Room Service

16

JACOB FINISHED AT the restaurant late and, without taking time for his customary shower and late-night drink with the staff, rushed out into the lobby.

Em stood near the windows, hugging herself, looking out into the night. She wore one of those long flowing flowery skirts he loved on her, and a snug black angora sweater his fingers were already itching to touch. Remove.

As if she felt him coming, she turned slowly, her eyes unerringly meeting his across the filled lobby. And hell if his heart didn’t start to pound.

Crazy. He was here only to give her the information he knew would help her search. When he reached her, she licked her lips as if nervous, and he couldn’t help it, despite knowing he shouldn’t, he leaned in and kissed her.

A little murmur of surprise came from her and for that perfect beat in time, her lips clung to his.

Then she pulled back and smiled at him, more sure of herself now. God, that was something, her sexual confidence. “Ready?”

Her gaze searched his. “I didn’t know exactly what you had in mind or how to dress…”

A flicker of unease worked its way through him. “To walk to my apartment? To get the information I have for you?”

Her eyes never left his. “Information.”

“When I was getting ready to hire on here, I had a stack of offers. I still have all the files at my apartment. You can flip through them for the spots that interest you. For the show.”

“Gotcha.” Face carefully blank, she nodded. “Right.”

She sounded funny, and that dread grew. “Em-”

“No, it’s all good. Thanks,” she added with extreme politeness, and turned away, toward the outside doors.

He pulled her back around, having to work at it because she was stiff as a piece of drywall. Searching her face, now so completely shuttered to his, he shook his head. “What did I miss?”

“Nothing.” She gave him a smile, a surface-only smile that didn’t come close to the warmth and wattage of her real one. “Let’s go get the information then.”

They walked. The night was chilly, and she refused his sweater, preferring instead to walk at his side, keeping her distance, arms crossed over herself. Through Bryant Park, pretty and peaceful at night, she said nothing. Across the street, toward his apartment building, where they were parted by a pack of teenagers on their way toward trouble, still nothing.

He stopped her at his building.

She looked up at the brick-and-glass front, lit with tiny white lights that no one had bothered yet to take down after the holidays. When he looked at the building, he always felt an odd surge, a sort of marvel that he’d found this place to call his, a nice, easy-on-the-eyes, classy yet warm and welcoming home.

Warm and homey had never been a requirement, and yet now that he had it, it was amazing how much he’d grown to like it. “Home sweet home,” he said, and smiled.

She flashed him a quick one, and again it didn’t meet her eyes.

More dread. “Third floor.”

When he held open the front door for her, she went in ahead of him, careful not to brush any part of her against him, and he found himself leaning in to catch the scent of her. Pathetic.

They walked up the three flights of stairs, and at his door, he tried to turn on his legendary charm. “I can make a late-night snack, maybe a-”

“No, thank you.”

He blinked. Had anyone, ever, since he’d begun cooking, turned down his offer of food?

Not once.

“Are you sure?” He nudged her inside. “Because-”

“I’m fine.” Still hugging herself, she looked around the apartment without letting a thing show on her usually so vivid face. Not a single inkling of her thoughts.

He looked around, trying to see the place as a stranger would, a glimpse inside his world. And yet all he saw was the huge glass windows, the stark black lines of his leather couch and table, the utter lack of color.

And he saw something else, something more revealing. There was nothing of himself here, no pictures, no personal effects. It wasn’t any different in the bedroom, where he had a huge bed, expensive furniture and barely anything else.

Had he thought the place warm and homey?

He showed her the kitchen.

“Oh,” she breathed, stepping into the one room in the house he’d made his. Here he had his favorite pots and pans hanging from the ceiling within reach, his utensils in a big copper holder on the counter, his beloved cookbooks out for easy access.

All personal effects.

He felt like sagging in relief at the sight. He had put something of himself here. He walked over to a big, fat file near the phone and pulled it out. “This is pretty much a full representation of the best restaurants in the best locations in the city. There are brochures, pictures, reviews…”

She glanced at the file, and then without taking it, looked into his face. “Why did you keep all that?”

He scanned through it. “I don’t really know.”

“I do. You kept it because you didn’t see yourself staying at Hush for longer than it took to get comfortable and settled. You never see yourself staying anywhere, even here.”

“I like it here.”

“Really?” She moved back into the living area, huge and lush and utterly devoid of…him. “Then where are the pictures of your friends? A fish? Even a plant? Where are the signs that a loving, caring, wildly passionate, beautiful man lives here?”

“You want a sign that I’m here, living and breathing and wildly passionate?” He hauled her up on her toes. “How’s this?” And he covered her mouth with his.

THE MINUTE HIS MOUTH touched hers, Em’s frustration melted. It had no chance against the onslaught of need and yearning and love she felt for him, none at all. His body was big, burning up with heat, and the easy strength of him such a damn turn-on.

“I need you,” he murmured in her ear, then bit down on her lobe, sending waves of erotic desire skittering down her spine. “God, I need you.”

A thrill raced through her. Not want, but…need. “Really? You need me?”

He went still, then pulled back. “I want you,” he said carefully.

She shook her head. “You said need.”

