Room Service

6

JACOB WALKED EM BACK to the hotel, and though he realized she couldn’t possibly know it, they walked right past his own building, where he kept an apartment.

He’d have loved to take her up there, show her his place. And his bed.

And his shower.

And his table.

And anywhere else where he could stretch out her willowy, warm body and take her.

This yearning for a beautiful woman wasn’t new to him. But despite the long, hot, deeply sensual kisses they’d shared, and all they’d implied, she’d held herself back, leaving him aching for more.

And that was new.

When was the last time he’d had to work at getting a woman naked and mewling his name? He couldn’t even remember. He just hoped she was worth the wait.

They were just outside the hotel when the phone at his hip vibrated, signaling an incoming text message from Pru.

Ended up going out last night, met the perfect woman for you. She’s “the one,” I swear it this time.

Delete.

JON OPENED THE DOORS for them with a professional, friendly smile for Em and another wink for Jacob.

They stepped into the stunning lobby and Em sighed. “It’s so lovely in here. Warm and quiet, yet…exciting.”

Jacob liked the exciting part, and might have pursued the comment but his cell phone vibrated to life again.

Stop deleting me. Pru.

With great satisfaction, he hit Delete again.

“Problem?” Em asked.

“Remember the two women from the elevator yesterday?”

“Your friends?”

“Soon to be ex-friends? One of them is at it again.”

“Tell her you’re otherwise occupied.”

“Am I?”

That put an extremely kissable look on her face but before he could lean in, his phone went off yet again. “Excuse me,” he said grimly, and, ignoring the incoming message, entered one of his own.

Pru, goddamn it, tell Caya how you feel about her instead of bugging the shit out of me. In fact, you tell her, or I will.

There. That ought to do it. He waited a moment, but his phone remained still and blessedly silent. With satisfaction, he shoved it deep into his pocket. “Where were we?”

“Well…”

“Ah, I remember. You were going to tell me if I’m otherwise occupied.”

She stared at him, with those mossy-green eyes. “You’re teasing me.”

“Yeah.” Even though it was time for him to be getting into the kitchen to begin preparing, he walked her through the lobby toward the elevators, where he pushed the button for the twelfth floor.

“I can get myself back to my room,” she said, clasping her hands together. “Really. But thanks.”

He eyed her with amusement. “Are you afraid to get on the elevator with me, Em?”

She tilted her chin up. Her bangs were stabbing into her eyes, and she’d long ago nibbled off any lip gloss. A shame because he’d have liked to have nibbled it off himself.

“Don’t be silly,” she said.

When he just looked at her, she caved. “Not afraid. Let’s call it…off balance, and you don’t have to look so pleased,” she said, putting a finger to his chest. “Or smug.”

He couldn’t stop his smile from spreading, which in turn had her letting out a rough laugh herself. “It’s just that I’m not used to the way you leave me deaf, dumb and blind every time you kiss me, if you must know.”

The doors opened and he gently nudged her inside, following close behind.

She eyed him with an arousing mix of wariness and excitement. The doors closed and he stepped toward her, closing in on her space.

She backed up.

His phone vibrated at his hip. He didn’t even glance at it. Another step had her against the mirror.

She looked down her nose at him. “Intimidation?”

“Nope.” He had no idea who was really seducing whom when he hauled her up on her toes and kissed her softly. “Just helping you get used to me leaving you deaf, dumb and blind.” And then he kissed her again.

Not so softly.

THE MOMENT HIS MOUTH touched hers, Em knew she was in trouble. She’d begun to know him now. She admired what he’d done with his life, and she liked the man he’d become. Those things, combined with the sensual hold he had on her-figuratively as well as literally-made him damn irresistible, as evidenced by her low sigh of acquiescence.

At the sound, Jacob slid his hands into her hair to hold her head as he plundered. He’d been right, it was another deafening, muting, blinding kiss, but she wasn’t going down easily. She tore her mouth free and gasped, “I don’t think-”

“Perfect. Stick with that.” He came at her again, cutting off any other words she might have come up with, weak excuses for why they shouldn’t, why they couldn’t, and she might have managed an excuse or two if she hadn’t been drowning in pure, unadulterated lust.

This was a taking kiss, an I’m-the-man sort of kiss that might have pissed her off if it had been anyone other than Jacob Hill. She was so aroused she could hardly stand. No matter, he had her pressed back against the wall, holding her up with his delicious, hard body, and if that hadn’t been enough, he had his tongue deep in her mouth with a hungry, urgent stroke that took her breath away.

When air was required by them both, he lifted his head and stared at her. The elevator rolled to a stop, and, without breaking eye contact, he reached out and slapped a hand over the close-door button.

His eyes beamed with intent. “Where were we?”

