Inhibitions

by Mattie Bowman

  Following the twists and turns of what seemed like endless hallways adorned with gorgeous oil paintings from abstract to modern, I wound up completely lost. It wasn’t until I heard a familiar voice coming from behind a partially opened door in the farthest corner of the hallway I’d walked up and down three times that I realized how lost I was.

  I didn’t want to bother him, not when I knew Owen had given him the night off, but hearing Anderson on the other side of the door was too tempting when I didn’t have a clear exit strategy in sight. Peeking around the frame, I spotted him sitting at a poker table, tossing chips into the center of the green felt.

  “Raise,” he said with a strength in his voice I’d never heard before. His uniform shirt was untucked, and he leaned back in his chair, completely at ease where normally I only saw him board stiff and with his arms neatly behind his back.

  The other players at the table folded their cards, a few of them smacking them down and hissing. I chuckled, instantly gaining their attention.

  “Excuse me,” I said, reigning in my laughter.

  Anderson’s body language shifted in a blink—transforming him from the laid back guy I’d just watched to the stark-stiff butler I saw every morning at breakfast. “Mrs. Grady…Presley,” he said, rushing to the door. “Mr. Grady said my services weren’t required tonight. I apologize, I should’ve checked with you before leaving…”

  I held my hands up to stop him. “Breathe, Anderson.” I shook my head. “I didn’t come here looking for you.”

  His shoulder dropped a fraction, but he remained in his professional pose.

  “I’m actually lost.” I rolled my eyes at myself before gazing into the room behind him. “But it seems like my luck is about to change.” I arched an eyebrow at him. “You have room for one more?”

  His lips popped into the shape of an O before he regained his composure. He spared a glance behind him where the other guys at the table nodded, but I could see the hesitance in his eyes.

  I dug in my back pocket for the small wallet I’d grabbed before leaving the suite. Unzipping it, I pulled out a few hundred dollars, enjoying the way his eyes lit up.

  “You play?” He finally asked, his voice slipping closer to the tone I’d heard him use before he saw me.

  “Yes, and I’ll make you a deal,” I said, smiling. “Let me play thirty minutes. If I have more chips than you by the end of that time, you have to drop the resort act and be yourself around Owen and me for the rest of the time we’re here.”

  He knitted his eyebrows together. “Act?”

  I pursed my lips at him.

  Finally, he shook out his muscles as if he’d just finished working out. “Deal.” He held the door open for me, but I stopped him when he tried to pull out my chair. “What?” he asked. “You haven’t won, yet.”

  The rest of the table was made up of a few of the waiters from the restaurant and two faces that were completely unrecognizable to me. I took my seat, introducing myself, shocked to find out I wasn’t the only guest partaking in the late night gambling. One of the men—Quinn—was married, from the look of the ring on his left hand, and I wondered why he wasn’t off enjoying the resort with his wife somewhere?

  “Is Mr. Grady ill?” Anderson asked as if thinking the same thing about me.

  Heat rushed to my cheeks as I thought about what had led me here—me being too much of a coward to face the feelings that were unraveling in Owen’s presence. “He’s asleep,” I said with a shrug. At least that much was the truth.

  Quinn dealt the cards around the table, a quiet concentration about him as he set the deck down next to him when he’d finished. He motioned to me, a mess of blond hair falling into his gray-blue eyes. “Lady’s action.”

  I peeked at my two cards, a pair of sixes, and opened up the betting for three times the small blind. Anderson huffed from the chair next to me and folded, a grin on his lips.

  “No messing around, huh?” He asked, folding his cards.

  “Now that sounds more like a person and not a British robot!” I smiled at him, and he laughed, nodding.

  “Touche,” he said, taking a swig of the beer that sat next to him.

  While the other players called or folded, I glanced around for the fridge. Before I could blink, Anderson had gotten up and brought me back a beer. I took it but gave him a chiding look.

