Room Service

9

EM LOOKED AROUND HER at the porn shop. She was going to do it, she was going to buy something, just to see the look on Jacob’s face when she did so with mature ease and without embarrassment.

Oh, he was standing there, so positive that he’d shocked her, so confident that she’d never have the guts to actually do it.

Ha! Watch her.

She stalked right up to the counter, telling herself she’d purchase the first thing she saw that she could name, heart racing at the selection of vibrators right in front of her. Gulping, she pointed to the one called The Rabbit-the rabbit?!?-and said, “That one.”

Behind her, Jacob choked, but when she looked at him, he’d pulled himself together.

“Problem?” she asked loftily, taking out her credit card.

Jacob put his big, warm hand over hers and pulled out his wallet. “No way. This baby’s on me.” His eyes locked on Em’s as he said to the woman behind the counter, “Add batteries.”

Em was too mortified to argue with him, and the next thing she knew, she was walking out of there with a brown bag heavy with The Rabbit, and a body zapping with sexual energy.

Unbelievable, but she was twenty-seven years old and had just bought her first vibrator.

“Don’t worry, you’ll like it.”

“I wasn’t worried.”

His dimple flashed. “Were, too.”

Damn it, did he have to read her mind, and then toss her own humiliating thoughts back at her?

He leaned in. “If you need any help with that thing, you just let me know.”

Before she could formulate a response to this, he directed her into a bar.

A live band played with more decibels than talent, and the youthful, free-spirited crowd danced and laughed and talked over them. The servers wore jeans and suspenders-and no shirts. Including the women.

“Thought you could use a drink after that last adventure.” Jacob gestured for the bartender, then looked at Em.

“A beer,” she said, definitely needing it.

Jacob lifted up two fingers. When the drinks came, he looked at her over his bottle as he drank, his eyes filled with laughter and heat, God, so much heat.

She downed her beer. “I could probably use another.”

“It’s supposed to bring you pleasure,” he said.

“The beer brought me plenty of pleasure.”

“The vibrator.”

“Oh.”

“Gotta have trust, Em. There’s easy pleasure there.”

“Fine for a man to say. It’s simple for you to-” She clamped her mouth shut. Had she just been about to say it, really? That it was easier for a man to masturbate?

Interested, he cocked his head. “What is it easier for men to do, Em?” His expression assured her she was still providing him with great entertainment. “Jerk off?” Leaning in so she could see nothing but that sinfully perfect face and yummy mouth, he whispered in an extremely naughty voice, “If you can’t say it, how do you expect to be able to do it?”

“I can do it,” she said, then wished she hadn’t, because his grin widened.

“Sure?”

“Yes.”

“Because like I said, I could help-”

“I said I’d be fine! Now I need another beer. Please,” she added in a more civil tone.

He tossed down the money to cover the beers they’d already consumed. “If it’s serious drinking you’re in the mood for, let’s hit Patrick’s.”

She had no idea what exactly she was in the mood for, but it would be nice to assuage the odd ache deep inside her belly.

The one between her thighs was another story.

Patrick’s was busy, too, with a very different crowd than the morning one. This crowd was tougher, younger, and looked far more apt to cause trouble. As they sipped their beers, Em noted that the trouble always seemed to be started by Maddie’s two sons, who were bartending, when they weren’t brawling.

After a lull in the noisy wildness, Jacob surprised Em by asking about the auditions.

“They went well,” she said.

“Is that the line you gave your boss, or the truth?”

“The line I gave my boss.” She sighed. “I’m hoping to get luckier tomorrow.”

“And if you don’t?”

“Maybe you’ll change your mind.”

“Em-”

“Just kidding.” She shot him a half smile. “Sort of. Listen, what’s so bad about being a TV chef anyway?”

“Other than the fact it’s all a sham?”

“A sham?”

“Sure. The TV chef easily whips up some tasty-looking dish, impressing the viewers. He should, he’s a trained pro. But you and I both know, due to time constraints and the boring factor, he’ll skip all sorts of basic steps that the viewer has no idea how to perform, then tries it at home and experiences complete disaster trying to replicate it. I don’t want to do that to people.”

He’d really thought about this. “You wouldn’t have to-”

“It’s the advertising dollars that’ll matter, or product placement, or something. Not the art of cooking.”

She opened her mouth again, then slowly shut it in silent admission that it could be true.

“I’m just not interested,” he said more gently. “At all. I’ve been there, done that, as far as cooking for performance, and I don’t want to go back.”

She nodded, remembering the juggling act he’d demonstrated. She knew how he’d grown up now and completely understood. And because she did, she would never want him to do this, either.

“So what are you going to do?”

She lifted her head with determination. “Hold auditions in Los Angeles. It’ll give us more of a pool to choose from.”

