“Even with in-state tuition, medical school isn’t cheap and neither is living in New York.”
“My father left me a trust fund and my grandmother left me her apartment.”
“What did your father do for a living?”
“Doctor.”
“Of course,” he says. “And your mother?”
“She was his nurse. Now, she’s traveling with my stepfather.”
“Stepfather number four.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re making me glad my stepfather is the one and only for the past decade.”
“I’m glad my number one didn’t stay around. Actually, I haven’t been fond of any of them. I think my mother picks men as opposite from my father as possible and everything she really wants in a man. I’m not sure if it’s intentional or some psychological thing. And I really don’t know why I’m telling you this. I don’t talk about it.”
The plane jerks and he moves to the seat in front of me, buckling himself in. “It’s keeping your mind off the turbulence.”
“And you have a way of making people talk,” I say, reminding him of his comment.
“I do,” he agrees, studying me a moment. “So thanks to a strong financial position, you could walk away from this job at any moment.”
It’s not a question, but my instant unease has me answering. “If I want to put off medical school longer, yes, but I don’t.” I hesitate and add, “But please know this. If I need to walk away to spare someone else’s job who really needs to feed their family, I will.”
“Like I already said. If I walk away from the board, I won’t be around to make that decision. But your friend Katie would be advised to make peace with her manager, who will be the one to submit a list of who stays and who goes for his department.”
“You’re thinking she’s a bad employee, but she’s not. She’s a hard worker and she loves her job. She’s just alone in this world and her boyfriend is confusing her.”
“Too many people depend on me for me to be distracted by my personal life. Exactly why I keep things simple.”
Either he’s not married or he’s a total jerk. I don’t know which, but more and more I don’t want him to be a jerk. “My plan for medical school as well. No distractions and pure focus.”
“No boyfriend, then.”
“No. No boyfriend.”
Several beats pass, the plane rumbling around us and slowly calming before he surprises me. “Why’d you run last night?”
“I didn’t run.”
“You left without saying good-bye. That’s running in my boat. Why?”
“I made a decision to leave. Period.”
“Why?”
“You aren’t going to let this go, are you?”
“Not a chance.”
“What happened to you not fucking where you work?”
“A question isn’t an orgasm. Why’d you leave?”
His frankness blisters my pride for reasons I don’t understand, and I blurt out, “Who calls at that time of night but a wife or a girlfriend?”
“My uncle, who sits on the board and despises Meredith.”
The fast explanation is a crushing blow of embarrassment, and all I manage in reply is a sheepish, “Oh.”
“Oh,” he repeats, his jaw tight, eyes steady on my face. “You thought I was married.”
“Yes. And I didn’t want any part of that kind of betrayal.”
“And now you know you weren’t.”
“Yes,” I say, seeming to have the one word, same word, curse again.
“And I know why you left.”
“Yes. Now you know.”
“And you really didn’t know who I was.” I shake my head and he adds, “But you still aren’t certain I didn’t know who you were, are you?”
“I don’t know what to think.”
He leans forward as he had in the limo, elbows on his knees. “If I’d have wanted to seduce you for information, I would have done it smartly. A hotel room the night before we’re introduced isn’t smart.”
“And smart would have been what?”
“I’d take you on this trip with me, and then make damn sure you ended up in my bed. If I were trying to seduce you for information. But I’m not. I meant what I said earlier. My unbreakable rule is that I don’t fuck where I work.” His gaze drops to my lips, lingering and lifting, his expression wolfish as he adds, “Even when I wish I could.”
He unbuckles himself and stands and walks back to his seat.
Part Seven: The Kiss
Stunned by his confession and his departure, I can’t seem to move. I don’t know what he was trying to tell me or if he was trying to tell me anything at all. Seconds or minutes pass, I don’t really know, and I sink into my seat, rethinking every last second of the time I’d spent with him last night and today.
By the time we land in Jacksonville, Florida, an hour later, I’ve decided his words were as honest as they get. We could have, would have, should have, but we didn’t and our time has passed. There’s simply no way around it.
Five minutes later, I exit the plane into the humid Florida evening, the sun already long gone, and start down the stairs. Somehow, my shoe catches on the step, and embarrassingly, I tumble forward. Jensen’s strong hand catches me a moment before I go face first to the ground, and somehow I end up facing him, my body pressed to every hard line of his.
In that moment, I despise his “rule” and I despise even more how impossible it is for me to shut him out. “I should warn you, I’m clumsy,” I admit awkwardly.
“Then I guess I’d better keep a close eye on you.”
“I thought that was why you brought me here in the first place.” I think of his inference that I held Meredith’s secrets.
“Indeed it was,” he agrees, his voice a bit too low and gruff, but before I can push to find out his meaning versus mine, the sound of a car pulling up behind us has him glancing over my shoulder. “That will be our driver.” I try to pull away and for just a beat of a moment, he holds me, not letting me go. Or maybe I imagine it because an instant later, he is no longer touching me and I’m walking down the stairs, the warm Florida air nothing compared to the heat of Jensen Miller.