  “Habit,” he said innocently, reclaiming his seat.

  I took a quick drink and then focused on the game, successfully winning the pot with a set in the end. “I do love this game,” I said, scraping the chips into my pile and winking at Anderson.

  “That wasn’t a lucky first hand?” He asked, hopeful.

  “I’ve played this since I was eight. It’s how I paid for college.”

  He arched an eyebrow at me.

  “No shit?” Quinn asked from across the table. “Great.” He laughed, dealing the next hand. “Remind me to track Owen down tomorrow when I’m broke and beat him down for falling asleep tonight.”

  A laugh ripped from my throat, and I took another drink of beer. “I don’t think you’d want to do that.”

  Quinn leaned back in his chair, exposing a set of strong arms as he stretched them over his head. The man was ripped but not enough to take Owen. “If you keep playing like that? I assure you, I will.”

  Anderson snorted beside me. “Dude, you didn’t hear me say his last name?”

  Quinn shrugged.

  “Grady. It’s Owen Grady,” Anderson said, leaning forward over the table as if he could make it sink into Quinn’s head further.

  The moment it clicked in his eyes was priceless. “No shit?” He asked again and lifted his beer, holding it over the middle of the table toward me. “Cheers to you. You can take my money. I won’t say a fucking word.”

  I clicked his bottle with mine, and the table laughed well into the motions of the next hand. My muscles relaxed as I fed off the familiarity of the game. It had been too long since I’d played, but David had hated my love of cards. Looking back now, I wondered if he had hated it because of the hours it took me from him on the rare weekend that I would go, or if what he’d actually hated was me being better at something than him. He was wicked competitive—so much so that I avoided any games with him near the end.

  Finishing my beer quickly, I tried to drown out the memories of him. They’d flooded me almost as much as the new feelings for Owen had, and I couldn’t decide if it was the resort’s fault, the lap dance’s, or Grant’s for getting beneath the surface with me and digging out what I truly wanted in a man. Then again, I could just own up and realize whose fault this all was.

  Mine.

  Just like when David had cheated. It hadn’t been his fault—not wholly—because I hadn’t been enough for him. And I hadn’t even thought to try to be more than who I was to keep him entertained…I’d honestly thought I was enough. Stupid of me.

  “Well?” I asked, looking from Anderson to my chips after the half hour had passed. It was clear who had more chips. “What do you think?”

  “I think you ruined my night off.”

  My mouth fell open, the cocky smile dropping from my lips. “I’m an asshole.”

  He burst out laughing, pushing back from the table. “You are far from that, Presley.” He handed me another beer when he returned.

  I took it, grinning. “Thank you,” I said, happy he called me by my first name without cringing.

  “You in for another round or should you get back to your husband?” Quinn asked in a teasing tone.

  I rested my elbows on the table. “First, he’s my fiancé, not my husband. Second, I’m so in. Third, do you need to get back to your wife?”

  The laughter drained out of his eyes for a moment, stopping my jokes in their tracks. I swallowed hard; unknowingly I had tripped a nerve. Anderson went still beside me, but the other players didn’t seem to notice the mood shift.

  Quinn recovered quickly with a soft smile. “That’s probably a good idea,” he said,
passing the deck to Anderson. “I’ll see you in a couple of days, yeah?”

  Anderson nodded, taking the cards from him.

  Quinn smiled at me when he saw the worry lines no doubt shaping my eyes. “It was great meeting you, Presley. I actually am a fan of Owen’s, so I hope we see you two around.”

  “Absolutely,” I said, still wondering what line I’d crossed.

  “Don’t tell him I said I’d beat him down, though,” he said, before turning out the door.

  The table laughed, but I looked at Anderson in all seriousness. “What did I do?”

  “Nothing,” he said, dealing the cards. “He’s a good guy.”

  “Yeah,” I said, surmising the unspoken words in his tone. He was a professional despite our bet—which was a good thing—since I was asking about another guest. “Are you his butler too?”