Oh, my. “Um…”

“Never mind. I’ve got it.” And still holding the button down, he again lowered his head.

With the cold, hard mirrors at her back and the warm, hard man at her front, she hesitated for one beat of her poor, overexcited heart, and then sank into the kiss.

He murmured his pleasure, deepening the kiss. She met him halfway, sinking her fingers into the defined muscle of his shoulders and holding on for dear life.

“God, you taste sweet,” he murmured, shifting his mouth to nibble at the corner of hers, then her jaw, making his way to her ear, while his free hand stroked languidly up and down her back, squeezing her hip, then lower, palming her bottom.

When his fingers danced down and touched bare skin, she jumped, realizing he’d skimmed the hem of her skirt up so that he could caress the backs of her thighs.

And then between them.

“So sweet,” he murmured again, spreading hot, open-mouthed kisses down her throat, nudging her sweater aside as he traced her collarbone with his tongue.

Panting, her head thunked back against the mirror, determination and all thoughts of her show gone. “Jacob.”

“Yeah, right here.” With his hands occupied, one still on the close-door button, the other beneath her skirt, he couldn’t open her sweater, so he merely worked his way around that by sucking it into his mouth along with her breast.

She felt his tongue, hot and wet through the thin layer, and gasped. Then gasped again when he gently sank his teeth into her. And yet again when he pressed a finger against her, slowly tracing the edge of her panties.

Oh, God, she thought in a sudden panic, am I wearing granny panties? Do I even care? It shocked her how much she wanted to let go, how much she wanted to slap her own hand over the close-door button to free up his, so that he could put both hands on her body and take her, take her now, here, in an elevator, a semipublic place, where they could be seen, where maybe there were even cameras…

“Stop.”

He went still, then slowly lifted his head, blinking those sleepy, sexy-lidded eyes at her.

“We can’t,” she said. “Not here.”

He blew out a careful breath, looking hot, and just a little bothered.

“There are probably cameras…” Feeling silly, she trailed off. After stepping clear, she smoothed down her clothes, staring ridiculously primly at the closed doors, which slowly began to open. She exited quickly, then whirled back to face him, only he’d followed her off and she plowed right into him. “It’s just that I never got to tell you. And you…”

“What?” he asked, his hands coming up to her arms.

God, it would sound so wrong now. She’d waited too long. Whirling again, she headed toward her room, fumbling through her purse to find her room card. He took it from her fingers and opened her door, waiting for her to go inside before following her.

The beachy elegance of the room cut through some of her tension, which came back full force when she caught sight of her reflection in the wide seashell mirror over the dresser.

Her hair, wavy on the best of days, had rioted, curling around her flushed face. Her eyes seemed huge and misty, dreamy, and her lips-still wet from his kiss-were full and puffy. Her sweater had a wet spot over one breast, and her nipples pressed against the material. She looked as though she’d just been thoroughly ravaged, which of course she had.

Jacob came up behind her and ran his hands up her arms. “Look at you.”

She was looking. She couldn’t look away. She blinked, but the same image presented back to her: one Emmaline Harris, rumpled and tousled, and smiling. No, that wasn’t right. No smiling. Not until she told him. She swiped the ridiculous grin from her face. “Jacob.”

“Uh-huh.” His mouth was skimming her neck again, and the reflection of his dark head bent to her, eyes closed. Those long dark lashes against his cheeks, his tongue touching her flesh, made her shiver.

“Jacob,” she said again, stronger this time, and turned to face him.

But Jacob Hill in the flesh was even more compelling than his mirror image had been. His eyes were very hot, and his mouth curved in a little knowing smile that said I can make you come in less than three minutes.

Given how close to that orgasm she actually felt, he could probably do it in three seconds. She took a big gulp of air.

His eyes cut to her bed, freshly made by housekeeping, with what appeared to be a small basket in the middle of the mattress.

With compliments from Sous-Chef Hill the note read, and she looked at him. “You sent this to me?”

“It’s the makings for s’mores. You’ll love them.”

She had to laugh. “Do you ever doubt yourself?”

He frowned, thinking. “Sure.”

“When?”

“Well…” He strode closer, tracing a finger along her hairline. “Now, for instance. Because somehow I know you aren’t going to invite me onto that mattress with you.”

“No.” Her voice was far weaker than she would have liked. “No,” she repeated. “I’m not. Jacob…” God, this was harder now that she’d touched him, kissed him. Now that she knew him. So much harder. “I’ve told you I’m a TV producer.”

“Yes.”

“What you don’t know is that I have one month to get my show off the ground or I’m fired.”

“Some reality show, right?”

“Yes.” She’d never wanted to say anything less than what she had to say now. “A cooking show.”

