by Mel Blue
Henri had his rules, but Luke had suspected Seraphina didn’t let anyone in. “Are you seeing someone?”
“No.”
“Shitty childhood?”
“No,” but she said it with a laugh. “Back up.”
He took two steps and crossed his arms. She had room to leave now, but she only pressed her shoulders against the oak door. Usually he let her be, but this year there was something different about her. He didn’t care what it was. He welcomed it.
“Then tell me why,” he said.
“You’re a customer. It’s against the rules.”
The answer sounded recited. “And if I wasn’t?”
Her smile faded. “No. I will never go to dinner with you.”
Without thought, he stole back the space he’d given her, and he took just a bit more. Her chin tilted up, and if he wasn’t aware of the line he was crossing Luke would have kissed her. Still, he brushed his fingers over her chin. Smooth. Warm. She shivered. Luke’s cock hardened at the subtle but telling reaction.
He wanted to watch her eyes glaze over from pleasure. How did she touch herself? Rough or soft? How would her skin look flushed and slicked with sweat? He could almost hear her breathless moan.
“That’s too bad.” He meant the words. He’d forget about Joss in a heartbeat if he could spend the weekend with Seraphina. Slowly watching her unravel every bit of herself to him…he’d pay money to see that. His hand clenched into a fist.
He was letting his control slip. She hid her true self from him and that was as good as lying. She bit her lip. Still he wanted her. “Well, thank you for eating with me,” he said, capping any interest in his tone. “At least once.”
She nodded. “I’ll contact Joss and let her know where to go. I’m booking the room you always use. I just need to know if you prefer after lunch or closer to dinnertime.”
He put away the need and the yearning for her and took another step back. “Dinnertime should be fine. I’ve missed New Orleans and I want to check out the town first. There’s practically a bench in Jackson Square with my name on it.”
She started to open the door. “Anything else I can help you with, you don’t hesitate to call, Mr. Moreland.”
He chuckled, trying to release the wild need to push the door closed again and cross that damn line. “You can call me Luke.”
The smile whipped out and he held his breath. “I hope you enjoy your stay, Mr. Moreland. Until next year.”
It was one thing to be professional to a fault. Another to be smart enough to fuck with someone while doing it. He couldn’t let her off that easily. “You know what, the more I think about Joss, the more I’m uncertain if she’s the right one.” He talked over her gasp. “Leave the files and I’ll let you know what I decide tomorrow morning.”
“You know I can’t leave until you make a choice.”
He shrugged. “I’m sure Henri will understand.”
“I can’t leave.”
He paused for dramatic effect. “I don’t know. Maybe you should read her file to me.”
She shook her head. “Or call you by your first name?”
He sighed. “I’m feeling incredibly indecisive.”
“Lucifer,” she muttered so low he barely heard it.
But he had. “Didn’t catch that,” he managed to say without laughing.
Indecision played over her features until she straightened her shoulders. “I’ll read the file.” She smiled, and a mischievous glint filled her eyes. “Where do you want me to start?”
Taken off guard, he stammered. Her smile widened, because she’d called his bluff and he’d flustered. Him. He could back down, but the next time they did this she’d know just how far he’d go to get a rise out of her.
He couldn’t waver, otherwise their time together would lose the frisson it usually had. So, Luke cleared his throat and waved her back to the table. Who would have thought she’d rather continue to call him by his last name than to read something explicit out loud?
Heat flushed his face and he wanted to open the balcony doors again, but if she wouldn’t say his name, she sure as hell wouldn’t take his jacket. He’d noted her nipples pressed hard against her white shirt, but she hadn’t complained about the cold.
When she settled into the chair across from him, he took in the tremble in her fingers as she opened the folder. Fuck. He tended to be a jackass from time to time, but this might be too much.
“Seraphina, you don’t—”
“I’ll start with my hand.” She ran her fingertips over the papers. “I know there are toys I can choose from, but the most intimate way you can get to know me is with my hand. I love to feel the way my clit swells the more turned on I get.” She glared up at him. “Do you want me to stop?”
He could barely move, much less speak. Her voice felt like silk running across the head of his cock. “You can stop if this makes you uncomfortable.”
She licked her lips, breaking the eye contact. “The more turned on I get, the wetter I am. I’ll run my middle finger over my pussy to spread the slick warmth of my arousal. You’ll lick your lips and your blue eyes will narrow. My nipples will tighten. They’ll blush dark pink and I’ll have to play with them to ease the ache.”
His mouth went dry. “Sera—”
She swallowed, her cheeks flushed. “Will you touch yourself too? Or would you want me to take your cock into my mouth? The taste of your pre-come will make me moan, make me wetter, and I’ll come for you and let you watch.”
He slammed his hand down on the table. “That’s fucking enough.”
She closed the file, her hands steady now. “Are you sure that’s enough, Mr. Moreland?” She sounded…aroused.
The doors were closed and the hotel suite was warm now, but her nipples pressed against her white blouse. He pushed air out. “Unless there’s something you want to add.”
“If you can’t handle this…” She waved her hand over the folder.
He narrowed his eyes. “Try me.”
