“Glad it’s not just me,” he said, chuckling. “I’m kind of in untested waters here.”
“Oh, I think we both are,” I replied, looking around. “I’ve never gone home with the boss before.” I chewed on my thumbnail. “What the hell are we doing? I mean, this can’t possibly go anywhere, there’s literally a laundry list of reasons I shouldn’t be doing this.” I counted them off on my hand. “One, I work for you. Technically your father, but still, bad idea. Two, I’m leaving as soon as this job is done, off to the next hotel, off to the next project, likely never to return. Three, I don’t get the sense that you’ve dated anyone since your wife so, holy shit, do I want to be the girl who gets to break you back in? No pressure there. Four, I don’t even like you that much, you’re kind of an asshole who just happens to be ridiculously good-looking, but that shouldn’t outweigh the whole aforementioned asshole thing.”
Five, reasons one through four pale in comparison to the real reason I can’t do this, because you are exactly the kind of man I’ve dreamed of spending the rest of my life with and if this didn’t work out it would break me.
“So you see,” I whispered shakily, every part of me dying to touch more than just his blessed elbow, “what the hell are we doing?”
“I don’t know,” he answered, looking down at me. “You’re incredibly rude, a know-it-all wrecking-ball girl who is more than a little bossy.”
I laughed in spite of myself. “What lovely things to say, coming from a pretentious, snobby, incredibly rude himself hotel boy who’d rather rattle around spooky hallways and spend time with antiques than listen to reason.”
“Spend time with antiques?”
“Yeah well, you like them so much,” I huffed. Great comeback.
“I like you so much,” he replied, “more than I ought to.” My head and my heart heard those words at the same time and everything inside me liquefied. He reached down and traced a path along my jawline, pausing to gently brush against my bottom lip. “And you are bossy.”
“So kiss me, Hotel Boy,” I breathed, not caring about any of those perfectly thought out and completely true reasons.
He put his hands on me. He put his lips on me. And it was all I could do to still feel the earth underneath my feet. Because when this man kissed me, I forgot everything. And reasons one through five waved bye to the fucking bye.
“This is, and I hate to admit this, the best damn martini I’ve ever had.”
“Is the fact that I made it the reason you hate to admit it?”
“It really is.” I sipped. “But very nice.”
We’d kissed for longer than I can say, and when we finally pulled apart, lips swollen and hungry for more, we both decided it was time to come up for air and have that drink.
It was precisely because we were hungry for more that we stopped—somehow knowing that taking it beyond the exploration we’d already indulged in would be going too far. And I think we both knew we weren’t quite ready for that.
A stiff drink, however, that we were ready for. And Archie could mix a mean drink. Set into a cabinet in the living room was a fully stocked bar, complete with shakers and tongs and monogrammed glasses.
“Wedding gift?” I’d asked, as he tumbled ice into the shaker along with vodka and a kiss of vermouth.
“Why do you ask?”
“Just wondered,” I said, watching as he expertly carved a lemon into two twists. “That’s usually where people get this kind of stuff.”
“Actually, it’s a set I liberated from the hotel.” He laughed, pouring the martinis into the tall-stemmed glasses etched with the letter B. “An old set from the forties, but Ashley was the one who had the monogram put on. Monograms are very important in my family, you might have noticed.”
“Yeah, it’s been hard to miss the giant B on the towels in my room, or on the coasters, or on the sheets.”
“Family name, family business, gotta keep up appearances.” He smiled, handing me my glass.
We’d moved onto the couch, getting comfortable.
“Did you ever want to do anything other than this? I mean, inherit the family dynasty?”
He raised an eyebrow, but then grew thoughtful. “I don’t think so, not really anyway. The last generation of my family has been a bit slacking in the heir department.”
“Literally, and I mean this literally, I have never heard anyone use that phrase in my entire life.”
He shook his head as though trying to convince me. “It’s true, my father only had one brother who died before he was eighteen, and I’m an only child. There are a few second cousins here and there, a few who still work for the hotel, you’ve probably met them, but when you look at our family tree, which used to be expansive, there’s really only me left.”
“So you’re pretty much locked in,” I said.
He nodded with a faraway look in his eye. “I suppose so, but I never really thought of it that way.”
“So even when you were a kid, or in high school, or in college, even, you never thought about, I don’t know, running away to join the circus?” I turned toward him on the couch, curling my feet underneath me.
“Oh sure, there were a few circus moments here and there. I thought, for about five minutes, about going to medical school. I thought, for about seven minutes, about becoming a teacher, I’ve always loved history.”
“That actually makes perfect sense,” I said. “I could totally see you on a college campus, rattling around with your pipe and your busted briefcase.” And I could too. “I bet all the young coeds would be fighting to take your class.”
He let out a laugh. “I hardly think I’d be the type that anyone would fight over.”
I looked at him, warm auburn hair glowing in the firelight, those freckles peeking out from beneath his twinkling eyes. “I’d probably throw an elbow or two.”
“This elbow?” he asked, reaching out and gently brushing against my arm.
“Mm-hmm,” I breathed, once more the touch of his fingertips sending shivers out all over my body.
We both sipped our martinis, eyes meeting over the rims. Jesus, this guy.
“But,” he said, breaking the spell as well as the eye contact, “once those seven minutes were over I remembered how much I loved this place and I wasn’t about to let someone else take it over.”
“Until I got here.” I laughed.
“Yes, until this tiny bossy person showed up and started acting like she owned the place.”
I sat up on my knees, fist-pumping. “Worst day ever for you, Hotel Boy.”
He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Not the worst day,” he said softly.
My gaze flashed down to the ring on his left hand. We sat in silence for a moment, other than the crackling of the fire, and when the clock in the hall began to chime, I sighed. “I should go.”