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Lizzy
Brett’s been on my mind from the moment I woke up this morning. He’s been on my lips a lot, too. I spent a good hour on the phone with Corrine this morning, telling her every last detail as I sat in the backyard, tossing a ball for Montana. My cousin’s a good listener and swooned in all the right parts.
She did think it was smart that I didn’t break my rule, which I’m still kind of regretting. I confessed how badly I want to be with him, but she remembers well enough why I have this rule and encouraged me not to let my body rush me into sex before it’s time. I teased her about being a traitor for not telling me to go for it. She laughed but didn’t reverse her advice, like I secretly hoped she would.
Earlier today, I gave Rayce and Connor the clean, “brother version” of my date, but divulged the rest to Whitney once we had a chance to be alone. She swore not to tell Connor the “girlfriend version” and gave me a hug, telling me she’d never seen me so lit up.
The second I see Brett crossing the polished marble floor of the resort’s lobby, I feel all lit up. He’s in dark slacks, a checked Oxford shirt with the top button undone, and a casual dress jacket that’s open in the front. He cuts a rather suave figure that’s the perfect blend of relaxed and hot. Oh, I could definitely take a bite out of that.
I can’t imagine this is his normal weekend attire and wonder if he dressed up knowing I’d be here in my work clothes. Dad always said there are very few occasions that justify not being properly dressed at work, and Sunday is not one of those occasions. As owners, we’re the face of this resort whether it’s supposed to be our day off or not. For that reason, I’m in heels, a straight purple skirt that almost reaches my knees, and a fitted white top with an open collar and no sleeves. The silky scarf around my neck matches the skirt.
I go toward him and we meet near the middle of the intricate tile medallion that’s centered under the domed ceiling two stories above us.
“Hi, Lizzy.” He gives me a smile that lights me up even more.
“Hi, Brett.” I’d love to give him a hug and a kiss (okay, and more than that too, but not here), but I shake his hand instead. I’d rather not be too open about such a personal relationship on property, not while we’re still unofficial. It feels weird to just be shaking his hand though, so while maintaining my smile, I lower my voice to explain. “Sorry. I don’t want to start wild rumors...”
He glances around easily, his eyes pausing for the briefest moment on our staff behind the front desk. “So I shouldn’t pull you into my arms, bury my hands in your hair, and suck on that beautiful neck of yours until your knees go weak?”
My cheeks get warm and my smile falters as I struggle to maintain my professional composure after such a remark. “Well,” I lead us back toward the elevators. “Not here, anyway.”
“Somewhere else perhaps,” he says, in a semi-serious, semi-teasing voice.
Let’s hope.
There are some guests waiting for the elevator too, so with one last meaningful look Brett’s way, I lead the conversation in a direction that’s safe to be overheard. We start talking about the Cottages, and that takes us all the way to the seventh floor.
“Have you stayed in the resort before?” I ask as we step out of the elevator.
“No, I haven’t. Sorry.”
“Oh, no need to be sorry.” I glance down the hall first to the right, then to the left, in search of a housekeeping cart. There’s one halfway down the left hall. “I just wanted to know if I should show you one of our regular rooms first,” I say, leading us to the left, “so you can fully appreciate the contrast that is Room 701.”
When we get to the cart, young Olivia Walsh comes out in her gray and white housekeeping uniform. “Oh, hello Ms. Rivers.” She nods at me, then mutely at Brett. I try not to laugh at the sudden love-struck expression on her face. She’s been with us just over a year and has spent the better part of that year giving that same expression to my brother Connor. I’ve decided she’s too afraid of Rayce to have a crush on him, even though he’s just as good-looking.
I glance in the room, which looks as if she’s just about done with it. There’s no luggage or other signs of guests currently using the room either, but that can be harder to tell with the suites because suitcases are usually kept in the bedrooms, not in the common living areas.
“Is this room a checkout?” I ask, just to be sure.
“Yes, ma’am.” Her eyes are still wide on Brett. “I’m just finished.”