Their gazes held for another moment. “Uh-I-I think you’ve made your final decision. I need to let Mr. Beaudelaire know and to contact Joss with the details.”
His muscles strained to reach across the table, drag her to his mouth, and then have her beneath him. He’d have her in every way his imagination could offer up. “I’ll take Joss, but make no mistake, I’d rather have you, Ms. Gibson.”
She licked her lips again, her face flushed and gaze filled with a desire he could damn near feel brush against his skin. His jaw clenched.
“Good night, Mr. Moreland.” She picked up the files and he let her walk out.
Without trying to, she’d stripped him of his belief that he’d never want a woman who hid herself, a belief he held close. And she’d brought him to that edge, not with her own words, but with someone else’s. Maybe it was best she’d told him no. He apparently needed her to. He damned her for it anyway.
CHAPTER THREE
“Fix it.” Henri Beaudelaire didn’t bother to look up from his newspaper to give today’s order. “I don’t care what strings you have to pull, but find a replacement.”
Since this was a fuck-up on her part, she didn’t hold his tone against him. He reclined in his chair, unfettered by the fact that she still sat there. Generations of Beaudelaire men had sat in the same place, in a high-backed leather chair. Year after year, they’d opened their home, and then their hotel, so their clients could have uncensored sex. New Year’s was their heaviest, most attended event.
She’d never asked why. The day he’d given her the job offer, he’d told her what her special duties would be. He’d said she could walk if that crossed a personal line. At first she’d thought he was coming on to her. He commanded whatever room he stood in. His black glossy hair, his jawline chiseled from granite, and dark eyes could have been persuasive at any other time in her life.
But who else would pay her that kind of money? Who’d hand her the same freedom to be alone? She’d lost so much when
her best friend died. What beliefs mattered anymore?
Even if she’d been the same girl who’d left California…but she wasn’t. What other people did wasn’t her business. She could organize it, make the experience fulfilling, and do it without shame. She couldn’t participate anyway. She’d never wanted to…until now.
She glared at the open balcony doors. The honeysuckle grew a life of its own, trailing over the railings. The winter had rendered it all but a bundle of twigs, but his office smelled of spring no matter the time of year. It was something that used to be a comfort.
Seraphina stopped the litany of whining in her head and steeled herself. “I’ll find a replacement. I’ll consult with Mr. Moreland before tonight.”
He made a noncommittal noise. “Did she say why she couldn’t come?”
“Stomach flu.”
“Send her something.”
“Already ordered her a dozen roses with a get-well card.”
“Anything else you need to tell me?” He suddenly looked up, his dark eyes intent on her face.
“There’s a leak in one of the rooms. Maintenance said they’ll have it fixed by tonight.”
He closed the paper, folding it with precision. “You managed to get Luke to choose in four hours instead of five, but that’s still a large chunk of your time. No complaints?”
She could write a laundry list. “He’s a personal friend of yours. I make exceptions.”
He scoffed. “What did he ask you to do?”
She flushed. “He asked me to read the file.”
His brows rose. “Joss’s?”
He vetted the files after she put them together. So he knew exactly what the woman had written. “Yes,” she answered.
He shook his head. “I’ll have a talk with him.”
The last thing she wanted was for him to know Luke’s parting rebuttal. His words had kept her up all night. He knew the rules and followed them, for the most part. She relied on that restraint and yet, she wanted to be the one he watched. She clasped her hands together and squeezed. “I think we came to a mutual understanding that his request was inappropriate.”
His expression turned dubious. “Are you sure?”
She straightened in the chair. “Do you think I can’t handle his antics?”
He put up his hands and then grabbed for the paper. “Reschedule my dentist appointment. Also, let Giselle know she needs to bring food on time or she’s fired.”
“Will do. Don’t forget, you need to be on the floor in the next two hours. I’ll run through my last-minute checks.”
“I trust you. Just make sure Luke’s replacement is there on time and that she passes all the health checks.”
She stood, pretended to hesitate. “You have lunch on your tie.”
She strode out of his office with a smile. He’d spend the next five minutes searching for a phantom spot with a fine-toothed comb. In the end he’d change out the imported silk. It had been a bitch finding something to match today’s suit. A total of thirty minutes wasted trying to find another one. A small, petty payback, but payback nonetheless.
The pep in her step lasted for a full thirty seconds until the weight of her current predicament settled in. Henri’s office sat in the older part of the hotel. The part that had once been the old plantation. She preferred this area more than the newer expansion for many reasons. More beautiful for one. Two…She turned down the second corridor, empty, and then pushed in the false wall. When it closed out the real world, she leaned against the wood. With no one to see her she felt safe in letting her composure go and letting her thoughts linger on Luke.
He had always unnerved her, but this aching in her breastbone was different, and the feeling refused to be ignored. He pulled her proverbial pigtails. He asked for warmth and she gave him an iceberg. He required polite and she’d give him just shy of shitty. She wore her hair in proverbial pigtails to make sure he had something to tug.
Her heart fluttered and heat rushed to her face. Stop thinking about him. It only makes it worse. The dank space wasn’t dark, but she wished for the shadows then. She pushed off the wall and headed to her room. Dim lights led the way, but she didn’t need them. She knew these walls.
