Fire and Romance

by Melanie Shawn

  Talking to Sydney, clearing the air about why he’d done what he had was freeing. A weight that Marco hadn’t been aware that he was carrying lifted off his shoulders.

  Several people filed out of the double doors and Marco realized that the reunion must be winding down, which meant that more people would be coming out and chances were, at least some would be headed to the Sunset Diner.

  Wanting as much uninterrupted time as he could get with Sydney, he prompted, “Your turn.”

  “My turn?”

  “I told you what happened, now what did you think you were agreeing to?”

  “Oh, I thought you were…” Her eyes dropped to the ground and she shifted her weight from her left foot to her right. When her head lifted again, her eyes were filled with resolve. “I thought you were asking me to go upstairs.”

  “Upstairs?” He repeated, not because he hadn’t heard her, but because he couldn’t believe what she was saying.

  “I thought you were asking me to go upstairs.” She licked her lips nervously, and he sensed the shift in energy between them. Her doe eyes stared up at him with a raw vulnerability that wrapped around his heart and squeezed it like a vice. “You know. Upstairs.”

  “That’s what you said yes to?” His voice was raw with desire.

  She nodded.

  “Wait here,” he commanded roughly.

  He started to walk toward the front desk, but she grasped his arm and stopped him. “Where are you going?”

  “To get a room.” He’d planned on staying with his mom, but those plans just changed.

  She shook her head as she chuckled and her fingers tightened on his forearm. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “Yes. I do.”

  The chance to be alone with Sydney, even if nothing happened, was one he was not about to pass up. He didn’t care if all they did was turn on the TV and watch Sex in the City reruns. If she were willing to spend the night with him, he would move heaven and earth to make that happen.

  “No,” she stepped closer and lowered her voice. “I mean you don’t have to get a room. I have one.”

  Another wave of people came out of the doors beside them, and he grabbed her hand. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter 7

  ‡

  “What floor?” Marco asked as they entered the elevator.

  “Four.” Sydney heard herself answer, but her voice sounded distant, almost as if she was underwater.

  Feeling disconnected from herself was not a new phenomenon in her life, so she recognized what was happening. It happened a lot after her parents moved to Europe. Since Devon had forced her to go to therapy shortly thereafter, she’d learned that it was her body’s response to overstimulation. When she felt too much of any emotion, be it sadness, joy, fear, or anxiety, her brain would check out. This was so far the only time that she’d experienced it over something happy.

  She didn’t want to miss a second of this time with Marco, even if all they did was talk. She wanted to be fully present not outside herself. To that end, using the tools she’d learned from her therapist, she focused on her surroundings, pinpointing each sense.

  Scent: Inhaling in through her nose she noted a faint smell of musk as they stepped into the confined space.

  Sight: Movement caught her attention as Marco’s arm reached past her and pressed the round, silver button with the number four on it. A ring of light illuminated around it and the doors closed, revealing their hazy reflections in the stainless steel.

  Sound: Her heartbeat thumped in her head as they rode the elevator up to the fourth floor in silence. Well, sort of silence. Neither of them spoke but there was soft music playing through the speakers and their breaths were audible in the confined space.

  Taste: As she ran her tongue along the seam of her lips, she detected the tart, yet sweet aftertaste of the red Moscato she’d drunk.

  Touch: She glanced down to where her hand was still being held and concentrated on how it felt.

  She’d never been a big hand holder. Typically, she’d be counting the seconds until she could remove her hand if someone was holding it. Not that she’d had a ton of experience with this—or any—PDA, but she’d had three boyfriends and had not enjoyed this particular act with any of them. It wasn’t that she pulled away whenever one of them had reached for her hand, but usually, she’d hold it for a few seconds, squeeze, and then let go.

  Simon’s fingers were long and thin, which was great for his profession but often made her feel like she was holding hands with a skeleton. He felt fragile, and she was always afraid that she would break him.

  And her boyfriend before him had short, pudgy fingers and it hurt when he would thread them in hers. And the one before that had small, clammy hands. She felt like Goldilocks. None were right until she’d held Marco’s hand.

  His hands were anything but frail. His fingers were thick but not fat. He had a large palm that enveloped her with a mass of warmth and security. Holding his hand grounded her in a way that her therapist-recommended exercises hadn’t.

  He anchored her to the here and now and brought her back into herself.

  The ding chimed signaling their arrival on the floor, and Sydney nervously blurted out, “We’re here!” as the doors opened.

  She didn’t miss the amused grin that Marco’s lips turned up into. He dropped her hand and held the door with one arm while the other extended out, indicating for her to exit before he did. It was a small gesture, but one that hit her like a direct shot from Cupid’s arrow straight to the heart. Her reaction came as quite a surprise to her.

  As a self-proclaimed, non-romantic combined with not buying into the typical roles of male and female stereotypes, it had never bothered her that Simon never held doors for her. She was perfectly capable of opening her own doors, thank-you-very-much. As a grown woman, she could take care of herself.

