Not really, but it felt like it should have been.
Our driver pulled the towncar in front of the Beverly Hills TRU, parked in a spot reserved for registration, and I breathed a sigh of relief that we hadn’t been followed by any of those pesky photographers from the airport. As we got out, Trip asked, “Are you seriously planning on staying here?”
It had been a much-discussed topic on the plane. Trip wanted me to stay at his house, but I insisted on staying at a hotel. The whole week had been such a whirlwind and I wanted to give him time to get used to the idea that I’d be invading his life.
We made our way through the lobby, and I swear, every eye in the place turned our way. Trip pasted his movie-star-smile onto his face and ignored all of them, save for the concierge behind the desk who welcomed him by name. “Mr. Wiley. Welcome back. We were all very sorry to hear about your father. How did everything go back home?”
Trip had turned into him by this time, so he was able to answer appropriately, “Thank you, Jim. Everything went very well. Of course we’re all saddened by the loss of a good man, and I’m sure the TRU won’t be the same without him. But I see everything’s in order here?”
Jim puffed up a bit with pride as he answered, “Of course, Mr. Wiley. Miss Wilmington is making sure of that.”
When Mr. Wilmington’s health had finally taken its ultimate turn for the worse, Claudia had stepped into his vacated role as Chairman of the Board. I thought it was more of a figurehead-type position—you know, keeping with the family name and all—but apparently, she was actively running the show. Good for her.
Trip introduced me to Jim, then checked me in under the name Mrs. Martin Bishop. Still with the freaking Redford characters. He smiled cheerfully at his name choice, but he wasn’t very happy about having to kiss me goodbye. He pulled me behind a potted tree and planted his lips on mine. What started out as a simple goodbye kiss quickly picked up a bit of steam. I hoped none of the tourists in the lobby could see us, or worse, pull out their cameras and start snapping photos.
We were both a bit jetlagged from the flight, so while half of me wanted nothing more than to drag him upstairs with me, the other half just wanted to crash for the next twelve hours.
But there we were, right there in the lobby, our goodbye kiss turning heated.
Screw sleep. Some things were more important. I needed this man between my thighs more than sleep. More than food. More than air.
He slipped an arm around my waist and we followed the bellboy to the elevators along with the baggage cart that held all my stuff. Once the doors closed, Trip didn’t waste any time. He slid a hand right down my spine, teasing his fingers under the waistband at the back of my jeans. I stood perfectly still, even though I wanted to slap his hand away. I could’ve killed him for playing games with the bellboy right there in the cramped elevator. Either that, or jumped his bones. I wasn’t sure which. In any case, the ride to the penthouse took forever.
We were shown to our room, and Trip promptly tipped the bellboy. As soon as he was out the door, we started tearing at each other, our clothes strewn all over the floor. Trip shoved me onto the bed and pounced on top of me, kissing his way along every inch of my body.
“No way, pal. It’s my turn,” I teased, as I rolled him to his back and straddled him, kissing his neck and running my hands along his smooth, hard chest.
The light from outside had started to dim, and I was reminded of a dream I once had, during a time when the mere thought of having this gorgeous man back in my life was an abstract idea at best. And yet, there he was, right there, his hands clasped behind his head, his eyes closed, a contented smile pasted to his beautiful face, lying right there underneath my naked body, the reality far better than any dream could ever be.
I kissed him, brushing my mouth along those full, sensual lips of his, savoring the taste of him, the feel of his heart rushing under my palms. A possessiveness overtook me as I pushed back against his torso, trying to brand myself into his skin. I had waited for this, longer than any woman should have been asked to wait. And now, he was mine.
I earned him.
Trip wasn’t feeling very patient at that moment either. He released his hands from behind his head and grasped my hips, pulling me toward him and spearing himself into my body. I gasped as I rocked against him, feeling the fullness of his hardened length plunging inside of me, claiming me as his own.
He was smiling as he had his way with me, his free hands running over every inch of exposed skin within his reach, his hips thrusting to meet my movements, again and again and again, eventually causing the both of us to explode, leaving us sated and out of breath.
What is it about a hotel room that turns people into sex-crazed lunatics?