Laughter, moans, and other noise filled the secret corridor. Guests probably had no idea this place existed. The other staff members were unaware as far as she could tell. On her first days off she’d traveled through the house. She found solace in the quiet and unexpected discovery.
Three years and this home, this hotel, felt as much hers as it was Beaudelaire’s. Maybe he knew how she felt and that’s why he let her handle everyone. The stately and historical hotel was safe under her care. Except for her thoughts, the idea that crept from the depths of her mind…
Seraphina tried to catch her breath, but the air was too thick and her leg muscles felt too tight. Noting the crack in the wall, she counted three steps, pushed against the wooden slate, and stepped into her bedroom.
Need sat like a heavy weight in her gut. She stumbled to the vanity and placed both hands on the lacquered cherry wood. She avoided her reflection in the darkened mirror because she’d learned how to wrap truth in lies. She couldn’t face herself, not yet. Joss had taken ill. She did need to find a replacement. The first line she’d read for Luke had been on the application. But then he’d tensed.
She wanted his reaction to be about her words, her fantasies. After sharing a meal with him, and wanting him so much it hurt, she’d told him what she wanted to do. In detail. He would have never read the file. Luke was right. He picked whoever she chose. But now she’d always know—it was her words that had made him brick hard underneath the glass table.
Her arms shook. That momentary selfish need turned into insanity overnight. She could stuff away the thoughts, the feelings. He’d come back the next year. She’d go through the process of picking another woman. It would kill her. She’d break and do something dumber than the plan that formed in her mind.
She finally met her gaze in the mirror. The old spark, the one she had before losing her best friend, was there.
“You’re Seraphina Gibson. Orchestrator of kink. You can do this.”
Her mind cleared of everything else with the affirmation. She yanked open the drawer on the vanity and pulled out her cell phone. It rang once before Giselle answered.
“Ms. Burke, how’s the floor?” she asked.
“Everything’s all prepped, ma’am.” The subtle southern drawl couldn’t hide the hesitance in the girl’s answer. “Are you going to do another run-through?”
“I have something else I need to deal with. It’s a priority. Do the sweep like I taught you and send Ms. Ivie to my room. She needs to deliver a message to Mr. Moreland.”
The line grew quiet. “Are you okay, ma’am?”
“Tense.” Another truth wrapped in a lie. “It’s almost New Year’s.”
“I can put aside a bottle of champagne. You always work really hard this time of year. I’m sure Mr. Beaudelaire wouldn’t get mad if you had a sip or two at midnight.”
She wasn’t the warmest, goodness knows, but she took care of her staff. Every now and again they tried to do the same. She smiled so the next part wouldn’t come out too harsh. “I can’t drink tonight, but thank you.”
Without another word, she ended the call. More lies. Before the weekend was through she’d tell a lot more. She glanced at herself in the mirror again. She wore understated clothes, kept her hair in buns, only dusted on enough makeup to look professional so she could disappear in a room full of people. With a twitch of her wrist staff members moved in unison to her demands. No one ever noticed the conductor, not when she did her job and did it well.
She pulled open another drawer where she stored stationery and pens.
Dear Mr. Moreland,
I’m sorry to inform you Joss will not be available for you tonight. She’s taken ill. I have found a satisfactory replacement. She’ll be prompt, but due to this last minute change, she has a list of co
nditions:
She wishes to remain anonymous.
You are not to ask her to take off her mask, nor are you to remove it for her.
She will not speak to you under any circumstances.
She’s doing this as a favor to me, but she’s aware of all your needs and is willing to engage in them. If these conditions are agreeable, please contact me and I will communicate your approval.
Best regards,
Ms. Gibson
She’d sealed the envelope by the time the knock came at her door. The young, blonde, and perky woman beamed at her. “You needed to see me?” The waver in her voice betrayed the woman’s demeanor.
Seraphina forced another smile to ease the nerves. “Give this to Mr. Moreland. Report back to me when he’s received it. No need to come back by, just call me.”
She told her where to find him, as long as he’d finished with his day re-exploring New Orleans. The relief on the woman’s face gave her a moment’s guilt. Her standards were reasonable. Beaudelaire, also, paid his employees well. Could she be that much of a nightmare to work under? She pursed her lips and noted the crooked hemline. She’d barely held in the criticism.
Yeah. She was.
Seraphina checked her hands once she’d closed the door. Steady. Now, she had an hour to play the role of conductor and then…well, she’d planned to risk everything for a weekend with Luke.
CHAPTER FOUR
Seraphina barely touched the wall to shift the slate. No one in the hallway. She slipped from behind it and stood in front of Luke’s reserved playroom for the weekend.
The red carpet.
During the rest of the year, the carpet’s color appeared to be a wonderful quirk to the hotel. Almost every floor and section had a different shade and detailing on the walls—gold, black, white, or red. During New Year’s weekend it meant a different kink. Swingers, ménages, and polys took up the gold floors. Black floors involved whips and safe words. White was vanilla as it came, but could involve sex with whoever knocked on the door, even if he or she were a stranger to the occupant. And red was just spicy enough to keep you from the vanilla floors.