  “Yeah.” He threw a few chips into the middle of the table.

  “Wow,” I said, folding my two off-cards. “Maybe you are a robot.” I laughed. “You have the capability of being everywhere at once.” There hadn’t been one time Anderson wasn’t there when we needed him. I thought we were his only charges.

  He chuckled, betting again after the turn card had been laid face up on in the center of the table. “I’m simply great at what I do.”

  “There is no doubt about that,” I said, sipping my beer. “Do you love it?” I asked, unable to turn off my writer brain and its ability to think of a staff-viewpoint for the article.

  “Most the time.”

  “Drawbacks?”

  “Nah,” he said, tapping the side of his head. “We may be friends now, but I’m not spilling all the deets to a reporter for a fancy magazine.”

  I laughed. “I’m not a reporter.”

  He tilted his head at me.

  “Point taken.” I fiddled with the label on my bottle as he leaned closer to me.

  “I’ll tell you one secret, though, if you agree to go back to your room, so I stop losing my money.”

  I chuckled, my stomaching flipping with the idea of going back to the room. At this hour, though, I’d be safe from making a fool out of myself because Owen was surely deep into snore mode right about now.

  “Deal,” I said, a few of the other player’s fist bumped him with gratitude and I rolled my eyes.

  “You call me a robot—”

  “It was just a joke,” I cut him off.

  “No joking, you hit the nail on the head. You want to know why I act like that?”

  I nodded.

  “Tips are always better. It’s part of the fantasy,” he said, twirling his hand in the air. “People want to believe they’ve been transported and being waited on hand and foot by someone who could serve royalty as easily as he could you? Well, that makes them feel like royalty.”

  “Ah,” I said, slowly nodding. He was above par, but he’d always made me feel out of place like I had no point being treated like that. And in reality, I didn’t. This was never a place I’d be able to afford without Glimmer floating the bill. “Like I said, you’re very good.”

  He smirked, passing the deck to another player and cashing out my chips. “I’ll walk you back to your room.”

  I pocketed the bills, following him out the door. “Just tell me how to get there. Don’t want you to miss the game.”

  “No, I insist.”

  “Anderson,” I groaned, not wanting him to revert to his professional mode. The last couple hours had been such a nice break from the overwhelming grandeur of the resort, and I had desperately needed the break from my thoughts as well.

  “No seriously,” he said, stopping my thoughts. “It’d take me longer to explain how to get back than it would to just show you.”

  “All right,” I said, poking my head back in the room and grinning. “Thanks for letting me play!”

  “Bye!” Was the resounding answer to my departure—something I was all too familiar with when ever I left a card room.

  Damn it felt good to play again.

  8 Owen

  I glanced at the door to our suite for the hundredth time as I paced the length of the living room.

  Where the hell is she?

  She’d been gone for more than what would’ve been necessary for a food run or a dip in the pool—and I’d heard the minute she’d left. Just like I’d heard her standing outside the guestroom door for a few minutes before ultimately leaving. I had no idea what it was about, only knew the sinking feeling in my gut when she hadn’t knocked or come in or whatever she’d been about to do. The fact that I didn’t know—which was rare since usually I knew what she was going to do before she even did it—was driving me almost as crazy as not knowing where she was.

  Five more minutes and I’d go looking for her. Too much time had passed.

  What if she’s just drinking at the bar in the club?

  Acid boiled in my stomach despite the fact that this was a couple’s retreat. There could be plenty of single staff hitting on her, hell, her ex-fiancé had proven just how easy it was to take off a ring too.

  She’s not yours.

  The thought stopped me mid-pace, my chest tightening at the truth ringing inside my head. Fuck, she wasn’t. Did I want her to be?

  Her laughter filtered down the hallway, and I quietly opened the door, peering around it. Presley was at the end of the hall, her back to me, smiling up at our butler Anderson. What the hell? I’d given him the night off. What was he doing with her in the middle of the night?