He stared at her. “I did not.”

“It’s okay to need me,” she whispered, and touched his face. He hadn’t shaved that day, and she loved the rough feel of his day-old growth. She ran her fingers over it and sighed. “Because I need you, Jacob.”

Still, he just stared at her, stricken. His tough body quivered with tension; whether it was desire, or frustration, or even fear, she had no idea.

Nor did she have any idea how to soothe him, other than wrapping her arms around him.

Not a hardship when his body was like a pagan god’s, and so perfectly suited to hers, so able to pleasure her that she was already wet for him as he reached for her sweater. “Want me,” she said softly. “Need me. Just take me.”

“Em-” he murmured against the tumble of her hair, sounding staggered.

She closed her eyes, absorbing that voice, memorizing it. This was it, their last time. It might have left her hollow but she’d save that for when she was alone again. For right now, feeling him was a relief and a pleasure she wouldn’t deny herself. His body felt so good against hers, and that was because it was him. No other man would do. With a slow burn taking root deep in her belly, she put her mouth to his throat.

He made a sound, a rough one, his hands sweeping down her body to her bottom, palming it tightly, rocking her against him.

He was hard, so hard it made her catch her breath. His kiss was demanding, a little rough, as if he was not pleased with how much he wanted this, wanted her.

“Here. I want you here,” he demanded gruffly, his hot mouth on her jaw as it worked its way back to her lips, then claimed them in a kiss, a fierce, untempered kiss. Finally his tongue stroked one last time along hers and pulled back. “Now.”

“Yes. Here,” she gasped when his hands streaked over her already fevered body, beneath her sweater, her skirt, and his fingers slipped in her panties. “Now.”

“Take it off, then. Take it all off.” Then, before she could, he lent his hands to the cause, doing it for her, stripping her so fast her head spun.

Still fully clothed, he took her hands and held them out at her sides as he looked her over slowly, thoroughly, his eyes twin balls of heat. “You take my breath away,” he said hoarsely.

Feeling incredibly vulnerable, she closed her eyes.

“No,” he said. “Look at me.”

Somehow she managed to open her eyes again.

“Amazing,” he said in a reverent whisper, as if he couldn’t believe she was here, for him. Then he slid his hands into her hair and tugged her close again, kissing her long and wet and deep.

She had to touch him. She slid her hand beneath his shirt, and he shuddered, breathing her name. She whispered his, as well, or at least she tried, though it came out more a moan than anything else because his hands were stoking the slow burn within her into flames.

Somehow she got his trousers opened. He was fully erect, hot to the touch, needing release as badly as she, and she wrapped her hands around him.

“God, Em. You slay me.”

“Do I? Do I really?” she mused, and stroked him.

They were both lost then. He dropped to his knees and tugged her down with him, tumbling her to the soft rug in front of the fireplace. While he tucked her beneath him, she pulled his shirt open. His body was magnificent, and she had to touch, had to taste, one last time.

Because that thought threatened to intrude, to cool her down, she squeezed it out of her head and licked his nipple, scraped her teeth over it, absorbing the rough sound that came from deep in his throat.

Her insides were trembling, her fingers less than steady as they skimmed over his chest, over the hard muscles of his pecs, over the tapering line of hair down his middle, and the abs she could never get enough of, all the while finding herself more and more aroused. Because this was Jacob, this was the man who could take her right out of herself. She loved touching him, loved having him touch her, loved how his body was tense and trembling.

She loved him, and bit her lip rather than let it escape again.

He looked into her eyes and knew. “Em,” he said in a ragged voice, lacing his fingers through hers, anchoring them by her shoulders. “Don’t.” He eased her legs farther apart. “Don’t hold back because of me.”

She looked into his eyes, knowing what she felt was reflected there. Heat and need and so much more it backed the breath up in her throat. Eyes burning, she shook her head. “I won’t.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, his face tightening in a grimace. “Tell me again.”

“I love you.”

His eyes opened, deep, dark and suspiciously bright.

“I love you,” she said again.

He groaned, then thrust into her, keeping his gaze on hers, letting her see him, see into him, and there was so much there, she let out a small cry and arched up.

He sank into her, again and again, in a connection so heartbreaking and mind shattering, she lost herself. But he found her, held her, and seemed bent on rewarding her in the only way he knew how. Not with words, but with his body. He showed her how high he could take her, how much he could give. It was all too much, she couldn’t hold back, and with a fevered cry, she came apart in his arms.

With her name on his lips, he followed her over.

EM LAY ON HER BACK, with Jacob sprawled over her. He was heavy but she loved the feeling of him, hot and trembly, heart still pounding against hers. She hoped he never moved. If they never moved she wouldn’t have to face tomorrow.

Finally, with a low hum of pleasure, Jacob turned his head and put his mouth to her throat.

She wrapped her arms tighter around him and held on.

“You okay?” he asked.

“So okay.”

“We could-”

“No.” She tightened her arms on him. “Stay a minute. Right here.”

“As long as you like,” he murmured.

God, she hoped so, because though the truth burned, she couldn’t deny it-she’d stay right here, in New York, in his arms, anywhere…if he’d only ask.