When my dick jumps to life over her expression of sheer pleasure, I force myself to think about kissing old toothless Larry at the corner bodega back home. “Lead the way.”
The air between us is alive. A little thick, maybe, with awkwardness left over from the way we parted last night. But the tug of attraction remains, buzzing pleasantly at the base of my skull.
Unfortunately, I can’t quite get a read on her.
What is she thinking?
Her quiet, contemplative expression gives nothing away, which annoys and tantalizes me in equal measure.
We walk the first floor, starting with the bars and then heading down a long, art-filled hallway.
At the elevators, we pass a short, burly man with a ruddy face and a mottled, cauliflower ear.
His suit and the earpiece in the other ear suggest he’s hotel security. But as soon as she spots him, Maeve raises her invisible shields. Her mouth droops into a frown, and she clenches her cup.
She nods in greeting as we pass. In return, the brute smiles at her.
Leers, really. Entirely inappropriate behavior for a subordinate interacting with their superior.
Maeve’s shoulders remain tight as her heels tap a staccato beat on the marble. She glances back, and her jaw tenses.
What sort of security guard looks at their boss like that? Are they ex-lovers? Surely not.
A sharp, hot jab of jealousy sears my chest, and lava scorches through my limbs.
Is that why Maeve came on to me so quickly? Because of this fucker?
My mind races, struggling to understand the connection between Maeve and Mutilated Ear. If that man really is her ex…him being close by will affect how Maeve connects with me, for better or worse.
Or maybe he’snotan ex, but hewantsto be. That tracks. The guy’s not even in the basement-level parking garage of her league.
If that’s the case, I wonder if he’s any danger to her. I know Maeve is too smart to retain an employee with any chance of assaulting someone, but maybe there’s a reason she hasn’t fired him.
Note to self: Find out who the fuck that guy is and what he’s smiling about.
And figure out why I care.
Even after we round a corner and he’s long gone, Maeve remains stiff and cold.
I shrug off the urge to comfort her, instead latching onto the opening and running with it. “I’ve noticed more security than I expected for a hotel of this size.”
We’ve reached the first of the hotel’s three ballrooms. The parquet flooring whirls around in rectangular spirals, complementing the warm white walls and crystal chandeliers that light the space. Across from the double doors, wall-to-ceiling windows showcase the Santa Monica skyline, and round tables with handsome leather seating line the other walls, awaiting their next engagement.
Maeve waves me inside, sipping her coffee as she considers my comment. Our shoes click on the wood, mine soft, hers pointedly loud.
Finally, she faces me with a customer-service smile. “Our city is home to many of the world’s rich and famous. Celebrity and high-profile clients often come to stay at the Cypress. It’s of the utmost importance that we take precautions and do everything in our power to protect their privacy.”
Andwe’re back to strict professionalism.
All hints of the flushed and needy woman against my door last night have disappeared, locked away behind the manager mask.
Possibly never to be seen again, unless I play my cards right.
Disappointment washes through me like the wake of a distant boat. I don’t want these walls between us. Not after coming so close last night to breaking them down. If we’re back to square one, I can’t afford to waste any time.
“Oh, you did mention that.” I glance up at the ceiling, clucking my tongue. “There’s a big celebrity staying here now, isn’t that right? In the penthouse?”
Maeve’s shoulders tighten even more. “That’s correct. Anyway, this is the Guinevere Ballroom. It can comfortably hold up to seven hundred…”