“Thank you. Leave the door propped open. I’ll close up after I show Mr. Carmichael the room.”
She nods and dips her head to him nervously. He gives her a kind smile and she looks about to fall over. I’ll have to tell Connor he has some competition.
I lead Brett into the lush and inviting sitting area that’s filled with light from the double French doors leading out to the stone balcony. There’s a mahogany fireplace and office nook on one side of the room, and a large flat screen TV and entertainment system on the other. I sweep my hand loosely around. “This is one of our Bronze Suites.”
Noticing that Olivia’s still lingering in the hall outside, I plant my feet on the plush area rug in the center of the room and continue with a pretty standard speech as Brett strolls around the outer path of the room. I’m staying in sight and keeping things professional until she leaves. “There are three bedrooms. Two off to this side, each with a queen bed and private bath. The master’s through there.” I point to the closed double doors on the other side of the room. “It has a king-sized bed, sitting area, and full en suite with a glass-enclosed shower and Jacuzzi tub for two.”
Brett has wandered into the breakfast nook and out of Olivia’s line of vision. At the mention of a tub for two, he gives me a meaningful look and raises his eyebrows. Feeling the heat rush to my cheeks yet again, I glance once more to Oliva. She’s still there, fussing with the shampoo bottles in the bottom cubby of her cart, so she’s not looking at me. I give him a warning look and he laughs, continuing into the generously-sized kitchen.
“In the original hotel, this suite was four standard rooms.”
Brett nods, looking impressed.
I smile. “My father had different plans.”
“I see where you get it.”
Oh, I could kiss him for that remark alone, but I don’t. Instead I watch as his trained eyes sweep over the ceiling and walls, apparently looking for signs of the walls that were torn down. There’s no sign of them, as they weren’t load bearing walls, but he points his finger in a line down the ceiling.
“Was the wall right there?”
I nod.
“Hmm... smart. You’d never know walking in.”
He heads toward the balcony, drawing near to me on his way, and glancing over his shoulder toward the door. Olivia is still there, glancing toward us as well. Brett and I exchange brief looks before he passes me by and goes to the balcony.
“Are you having difficulties with your cart, Olivia?”
She startles and grabs the handle. “No, ma’am.” She gives the massive cart a shove and shuffles out of sight.
Brett chuckles behind me and I turn to face him, rolling my eyes and smiling. “Never a dull moment.”
I walk over to join him. He opens the door and together we step onto the balcony. This is the rear side of the east wing, so we’re overlooking the sprawling and luxurious central grounds below, with the pools, teen center, and various playing courts. The center section of the resort is to the left, and the west wing angles away from it on the opposite side from us. To the right of that, we have a clear view of the Pacific, which is glinting in the afternoon sun.
“I see I’ve been missing out.” He leans on the thick stone bannister. “It really is beautiful here. It’s making me long for a vacation.”
“That’s what it’s supposed to do. Lure relaxation out of you without you even trying.”
He turns so he’s facing me, still leaning on one side on the balcony, and cocks his head. “I love the way you talk about that.”
“What?”
“What you guys do here. It’s like all this...” he nods at the grounds and gestures toward the room. “It’s all part of a spell you’re weaving.”
“Ooh, I like that.” I draw up in front of him, closer than I should really, and lean my hip on the bannister. “It kind of is like a spell, isn’t it?”
His eyes draw down the length of my body, then up again. He regards me with the kind of look that heats me up from the inside out. I remain in place, giving him permission to admire me.
“Is that what it is? You’re a witch casting a spell on me?”
A slow smile emerges on my face. “Do you feel enchanted, Mr. Carmichael?”
“Oh, yes.” He straightens and comes to his full height. I look up at him, my knees weakening. He’s casting a few spells of his own. “Yes, that’s exactly how I feel.” He glances through the open balcony door and to the hall.
