Jill Shalvis - Room Service

He squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth. “Em-”

“It isn’t,” she repeated in a shaky voice, and let him inside her, just an inch. “This is different, this is us…” Her body was still pulsing with pleasure, making talking difficult, but she forced it out. “This is us making it different.”

He let out a ragged groan, his face a mask of pleasured pain, the cords in his neck standing out in bold relief, the muscles in his shoulders and arms as he held her so tense they quivered.

“Say it,” she breathed, unable to tear her eyes off him.

“Christ. Yes. Yes, it’s different with you.” At that, he gripped her hips and thrust powerfully, sinking into her to the hilt, stretching and filling her, an action that ripped a helpless cry from her and a low groan from him.

Putting his forehead to hers, he panted for breath. “Wrap your legs around me. There. There.” Using the sill as leverage, he thrust into her again and again, leaving her gasping for air, unable to say anything else, which she was certain he did on purpose, but with him filling her, sinking into her with each stroke so fully, so deeply, she didn’t care. And with a helpless cry, she came again. He followed her this time, pulsing hard within her, his big body shuddering.

She held on to him through it, clinging, eyes closed, face pressed against his throat, her body absorbing the intimacy, the embrace, the closeness, never wanting it to end.

And he let her cuddle, the most endearing thing he’d ever done, holding her tight to him for a long time, as if maybe he didn’t want the interlude to end any more than she did.

“And it’s two,” she whispered.

“Two?”

“Yeah.” She smiled when she felt him kiss her neck. “You owe me two pairs of panties.”

JACOB GUIDED Em into the private bathroom attached to his office where he soaped her up in his shower, then dried her off before helping her back into her clothes.

And all the while he wondered when she was going to say or do something to ruin the glow.

But she didn’t say a word as she walked to his office door.

And in the end, it was he who couldn’t keep quiet. “Em.”

“I know.” Turning to face him, she shot him a brave smile. “Don’t worry, I know.”

“Know what?”

“That even though what we shared was different for both of us, it’s going nowhere.”

Right. It wasn’t. It couldn’t. But just looking at her made his body twitch and his heart ache.

He still couldn’t get enough, and more than that, he knew he might never get enough.

With one last smile, so sad it tore right through his heart, she patted his shoulder-comforting him!-and went out the door.

EM AND LIZA SAT in the lobby, on a corner couch, going over options. There weren’t many. It didn’t help that in spite of the shower in Jacob’s office she could still smell him on her.

His shampoo, his soap…And it was orgasmically good.

Certainly the sex in his office had been.

She’d never come like that in her life, and she knew enough to be sure that she never would with another man.

He was it.

He was “the one.”

After a lifetime of toads, she’d found her prince.

Not that he’d welcome her realization.

“Okay, speak.”

Em blinked at Liza. “What?”

“I keep losing you to whatever thoughts are making you alternately grin like an idiot, or look as if your dog just died.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re in love with him.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. No one falls in love in just a few days.”

“Of course they do. You can fall in love in a day, an hour, a minute.”

“You’ve been with Eric for how long? And you can’t figure out if it’s love.”

Liza smiled. “Oh, it’s love. I’m pretty sure it always was. I’m going to tell him tonight. In fact, he wants me to wait for him in his room. I think he’s going to pay me back for tying him up. Have you seen the toys in those rooms?” Liza shivered with delight. “I hope we use the fur-lined gloves and a blank tape-”

Em put her hands over her ears. “Not listening-”

Liza pulled Em’s hands down. “I’ll never forget how you helped me through this,” she said fiercely. “I want you to be just as happy as I am.”

“What I need is not to be picturing you and Eric using one of those blank tapes.”

“Well, maybe we won’t, maybe we’ll just go through the Kama Sutra-”

Luckily Em’s cell phone rang, cutting off that thought. It was Nathan.

“You’ve been seen with the chef,” he said without preamble.

“What? How did you-”

“I know all. Now reel him in.”

Em grated her teeth. “Nathan, you know I don’t work that way.”

“Are you or are you not sleeping with him?”

Em’s heart clutched. “Whatever I’m doing on my off-hours has nothing to do with work.”

“Perfect, you are.”

“You’re not listening-”

“Just keep at it, Em. This is going to be great.” Click.

Em stared at her cell phone, dread and regret nearly overwhelming her.

Liza was watching her. “Forget him,” she said. “He’s an ass.”

It helped to remember that but didn’t make her feel any better to know that anyone on the outside looking in might assume the same thing as Nathan. That she’d slept with Jacob to convince him to take the job.

What if Jacob thought it?

No. No, he wouldn’t. Couldn’t. But still, the worry nagged at her. “I’m not going to do this the way Nathan would,” she said out loud.

“Of course you’re not,” Liza said loyally. “You’re not going to hurt Jacob. But, honey…is he going to hurt you?”

“No.” Her eyes burned. “Maybe.”

“Oh, Em-”

“Really. I’m okay.” She managed a smile. “I’ll see you in the morning. We fly home tomorrow.”

“Yes, but-”

“Go. I’m fine.” She waited until Liza had left to let her smile fall away. She wandered toward-where else?-Amuse Bouche. Nathan’s words still echoed in her ears but she could care less.

She just wanted to see Jacob. It was late, far past the dinner hour, but the place was still buzzing, filled with groups of people.

No one, she saw, was eating alone.

Well, she’d start a new trend. She was seated at a lovely table, and as she settled in didn’t catch a glimpse of the man she’d been with a dizzying amount of times in three short days.

