Jill Shalvis - Room Service

“Em?”

Her entire body reacted. Lifting her head, she faced the man she couldn’t stop thinking about, even with her career on the line. He wore those battered black Levi’s she loved so much because they contoured his body to mouthwatering perfection. Old and clearly beloved, they were soft and faded in all the stress spots, of which there were many. His long-sleeved shirt was black with a caramel-brown stripe that matched his solemn gaze. He stood before her, hands shoved into his pockets, a frown marring that wonderful face.

“What’s the matter?” she asked him.

“I was going to ask you that same thing.”

“Oh.” She forced a smile, trying not to remember that the last thing he’d done with that handsome face had been to bury it in her hair, inhaling her as he squeezed her tight, so tight that she thought maybe he never wanted to let her go.

But he had.

And she had. “Nothing’s wrong,” she said, adding another smile when he only cocked his head and studied her for a long heartbeat. “Really. In fact, things are great.”

He hunkered down before her to take her hands, his gaze holding hers. “Great, huh?”

Oh, God. Physical affection. If she knew nothing else about him, she knew this much-for Jacob it was the same thing as waving a fifty-foot sign saying that he cared about her.

Her pathetic heart rolled over and exposed its underside and she fought an overwhelming desire to throw herself at him. “I’m fine,” she repeated weakly.

“But-”

“Jacob. Do you really want me to tell you what’s wrong? Really?”

He stared at her, and she could see that running through his head was the moment when she’d blurted out, “I love you,” and he’d gone white as a sheet and said, “Thank you.”

Thank you.

Yeah, that was what every girl dreamed of hearing from her prince after a lifetime of toads.

“Look,” she said, pulling her hands free and standing. “I’ve got to get to work, which is finally going somewhere.”

“You find a chef?”

“I sort of worked around the issue for now.”

He nodded, slipping his hands back into his pockets rather than touch her again.

Good, she thought, even as her body missed the contact with every fiber of its being. She might as well get used to it.

“I thought you were leaving today,” he said.

Which would make things easy for you, wouldn’t it? “I thought so, too.”

“But…?”

Was she wrong? Or had an odd flare of hope flickered in his eyes? “But it turns out I have one more day here.”

Nope, definitely a flicker of emotion in those eyes. But the question was, was that flicker just sexual excitement at the thought of having her again? Or more?

“One more night is good,” he said very quietly.

And damn if her body didn’t quiver. “It’s about work,” she said. “The show, it’s going to be a traveling cooking show. Same host, but instead of an L.A. set, we’re going to hit different locales around the states. My boss thought that while I was here, we should be scoping out New York City to stack up a few restaurants.”

“Ah.”

“So I guess I need to run around to nail down some good places.” They both knew he was the man to show her such spots. That Amuse Bouche should be, and was, at the top of her wish list.

Having a show set here, even only once, would be huge. But she had pride, too, and she couldn’t, wouldn’t, ask him one more time to disrupt the life he appeared to love.

“I have something I should show you,” he finally said.

“Really?” She was afraid to read anything into that, into the way he was looking at her.

What did he have to show her? Himself?

“I’m due in the kitchen right now,” he said. “But after-”

“Yes?”

“Meet me here?”

He was actually, in his way, asking, not telling. Unable to keep from melting just a little, she simply nodded. She’d meet him tonight.

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.