I don’t look myself. I’m inspecting those enchanting blue eyes of his and breathing in his scent. I assume the hall is still empty, because his eyes lock on mine and his fingertips brush down the inside of my elbow and to my inner wrist, stealing my breath. He curls his hand around mine, squeezes, then goes back into the living room.
It was so subtle, anyone who might happen to observe us from the outside would not have seen anything. His fiery touch is a secret for us to keep, a secret that’s still lingering on my skin.
When we make our way into the hall, the warmth of his touch is there still. We pass Olivia’s cart and an open door but do not see her. The tale-tell snapping of sheet linens means she’s inside changing a bed.
I lead him down the opposite wing, which is empty. When we get to the end of the hall, I approach he door with the gold numbers “701” on front, and insert my master keycard into the slot.
The heavy click of the lock and green light signals a go, so I swing the door open. “After you, sir. Behold, Room 701.”
He grins at my dramatics and goes in as commanded.
There’s a silent war going on in my head. Probably the best way to avoid temptation would be to prop this door open, just like the other one.
But after he passes by, I glance down the hall to be sure no one’s watching, then step inside and close the door behind me.
Brett comes to a slow stop as he glances around the room, slack-jawed. “Uh... wow.”
I laugh. “Yep.”
Room 701 is one of the original three-room suites—a living area and two bedrooms—and has the original green-flowered carpeting, gold linen wallpaper, and hideous seventies furniture to prove it.
“Just... wow.”
I come in a few paces and stop, watching him take it all in. He’s apparently preoccupied with the room—and who could blame him—but my blood is pumping thickly as my awareness of the fact that we’re alone in this room increases. I haven’t had my hello kiss yet, and I want it.
His eyes land on the fringe-covered lamp shade and he raises his eyebrows at me.
“It’s an ode to tackiness, isn’t it?” I clasp my hands behind me, then tilt my head and smile at him.
I have his attention now. His eyes brush down my body again before locking on mine. I soften my smile, letting him see what I want, hoping to lure him closer.
“Well,” he says, smiling too and taking slow, seductive strides toward me. “You’re definitely the best-looking thing in this room.”
“Flattery,” I say in mock dismissal, but I don’t mind his compliments and keep smiling so he knows it. As he closes the gap between us, my body heats up and my skin starts to buzz, anticipating his touch.
“Of course, you’re the best-looking thing in any room.” He circles his broad hand around my waist and pulls me tight against him.
My lips part slightly and I exhale hotly. My thighs clench, already wanting him. Course, I’ve not really stopped wanting him since last night. My next words are low, almost a whisper. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”
“Then how about this?”
He cradles my face in one hand and presses his soft mouth to mine. His tongue darts against my lower lip, sucking it gently, before demanding entrance and claiming me more completely. I invite him in, staking my own claim, increasing my hold on him as we sink into a tight embrace.
I give a soft moan, feeling immense relief to be in his arms again, yet gearing up for more. His hand snakes into my hair and grips firmly. He tugs, bringing my head back, and I inhale deeply, a sharp flame of heat searing my chest. His warm mouth sucks gently on the side of my neck and my breath catches. My knees go slack. My hand goes into his silky hair, pressing gently and encouraging him to keep going.
He works down my neck, licking and tasting. He tightens his grip, keeping me upright since I’m steadily losing the ability to manage that task myself. He swipes his warm tongue along my tender skin, then takes it into his mouth.
“Is this working?” he asks hotly.
I moan again in response, this time louder, and he sucks firmly on the tender crook of my neck, sending intense shivers of pleasure through me. I drop my head back further, my hips angling toward him. He grabs my ass and brings me hard against him. His length presses against my pubic bone and my core lights up, aching for him.
All these little protests start to swirl around in my head: my rule, the fact that I’m on duty and need to stay put together enough that I can leave this room without giving anything away. I don’t need employees circulating those kind of rumors.
I should shut this down right now.
“Uh...” But that’s as far as my resolve takes me. Because the other thing swirling around in me is heat and desire and a growing need to take him into me.
