“Oh, I’d like to do a lot more than just intrigue you, Angel.”
Another breath on his end. Am I imagining it, or does he sound like he’s breathing heavier too? I wonder if he’s feeling as hot and bothered as I am. Finally, he speaks again, voice a low murmur. “Where are you, Naomi?”
“Downtown.” I name the hotel, though that seems silly. If he wrote his name in here, shouldn’t he know where I am? But maybe he’s written his name in a lot of bathrooms like this.
For a second, I pause again. This is crazy. You don’t even know who he is.
But what I do know is that I’m three vodkas deep, none of those 60+ year-old men in business suits over in the hotel lounge were doing it for me, and Kevin and I hadn’t fucked in months before I caught him with his secretary anyway. Suddenly, I realize I am fucking horny.
Talking to Mr. Sexy Voice over here doesn’t help the situation, either.
So what if this is crazy? You’re supposed do this when you go through a breakup, right? A little rebound never hurt anybody.
“And you’re a guest at the hotel, Naomi?”
“In room 972.”
“Go up and wait for me there.”
My lips part. Somehow, even with everything we just said, I didn’t expect him to actually agree to come. I hesitate one more time, but only for a second. “How long?”
“Fifteen minutes. Twenty, tops. I’ll meet you in your room.”
You can still cancel. You can call this off, I remind myself. But for once, I find, I don’t want to. Fuck it. This is my life and I’m reclaiming. I’m going to start my new life as a once again single woman with a fucking bang. “I’ll be ready and waiting,” I whisper. Then I disconnect the phone, grab my bag, and beeline for the elevators.
2
Fifteen minutes later, I’m pacing back and forth in front of my hotel room mirror. There’s no way he’s going to actually show up, is there?
Still, I dressed for the occasion anyway. I’ve got on thigh high stockings and a garter belt that winds around each thigh to hold them up. Above that, I put on my laciest pair of panties and a matching dark red bra. Then I threw my silk nightgown over it, because I didn’t want to start things off too exposed.
I also keep my phone in my hand, just in case he turns out to be a total nut job. And the hotel phone is nearby too. I can always summon irritable Mr. Jenkins and get him to berate this guy out of my room, if he’s some crazy person after all.
But he didn’t sound crazy on the phone. He sounded hot as hell. Not to mention up for having some fun. Which is where my list of qualifications for the night ends.
“This will be good for me,” I inform my reflection in the mirror as I artfully tousle and re-tousle my hair to get that perfect ‘just tripped out of bed’ messy look going. After all, my friends always tell me I leap into full on relationships way too fast. And the last guy I tried to casually date, I wound up marrying in under 6 months. So consider this Good Time guy practice. I’ll have a fun, sexy hookup, cleanse my system of Mr. Wrong, aka my cheating loser ex, and then I can start fresh in the dating world.
Ugh. Don’t even think about the D-word right now, I mentally scold myself as I turn away from the mirror to check the time yet again.
Nineteen minutes now. But he said fifteen to twenty. It’s not like he’s running super late or anything. Still, I can’t help it. I check my phone again. No missed calls.
What if this is all some kind of elaborate prank? Or what if he doesn’t show? I left my lone vibrator back at Kevin’s, I realized two nights ago. Fucking hell. I’m going to have a hell of a time getting the lust out of my system if I have to go it solo tonight.
But it’s not like I’m not used to that. After all, half the time Kevin didn’t bother to make sure I was enjoying myself before he got his rocks off. More often than not, I had to whip out that steady old vibrator after he’d fallen asleep snoring.
I’m wishing I’d brought it with me, and already thinking about my contingency plan for when Angel blows me off, when there’s a knock at my door. I freeze in place. The girl in the mirror’s eyes go huge and startled, like she’s just as surprised as I am.
Maybe some guys are reliable after all, I think, as I cross the hotel room to check. Sure, if you pay them, points out another, more cynical, voice in my head.
I dip my head and press my eye to the peep hole first. I’m not a complete idiot. I’m going to check this guy out before I let him inside.
But damn. The second I lay eyes on him, it’s hard to remind myself to take a breath.
He is even hotter in person than he sounds over the phone. Tall, well over 6’, with messy black hair that falls across his forehead into his eyes. Whereas I had to work to get my hair looking freshly messed, he looks like it took no effort whatsoever. He’s in a white collared shirt too, and slacks that look like they’re one half of a well-tailored suit set, although he opted to leave the other half of the suit at home. Too bad. He’d look even better more dressed up.
Or undressed completely, my brain helpfully points out.
He shifts where he stands and glances up and down the hallway. Not in a nervous or hurried way. Just checking the numbers on the doors, I realize.
When he looks back at the door, I have to take a step back from it, because with how intense and piercing his dark gray eyes are, it seems like he just looked right through this doorway and into mine. But of course, that’s impossible.
Relax, I order myself. Then I twist the doorknob and swing the door open, just wide enough for it to catch on the chain. I smile, and step up to the crack, grinning at him. “You must be Angel.”
“Naomi,” he says, and when he grins, it’s all I can do not to rip the chain off this door and drag him into my room by the collar of that shirt. He has a dangerous smile, sideways and sincere all at once. It makes me feel like he’s looking through me, into the very core of me. “May I come in?”
I swallow hard. His voice is even deeper and sexier in person. Still, I hesitate, my common-sense kicking in. “How do I know you’re not some… shady person.”
He arches a single, perfect eyebrow. “You called me, might I remind you.”
“Right. True.” I press my lips together. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”
In response, he spreads his hands wide. “Should I prove I come unarmed?” He starts to undo his cuffs. Then, before I realize what he’s doing, he’s untucked his shirt and begun to unbutton it. Right there in the damn hallway.
“Oh my god.” My face turns bright red. “Wait a second.” I slam the door, yank the chain off, and wrench it open again, all the way open this time.
“What’s the matter?” He smirks. “Don’t want the rest of the floor catching the show?”
“No, for some strange reason, I don’t want this whole hotel to know I called a… a…” An escort? What is his job title exactly? “A you,” I finish lamely.
Angel laughs as he crosses the threshold. I slam the door behind him and lock it after, my heart still rabbiting in my chest. “For someone who rang a number on a bathroom stall in the middle of the night, you seem awfully unsure about what you want, Naomi.”
“Oh trust me.” My gaze roams over him, lingering on the top half of his half-undone shirt, through which I glimpse steely pecs and a chiseled chest, and then dipping down to his pants. I can already see a slight bulge at his crotch, enough to make me want to rip those pants open. “I know what I want.”
“Let me guess.” He takes a step toward me. Another.
I breathe in sharply and catch the scent of his cologne, something strong and woodsy smelling. My breath catches when he pauses a few inches from me, the air between us humming with heat and unspoken energy. My hands itch to reach for him, but I just tilt my chin up, meeting his gaze head on.
He smiles again, slower this time, just a half-smile that makes his already sharp cheekbones stand out like knives beneath the two-day scruff of his beard. “You want to play at being a bad girl for a ni
ght,” he says, his voice so low it hums like a purr in my chest.