A little furrow appeared between his eyes as he digested her words. “As in a chef in front of a camera whipping up cookies kind of cooking show?”

“I was thinking something a little more interesting than that.” Nerves fluttered in her belly. She’d wanted to recruit him, but now she just wanted him.

“Like what exactly?” His voice had cooled, the drawl thickened. He was irritated, with good reason.

“Well…”

“Should I guess, Em?” His eyes grew icy, too. “You heard about Amuse Bouche, and the success we’ve had.”

“Actually, I heard about you.”

“And you thought I’d, what? Drop everything and coming running to Hollywood to smile for a camera on some cable show? Did you really?”

“It’s a prime-time show, on a major network.” She offered him a weak smile, which faded when he just looked at her. “I’m doing this all wrong,” she said quickly. “I meant to woo you, to make it sound really appealing and interesting, which it should be. It’s TV, Jacob. A show of your own. Your input would be welcome, of course, and-”

“My input would be welcome,” he repeated slowly, then shook his head. “Let me get this straight. You want me to go to Hollywood and cook in front of a camera like…like a caged animal.”

She didn’t know how to respond to that.

“Jesus,” he breathed, backing up a step, shaking his head. “You’re serious. You’re completely serious.”

“Jacob-”

“Wow.” He prided himself on his street smarts, on his worldliness, on the fact that he was sharp enough never to be taken. But this sweet, beautiful woman had walked right through his defenses with one kiss.

He was saved from having to admit that by a knock on the room door.

“Em?” came a female voice. “Open up.”

Em jumped, then whipped around and stared at herself in the mirror. “Oh, boy.” She stroked a hand down her sweater and shot Jacob an indecipherable look. “That’s Liza, my assistant, and also close friend.” She looked good and flustered, and distractedly shoved at her bangs.

Jacob felt his body stir just looking at her, and had to back up another step. No. She’d pissed him off, so no more thinking about her that way.

“I know this is crazy,” she whispered, putting her hands on his chest. “But please, give me a chance to explain everything to you.”

No need. That first kiss in the elevator had been his own doing, an amusing coincidence he could see now, fate playing a joke on the both of them. But she’d had plenty of opportunities between then and now to explain her business here. That he, in fact, was her business here.

But she hadn’t.

The thing was, he didn’t blame her. He knew desperation, and he recognized it well, so the thing to do here, the only thing to do here, was cut his losses and get over it, and over her.

Liza knocked again, louder now. “Emmaline!”

“Give me a minute,” Em called to the door.

“Why?” Liza demanded. “Are you having wild monkey sex in there with the hot stud-muffin chef?”

Jacob choked back a laugh.

Unbelievably, Em glared at him, as if this was his fault, and scrubbed a hand down her face.

“Em, come on, I’m standing out here in my slut outfit,” Liza said urgently through the door. “I tried it on and I want you to see if it’s good enough to drive Eric out of his mind with crazed jealousy. I’m going to drag him to Exhibit A tonight, the basement bar where there’s nude dancing. People supposedly do it in the booths, can you believe it? Now I need you to take a look at me and make sure I’m not too over the top, so open up.”

“Oh, my God-” Looking as if she’d hit the boiling point, Em broke off, moved to the door and hauled it open.

Liza stood there in a canary-yellow micromini, cut nearly up to her crotch. A matching crop top, do-me lipstick and go-go boots designed to stop brain cells in their tracks completed the look.

“Oh, my God,” Em repeated, looking her friend and assistant up and down. “Did you look in the mirror after you put that horror on?”

Liza opened her mouth, but then at the sight of Em looking the way she did-as if she’d just had that “wild monkey sex” Liza had mentioned-she shut her mouth again. “I don’t think the subject here should be my outfit,” Liza finally said.

“It’s not what you think,” Em said.

“Really?” Liza moved into the room, nodded to Jacob and then looked back at Em. “Because what I’m thinking is that you just got thoroughly laid. So does this mean you’re in?” she asked Jacob.

“In?”

“Are you going to do the show and save Em’s ass, cute as it may be?”

Jacob looked at Em.

Em sighed. “We were in the early talks.”

“Yes, well, talks are officially over.” Jacob moved toward the door, where he made the mistake of brushing past Em. He stopped.

She tipped her head up and stared at him with regret and embarrassment, and lingering arousal. Lifting a finger, he stroked it over her jaw-God, he loved her skin. “’Bye, Em.”

“Jacob-”

Nope. Never look back. A mantra he was particularly fond of. With a shake of his head, he walked out of her room, shutting the door behind him.

“Tell me everything,” he heard Liza say.

“You’d better sit down,” Em replied, which threw Jacob off his stride just a little.

She’d gotten to him. No doubt, she’d gotten to him.