Do Not Disturb: An Erotica Collection

Do Not Disturb: An Erotica Collection Elizabeth Coldwell Kathleen Tudor Flora Dain Willow Sears Rachel Kramer Bussel Tabitha Kitten de Fer Louise Hooker C?sar Sanchez Zapata Jason Rubis The evening with Mr Alpha in a luxury suite is already intense, but when the hot barman from downstairs is also invited to the private party, the passion enters unchartered territory.The idea of reviving a spark of romance at an ice hotel, might seem like an instant freeze for a jaded wife, but the thawing power of an unusual and exotic location cannot be underestimated.Farrah’s trip to a swish Honolulu hotel becomes a journey filled with gift-wrapped surprises that come with a single instruction: Use Only With Me. DO NOT DISTURB (http://www.mischiefbooks.com) Table of Contents Title Page (#u71f838fc-4b14-5a68-ba34-c038d98a1fd1) Something Extra – Flora Dain (#u4c454ef3-132f-58dc-94a4-680d119bcab8) Room 414 – Jason Rubis (#uc1942cce-c1ed-5b70-b90e-178f0ff18288) Ice Is Nice – Louise Hooker (#u424a08f6-0927-5673-ace7-843b333929e5) Flashing – Rachel Kramer Bussel (#litres_trial_promo) Suite Surrender – Willow Sears (#litres_trial_promo) A Touch of Class, a Bit of Rough – Rose de Fer (#litres_trial_promo) An Airport, Anywhere – Elizabeth Coldwell (#litres_trial_promo) Poisons – C?sar Sanchez Zapata (#litres_trial_promo) Scheduling Conferences – Kathleen Tudor (#litres_trial_promo) Ssshh, No Speaking! – Tabitha Kitten (#litres_trial_promo) More from Mischief (#litres_trial_promo) About Mischief (#litres_trial_promo) Copyright (#litres_trial_promo) About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo) Something Extra (#ulink_26005294-2678-5dd9-9b00-f72b12dcd019) Flora Dain (#ulink_26005294-2678-5dd9-9b00-f72b12dcd019) ‘Open your legs. Wider. Now push out that delectable little ass. I want you spread and ready.’ The voice in my earphone is deep and stirring. Whenever I hear it I melt, like I’m chocolate cake. Maybe to him I am chocolate cake – with cream on. It’s late evening and I’m leaning on the bar of a plush hotel. The barman gives me a long look as he shakes my cocktail. I guess he’s used to seeing women dressed like this. I’m heavily made up, with piled-up hair, a skimpy, revealing satin dress and high heels. I’m even wearing diamonds – real ones. I may look expensive but I feel cheap. Or maybe it’s the other way round. Tonight I’m so excited I can’t think straight. I can also feel colour in my cheeks and a sparkle in my eye. It’s not just from excitement. There’s more than a touch of fear in there somewhere too. I don’t do this very often. ‘Lean forward. Keep your legs straight. I want the men around you to wonder if you’re wearing panties. Move a little.’ I sway provocatively as I sip my drink. I’m hot now, partly from shame, partly from sheer, thumping arousal. He knows perfectly well I’m not wearing any. I was ordered to leave them off. His low command sends a shaft of heat straight to my groin. Has he any idea how short this dress is? If I lean forward any further everyone here will know for sure … The men around me all know I’m here. No one’s looking at me but I’m a female on heat. I can sense their interest. They’re waiting to see who’s with me. ‘Are you OK, Miss?’ Even the barman’s curious now. There are other people waiting to be served but he ignores them. Maybe he thinks I’ve had too much to drink. The earpieces are wired to my phone. To everyone else around here it must look like I’m listening to music. I smile at him and nod. He colours a little and looks pleased. Is he going to chat me up? This might be a complication. But the men are tired of waiting and soon get his attention. ‘Now take a step back and arch your neck. Make sure all the men at the bar can get a good look at your tits.’ That voice, his voice, purrs again in my ear and I take a careful step back, hoping I don’t stab anyone’s foot. These heels are lethal. Several of the men are openly staring now, eyeing me as if I’m not only chocolate cake but the last piece left on the plate. This could get tricky. I know what they’re thinking but so might the management. Any minute now someone might decide to throw me out. I feel warmth behind me, a brush of fabric. Heat flares deep in my belly. He’s here. He leans forward and places his hands on the bar at either side of me in a frank, alpha-territorial land-grab. From somewhere above and behind me he calls to the barman, who scuttles over. No waiting around for Mr Alpha. He always gets instant service. ‘Another cocktail for the lady. For me a scotch. Make it a double.’ The barman looks a little scared. ‘Yes, Sir. On the tab?’ I feel my earpieces being gently removed. Mr Alpha leans close to my ear as he unlaces the wiring and reaches round to retrieve my phone from somewhere deep between my breasts. His fingers deliberately graze my nipple. It stiffens and prods against the thin satin, telling anyone who happens to be watching that I’m a needy, greedy slut. I can almost hear him think it as he slips my technology into his pocket. ‘Now walk slowly over to the table by the palm and wait.’ I do as I’m told. Men’s eyes follow me all the way. There’s some sort of corporate event taking place tonight and I’m one of the only women around. I’m certainly the only woman dressed like this. The table is a small circle perched on a stand. People are discouraged from sitting for long. They’re urged to stand while they drink so they can join the dance floor. He follows me and sets down our drinks on the little circle between us. We stand side by side, our backs to the palm. He lifts his scotch and toasts me in a mild, sardonic greeting. I raise my second cocktail of the evening and touch his glass. Our eyes lock, his full of fire, mine, I’m sure, bright with excitement. Slowly he inspects my full, painted lips, my bare throat and my deep cleavage. As his eyes roam over me his gaze falls on my upper breasts, pink with my embarrassment, rosy with arousal. He looks amused. He’s enjoying this. I know what he likes. And he knows I find his demands hard to meet. That’s why he makes them. ‘You’re late.’ I feel a tremor go through me. This could mean trouble. I smile confidently, my fingers idly running up and down the stem of my cocktail glass in a casual imitation of a lewd caress. Slowly I spear the little cherry and suck it with pursed, baby-doll lips. His hand steals up the back of my thigh and encounters my naked self, shamefully exposed under my short, frilly hem and already disgracefully, lustfully wet. His fingertips explore a little, while his steady gaze dares me to keep still. He asks me about my journey and how my day has gone. I do my best to keep calm enough to answer while all the time I tingle and seethe, desperately wanting to giggle and wriggle and shout. His fingers slide in deeper and my voice falters. He frowns while I struggle to regain control. It’s unwise to provoke him this early in the evening. It might lead to – complications. His eyes narrow. ‘Any particular reason? Or did you just think I like to be kept waiting?’ I plop the cherry back in my drink, hoping to distract him. I slide the tip of my tongue slowly along my lower lip. The toe of my shoe moves gently along the inner edge of his trouser leg, just above the ankle. His fingers take instant advantage of my splayed leg and his hand is now fully engaged with my nether regions, sending flames shooting all over my skin. A trickle of moisture runs down the inside of my thigh. My faltering apology reaches the ears of the kindly barman, who is now collecting glasses from the next stand. He glances over at me with real concern and then looks away quickly as Mr Alpha catches his eye. The barman has kind eyes and tousled blond hair with streaks in it. He’s good-looking in a windswept, boyish kind of way. Mr Alpha continues to watch him as he moves around the tables. ‘Do you know each other?’ I joke. ‘We might have played the odd game of squash,’ he says airily. Oh? When? ‘He’s very athletic.’ He turns to me, his expression opaque. ‘Why? Do you like him?’ I colour and lower my eyelashes, unsure where this is going. ‘He seems nice.’ He knows him? What else has he kept from me? ‘Will he be joining us later?’ My whisper is barely audible but I see his lips twitch at the corner. Clearly this has also occurred to him. ‘Possibly. I’ll think about it. Dance?’ We join the other couples swaying on the dance floor but now I’m nervous. The lights are low and the coloured spots play over the crowd, breaking up sight lines, confusing the view, but he always dances close. And when he dances close he holds me firmly at the back, his hand now low on my waist, then lower. His fingers move gently, their warmth sending shivers through me. I feel his thumb through the thin fabric, pressing into my muscles, teasing me. His grip hoists my brief hem a touch higher all the time we move and I begin quietly to panic. Will someone see? Will they notice that underneath I’m bare and exposed, and shamefully, outrageously wet …? He dances beautifully. He is tall and powerful looking, with regular, classical features that make most women melt, most men jealous. In a crowded room most eyes are on him most of the time, so when we dance they’re on me as well. I know I’m lucky but he’s very demanding. He works hard and makes a lot of money. In these situations I’m expected to look my best. That takes time and effort. Like Dolly Parton says, it costs an awful lot to look this cheap. And the effects can be unpredictable. That’s one reason I’m nervous. The other is the way he’s looking at me now. ‘Shall we go up? You first. I’ll follow in a few minutes.’ As I leave I see from the corner of my eye that he’s talking to the barman. They look easy together, like they know each other well. I strain to catch what they’re saying. ‘… Something extra for the weekend …’ I lose the rest in a sudden swell of music. They share a smile at this old-fashioned male saying. I turn away with a frown. He’s got no condoms? How odd. No matter. I’ve got plenty. * * * Our suite is huge, with views all over the city. We leave the drapes open on purpose, partly to maximise the thrill of what comes next, partly so we can see it. The windows are glossy with night sky and make perfect mirrors. The door opens and softly closes and I know he’s here. He comes up behind me, his reflection looming over my shoulder like a demon in a painting. He winds his arms around me and fastens his mouth on the side of my neck. ‘At last. I thought we’d never get here.’ I swivel in his arms and he fastens his lips on mine, plundering my mouth like he’s starved. His hands are all over me, feeling, probing, turning the thin silk dress into a limp dishrag, making me feel the same way. ‘Shall I take it off?’ I murmur playfully when he finally releases my mouth. His eyes burn into mine and I see a flash of anger. Whoa. Now what? ‘No. Leave it on. You’ve got some explaining to do.’ He takes firm hold of my wrist and drags me over to the bed. He sits down with an angry flop and pushes me down onto my knees. As he does so he’s tearing at his clothes and soon they are flung at random all over the floor and he is sitting naked before me, his manhood, huge and erect, jutting aggressively into my face. This is so hot … I could look at him like this for hours. ‘There’s the small matter of you being late. Two minutes. Explain.’ His jaw is rigid, his eyes blazing. He is very aroused. Automatically I put my hands behind my back and clasp them loosely together. We used to do this often, but it’s been a while … ‘Forgive me, Sir,’ I manage. ‘I’d no idea. I thought I was on time.’ It’s a feeble excuse at best and nowhere near enough to let me off the hook he’s planning. ‘Two minutes. How many seconds in a minute?’ ‘Sixty, sir.’ My whisper is a little shaky. I know what is coming. ‘And in two?’ ‘A hundred and twenty, Sir.’ I hang my head. His eyes narrow with a terrifying gleam. ‘Then you’ll get a spanking of one hundred and twenty strokes. Sixty now. Get over my knee.’ With a surge of excitement I clamber into position and he pulls up my scanty, rumpled skirt. First he teases me with lube, his fingers lingering provocatively at my openings and then easing deep into one of them. That one. I gasp. After a second he probes it with something tapered and frighteningly solid. That feels lubed too. ‘Had you forgotten? I promised you something new. Relax, it’s going in whether you like it or not’ It’s a butt plug. I clench my teeth as he slides the huge, obscene thing into place. My muscles grip it eagerly. My clit gives an answering jolt of arousal – and then it begins. He starts light but the blows come thick and fast. In all the excitement my breasts tumble out of my plunging neckline and bounce against his thigh. Every few strokes he pauses to massage and caress me. His touch is unbearably gentle. Tears smart at the back of my eyes from the sting of the blows but they spill over at the tenderness of his touch. Then he starts again. After a while I come violently, crying out for a pause to catch my breath and savour the pleasure, but he carries on, ignoring my pleas. During the next ten strokes my excitement begins to build again and this time I can feel his erection jut painfully into my leg. I’m poised on the brink of another massive orgasm when he shifts position and cruelly moves his knee away from my aching, burning centre. Now the jolt of his hand prods me ever closer to climax but I never quite reach it. My tears and whimpers get louder as I try to wriggle back into position. Deliberately he fends me off and forces me to keep still. I can hear a low growl of arousal deep in his throat. ‘You want to come again? When I say so, not before.’ Ow. Harsh words, but just. I feel hotter than ever. At last the spanking is done and I lie on the bed panting with my burning backside high in the air. His hands are hot now. With one last, glorious fondle he massages me again and then pushes me back onto my knees. ‘Now a small token of thanks. Take it in your mouth.’ He’s still angry. Most of his rage seems to be centred in his purplish, swollen erection. It almost burns in my mouth. As I swirl my tongue around the silky skin he shudders convulsively and lets out a deep male groan. ‘Hey, easy. We’ve a long way to go yet.’ Easy is impossible, his cock is too big. It’s all I can do to swallow but he pulls me forward a few times to set up a rhythm and soon I’m gulping lustily, catching my breath between strokes and stifling my gag reflex as best I can. I love this, choking on him, being filled by him. I could do this for hours … He pulls me over his knee again. At that moment there’s a knock at the door. It opens softly and someone comes in. ‘Room service, Sir.’ It’s the kindly barman. He holds a tray aloft, bearing another cocktail and two scotches. He pauses just inside the door, transfixed, his eyes locked on my burning rear end, my spilling breasts and the huge, jutting erection clearly visible below my arched body. ‘Where would you like it, Sir?’ Mr Alpha pushes me off his knee and gives me a stern look as he commands me to keep still. I kneel obediently, glad of a chance to catch my breath. He strides purposefully over to the barman, commanding me to stand. As I do so the barman stares at me, taking me in. He pales. I flush crimson and dash away a tear. Mr Alpha towers over him, magnificent, erect, rampant. He looks sensational. The barman is visibly moved, but his glance keeps stealing towards me. He lowers his voice. ‘Are you sure about this, Sir? She’s gorgeous. I could come back later –’ Mr Alpha’s jaw stiffens and the poor man falters into silence. They continue to eye each other. I’m worried now. Is it me who’s intruding here? ‘Chill. It’s just a bit of fun. Have a drink.’ Mr Alpha gently takes the tray out of his hand, sets it down on a side table and hands him a scotch. It’s then that I realise – he’s brought three drinks. He’s here by invitation. At that moment Mr Alpha glances across and my fears are laid to rest. Mr Alpha’s physique clearly overawes the barman but when Mr Alpha eyes him something in his look remains veiled. When he looks at me – pow. There’s the heat. Now he fingers the barman’s lapel, a seemingly intimate gesture that only seconds before I might have misread. ‘You’re a little overdressed.’ The barman begins to tear at his buttons but Mr Alpha places a hand on his arm. He signals to me to come forward. ‘She’ll do it.’ I step close to the little barman and smile shyly up into his face. ‘Are you sure you’re up for this?’ He looks at me wildly. ‘You think? Lady, this is all my birthdays rolled into one.’ And I notice that he too is erect. So slowly, carefully, I take off his clothes. He sighs and closes his eyes long before I’ve finished. I feel a little shaky under Mr Alpha’s stern gaze, but he looks on in silence. When the barman is naked I move my hands slowly over his soft, fair body. He’s shorter than Mr Alpha and less well endowed. All the same his erection’s pretty impressive and very responsive. As my fingers stray into the soft, golden curls nestling around his root he shudders, lips parted, showing pretty white teeth. His cock leaps and twitches at my unfamiliar touch. ‘Easy. If he comes too soon you’ll spoil the fun.’ Mr Alpha’s deep growl rumbles between us and makes us both jump. Guiltily I snatch my hand away. The barman opens wide, lustful eyes and takes a long, shaky breath. ‘Wow.’ I smile. A film of sweat on his forehead is matting some of the blond streaks into little damp curls. He looks like some hungry, grown-up cherub – good enough to eat. Mr Alpha eyes us both with interest. ‘Ready?’ ‘You bet.’ The barman is eyeing me like I’m his next meal and he hasn’t eaten for a while. Mr Alpha’s eyes narrow. ‘Aren’t we forgetting something?’ The barman looks instantly terrified. ‘What?’ Mr Alpha holds up two foil packets. ‘These.’ The barman automatically reaches for one but Mr Alpha holds them higher, out of his reach. ‘Uh-uh. She’ll put them on.’ He gets behind me and puts his hands on my shoulders, forcing me to my knees. This is beyond exciting. I can scarcely breathe. The orgasm I was denied earlier is pounding against my sex now, demanding release. If something doesn’t happen soon I’ll explode. I reach up for the packet but Mr Alpha captures my wrists and pulls my arms firmly behind me. ‘Not so fast. Show our guest some respect. You’ll put it on with your mouth. Lick him first.’ The barman’s cock bucks as I lean forward. He smells nice – very clean, like he’s just washed. I lick nervously at the broad silky head. Mr Alpha’s own erection juts imperiously into my neck. His grip on my arms is like iron, and I can feel the heat from his powerful thighs at either side of me. I know what he wants me to do – wet the barman’s erection all over so the condom will be just that little bit more sensitive once it’s in place, but I’ve never done it like this or to another man. Wickedness takes on a whole new dimension. At last his tool is thoroughly wet and by some miracle of self-control the barman has managed not to come. Now for the condom. Mr Alpha places it in my mouth and I ease it on with my lips and my tongue, nipping and tugging at the end to fix it in place while the barman groans. ‘Now me.’ Mr Alpha releases my arms and the barman steps behind to take his place. Mr Alpha towers before me and his erection is so big now I wonder if I shall manage this, but his wonderful taste and the feel of his ridged skin propel me to new heights of skill. At last I lean back, pleased with myself. He has watched me throughout, a deep, burning gleam in his eyes his only reaction to what I know must be a pretty intense experience. The two men loom over me, looking deep into each other’s eyes. They seem to communicate on a different level now. At Mr Alpha’s slight nod the barman hoists me under the arms and holds me up, my toes just touching the floor. He’s stronger than he looks. He holds me suspended in mid-air while Mr Alpha slowly removes the butt plug. As it slides out I give a deep sigh and nearly come again. A stern look from Mr Alpha prevents me. I’d almost forgotten it was there and now I feel empty, open, abandoned. At that moment he gives the barman another nod and I feel the head of the barman’s sheathed erection prod gently at my opening, filling the gap, and then without warning he surges up inside me. I cry out, startled at the suddenness of it, and then Mr Alpha takes a step forward, his eyes burning into mine, and he enters me from the front. Oh, yes … They ease in fully and wait a second, eyeing each other over my shoulder like gymnasts poised for some intricate move, and then they start to thrust … It’s glorious. I’ve never in all my life felt so filled, so used, so hot. I come in minutes, the spasms rocketing through me, tipping the barman over the edge, and he comes with a shriek. Mr Alpha is taking his time. He can stave off pleasure for hours. Now he’s smiling and slowly withdraws, easing me onto my knees. He slaps the barman on the back. ‘Thanks. You were terrific. I’ll take over now. We’ll settle up later.’ The barman dresses quickly and leaves, giving me a fond little half wave as he closes the door. * * * Now we are alone. Mr Alpha circles around me, his gaze stern. ‘Did you enjoy that?’ I eye him playfully. ‘Did you?’ His eyes darken. ‘Mind your manners. Lean over the bed.’ I double up over the edge of the bed, my legs splayed wide, my head on the mattress and my ass high in the air. I’m all glowing now and he spanks me again, really hard this time. It’s wildly arousing. At last I feel his hands smoothing over my punished, burning cheeks with long, loving sweeps, easing his fingers into my passages, driving me to distraction. ‘You’re so beautiful. I’ve never seen anything so infuriating as you touching that blond. If I ever see you do that again I’ll –’ He breaks off as he plunges into me from behind, his erection now so big and so hot I feel I’ve been invaded by a volcano. He pounds into me time and again, his thrusts long, hot and savage. ‘You’ll what?’ I grin between gasps. I almost feel his wave of fury as his climax begins to swell his cock even bigger. ‘I’ll fuck you rigid, like this.’ With a great shout he comes inside me. We collapse together on the bed, laughing, ecstatic and spent. * * * Tomorrow we’ll be on our way home and all this will be just a memory. While he drives I’ll gaze adoringly at his profile. From time to time he’ll touch my hand or stroke my thigh. We lead busy, happy lives, full of family, full of love. We get rarely get the chance to be completely on our own. Sometimes we like to play wicked, grown-up games. I work hard too. He knows me well. And he knows that once in a while, to keep things spicy, I need something just that little bit extra. Room 414 (#ulink_fadfcf2d-4887-5894-8ccd-e7ae68a1a629) Jason Rubis (#ulink_fadfcf2d-4887-5894-8ccd-e7ae68a1a629) ‘Lazy …’ Reflecting on it later, it would occur to Ryan how natural waking up next to her had seemed – so natural he didn’t wonder at her presence for even a moment. Of course, the whole scene was awash in sleepy pleasures; the bed was warm, her body as perfumed and sweetly soft as the early-morning haze clouding his mind. She lay with an arm draped across his chest, long legs holding one of his scissored between. Holding him tight, and stroking him with a somehow proprietary air. As though she intended to never release him. Normally Ryan tended to squirm when a lover held him too tightly during the night, but he felt he could spend a happy eternity dozing in this one’s arms. ‘Tell me … what am I to do with such a lazy man?’ Her mouth was as soft as her hands, whispering the words into his ear. An accent – British? There had been a woman in his office who spoke like that, a transfer from the London office. Wonderful, sexy accent. Those round vowels. Like listening to music when she spoke. What was the woman’s name – Pamela? What was sexy Pam doing in a New York hotel room with him? Ryan strained upward against the mystery woman’s limbs. Laughter sounded lightly in his ear, and the limbs tightened against him, holding him down. He made no attempt to escape. ‘No, no … mine.’ She licked his ear, laughing again, but lower this time, a little growl/purr deep in her throat. The scent of bed-warmed skin seemed to briefly intensify. She’s excited. She wants me. The thought didn’t just stiffen his cock; he found it flattering, as if she were a celebrity or some person of note. He reached for her arms and she moved to straddle his waist, smiled down at him. She wasn’t Pam. ‘Where you going, hey? Got a date?’ She had coffee-and-cream skin and tousled black hair, squiggly locks of it hanging in wide dark eyes. A broad, strong nose that was almost too strong for her delicate face; it would have been too strong if it weren’t for those eyes and the smiling red mouth. Her breasts were small, little creamy handfuls with dark, hard nipples. ‘Who’s the lucky girl, then? Anyone I know?’ She pressed down on his chest with both palms, grinning as she shifted her hips. A firm, wet weight grinding atop his now fully erect cock. ‘Told you … this is mine. I don’t share my toys. Those other girls can go find their own.’ What had he done the previous night? He had gone out, met her at some bar? ‘And you know … I feel like playing with it a bit more.’ She rose briefly on her knees, groped for something hidden by a fold in the bedclothes. At first he thought it was a chocolate; a moment later, when she held it up for his inspection, he laughed at himself; it was a condom. She had it unwrapped in a moment, then she slid both hands between her legs. Ryan felt her fingers groping for his hardness, rolling the condom on. He lay back, unresisting. Yeah, he must have gone out last night. It was the only explanation. Because here was the proof, horny and smiling, getting ready to fuck him. He had met this woman and brought her back to his room … Except that he hadn’t. Once he had that thought his mind began clearing, his thoughts beginning to process at something like normal speed. Glancing to one side, he saw his laptop still open on the table by the window, a stack of binders beside it, dishes from room service beside those. No, he hadn’t gone out. He remembered now. He had stayed in and worked. Because Wilson wanted the numbers by next morning. And next morning – this morning – he had to be at La Guardia at nine to catch his plane and he didn’t want to work on the flight home. He had worked until two and gone to bed alone. He didn’t know this woman. He had no idea at all who she was. Inexplicably, the thought did nothing to calm his erection. It enflamed him, brought on a surge of excitement so powerful he thought he could almost taste it, like a bite of lemon. Before he knew it, he was sliding into her, and it was good, the sensation so beautiful he found himself immediately surrendering to it. She was tight, and so wet he thought he could hear himself moving in her. Ryan grabbed handfuls of the sheets at his waist, resisting the urge to reach up and touch her face, focusing only on the need to push up into her again and again. ‘Ooohh … yeah, lover. Yeah, my baby.’ She was riding him, leaning forward to grip the edges of the headboard, hips grinding, encouraging him to thrust hard and harder. Who is she?Who the fuck is this woman, where’d she come from? The question was like a whining voice in his ear. Five years ago he wouldn’t have even heard it. Five years ago he would have been thanking God and all the stars for dropping her into his bed like this. But he was thirty now. There were considerations. Still. Considerations didn’t soften him and they sure as hell didn’t make him want to pull out. She grinned down at him, ran a tongue round her full, hungry lips and pressed her chest out at him. A brown nipple wobbled invitingly in his face, brushing his cheek and eyelids. ‘Bite it …?’ There was a pleading note in her voice. Instinctively Ryan caught a nipple between his teeth, slowly squeezed it between his teeth. Her back arched, her middle pushing down onto his as though desperate to keep him still. ‘F-fuck … fuck!’ The word came out of the depths of her throat. She hadn’t come yet, but she was pursuing her climax with a ferocious determination, working her hips faster and faster. Loving him. Grinding him into the bedding. He was close to spilling, but he restrained himself with an effort. Just push, just keep on keeping on… She came, eventually, with spasms. As if an electric current were running through her. Her back went straight and stiff and her mouth opened wide as her eyes shut. Say aaah-hh, Ryan thought. Stifling an urge to giggle until the tightness of her sex around his shaft got him, made him crane upward and burst finally. She fell sideways off him, curling up and holding herself, sighing with pleasure. Ryan lay breathing for a long while, staring at the ceiling. There was a box of tissue on the nightstand. He cleaned himself and rolled himself onto her back, arms going around her middle as though they’d been pre-programmed for that very action. This is what she likes, when we finish. Spooning. Me holding her. She waits for this, she loves it. Strange thought. He no idea why he would think such a thing, because … ‘Who are you?’ He whispered the word, asked her ear. ‘Where’d you come from?’ Because you’re wonderful? No, that would be smarmy. Might as well ask if heaven was missing an angel. She laughed, reached for his hand and pressed it hard against her shoulder. ‘Why? You want to take me back, exchange me?’ ‘You know what I mean …’ He tried, unsuccessfully, for a serious tone. ‘No, I don’t know. Tell me.’ She sounded sleepy, ready to drift off. And why shouldn’t she? That good old post-coital snooze, you can’t beat it. Except when you have a plane to catch at La Guardia. Except when you have a strange woman in bed with you who acts like she knows you when you’ve never seen her before. Her bare feet found his. They were icy cold. He caught them between his, thoughtlessly. Warmed them. His eyes made a circuit of the room, viewing it more critically, his mind sharper. There were his laptop and papers, yes, and his suitcase, open but still neatly arranged. But the rest of the place, he saw now, was a disaster; shopping bags and uneaten carry-out and small piles here and there of underwear and cosmetics. Women’s shoes everywhere. Many, many fashion magazines, hung on the arms of chairs or lying flat and spread open like grounded birds. The room smelled of her, a sweet mixture of perfume and skin spiced with unwashed female laundry. Like a room that had been lived in by the same woman for at least a week. But they – he – had only checked in yesterday. He didn’t like the thought, so he pushed it from his head. He had to find out who she was. How do you start a conversation like this? An unpleasant thought was occurring to Ryan, that his new friend might be crazy, or some kind of scam-artist. What other woman just gets in bed with you and pretends you’re old friends? He didn’t get a chance to phrase the question. She was doing something with his hand, prising his fingers apart, looking at them. ‘Where’s your ring?’ Her voice was concerned. ‘Ring?’ At the moment, the word meant nothing to him. She might have been speaking Cantonese. ‘You didn’t lose it? Ryan!’ Panicked now. She sat up, refusing to let go of his hand. All right, she’s crazy, then. ‘What ring?’ he asked carefully. Her eyes went wide and her mouth tightened. What would have been humour a moment ago was now sarcasm and hurt. She held up her right hand, her long fingers spread and wriggling. A plain platinum band rode on the fourth. Oh, my God. My God. She thinks we’re married. He had to break this to her easy. Gently. But firm as well. He had to be very firm with her. ‘I … I just took it off for a while. It was … hurting.’ Her shoulders lowered, eyes went soft again. Mercurial. Her temper came and went. That’s why you fell in love with her, a voice whispered to him. He ignored it. She seized his hand, covered his fingers with soft kisses. ‘I told you we would get it resized. It’s not that much money.’ ‘Yeah … yeah.’ He began disengaging himself from her embrace, which was accordingly tightened. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ ‘Just … bathroom. Back in a minute.’ She let him go and leaned back on the covers, pouting. ‘OK, but don’t be long. We’ve both got to shower. We’ve got a plane to catch, don’t forget. And you know what a nightmare security is these days.’ Nodding and smiling, he made his escape. ‘Oh, and be careful! Your clumsy princess spilled the mouthwash.’ The small rug in the bathroom was, in fact, soaked green with mint-smelling liquid. A pair of nylons hung over the shower rod. Ryan found her wallet resting on a fat paperback behind the toilet. He tore it open and found her driver’s licence. Under her smiling, happy-looking picture was the name IRENE CARSON. Ryan sank down onto the toilet, feeling sick. She had his last name. The DC address on the licence was his. If this was some kind of scam, it had been planned well in advance, though for what purpose he had no idea. Fingers rapped on the door. ‘Darling!’ The woman’s voice – Irene’s voice – called gaily. ‘Done yet? I have to tinkle!’ * * * Ryan left while she was in the shower. He moved fast, snatching up his laptop and shovelling clothes into the suitcase. He didn’t stop to put on anything but jeans and a T-shirt and his running shoes. He shut the door gently behind him, then ran for the elevator, the sound of the shower fading to nothing as he barrelled down the hallway. He’d tell the front desk that some insane woman had broken into his room. Let them deal with it. He had a plane to catch. But as he waited for the elevator, he began feeling the plan was basically unsound. She – Irene – had his address. And a Washington, DC driver’s licence that as good as said she was his wife. And there was the little matter of the sex. He could see the concierge nodding sympathetically, then, with an ever so slight creasing of his brow, inquire why, since Sir was so put out over the strange woman in his room, Sir had, with such evident enthusiasm, fucked her cross-eyed? He told himself these things, but there was something else he couldn’t quite escape, that he couldn’t quite face. He didn’t want to leave her. Even though he was on the move, walking with great determination to a particular destination, the world around him seemed oppressively quiet without her sexy chatter. Less