  But it seemed her heart had a different view on chivalry. While her head had zero use for it, her heart had been eating it up all night.

  Marco held doors. He pulled out her chair. He’d gotten their drinks. He made sure that she exited the elevator first.

  Logically, she knew that these acts were inconsequential in the grand scheme or even small scheme of her life, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that they had all kinds of consequences.

  When they stopped in front of her door, she pulled the keycard from her purse. She hoped that Marco didn’t notice her hands shaking as she slid the card into the slot.

  She was doing her best to hold it together and not have a total internal meltdown. Everything was happening so fast. He’d just told her that he had feelings for her. Or, at least, did have feelings for her. And then they’d headed upstairs.

  To her hotel room.

  The light went green, and she pushed the door open. They walked inside to find clothes strewn about the floor. Her toiletries bag was unzipped, its contents strewn about. It looked like a crime scene.

  But Marco knew better.

  He took one look around and said, “I see some things haven’t changed.”

  “Yes, they have.” She defended herself as she gathered up the clothes that she’d haphazardly discarded when she’d been getting ready earlier.

  Tidiness had never been Sydney’s strong suit. Her mother used to tell her that it looked like a tornado hit her room. Her father nicknamed her bedroom The Pig Sty. She wasn’t so much messy as she was a hoarder. She’d always had a difficult time throwing anything away, which led to clutter and mess.

  But as an adult, she’d cleaned up her life, with the assistance of self-help books. The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying up had been a real game changer for her. Her sister liked to say that Sydney was a recovering hoarder and that the KonMari Method was Sydney’s twelve-step program.

  She stuffed her clothes into her overnight bag and turned around to face Marco. “I’m not messy anymore.”

  “I can see that.” His eyes dropped to the area that was still cluttered with her makeup and toilet
ries.

  “This is a hotel.”

  His expression and body language read that he was unimpressed with her explanation. Feet apart with arms loosely at his side. He didn’t speak, just stood there.

  She’d been looking at him for the past two hours but somehow seeing him in her hotel room was different. He looked larger. More imposing. More commanding. More…hot.

  Pushing those thoughts out of her head, she pressed on. “You go to a hotel and you don’t have to clean up,” she continued, hoping she didn’t sound as breathless as she felt. His hotness had sucked all of the oxygen from the room, and she was finding it difficult to breathe. To distract from her condition, she kept talking, speaking faster as she picked up the toiletries and zipped them up. “Everyone knows that. It’s common hotel knowledge. You go to a hotel for the maid service, room service, and se…”

  She froze as her voice trailed off before she added the x to sex. She hadn’t meant to go there, but that’s exactly where her mouth had taken her. Her eyes lifted to his to see if he’d noticed that she hadn’t finished her thought.

  He had.

  “And what?” He crossed his arms over his chest, and the position caused the thin cotton material of his button-up to pull taut against his biceps and shoulders. “What else do people go to a hotel for, Sydney Lu?”

  She smiled at the nickname that she hadn’t heard in ten years. The one he’d started calling her after he found out her middle name was Luanne and that she hated it. For whatever reason hearing him call her by that name had an oddly calming effect on her.

  “Sex, Marco Polo.” She returned the favor by using a nickname he hated. “People go to hotels for maid service, room service, and hotel sex.”

  He exhaled and was dead serious as he said, “God, you’re beautiful. So beautiful.”

  It wasn’t just a compliment. The way he looked at her said more than the words he’d spoken. There was a gravity to his stare that pulled her toward him like a magnet. Her core pulsed with animalistic desire. She’d never been particularly forward when it came to initiating sex. But right now she wanted to rip all of their clothes off and ravage him.

  She was pretty sure he was on the same page.

  But, was that what she really wanted? A one-night stand with Marco?

  Marco Reyes was her first love, and even though he wasn’t confessing his love for her, that didn’t take away the power of her feelings. If anything, it might’ve made them even stronger. She’d built him up to mythical proportions in her mind. He was this perfect man that always knew all the right things to do and say; the man that would take care of her every need. That fantasy had carried her through so many lonely nights. Imagining him as the perfect lover, the perfect man, the perfect person had been a lighthouse in the storm of her life.

  But it wasn’t real. She’d created a mirage that had very little to do with who he actually was. She spent years dreaming of their first kiss. She’d imagined so many scenarios. She’d vividly envisioned what his lips would feel like brushing against hers. What he would taste like when his tongue touched hers.

  Then those PG scenarios would quickly turn X-rated. How it would feel when his hands ran along the bare skin of her body. How it would feel if she touched him back. How it would feel if she finally knew what it felt like to be with him.

  And now, if they did this, that security blanket of perfection, of ultimate satisfaction, would be gone. It was her safe place. Her happy place.

  She needed her rational mind. Her rational mind was the only thing that would keep her from doing something that she would regret. But there was no way that she could think rationally if she was looking at him in all of his hot alphaness.

