point of combustion as I tore my mouth from her neck and slanted it over her lips.

  Jesus, those lips. So plump and sweet and soft. Kissing her was like heaven. I could only imagine what that mouth would feel like wrapped around my swollen cock. I dug my fingers into her hips and increased the pace, needing the pressure . . . knowing she needed it just as badly.

  She threw her head back and let out a muffled moan that sounded like a plea.

  If she wanted more, then I wouldn’t deny her.

  I slid her off me and hooked a finger inside those wet little panties, snapping the slender string that held them together with one tug.