“Listen, I’m sor-”

Reaching out, she put a finger to his lips. “It’s okay, I get it.” And that was the thing, she really did. She knew Nathan wouldn’t, but she did. “I’ll make this work another way. I’m determined.”

“You know,” he said, watching her, “I believe you will.”

“You do?”

“Oh, yeah.” He stroked a finger over her jaw. “You’ve got something I recognize and know well.”

Her breath caught at the touch. “What’s that?”

“Determination. Passion. Hunger to succeed.”

She understood him, and loved the feeling. But he understood her, too. Was there anything more sexy than that, a man who really knew her? She found herself fighting a broad, stupid smile. “You, Jacob Hill, are a very kind man.”

He stared at her, then let loose with a laugh. “First you think I’m sweet, and now kind. Who are you looking at?”

“You.”

“I’m not either of those things,” he said with a slow shake of his head. “In fact, ask around.” He shifted his weight on his bar stool, and suddenly his legs, long and hard were entangled, with hers.

Leaning in, he insinuated a muscled thigh between hers. His lips brushed against her ear as he spoke. “In fact, I’m probably the furthest thing from kind-or sweet-you’ll ever meet.”

His low, husky voice brought a set of shivers to her spine. But she couldn’t think past the feel of his thigh between hers, or the hand he’d set against the bar at her back, ostensibly to hold his balance, but in reality trapping her within the confines of his body.

His gaze dropped to her mouth as he slowly pressed his thigh higher between hers. A rush of arousal surged through her. They were in public, anyone could see, and yet this excited her. She had no idea what that said about her, but she wanted more.

He moved again, just a slight shift that put him in direct contact with the V between her legs, shooting bolts of sexual yearning to every erogenous zone in her body. And apparently there were more than she’d known about.

No one around them paid any attention. And anyway, if anyone had happened to glance over, all they’d see was a couple who appeared to be in deep conversation, with his head bent attentively to hers, his arm at her back.

Then he rocked his knee again and she actually had to close her eyes, clutching the bar stool at either of her sides, seeking balance as everything within her clutched, as well. “I can’t think when you do that,” she whispered, and yet she didn’t try to push his leg away.

“Do what?”

Her eyes flew open and she stared at him, prepared to tell him to stop teasing her, but he wasn’t teasing at all. His eyes were dark, so very dark, and filled with honest curiosity.

He wanted to hear her say the words, that she couldn’t think when he touched her, that she couldn’t think with his thigh between hers, and that when he moved that thigh against her, she saw stars. Forget the vibrator, she wasn’t going to need it.

“Em?”

Right. The words. Only she’d never been good at them. It was why she worked behind the camera and not in front of it, but she’d especially never been good with sex words. In the bedroom, on the rare occasion that she actually got there with a man, she was quiet, hoping he’d just guess what she wanted.

But suddenly she didn’t want Jacob guessing. She didn’t want to be coy. She wanted to be honest, and see where it got her. “I can’t think when you touch me. When your leg is between mine, pressing against me.”

Naturally he did it again, and her eyes drifted shut again. “Well, maybe I can think,” she admitted softly. “But it’s not the kind of thoughts made for mixed company.”

“See, that’s where you’re wrong,” he murmured in her ear. “Those thoughts spinning through your head are for mixed company. They’re for me.” He invaded her space a little more, making her suck in her breath because he felt so solid and smelled like heaven. “They’re for you, too,” he told her. “For what we do to each other.”

She opened her eyes at that. “Which is what, exactly?”

“Make each other feel good.”

Yes. Yes, she knew that, but she’d thought…for a minute she’d let herself think…hope…“Is there more than that?”

His gaze met hers. Again, openly honest. Brutally honest. “More than that isn’t something I do.”

“I know.”

He looked at her for a long beat, then pulled back a little, and sipped at his beer, continuing to watch her thoughtfully. “How about you?”

“What?”

“You get involved with every guy you sleep with?”

“I’m afraid so, yes.”

He nodded, and sipped some more, and by the way he’d backed off physically she got the message that he didn’t intend to take it any further. Which in a strange way was a compliment.

He didn’t want to hurt her.

But damn, she wished she’d let him take it a little further before they’d had that conversation, maybe even as far as his bed.

As if he could hear her thoughts, he smiled a little, and touched her hair, but he didn’t try for more than that, and eventually they began the walk back to Hush. The streets were dark, quiet. There was no moon and a low fog lent an odd intimacy to the night around them.

The brown bag in her hands crinkled, reminding her of what she held.

And what she could do with it. “I can’t believe I let you buy this for me.”

The man beside her smiled but didn’t speak. He never seemed to feel the need to fill an easy silence, and she’d gotten used to that. And nearly, but not quite, used to the way he touched her at every opportunity, a hand low on her spine as he guided her through a door, the way he bent close to her when he wanted to whisper something for her ears only, so that his jaw would brush hers and his lips graze the sensitive skin beneath her lobe.