He takes my face into both hands and kisses me thoroughly. I go up on tiptoe, squeezing him tight against me, knowing I should try to keep a lid on things but completely unable to do so.
His kiss descends into a heated kind of closure, though, and he pulls back, still holding my face, his blue eyes like fire. “We’d better stop before I take you so hard you’ll be forced to go back to the lobby looking like I’ve had my way with you up, down, front, back, and six ways from Sunday.”
Take me home then, I think, exhaling long and uncertainly. “Right,” I somehow manage to say. I allow our holds on one another to soften. Because, anyway, I don’t need to jump right into bed with him. I don’t. No matter how much I want to.
His hands go to my upper arms, helping me regain my balance on wobbly legs. I tug down the hem of my shirt and re-fluff my scarf, a fleeting reminder that I’m an owner here and need to act like it. Mostly though, I’m just a woman longing for the man in front of me. Longing for him so much, it only makes the warning voice in my head increase.
Once I’m set right, he releases me, but our eyes are still locked together. We could start again and pick up right where we left off.
He pulls his eyes from me with apparent difficulty, seeming to force himself to look around the room. “So why wasn’t this room ever redone?”
I remember why we’re here: the tour, not kisses. Dammit.
I’ve told the story a time or two, though, so I fall back on the familiarity of it as I try to regain some modicum of self-control. “Okay.” I take a deep breath and look around myself. “Most of the suites in the original hotel were like this one. My parents kept this layout only for the two wings on this floor, and gutted the hell out of everything else in the central section of this floor and the entirety of the two floors above us.”
He’s wandering deeper into the room, away from me, and I’m allowing the distance between us to increase so I can try to get my temperature to go down. It’s not helping much. It doesn’t matter that he’s clear over there. We’re in here alone, and the space between us is sparking and intimate.
“In addition to these little standard suites, they created the Garden, Bronze, Silver. All the way up to the Presidential Suites.”
He strolls over to the heavy fabric drapes on either side of the balcony doors. My eyes linger on his broad shoulders, which look so damned good in that jacket. He flicks one of the large tassels hanging from the rope ties and looks back at me with a grin.
I laugh. “I know, right? So when my parents bought the resort, they sold their house in San Francisco and their other properties. All their investments. Everything.”
His eyebrows raise as he continues his survey of the room.
“They sank everything they had into the resort, and stayed on property until they could afford to buy a house. They lived here while renovations went on everywhere else, figuring since there was less to do in this room, they could do it later and it wouldn’t be a big deal. I was too young to remember, but Rayce and I shared that bedroom over there.”
I point to one of the closed bedroom doors. My skin tingles with the awareness of our close proximity to not one, but two beds. We exchange meaningful looks, but he goes back to looking around and I continue with my story.
“Rayce was two and a half, and I was just a year and a half. Connor was born nine months later and slept in a crib with mom and dad in their room.”
“Nine months? Was he conceived here?”
“We don’t know for sure, but the idea of it seems to bother him, so we like to say yes.”
Brett laughs and I smile. He’s leaning in to examine a framed print on the wall—a cheap art mill painting of a generic field with generic flowers—and my heart beats a little quicker as I examine the shape of his profile. What is this draw I have to him? As good-looking as he is, as much as he turns me on physically, it’s more than that. There’s something else in the mix.
But all of it—the physical and the other—feels like it’s coming from the same place inside me: raw instinct. I come into the room a little farther, clasping my hands behind my back.
“By the time they bought a house and we moved out, Mom had made friends with Katherine, who had quietly published her first three books, was flat broke, and in the middle of a bitter divorce. Renovations hadn’t started in here yet, so mom said she could stay here until she could get on her feet.”
“That’s when she wrote The Bridge.”
“That’s right. But when she was still working on it, her third book had started to catch fire and all of a sudden she was on the literary map. Within four months of living here, her divorce was finalized, she finished the draft of The Bridge and sent it off to her editor, who declared it a masterpiece, and she got the biggest royalty check she’d ever seen. Not a dime of which went to her damned husband, as she likes to say.”
