I’m not sure what I’m thinking taking Carlos to my hotel room. Maybe it’s the double shot margarita he gave me. Maybe I’m sick of my sister thinking I’m not good enough, and I want to prove her wrong. Or maybe I secretly hoped Bendy saw us leaving together. Actually, that last one isn’t even a maybe. The petty side of me really hopes she still has her eyes trained on his backside and knows it’s coming with me. Because I’m tired.
I’m tired of being treated like I’m a Plan B. If the maid of honor doesn’t show up, Rian will do it. If the new person needs training, Rian will do it. If the hot guy needs someone to talk to over dinner, Rian will do it.
Pressing the elevator call button, I try to push some of those thoughts out of my head. Two out of three of those issues already resolved themselves, but old habits die hard and feeling taken advantage of seems to unleash past issues for me.
Gotta love Carlos, though. He is undeterred by my bad mood and oddly, he almost seems a little too determined to make me feel better. I want to think it’s because he cares, but what if it’s just because I’m a challenge? Even worse, what if it’s because I'm his employee, and he’s just trying to make sure I don’t flub up an account?
I really need to get out of here. I’ve held myself together for a long time, but my thoughts are starting to spiral, and there’s no telling what kinds of conclusions I’ll come to if I can’t re-center myself soon.
We’re silent as we walk down the hall to my room. The quiet doesn’t feel uncomfortable, but it does give me a chance to center myself a little and realize how ridiculous I’m being. This man has pulled out all the stops for me tonight, and I’ve spent the last two hours trying to run away from him. Francesca would be so disappointed.
Unlocking the door to my king-size room, we walk in and flip the lights on. Carlos slowly paces around the room, taking it all in. I, on the other hand, begin tidying up.
“What are you doing?” he asks when he notices what I’m up to.
“If I’d known I was going to have company tonight, I would made sure not to throw my towel on the floor.”
He chuckles lightly. “You’re supposed to do that in a hotel room. It’s the only place you can ever get away with being a slob and no one will yell at you.”
“Valid point,” I respond, and yet still hang up the damp cloth. “But even the maid deserves some common courtesy.”
He yanks at his tie, loosening it so he can slide the knot down and take it off. “That’s one of the things I like about you. Other people would say, ‘It’s her job.’ But you say, ‘She still deserves respect.’”
He tosses the tie over the back of the chair and begins working on the buttons of his shirt. Why is he getting undressed?
“She does. Also, why are you taking your clothes off? Awfully presumptuous, don’t you think?”
His movements still, and I know I’ve pegged him wrong when he gives me a bewildered expression. “I’m getting more comfortable and making sure not to unnecessarily wrinkle my shirt. I’m not trying to get frisky.”
Embarrassed, I feel my cheeks blush. Hopefully, I have enough makeup on to cover the splotchy spots. “Oh. Sorry. I just… um… I…”
“You just wondered why I was getting naked.”
“Yeah.” Even more heat fills my face. Even oil-based primer can’t keep the color from showing now.
Opening his shirt, he reveals what’s underneath.
“I’m not naked, see?” Sure enough, he’s got a short sleeved white t-shirt on. Carefully laying his button down on the back of the chair over his tie, Carlos moves to the drinking glasses on the counter.
Mortified by my behavior and now my assumptions, I drop down on the bed and throw myself backward. “Ugh. I’m such a girl tonight.”
Flinging my arm over my face, I cover my eyes, so I don’t see the look Carlos is no doubt sporting. Unfortunately, it doesn’t stop me from hearing his laugh.
“Well, I sure hope you’re a girl. Although you do have enough makeup on to be a drag queen, so if I’m missing something, you need to tell me now. It’s only the right thing to do.”
“Har, har,” I respond half-heartedly. I feel a nudge and when I look up, he’s handing me a glass of something that smells alcoholic.
“Where did you get this?”
“Mini bar. I’ll take care of it at the front desk later.”
Taking the glass from him, I push myself into a sitting position. “Thanks.” I take a quick sip and enjoy the taste of Fireball, my favorite. “So, tell me, Carlos, what did you think of the wedding?”