“Tired?” he asked when they stood in Hush’s lobby.

It was late, and given the stress of the few days she’d had here, she should have been past exhausted. But just peering into his dark, dark eyes banished any exhaustion. He was looking at her, his hands in his pockets, giving her an unusual amount of physical distance for a man who typically had no problem with body contact.

He was holding something back. Looking at him, she could see his shoulders tense with strain. His jaw was locked tight.

And that heat in his eyes was a carefully banked fire, and it nearly brought her to her knees.

He was holding back his desire for her.

Because of their conversation at Patrick’s? If so, the man had been wrong about himself, he was sweet, and kind, so much so that she felt a lump catch in her throat.

He wasn’t the type of man to let a woman close. He didn’t want the burden or the responsibility of her feelings, much less his own. He’d learned young to count on no one but himself, and that wasn’t a habit he would break lightly, if at all.

But she understood even more than that. This wasn’t simply about her becoming attached to him.

But vice versa.

And he didn’t like it. It scared him. That anything could scare this big, tough man was almost beyond comprehension.

But she’d scared him, and scared him deep. The tenderness that welled up nearly choked her.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked, taking a step back, and she suspected, an even bigger mental one.

“Like what?” she asked softly.

His gaze searched hers. “Like maybe you’re seeing me for the first time.”

She was, and because of it, she smiled.

He did not. If anything, he looked more tense, and with his hands still in his pockets, the tendons and cords of muscle in his arms stood out in bold relief. The waistband on his pants gaped away from his flat, hard, tightened abs. She wanted to touch him there. Everywhere.

God, she wanted this man. She wanted to hold him, soften him, soothe him. She wanted to give him what he’d probably never let any woman give him: gentleness. Reaching up, she cupped his jaw.

He actually flinched. “What are you doing?”

“Touching you.”

“Don’t.”

His voice sounded low, almost harsh, but she didn’t take offense. Not when she’d just figured him out. “You touch me all the time,” she told him. “Why can’t I touch you?”

He didn’t seem to have an answer for that.

So she smiled again and said, “Thank you for tonight, Jacob.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

She lifted the brown bag. “You showed me a side of New York I might not have gotten to see.”

His eyes darkened. The muscle in his jaw leaped. But he said nothing.

“I imagine it’s still early for you,” she said. “What are you going to do now?”

“I have to go up and look in on one of the suites. There’s some VIP coming in tomorrow, and I’m cooking a private dinner for him and his fiancée. I want to check the kitchen.”

“I heard the suites in this place are designer created and have to be seen to be believed.”

He just looked at her.

She looked back, heart racing. What the hell was she doing? Baiting a tiger. Poking the bear.

“You want to come up to the suite with me,” he stated rather than asked.

“Yes,” she whispered quickly, before she changed her mind. She was insane, crazy-

“You know what toys the suites are equipped with?” he asked in a voice that left no doubt as to what category of “toys” he was referring to.

She’d read the brochures, and took a big gulp. “I think so.”

“You think so.” He shook his head and muttered something to himself that sounded like “Don’t do it, Hill.”

She just waited breathlessly.

He stared at her, the kind of deep, dark, edgy look that might have sent her running if it wasn’t him. But she knew him now, and his bark was far worse than his bite.

At least she hoped so.

“There are video cameras and blank tapes,” she said, “to be, um, used however the guest wants.”

“They’re not for filming the kids at the park.”

“I know.”

He stood toe to toe with her, not touching her in any way, but her body tingled nevertheless. “The camera is there to film the sex adventures the guests find here. Threesomes, hot tub adventures, S and M…”

She took another gulp. “I know. I want…I want to see.”

“See? Or do?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

He groaned at this, and turned in a slow, agitated circle, rubbing the day-old growth on his jaw.

The scratchy sound of it made her shiver. She wanted to feel it against her skin. “Show me,” she whispered.

“I must be insane. Insane.” He walked away a few feet, then stalked back, taking her hand. “Come on then.”

He said this grimly, resignedly, and she wanted to tell him not to worry, it would be okay. But of course it wouldn’t. Nothing would ever be okay again.

They took the elevator in silence, except for the brown bag in her hand, which crackled when she nervously tightened her grip.

Jacob’s gaze met hers, and there was so much in it she swallowed hard. Before she could come up with something to say, he was leading her off the elevator and to the penthouse suites.

When he opened the door, she couldn’t help but gasp. “Wow.”

“Yeah.” But he didn’t seem to notice the surroundings as he nudged her inside enough to shut the door.

She gaped. She couldn’t help it. The foyer was as large as her hotel room.

“It’s called the Haiku Suite and was designed by Zang Toi. High-end Asian luxury.”

