My jaw drops. The man is seriously over the top. But I am not going to refuse it. That would be rude, right?
“Wow, okay.”
I am buffed and polished from head to toe by the time I leave the spa. Every muscle in my body had been whimpering earlier, from the skiing and the bout of energetic sex last night, but now they’re sighing contentedly.
What a lovely way to spend an afternoon. It’s much later than I anticipated when I approach Jeanette at the registration counter.
“Do you work 24/7?”
“No, I’m about to leave in just a few minutes. Bax left this for you.” She slides an envelope to me. “He’s a good man.”
I nod slowly. “Yes, he is.”
“Have a good night.” She gives me directions to his suite, then winks and turns away. His room is on the top floor of the lodge, tucked in the back of the building that faces the valley. I can’t wait to see the view from his windows.
I knock, but when there’s no answer, I unlock the door and push inside. I flip on the lights and see a note sitting on the table.
Grace,
I had to go handle another one of Jerry’s “issues.” I’ll be back as soon as I can. Make yourself at home, love.
Jacob
I flip the switch for the gas fireplace and watch it come to life, then open the blinds and stare out at the valley below.
Holy million-dollar view.
Cunningham Falls and the lake are spread before me. Dusk is descending, and lights twinkle in the town. I walk through the living area that has a full kitchen and dining area attached, down a hallway. There are two small bedrooms, a bathroom, and finally the master bedroom with a huge four-poster dominating the room. The linens are white, crisp, and clean. My bag is on the floor of the walk-in closet and my clothes have been hung.
I walk into the bathroom to find my toiletries mingled with Jacob’s.
It feels weird to see my things with his. I’ve never shared space with a man before.
I suddenly hear the front door open and I hurry out to meet him.
He’s pushing a room service cart. His hair is a bit messy from his fingers combing through it. He’s changed into a green V-neck sweater and jeans and is just pure deliciousness.
“G’day, mate! Did you bring me some Vegemite?”
“That’s Australia, darling.” He laughs and catches me up in a hug. “And I don’t recommend the Vegemite. It’s an acquired taste.” He wrinkles his nose and shudders. “But I did bring dinner, because now that I have you here, we won’t be leaving again, and I don’t want any interruptions.”
“Do all of the single female customers get this kind of attention?” I ask with a smile.
“As a matter of fact,” he replies, while setting out our dinner, “I don’t remember the last night I spent with a woman. They tend to get too attached, make assumptions, and it’s just best all around if we don’t make a night of it.”
I inwardly cringe. Don’t ask a question you don’t want the answer to, Grace. I put on a brave smile and change the subject.
“You spoiled me today,” I say softly. “Thank you.”
“Did you enjoy it?”
“Oh yes. I’m all buffed and polished and soft now.”
He grins wickedly. “I can’t wait to see that for myself. But first . . .” He uncovers the plates and transfers them to the table. “I ordered us both pasta with Alfredo sauce and salads. I hope that’s okay.”
“Sounds great. I’m starved.” I sit and dig in with gusto, moaning when the Alfredo sauce hits my tongue. “Dear sweet Jesus, that’s good.”
“Keep making those sounds, love, and I’ll carry you to my bed straightaway.”
I giggle and roll my eyes. “You’d think you’ve never seen a girl enjoy her food before.”
“I love watching you enjoy everything. It’s a sight to behold.”
“Blarney.” I shake my head and then drip sauce down the front of my shirt. “I’ll just save that for later.”
“You’ll be out of that shirt soon enough, so it won’t matter. But I can have it cleaned for you if you like.”
“No, it’s no biggie. I’ll wash it when I get home tomorrow.”
He nods and takes another large bite of pasta. “So tell me more about yourself.”
I frown and shrug. “I’m not terribly interesting. I think I already told you the highlights.”
“You’re fascinating,” he disagrees and takes a sip of water. “Why don’t you speak to your parents?”
I lower my fork to my plate and wipe my mouth with my napkin. Do I talk about this with him? I rarely talk about it with anyone.
“This is a sordid story for another time,” I reply.
“There’s no time like the present,” he replies, catching my gaze. “Talk to me.”