Did that make him her lover?

No, she told herself. A lover implied some sort of relationship, loose as it might be. Lover implied emotions were involved.

Jacob Hill didn’t want any of that. Jacob Hill wanted his freedom, he wanted no ties, he wanted-

“Look at you.” In the flesh, he suddenly stood by her table in his chef’s gear, looking so official, so authoritative, so…outrageously sexy. “Sitting here in my restaurant,” he said, “looking like the best thing I’ve seen all night.”

She didn’t want to be moved, but damn it, she felt a helpless smile break through.

“Hungry?”

Uh-huh. For you. “A little.”

He flashed a grin that was so naughty she felt her nipples go hard. “Well, I do aim to please,” he said. “What can I get you? Something sweet? Something hot?”

“We are talking about your food, right?”

He waggled his brows. “Maybe.” Then without asking, he pulled out the chair next to her and sat.

“Don’t you have stuff to cook?” Maybe other women to drive insane with longing?

“We’re winding down. It’s late.” He touched her, running a finger down one cheek. “And you’re unhappy.”

Turning her head away, she busied herself with the menu. Why had she come? To torture herself? Because if so, she was doing a good job.

“Em.”

“You know what?” she said, shutting the menu again. “I’m tired. I should just order room service.” She reached for her purse but before she could stand, he snagged her wrist.

Not looking at him, she fiddled with the strap.

“Em.”

With a sigh she glanced at him, then was sorry. He was no longer smiling, instead his expression had filled with things that made her want to melt into a pool of longing. “Don’t,” she whispered, closing her eyes.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t look at me like that, like you want to hold me, like I mean something to you, like what has happened between us means something to you, because we both know that none of that is true. When I go home tomorrow, you’ll go on as if nothing happened. And me, I’ll-” She bit off the words, refusing to expose herself to him again, emotionally or otherwise. “Please. Just let me go.”

He looked at her for a long moment, then slowly loosened her fingers. “I’m sorry.”

Well, so was she. Sorrier than he could ever know. Letting out a frustrated breath, she stood up. She met his gaze for one long, helpless moment, during which she would have sworn time stood still, would have sworn that he wanted to tell her he felt everything she did.

Because she wanted him as a chef in her show, yes, but she also wanted him as a man. And not just in her bed. She wanted him to be hers. She wanted him to understand that love could happen, that it could even happen in a blink of an eye.

Or on an elevator.

It could happen in a year, a month, a few days, it didn’t matter. She wanted him to know that when it was real, it was meant to be sought and kept.

Not tossed away.

But most of all she wanted him to understand that what they had, what they could have had, was as real as it gets.

In the end, she didn’t say any of that. She just walked away.

And he let her.

THIRTY MINUTES LATER Em was in her room, in the white, fluffy, luxurious robe after a long, scalding shower, waiting for room service to bring the French fries she’d ordered, contemplating how stupid men were.

Because Jacob should be up here. Sighing, she brushed through her newly washed hair. He should be in bed with her right now.

But he hadn’t turned out to be much of a mind reader, and she was a grown-up. If she’d wanted him so badly tonight, she should have saved her little goodbye drama until morning.

Someone knocked at the door.

Tightening her robe, she put her eye to the peephole, then her body went as still as her heart went wild, leaping inside her chest, banging against her ribs.

Jacob stood there, still in his chef’s uniform.

Em pulled back. What was he doing?

“Open up, Em.”

Open up. Hadn’t she done that? Hadn’t she opened up her heart and soul? What more could she give him?

“Em.”

She put her hand on the knob, drew a deep breath, then opened the door. “What are you-”

“You called for room service.” He gestured to a covered tray at his side, then pushed it past her and into the room.

“But…” She stared at him as he shut the door and lifted the plate covers.

“Crisp pan-seared salmon,” he said. “And from Pru I’ve brought a very nice 2001 Robert Stemmler pinot noir.”

She couldn’t help it, she laughed.

He raised his face in surprise. “What?”

“I ordered French fries.” The ultimate comfort food.

He made a soft sound of disapproval as he looked over the meticulously arranged tray, and she laughed again. “You are such a food snob.”

“I am not.”

Oh, yes, he was, and he had no idea. Nor did he have any idea how absolutely, stunningly adorable he was. She had a feeling he’d never been considered adorable before.

“Will there be anything else?” he asked.

You on a plate. “No,” she whispered, then remembered her little chat with herself. Be honest. Be open. “Yes.”

“No or yes?”

“Yes.”

“Name it.”

She licked her lips and thought about how to tell him that if she couldn’t have him in her life, she’d take him for the next few hours. “I want you.”

His gaze flicked over her wet hair, her undoubtedly shiny, makeup free face, and then lingered on her robe-covered body.

For a long moment he just looked at her as she grew uncomfortably warm under the terrycloth.

“Well, we do aim to please here at Hush,” he said finally, unbuttoning his chef’s coat and tossing it to a chair, which left him in his black trousers and a snug white T-shirt that invited the general public to Bite Me in block letters. She smiled.

He wrapped his fingers around the tie of her robe and tugged her to him. “What’s so funny?”

“I’d like to bite you.”

He arched a brow. “Watch out. I bite back.” His hands had easily unknotted her robe. Holding the lapels, he looked into her eyes. “What are you wearing beneath this thing?”

“Um-”

“A sexy thong?”

She shook her head.

“Flannel pj’s?”

She gave him a weak smile. Thank God she hadn’t put her flannels on. He’d have laughed his ass off. “No,” she managed.