  I clutched the door a little harder, my knuckles popping.

  “You didn’t have to walk me all the way up here. I could’ve found it from here,” she said, her voice carrying or maybe I was just that attuned to it.

  He shrugged. “Tonight was…”

  “Fun?” she finished for him, and my heart raced. What kind of fun?

  “Yeah,” he said. “I can honestly say I’ve never been so happy to get taken.”

  She chuckled. “You weren’t so bad. I could give you some pointers if you want?”

  “Nah.” He shook his head. “Maybe just come quicker next time?” Fucking hell. “That way I have the whole night to earn it back.”

  “Sure,” she playfully hit his shoulder. “The next time you have a night off?”

  “You’ll know where to find me.” He winked at her before turning around and heading back toward the giant wooden staircase.

  I whipped back inside before she saw me, shutting the door as softly as I could with my shaking hands. Adrenaline surged in my blood as I rushed back to my room, leaning my forehead against the door as I tried to get my shit together.

  Images of her and the fucking butler played out in my mind on repeat, doing nothing but fueling the fire racing through my veins. I would crush him.

  The sound of her footsteps in the kitchen sucked the breath out of my lungs. I wanted to crush him. I wanted to yell at her, demand an explanation. My insides went cold, and I jerked away from the door like it had hit me over the head.

  If I’d had any doubts about my feelings for Presley being sheer curiosity because of the fantasy palace we stayed in, they were fucking gone now. Because everything I was feeling in this moment was the reactions of a boyfriend…a fiancé…a lover—all of which I wasn’t even close to. I was simply the best friend.

  Rubbing my palms over my face, I sank on my bed. Fuck. This fake fantasy just got very real and with our next scenario—this one tailored to my tastes—happening tomorrow, I didn’t have a fucking clue what to do about it.

  “You’ve been awfully quiet this morning,” Presley said before nibbling at a piece of Nutella covered toast. “Are you nervous?”

  I shoveled a forkful of eggs into my mouth instead of spewing out demands of her whereabouts last night and why the hell they’d included the butler but not me. After a night of sleep and rationalizing, I knew Presley wasn’t the type to hop into bed with someone—she wasn’t like me—but I still hated not knowing what had happened between the two.

  �
�No.” I lied.

  I was nervous. My entire body was on edge thinking of what would happen today. I was already having a hard enough time as it was keeping my hands to myself—that fucking hot tub had nearly broken me of my control—and now we’d be forced into another fantasy. How could I not feel her in a situation like that?

  The image of her riding me in her strip session filled my icy insides with warmth, and I contemplated hefting her onto the kitchen island we ate at and taking her right there. Show her she shouldn’t waste her time with the butler when all she needed was right here.

  “Okay,” she said, cutting off my thoughts. “Have I told you how grateful I am that you’re here with me?”

  Several times. “No.”

  “I am.” She put her nearly licked clean plate in the sink. “Honestly, I know it isn’t ideal. This has got to be so boring for you in the scheme of things, but I really can’t thank you enough—”

  The scraping of my chair against the hardwood floor cut her off. I crossed the distance between us, looking down at her like she was the most insane woman on the planet. How could she not sense this? She was so good about understanding every other thing about me and yet, somehow, she thought I was bored?

  “I’m far from bored, Presley.” I swiped a stray drop of chocolate off the corner of her mouth with the pad of my thumb and sucked it off. “And you don’t have to thank me,” I continued. “You know I’ll never let you down.”

  Her lips parted, and a small gasp escaped her lips. My irrational anger cooled and was replaced with ideas of more places to lick chocolate off her body.

  She shifted her weight, leaning back against the counter in what looked like an invitation—but it could’ve just been where my head was at. The pajama top she still wore was barely a tank top, and one of the straps threatened to slide off her shoulder. I reached over, adjusting it, and felt her skin tighten with chills underneath my touch.