Brett smiles and nods approvingly.
“Well, this sudden turn of fortune turned her into a very superstitious woman. She always had been that way to a degree, according to Mom. She was a bit of an odd duck even before fame and fortune came her way. But she begged my parents to leave this room exactly as it is, convinced she couldn’t write so well anywhere else. The resort was doing well enough then they could afford to basically lose the room for good, and it never had been part of cash flow anyway, since it was occupied first by us and then her.”
“She stays for free? I heard she rents the room every day of the year.”
“You heard right. It wasn’t that way at first, but once she could afford it, she insisted on paying full-rate year round, whether she’s here or not. We were already holding the room just for her anyway, paid or not, so Mom could’ve said no to the money. But she’d become such a fussy pain in the ass by that point that Mom agreed.”
Brett laughs. He’s gone in an arc around the room and stops, turning toward me more fully. “How is she fussy?”
I draw up to the writing desk that’s along the wall nearest me and he heads my way, starting to cross the room. “She has all these little superstitions, so everything has to be just so. When she first started staying here, she was so wrung out from divorce proceedings that Mom wanted to treat her like any other guest. So she got housekeeping services, fresh flowers on the desk, the works. Well, she still gets the flowers, but it can’t be just any flowers.”
As he draws up next to me, I gesture to the empty vase on the corner, which will be filled by our florist in the morning.
“It has to be thirteen white tulips because that’s what was on her desk when she wrote the last ten chapters of The Bridge in a fifteen-hour flurry. And it’s what’s been on her desk for every other novel she’s written since.”
God, he’s not even doing anything—just standing here listening to me—and yet I’m so drawn to him I have to actively keep myself from taking two steps to my right and pressing myself against him from mouth to knee.
“The weird thing is, she can’t have any flowers on her desk at home. She has different superstitions there, according to some of her many personal assistants.”
“How many does she have?”
“Well, just one at a time, but she really goes through them. People seem to think she’s high maintenance.”
He laughs and the sound of it dances around in my chest. “You don’t say?”
“She actually fires as many as quit on her. Anyway, there has to be one of our little notepads and exactly two resort-branded pens. Not one. Not three. Two.” I hold up two fingers. “And we always check to make sure the pens are working. I know her assistant brings a big supply of the pens she actually writes with, so I’m not sure what she does with these, but she must use them for something because if they don’t work, she knows it. We place new ones and a new pad every week. And look.” I pick up one of the pens and rotate it in my fingers. “It’s the old resort logo.”
He leans closer to inspect it and my pulse ratchets upward. I glance at him and swallow, forcing myself to go on but really wanting to take advantage of closed doors again.
“The first time Mom and Dad updated the logo, she went into a panic. I think she was writing Peacock Berries at the time, and in ‘Frenzy Mode’.”
“Frenzy Mode?”
“Yeah. It comes after Chatty Mode and before Wine Mode.” He laughs and I turn slightly so I’m leaning against the desk. “We keep cases of pink Moscato just for her. Frenzy Mode is when she’s convinced she can’t finish her book, that it’s complete crap, that her career is over. She’s barely functional. We prepare meals on schedule and her assistant brings them up. Sometimes she eats, sometimes she doesn’t. Sometimes she’ll dine in one of the restaurants and kind of pick at her food. She might wander the grounds with this dazed look on her face and pens in her hair.”
He’s watching me wide-eyed. “I thought that was all rumor.”
I’m laughing. “Oh God, no. The papers don’t need to make stuff up about her. She’s plenty entertaining all on her own.”
He laughs and leans against the desk too, casually pulling my hand into his. Our shoulders brush and my pulse quickens.
“Anyway, when she found out about the logo change she was convinced it was going to throw everything off, so my mom promised we’d keep the old stuff in her room. They saved the last boxes of it. My parents had a bet about whether or not Katherine would die before we ran out.”