“Are you hungry?” Jensen asks as we settle into the back of the limo.
“Starving, actually.”
“It’s a short drive to the hotel. I’d like to grab drinks and food in the bar and talk through some things.”
I give a nod, replaying his words in my head. Talk through some things. I don’t begin to know what that means, but I’m worried. Confused. Unsure what his intent is where I’m concerned.
“Have you ever actually been to this location?” he asks.
“No. That’s exactly why I didn’t think I was qualified for this.”
“Actually it makes you more qualified. I don’t want them to be on guard. I want us to act like regular customers. We’ll make some special requests and see how they handle it all. Before we leave, we’ll meet with the management staff.”
His cell phone rings, and unbidden, I am back in his hotel room pressed against the wall, with his mouth in intimate, wonderful places. I cut my gaze, fearful he’ll read my expression when he’s just warned me an hour before we aren’t happening. Reaching for my purse, I find my phone, and I don’t know why, but I have that same gut-wrenching feeling I’d had right before I’d left his room. It makes no sense. I know he’s not married. I know he’s not trying to use me. He’s been too frank about everything for that. Or is he playing games with me? Would he do that?
Shaking off the concern until I am alone in my room and can dissect this day, I search my phone for a message from Katie, but don’t find one. Worried, I text her again. Once done, I refuse to look at Jensen, busying myself by checking more e-mail on my phone but distracted by the warm, masculine baritone of Jensen’s voice as he talks stock numbers with his caller.
“Let me call you back,” he says to whoever he’s speaking with, clearly not
waiting for a reply. He ends the call, drawing my attention as he sets his phone and his iPad on the seat and fixes those piercing green eyes on me. “What are you thinking?”
I don’t bother to answer his question. My mother tells me I’m an open book that needs to be shut all the time. “Why are you asking that?”
“You wouldn’t look at me until I gave you no choice.”
“I was busy.”
“You were thinking of something I don’t want you thinking. What was it?”
My brow furrows. “Nothing I’m willing to tell you.”
Surprise flickers across his expression. “That’s not what I expected.”
I shrug. “Sorry, but some things aren’t meant to be shared before they’re cultivated with a little class and careful consideration.”
“Fair enough, but I’ll ask again. Maybe after a drink, you’ll change your mind.”
“Unless it’s tequila, it’s doubtful.”
“I seem to remember you drinking tequila last night.”
“Exactly.”
“Tequila it is then,” he declares, giving me a wink as that damn phone of his rings again while my phone remains silent.
We are registered for our rooms by efficient and friendly staff, but I’m blown away by the room choices, both of which turn out to be side-by-side, first floor beachside suites with patios. “I didn’t need a room that big or fancy,” I say as we head into the dimly lit combination bar and restaurant and claim a booth.
“We’ll have the manager comp our rooms in the morning,” he tells me as we settle into our seats facing each other. “So enjoy it. But the very fact that the suites were available to be comped is a problem. This is prime real estate. They should be booked.”
The waitress arrives at the table. “Tequila later,” he says. “I need to pick your brain first. Do you drink wine?”
“I like wine, yes.”
“Red? White?”
“Red.”
He gives the menu a quick perusal and orders a bottle of something I expect is very expensive. We debate an appetizer and settle on cheese sticks. The waitress leaves and he pulls a file from his briefcase. “I have a list of the properties and the management teams for each. Meredith tells me you have regular interaction with the department heads and that you handle any complaints made by customers for all the locations.”
“Yes, I do.”
“And the Hamptons tops the list for those complaints.”
“Oh yes.”
“Ironically, it’s also the most profitable location.”
“It’s the only resort-style, high-volume property in an area dominated by small properties and rental houses.”
“Nice to know the executive staff is aware of the benefits of the property. I’m interested to see the property. If it’s good and the staff is bad, we can hire the right people.”
“If the property is profitable, what makes you think the staff is a problem?”
“The complaints tell me the staff are a problem, but perhaps not ‘the’ problem. But one major goal in all locations has to be to make customers want to return and get them talking to other people about the great experiences, and the profit increases, making everyone more stable.”
“You said the Hamptons location is profitable. What about the Florida locations?”
“Two of the four are losing money. This one is a loser. Tell me what you know about the staff and the history of the property.”
“The manager is very nice.”
“Great. We have a pussy manager.”
I glower. “Stop saying that word. I hate it and nice isn’t bad.”
“Nice is average. It’s unexceptional.”
“My father was nice and he was exceptional in every way.”
“Doctors can be nice. They hire office managers to be the tough ones.”
The waitress appears with our wine, making a big deal of opening the bottle and letting Jensen taste a small serving before she fills our glasses. The appetizer arrives before she departs, delivered by another waitress.
Starving, and not much on the prissy girl routine anyway, the instant we’re alone, I grab a cheese stick and take a bite. Jensen seems to time his bomb of a question for the moment my mouth is burning with scorching cheese. “Let’s talk about Meredith.”