There were floor-to-ceiling windows, and where there wasn’t glass, the walls were upholstered in silk, the molding done in sycamore.

“The furniture is antique, the Oriental rugs handcrafted.” He shook his head. “It’s amazing to me that someone would put such expensive stuff in a hotel, but people like to be pampered. Especially here.”

She looked at the lovely antique furniture polished to a high shine and the low couches arranged in a way that encouraged socializing. “There’s still something different…”

He turned and looked at her. “Do you mean because it’s meant for sex?”

“Um…” She bit her lower lip and clutched her brown bag. “Well, yes.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” He pointed to an enclosed bookcase. “There’s the video selection. Let me be specific. We’re talking erotica. The best out there. Specifically designed for each guest.” He pulled open the doors and revealed a stack of DVDs all geared toward spanking. “This particular guest’s favorite fantasy.”

She swallowed hard. “Um, how does Hush know what they’ll want?”

“Questionnaires.”

“The questions must be interesting.”

“You know it.” He pulled out a DVD. The cover showed a woman over a man’s knee, her skirt pushed high on her waist, her panties to her knees, her bottom extremely red.

She struggled not to react but she felt her eyes widen.

“What do you think?” Jacob asked her, sounding darkly amused.

She looked at the man’s big hand, raised above the woman’s bottom. “Um…”

“Let me guess. Not your cup of tea?”

“Not quite,” she managed.

With a rough laugh, he put the DVD back and took her into the bedroom, opening the closet there.

This time her mouth just fell open.

“A selection of costumes,” he said, holding up a leather bustier, complete with whip. “This one is for a dominatrix fantasy.” He arched a brow at her choked laugh. “No?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head.

He pulled out another hanger. “How about a French maid?”

“Uh…no. Thank you.”

Shrugging, he put that one back and opened the chest at the foot of the luxurious bed. Inside was a selection of…oh, my.

More toys, some of which she couldn’t even identify. “Quite the education,” she managed, leaning over him, touching a set of what she assumed were hand and ankle cuffs, in braided leather, lined with fur. She caught his eyes and nearly stopped breathing.

He was watching her finger the handcuffs, his eyes so dark she couldn’t differentiate the iris from the pupil. “Well?”

“I’ve never…um.”

He lifted a brow.

“I’ve never been bound before,” she whispered.

“A fantasy?” he asked, his voice a mere whisper of a breath.

She touched a set of silk scarves, a leather harness, a riding crop, and shivered. “I didn’t think so…” But now she could see herself bound in the cuffs, the scarf over her eyes, her body stretched to its limit on the bed as he leaned over her, taking her to helplessly aroused heights…

“Jesus, Em.” Backing away from the closet, he shoved his fingers through his short, short hair, heat and sexual frustration coming off him in waves. “I’m just a man here.”

Yeah. She was counting on that.

He turned toward the bathroom, which was bigger than her condo at home. An open sitting area sported a set of cushy, leather massage tables side by side.

“Wow,” she murmured.

“You’ve said that.”

She looked at him. He had carefully kept his distance, which in itself was extremely telling. Setting her brown bag down on the flawless polished granite counter, she nodded to the massage tables. “For couples?”

“You can get a masseuse in here, or just do each other. Everything needed is in the cabinets at the side of the tables.”

She opened one and saw oils, lotions, candles…“I used to do manicures,” she said. “I gave the best hand massages in Hollywood.”

A dimple flashed. “I’m not going to touch that one.”

She just gave him a long look.

“And here I thought you were just a producer.”

“Now.” And hopefully also next month. “But when I was in college, I worked wherever the money was. People gave great tips for my hand massages.” She patted a lounge chair. “I could show you.”

He stayed across the room, his hands in his pockets. “I don’t think so.”

And the hunter became the huntee. This was too good to pass up. “Chicken?”

His eyes reflected how he felt about being called a chicken, and she nearly backed off. And she would have backed off if she hadn’t seen other things there as well, like-it couldn’t really be-uncertainty?

And want. There was no mistaking that one.

Good Lord, it was the sheer magnitude of that want that had her trying again to reach him. “Sit,” she said again. “Try it.” Try me.

He hesitated for one beat, then strode over to her and did as she’d asked, sitting on one of the massage tables. “Turnaround is fair play,” he said so silkily she got goose bumps.

“You mean you want to massage my hands, too?” she asked.

“Not your hands, no.”

Oh, boy. She took his wrists and turned them. Ran her thumbs over the work-roughened skin and calluses of his palms. “You haven’t been moisturizing.”

“No,” he agreed, his gaze still locked on her face.

“Your hands are your treasure, Jacob.”

“Actually, I think of my treasure as another body part entirely.” Another flash of that dimple. “Want to moisturize and massage that part?”