My chest pinches as I realize it’s my parents who are gone now. Not Katherine Camillo and not the pens.
Not wanting to be sad, I hold his hand more firmly and lead him to the side table near the balcony doors. “Check this out.”
I pick up a crystal candlestick, which wouldn’t look too bad if it weren’t for the ugly amber stones circling the base.
“This is actually a replica. About six or seven years ago, one of our maids accidently knocked the original off the table. It was this freak thing. It hit the floor just right and shattered into pieces. Poor thing was mortified, but it was just an accident. Thankfully this happened during the cleanup we do after Katherine checks out, so she had no idea. But the problem was, they didn’t make these candlesticks anymore.”
I run my finger along the smooth bumps of the amber stones and roll my eyes. “I can’t imagine why.”
Brett chuckles.
“So Mom ended up custom ordering a duplicate.” I hold it up and eye him. “It’s crazy how much money she spent on this ugly piece of shit.” He laughs again. “But Katherine has never been the wiser, so it was probably worth it.”
“Well, it’s good to know the rumors about her being spoiled are all untrue,” he says as I put down the candlestick.
I nod. “Yeah, she’s a prima donna, for sure, but if you ever repeat that I’ll deny I said it.”
I lead him toward the balcony and we walk close. Hand in hand.
“I know I’ve been kind of poking fun at her, but she’s actually pretty special to us. When my brothers and I were kids she used to give us candy and tell us about the stories she was working on. That’s when she’s in Chatty Mode. You should’ve heard the original idea for The Name of Starlight. It was pretty out there. As we’ve gotten older, she’s just become... ah, how do I describe her?”
He opens the door for me and the salty smell of the ocean wafts in at us.
“She’s like a cross between a friend, a grandmother, and the crazy person on the street corner.”
He laughs and we step out onto the balcony. We approach the stone railing together, each leaning on our free arm, our hands still clasped together, low at our sides.
“Wow,” he says, looking out. Being at the end of the west wing, this room has the best view: nothing but ocean. That’s why Mom picked it. She figured if she couldn’t have a house, she could at least have a view.
His eyes sweep the grounds below us—which are only the grass and trees and flowers that run along the side of the hotel, no pools or guests—then the balconies within our line of sight. All empty. I know what he’s thinking. No witnesses.
I know what I should do. I should lead him back out of the room and down to the lobby. I sense how dangerous it would be to start up again. Instead, I come up off the stone railing and turn toward him.
He does the same, heat in his eyes as he steps closer. Our chests barely brush up against each other, and my nipples harden, yearning for him. He pulls me all the way against him then, and exhales like it’s a relief. I feel the same way. After all, it’s been something like fifteen minutes. Far too long.
With the distant ocean waves humming to us and the cool sea breeze playing through our hair, Brett dips his mouth to mine. We press softly together at first, lingering. This is a kiss that is both passionate and tender, and I’m caught in its snare directly. Our embrace tightens, and a hot flush spreads through my body. Soon I yield and open to him, our tongues playing together. We become more fervent, and I’m both exhilarated and disoriented by the power of the heat between us.
I’m suddenly too aware of our exposed position. Someone could come out onto one of the other balconies. That’s the only thing stopping me from doing what I want to do to him, so I break our kiss but hold his gaze. I take both his hands, walking backwards and leading him into the sanctuary of the room. Neither one of us bothers shutting the door.
We come together again, kissing with an increased level of passion. Now my hands are free to roam. My hips free to angle toward his hard length. My leg free to climb against his. Only the restrictive width of my tight skirt keeps me from going as high as I want, but I let the hem dig into my thigh as I hook my calf around his knee.
His hands are all over me too. On my shoulders and back and rear. No longer off limits, my breasts become his as he cups me with one broad hand, running his thumb over the hard nib. I exhale hotly and kiss him more fervently, needing him. I’ve needed him since he left me wanting last night. All the frustrated longing of yesterday piles onto today and I’m running recklessly forward, taking everything I can get.