Finishing up a sip of his own Fireball that makes his Adam’s apple bob, which is a weird thing to notice at a time like this, but this entire night has been kind of weird, he sits in the same chair his clothes are on and rests his arms on the arms of the chair. “It was… colorful.”
Not the answer I expected, but it makes me laugh anyway. “Yeah, she wanted every coordinating color on that color wheel.”
“Really?”
“Oddly, yes. I don’t get it, but hey, not my wedding, right?”
He cocks his head and considers his next question. The longer it takes, the more I wonder why he’s still looking at me.
Touching my cheeks, I feel myself beginning to panic. “Is there something on my face, or…”
“What did you think of the wedding?”
“What?”
“You asked what I thought. Now I want to know what you thought.”
Lowering my hand back down to my lap, I try to pull up the memories. Truly, I don’t have that many. Everything from the time the maid of honor ran in until now is more of a blur of feelings and tulle. I don’t want to tell him that, though. How crazy does that make me sound? “I know we’ve been dating for all of a week and you’ve never even seen me naked, but I freaked out the second one of your hookups walked in and can’t seem to let it go.”
Yeah. That seems like a solid plan on how to make this thing work. Good thing I already have a standard answer ready to go.
“It was a lovely ceremony, and my sister is really happy.”
One of Carlos’s eyebrows quirk, a new expression from one I’ve seen before. I’m pretty sure it means he thinks I’m full of shit. “Really,” he deadpans. “That’s the answer you’re going with?”
Yep. He thinks I’m a fruit loop.
“What?” I argue. “It’s true.”
“It is. But that was a pre-fabricated answer if I’ve ever heard one.”
Pursing my lips, feisty Rian rears her little head. “Fine. You wanna know how I really feel? I’m glad the damn thing is over, and I’m praying my sister stops being a royal bitch now. That Bendy chick is wildly self-absorbed, and I have no idea what you saw in her. And there were way too many versions of red for one church to handle.” Taking a swig of my drink, it feels good to finally let my guard down. By the look on his face, Carlos approves. “Oh, and one more thing. I hope my dad tips the bartenders well because that strawberry margarita was amazing.”
“We can always head back downstairs if you want another one.”
“Nu-uh. I’m done with that madness. Plus,” I gesture his direction with my glass, “I wouldn’t want you to have to get dressed again.”
It takes about thirty seconds for his smile of approval to turn into something different. Something serious. Something I can’t quite decipher. I don’t think it’s exasperation or annoyance. Maybe he’s been drinking more than I realize.
Pushing to his feet, Carlos walks over to the bed in a very straight line, so my drinking theory is debunked. Instead, he sits down next to me and takes my hand in his and kisses my knuckles. My breath hitches and my lady bits tingle at the contact. I was not expecting that.
“Weddings are hard on everyone.” He watches as his fingers trace mine, giving me little goose pimples up and down my arm. Holy sexy. Pass me more Fireball. “Especially the family. You have more responsibility than the friends. Everyone is stressed and snarkier than normal. And because they’re your family, you don’t have the option of telling them to shove it.”
I bobble my head back and forth. “Well, I mean, I do have that option, but…”
“You’re right,” he jokes. “You do have the option, but you don’t run with it because you’re you. You’re not going to be passive-aggressive like your mother. You’re not going to be completely unreliable like Ridiculous Rebecca…”
“Ridiculous Rebecca?” I interrupt. “Where did that come from?”
“Apparently, Tabitha gives nicknames.”
Huh. That makes sense. “Yeah I can see that. Do I have one?”
“I don’t know, but I’m Complicated Carlos, so probably.”
I feel myself relaxing enough to laugh at the comment. It feels good and yet a little scary that he’s able to talk me down like this. I’ve always relied on chocolate and reality TV to make me feel better, but this is much more effective. “I’ll make sure to ask next time I’m there.”
“You do that.” Looking up into my eyes, he smooths a hair back behind my ear. “My point is, you’re the person who is going to help your obnoxious sister’s wedding go off without a hitch, because it’s the kind of person you are.”
“A pushover?”
“Maybe a little,” he says with a smile. “But mostly, because you don’t let a little conflict get in the way of your love for her. You choose to give people the benefit of the doubt when others would just write someone off. You see past the mask people put on to the real person underneath. That’s why I’d rather be up here with you than downstairs with anyone else.”