  She turned so that her back was to him and she moved across the room to the wall that was floor-to-ceiling windows as hormones and nerves ricocheted off every nerve ending in her body.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Her eyes were trained firmly on the view outside the hotel room window, which featured a stunning panorama of waves crashing on the sand.

  “Sydney, are you okay?” Uncertainty tinged his words. “Do you want me to go?”

  “No.” She shook her head, still unable to face him. “I just need a minute. This is just…you are just…a lot.”

  “A lot?” he questioned.

  “Yes.” She let out a breath. “I can’t think straight when I look at you.”

  “I know the feeling.” His voice was thick with emotion.

  He moved so that he stood behind her. She could feel heat radiate off of his body, and as she caught his eyes through their reflection in the glass, she felt her knees go weak. Her brain turned to mush from all the dopamine, endorphins, and oxytocin that her arousal was releasing.

  “That’s not helping. I need to think,” she said with a conviction she didn’t quite feel.

  He grinned. It was a sweet, innocent grin that was in stark contrast to the intensity in his eyes. “What are you thinking about?”

  He was good. Really good. But she’d seen the bulge in his pants when he’d told her that she was beautiful. She seriously doubted that she was the only one whose mind was hanging out in the gutter.

  “Probably the same thing you are.”

  His grin grew wider, and so did hers.

  “On three?” he suggested.

  They used to play this game. They’d choose a subject, count to three, and say the first thing that popped into their minds. It always felt like a high-stakes game to her because she’d wanted him to see how perfect they were together. How alike they were. How in tune they were.

  But the stakes had never felt higher than they did right now.

  “On three?” he repeated when she didn’t respond.

  Right, she blinked. On three.

  Dipping her chin in an almost imperceptible nod they started counting together.

  “One, two…hotel sex,” they said in unison.

  They both chuckled but as the humor of the situation faded, it was replaced with something far more potent. The tension between them was so dense she was surprised it wasn’t visible to the naked eye.

  Hmm, naked, she’d seen him in boxer briefs several times when he’d stripped out of his clothes at the beach. He was a teenager then, and the sight had been impressive, to say the least. Now he was a man and despite being fully dressed it was easy to see that he’d filled out in all the right places.

  “Sydney.” There was an extra quality of grittiness to Marco’s voice that added a bonus layer of sexiness that made her rational mind shut off completely.

  Instinct. That was what took over. Pure. Instinct.

  Chapter 8

  ‡

  Need pulsed through Marco as they stood, motionless, staring at one another through the glass. Beyond their reflections, the moon shimmered off the swells of the black water. He was reminded of an old saying about not being able to catch the ocean waves as they broke on the beach. There was one thing in the room that was more stunning than the sea and had, in his life, proved ten times as elusive—Sydney.

  He moved an inch closer to her and heard her breath catch. It was a small sound, but it shot straight to his already throbbing groin. He knew that she must be feeling something too because her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, causing the swell of her breasts to push against the neckline of her dress.

  He tilted his head forward and his labored breaths moved the silky hair that hung down over her neck. “Can I touch you?”

  “Yes,” her permission came on a soft exhale.

  He lifted his hands and rested them on her hips. She trembled under his touch and a jolt went through him at having that effect on her. His slight touch sent thrills racing over the surface of her skin and that gave him a rush.

  “Marco,” she whispered, her voice stretched as thin and tight as a rubber band about to snap. “Are you sure we should do this?”

  Yes! His dick screamed as it pulsed heavily beneath its zippered jail.

  Ignoring his painful er
ection, he opened up to her in a way that he never had before. “Look, I’m not going to lie, I want you so bad I can barely see straight. I’ve wanted you for so long, and the thought of being with you is more than my wildest dream come true. I want to touch you, to kiss you. I want to touch and kiss every inch of your bare skin and feel it against mine. I want to hear the sounds you make as I push deep inside of you and make love to you until the sun comes up.”

  Her lips parted, and even through the glass, he could see that a faint blush appeared on her cheeks.

  He tried not to let her reaction get him off track and focused on what was really important as he continued, “But even more than I want that, I just want to be around you. I’ve missed you. More than I think I even admitted to myself and I don’t want our time together to be over. I want to be with you. If that means that we sit on opposite sides of the room and watch TV, that’s fine. If that means we go for a walk on the beach and just talk, great. If that means going to the Sunset Diner so you can have fries and dip them in a chocolate shake, I’m in.”

  A smile curved on her lips. “I can’t remember the last time I did that.”

  It wouldn’t be his first choice, but like he said, as long as he was with her, he would be happy. “Do you want to go to the diner?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “Do you want to walk on the beach?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Do you want to watch TV?”

  “No.”

  “Do you want me to touch you?” he murmured huskily.

  She leaned back almost imperceptibly, but he could feel the heat radiating from her body.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Do you want to touch me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you want me to kiss you?” His voice grew hoarser with each question he asked.

  “Yes.”

  His fingers tightened on her hips. “Do you want to feel my skin against yours, with no barriers between us?”

  “Yes.” Her answers were now coming in pants of labored breaths.