I all but choke and manage to swallow, gulp water, and dab at my mouth. “What about her?”
“The operation has tumbled in the past eighteen months. Why?”
“Her husband got sick and then he died. It was hard on her and it’s part of the reason I stayed.”
“And the management and financial team should have been strong enough beforehand to hold together the ship while she was sinking.”
Suddenly, I’m no longer hungry. “You sound like you’ve made up your mind to side with the board.”
“She’s working up a plan to turn things around that I’ll look at if I feel the hotel locations are salvageable.”
The waitress returns and we place our order and once we’re alone again, he sets his iPad down between us. “Let’s review the management staff one by one.”
Reluctantly, I accept his position as business and allow myself to be drawn into communication as we eat. For a full hour, he urges me to drink wine and talk, while he loosens his tie and jacket. Remarkably, considering the topic, the conversation is easy and I’m surprised at how much he seems to value my opinion. But the more wine we drink, the more ways we find to laugh that we shouldn’t, the more the sexual tension builds between us until it’s an invisible band about to break.
He listens as I speak, prods as I pause, but somehow I gather tiny tidbits about him as a person. Like how much he hates fish but loves his mother, hamburgers, and dessert that he rarely indulges in. He’s a control freak and I understand him because I am one, too.
Inevitably, our table is cleared and he tries to fill my glass again and I wave him off. “No. Enough. I am lightheaded and you saw me tipsy last night. I don’t want to go for night number two.”
“You have me thinking I took advantage of you last night.”
“Oh no,” I say quickly. “If anything, I took advantage of you because I…and you…and that’s it. I really did hit my limit of wine.” I slide out of the booth and stand, and he follows, towering over me as I add, “I have to go to my room before I embarrass myself.”
“You won’t embarrass yourself with me,” he assures me softly.
“And while I appreciate the thought, I don’t want to take a chance. I should go to bed.”
“As should I,” he agrees, and we share a look that says we are both thinking the same thing. One bed would be better than two. “Our bags are already in our rooms, so,” he waves me forward, “ladies first.”
I walk toward the exit and he falls into step with me, rounding a corner to take the elevator to the room and beach level. Inside the car we face forward, not looking at each other, but I am impossibly aware of this man. Exiting, we travel an impossibly long hallway in silence, as if we are both afraid of what we might say. We stop at our rooms and Jensen accompanies me to mine, lingering close while I unlock the door. Swiping the key, I’m aware of my heart beating too fast, and crazily, my thighs are slick, my body tense with the denial of what it wants, which is this man.
The door buzzes and I open it, propping it open with my body as I turn to face Jensen. His hands come down on the frame above my head, and the scent of him, so masculine and addictive, teases my nostrils. “For the record, last night was my pleasure, I promise you. I just wanted more of you. Much more.”
“I’m not sure what you want me to say to that.”
“Nothing. Don’t say anything. Look, Ms. Wood. Danny. I have to send you home in the morning.”
“What? No. No I’m here to help. I’m staying.”
“No” he insists, his voice a steel rod. “You aren’t.”
“But—”
“No debate.”
“Why? Why put me through coming here so at
the last minute you can send me away?”
“Because I spent the entire dinner tonight thinking about all the ways I want to fuck you, lick you, and have my way with you, and if you stay, I will do all of them and more.” He pushes off the wall abruptly. “I’ll make arrangements for your travel and text them to you.”
I gape, unable to process what just happened.
“Go into your room, Danny, before I do something we’ll both regret.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. I won’t regret it.”
“Until morning.”
“I regret leaving last night.”
“I’m right there with you on that one, baby, but everything changed this morning. Go inside.”
“I don’t want to go.”
“You have to go.”
I don’t move. He doesn’t move. The air is so thick, I can’t breathe. And then suddenly he is grabbing me and pulling me to him, his fingers twining in my hair, his mouth slanting over mine. His tongue licks into my mouth, deep, sensual, sexy. I moan and curl my fingers on the hard wall of his chest, meeting his stroking, trying to get more of him, but I don’t succeed.
Abruptly, he tears his mouth from mine, staring down at me, the seconds ticking by, our breathing the only sound between us. I sway toward him and he pushes the door open behind me, and when I think he will follow me inside, instead he turns me and all but lifts me. The next thing I know, he’s deposited me inside my room and the door is slamming behind me. I turn, expecting him to be there, but he is gone. I am alone.
Devastated and fighting a tight, pinching feeling in my eyes and chest, I sink to the ground, letting my purse fall with me. My cell phone starts ringing and I dig inside my purse for it, thinking Jensen is calling me from outside the door. I grab it and answer without looking at the number. “Hello.”
“Danny!”
“Katie,” I say, one part relieved and one part disappointed. “Where are you?”
“Vegas,” she declares. “I got married!” Her tone turns serious. “And don’t freak. I’m not coming back to work, Danny. I’m going on the road with David.”
Need You Now (1001 Dark Nights) Page 6