I stare at him in disbelief. Either my brain has just shorted out, or I’m stunned by his admission. Because here’s what I know about Carlos: he doesn’t let people in. His circle is kept small on purpose. Whether it’s a form of self-protection or natural introvert tendencies, I don’t really know yet. But what I do know is he has a slew of acquaintances but very few friends. Tabitha is definitely one. Nick, his workout partner, is debatable. And Nancy might tip the scale onto the friendship side. Other than that, people are kept at a distance.
For him to get this deep with me, to want me to understand him and why he gravitates toward me, is not just reassuring, it’s huge. And now I have a decision to make.
I can thank him for his kindness and see if he wants to watch a movie, or I can continue moving out of my comfort zone and take what I want.
Seems like a no-brainer to me.
Before I can chicken out, I kiss him. Hard. Without hesitation, his body reacts, and he moves closer, putting his arms around me and pulling me close. My hands on his face, my tongue in his mouth, I kiss him…
And kiss him…
And kiss him…
I kiss him until my body screams for more, and once again, I act without thinking.
Pulling away, I stand in front of him, terrified and excited all at once. Terrified that he’ll reject me, but excited because I know he won’t. What I haven’t noticed until now is that we haven’t been dancing around each other all the time. No, Carlos has been waiting for me to be confident enough to dance with him.
Giving me his shirt after the fire, the conversations at my desk, watching me from across the gym when he doesn’t think I’ll notice—he’s been patiently sitting on the sidelines waiting for me to figure out what the play is.
I think I got it now.
Turning around, I look over my shoulder. “Unzip me?”
Slowly, not with hesitation but making sure I don’t change my mind, Carlos reaches for the clasp. His fingers lightly brushing my back has to be one of the most sensual things I’ve ever experienced.
When my back is fully exposed, I turn back around, and keep my eyes trained on his. The nerves of getting naked in front of him are overwhelming, but the thought of not taking advantage of this moment is even worse. Pulling the spaghetti straps off my shoulders, I feel the fabric slide down my body and flutter to the floor.
Carlos groans. “Holy shit, you’re wearing a garter belt.”
Okay, fine. Maybe I was a little hopeful something like this would happen when I got dressed. But mostly, I wanted to feel pretty during the wedding and dressing like a tomato wasn’t cutting it. That’s what sexy lingerie is for.
He adjusts himself in his pants, and I feel my confidence soar.
“There, uh…” he stutters then clears his throat. “Right out of college there was a buddy of mine who had a poster of Mia Tyler in an outfit like this.”
I bite my lip. Of all the people in the world, Carlos just compared me to a supermodel. Not compared. No. Equated me to a supermodel. My automatic instinct is to brush off his comments, but his face looks so serious—he looks so reverent as he stares at me—how can I not believe him? How can I not trust his perception?
“Are you saying I remind you of Mia Tyler?”
His eyes snap back up to mine. “No. I’m saying she reminds me of you.”
Oh, he is so getting laid tonight…
Slowly, I move toward him until I’m standing between his legs, my hands on his shoulders and then in his hair. He reaches behind me to run his hands down my back and cup my ass. His touch is sensual and erotic, and nothing has even happened yet.
“I want to take this slow,” I say, taking charge of the situation. I’m not sure what kind of magic this garter belt has, but I feel powerful. “I want us to take our time and explore each other. I want us to get to know each other in ways no one else does.”
One of his hands moves to my neck and I can’t help but enjoy the erotic feeling of his touch. “I think you already do.”
We stare into each other’s eyes for just a split second before our mouths are back on each other and his clothes are coming off. Piece by piece, we’re bared to one another. It’s erotic and sensual and thrilling. Not just because he’s the hottest man I’ve ever been with, but because there is no question that this isn’t just about sex.
Tonight, it doesn’t matter that he’s got the physique of a Greek god or that I still have insecurities to overcome.
Tonight, it doesn’t matter that he’s the boss and I’m still learning the ropes.
Tonight, there are no thoughts of weddings, or sisters, or crazy exes that can’t seem to let go. Instead, we are determined to give and receive pleasure, to express our feelings in a way words fail. Tonight, our relationship is taken to a new level.
Tonight, we are lovers.