The Wraith!Only one of the swankiest, most exclusive hotels in Manhattan.
I’ve never been inside the place before, and it doesn’t disappoint. It’s as glossy and sleek and expensive on the inside as it looks on the outside.
“Good evening, Mr. Connor.” The concierge greets Ryan with a polite nod and a discreet glance at the clock on his tablet.
I’m too busy soaking up my surroundings to care what he thinks. Ryan is a paying guest. I’m sure the price of his hotel room buys him the privilege of bringing someone back with him, as long as we don’t trash the place or disturb the neighbors.
I was brought up to respect the property of others. I can’t guarantee the second point though. Ryan’s hand is warm in mine. He talked about Ireland all evening, his accent getting thicker the more inebriated he became, but one thing was blatantly obvious. Well, two things really.
Firstly, he loves his home country.
Secondly, I was going back to his hotel room with him when my shift ended.
Carol let me finish early. She didn’t say it out loud, but I think she was a little jealous that Ryan barely even glanced her way.
“Ask him if he has a brother,” she whispered in my ear while I was serving another customer.
“You have George Clooney.” I glanced along the bar at the customer she’d been chatting up all night. “Don’t be greedy.”
“You can be such a spoilsport sometimes, Amelia York.”
We’ve been friends since we were little kids. She knows me better than I know myself a lot of the time. I’ll miss her when I’m in Ireland.
Ryan and I cross the black and chrome lobby of the Wraith, the thick pile carpet bouncing under my feet, and take the elevator up to his room.
The corridors are all dark walls and low lights, gleaming chrome numbers on doors, and deep black carpet, with the heavy silencethat suggests the guests do not want to be disturbed even without the sign on the door.
Ryan holds my hand all the way. It doesn’t feel controlling. I could change my mind, and he might be disappointed, but he wouldn’t drag me into his room, lock the door, and accuse me of leading him on. It’s protective, like we both know what’s going to happen and he wants me to feel safe.
Strangely, I do.
It has nothing to do with the accent, and everything to do with how he spoke to me. He listened to what I had to say. He didn’t eye up other women all night, measuring his options. He saw me, and he seemed to like what he saw.
I don’t make a habit of this kind of thing. In fact, I’ve never dated anyone I’ve served in the club, and I’ve never been to a guy’s hotel room within hours of finding out his name. I’ve never seen a New York hotel room, period. This is a first for me on so many counts that I’m already mentally preparing a checklist for Carol when I next speak to her.
We enter his room, the motion sensor lights activating before the door has even shut behind us. It’s huge. It isn’t a room, it’s a suite, an executive suite looking at the size of the couches in the living area and the raised platform that must lead through to the bedroom. All this space for one person.
It’s bigger than the entire first floor of my mom’s apartment.
Ryan hangs his jacket on a coat stand and reappears in front of me in his button-down shirt. I didn’t even see his tie come off. He traces my jawline with his fingertip and kisses me softly on the lips. I can taste brandy. Normally, liquor would be a hugeturn-off—I’ve seen too many drunk guys escorted from clubs—but on Ryan it has the opposite effect.
Or maybe I’ve been building up to this moment in my head since he ordered his first drink.
I fist his hair and part my lips, inviting his tongue in.
He pushes me back against the wall. This is where we’re doing this, and I’m perfectly fine with that.
I fumble with the buttons of his shirt while he explores my mouth with his tongue. I close my eyes. It’s a habit. It allows me to focus on his kisses, his hands that are everywhere, tugging my shirt over my head, unzipping my pants, unclasping my bra.
Within moments, I’m naked from the waist up, and I’ve barely unhooked half of his shirt buttons. My pants zipper is open. His hands are on my breasts, crushing them while his kisses grow more demanding.
“Amelia, Amelia, Amelia…” he murmurs against my lips. “I could fuck you all night.”
“That’s a bold statement.” I open my eyes and find him watching me intently. His pupils are huge. His breath is warm on my face.
“I’m a bold kind of guy.” He licks my lips. “You don’t believe me, do you?”
“I believe that you’re bold. Whether you can fuck me all night or not remains to be seen.”