colourful without her clothes thrown everywhere. It was as though time moved more slowly without her. Dear God, he couldn’t possibly be missing her? Ryan turned as the elevator opened and began walking quickly back down the hall. He would face her. Sit her down and explain the whole thing to her, even if she ended up screaming. It would be the right thing to do. As he approached the door, he realised he couldn’t hear the shower. Something was wrong. She couldn’t possibly have finished so soon. Strange thoughts fizzed up in his head like bubbles in a glass of cola. She wouldn’t have finished so soon. She likes her showers. Anything with hot water. After a shower she’ll fill the tub and splash around like a little girl, singing. It drives you crazy when you have a plane to catch … Ryan opened the door with the key-card and smelled nothing. He stepped inside, moving slowly and carefully, reminding himself of a detective. The absence of smell pervaded the entire room. No flower-scent of perfume, no sweet-stale smell of her laundry. No shoes or magazines on the floor, or loaded shopping bags. He went into the bathroom and there was no spilled mouthwash soaked into the bathroom carpet. No dog-eared romance novel, no wallet. The room was empty, without any sign of Irene Carson. Exactly as he had left it the previous night, when he’d turned in, still single, still alone. Ryan thought perhaps he had entered the wrong room. The solution was wonderfully appealing in its simplicity. He ran eagerly out into the hall, but the numbered plaque beside the door read 414. His room – theirs? Either way, it was empty now, and Irene was gone. * * * Ryan ended up missing his plane, and he didn’t think that was entirely an accident on his part. He got to La Guardia in enough time to make the gate, but he couldn’t seem to make himself move with any purpose. He kept thinking about Irene. During the cab ride to the airport he had managed to convince himself that the whole episode had been some kind of elaborate hallucination. You’re overworked, Carson. Seeing things. Need a vacation. By the time the cab had arrived at La Guardia he had convinced himself otherwise. He just wished he had thought to pocket her driver’s licence. Even a pair of her panties. Because women didn’t just disappear, not without leaving some token of themselves behind. At the airport Ryan finally found himself sitting outside a fast-food restaurant, staring at a couple making a display of feeding each other bites of breakfast sandwiches, snickering about it as though the whole routine was adorable. By the time they finished and left, it was too late to get to his gate. So he kept sitting. Eventually he told himself he needed to get up and at least see about getting on another flight. He could brood about Irene on the way home. He still had a job, after all. Responsibilities. He took out his phone to call Wilson and tell him he’d be later than expected, and noticed someone had left him a voicemail. A red Number One glowing at him on the corner of phone’s screen. He accessed Voicemail with no great enthusiasm; he was sure the message would be from Wilson. ‘Hello, darling. This is your clumsy princess. I’m leaving this while you’re being naughty in the bathroom – at least, I assume that’s what you’re doing, because, without the love of a good woman … uhm … well. Who’s to say what a good man will get up to?’ His heart was pounding. Yes, this was something she’d do. Leave little playful voicemails or texts for him when he stepped out, even if it was only to the next room. The Information Superhighway’s equivalent of spontaneous love-notes. But something was wrong with the sound. There was a strange electronic swishing noise in the background, some kind of distortion that did funny things to her voice. ‘So-o-oo … saying I love you. Love you and miss you …’ The connection broke with a sudden, high-pitched whine. Ryan had a feeling the distortion had something to do with it, that Irene had actually gone on talking, unaware that she was cut off. His heart was beating, hard and fast. Ryan wasn’t a complete idiot with cell phones. He didn’t know much about apps and calling plans, but he did know one thing. He knew if someone had called and left you a voicemail, you could usually get their number from the RECENTS screen and call them right back. Yes, and there was her number – or what must have been her number. DC area code, what a surprise. He thumbed the numerals and a small box opened up on the phone’s screen, asking him if he’d like to CALL the number. Oh, that’s very good of you. How considerate. Yes, actually, I would. Heart still dancing, he hit the CALL button. It rang for ever. Every ring was a lifetime. There was more static between the rings. The electronic hissing became gradually louder, so that when she finally picked up he barely realised it. ‘… Ryan …?’ ‘Yes!’ He was shouting into the phone, turning it in his hand so that he could speak into it from different angles and get through to her. ‘… you? You’re … here … scared …?’ That ‘scared’ hit him hard. He wanted so badly for her to be there, so he could put his arms around her. He bit his lip. What’s the matter with you? She’s not married to you. You don’t even know her. ‘Ry … I want …’ The line went dead. Ryan’s shout startled a couple walking past. He punched his thigh with frustration and the woman moved closer to the man, who gave Ryan a quick, cautious glance as he led her away. All Ryan could think to do was get outside and try again. The signal would be stronger outside. Outside the damned thing would actually work. Reaching fresh air took a while, and as he was shouldering his way past a flock of indignant tourists, the phone rang again. Her number. ‘Hello?’ He was desperate to hear her voice. And it came through, so clear and loud he actually shrank from the phone. As though whatever force had separated them was now taunting him with that crystal clarity. ‘Ryan? Dear God, where are you?’ Not panicked now, or even frightened, particularly. She sounded royally pissed off. ‘I had … I just had to go out.’ Lame. Lame, Carson. But he had never felt so happy in his life. ‘You went out … with your suitcase?’ She was half laughing, half ready to kill him. Ryan was laughing himself, a little hysterically. Wait till she hears I’m calling from La Guardia. ‘I promise … it was this crazy thing. I’ll tell you all about it. But listen, you have to …’ Static hissed again in his ear, as though malicious forces were determined to cut them off again as quickly as possible. Ryan held the phone away, staring at it in disbelief. You’re kidding me. ‘Ryan?’ Just his name, delivered with frustration and anger and a strange plaintiveness. Then gone. It was a fucking horror movie, he thought. She was the heroine, fading away into a strange wraith-world, an alternative dimension where they’d be so close, but never able to touch, or see each other. The anger that rose up in him at that thought made him wanted to dash the phone onto the concrete, watch it shatter into plastic splinters. But he couldn’t do that. He might need it. She might call while he was on his way back to her. Because that’s where he was going. Back to her. Pocketing the phone, he made for the cabs. Wilson was going to be pissed. * * * The cab back to Midtown ran into traffic. Ryan sat biting his knuckles all through the ride. This is crazy, he told himself. Insane. What was really insane, though, was how excited he was getting. Horny all over again. As the cab bumped along he kept thinking about Irene, remembering the feel of her body on his. Like he was eighteen again and a woman’s touch was an unthinkable miracle. He was crazy to see her again, to feel her. He wanted to take her to bed immediately and this time explore every inch of her, from the lines on the soles of her feet to the exact shade of her hair colour. He would memorise her, not only with his eyes but with his nose and tongue. With his cock. He would imprint her on his skin, so he’d never risk losing her again. She would be waiting for him in the room, thinking that he was only a few blocks away. She would have called by now if she had gone out to look for him. It was unthinkable that she had gone out to the airport, that they would have crossed paths on the way in separate taxis and not known it. It was not possible. He made it back to the hotel somehow, finally. The girl at the check-in desk gave him a strange look that didn’t last more than an eye-blink, replaced almost immediately with a smooth smile. ‘Hello,’ she said blithely. Blithe as all get-out. Not asking, not even thinking, what the hell are you doing back here already? For a moment Ryan almost told the girl that his wife was still in their room and he just needed to go get her. No, that would sound awfully funny. So what was he supposed to tell her? ‘Excuse me, Miss. I appear to have somehow lost the woman of my dreams in a hotel in an alternate universe, so I need to get to the corresponding room in this universe because I’m sure that simple act of faith will somehow cause the universes to re-collide and deliver her back into my eager arms.’ Oh yeah, Carson. You smooth bastard. That’s much better. ‘I need a room,’ he said, managing to smile but breathing heavily. He’d run in from the street. He struggled to remember which room. ‘414.’ ‘414,’ she said, running her fingers over her keyboard. ‘Let me just see if that’s available …’ ‘It has to be 414,’ he said, trying desperately to sound reasonable. She had to be used to snotty corporate types making outlandish demands, wanting a room on the north side or west side, or a room with a view of the park, quite willing to bawl like infants if they weren’t instantly accommodated. Surely this girl wouldn’t bat an eye at him begging for a specific room. But what if someone else had taken it? Was Irene, even now, poutingly telling some fat salesman from Bloomington, Indiana that his clumsy princess had forgotten to pick up her niece an I HEART NY T-shirt as a souvenir? ‘Oh, yes … here we are. For just the one night?’ Ryan had to stop himself from snatching the key-card from her hand. No, he didn’t need help with his bags. Oh, he was sure, all right. He ran for the elevator. The room, when he reached it, was empty. Even emptier than last time. Housecleaning had been at it. It had a sweet, empty smell of chemicals. There was no sign of Irene. Her absence tore at him. Ryan fell down, exhausted, onto the bed. The faith that had been in him like steel only moments ago was gone now, or turned to porridge. He was losing his mind. No excuses this time. He was not only seeing dream-women, he was hearing their voices talking to him on his cell phone. He should consider checking himself into Bellevue while he was still in New York, assuming they’d have him. Self-pity and fear for his sanity gradually gave way to a feeling of emptiness. It was a strangely gentle feeling. Everyone in the world felt like this eventually, didn’t they? Sure they did. They wanted something or someone more than anything, and they couldn’t get it/them, no matter how hard they tried. Ryan lay watching bars of sunlight track slowly across the ceiling. He didn’t want to ever move again. The stress of the past few hours began catching up with him, demanding he relax his muscles, showing him how good it would be to shut his eyes, just for a minute. Sleep stole up on him eventually. He didn’t fight it. He woke up like diving through a bank of cottony clouds into sweetness. The room smelled sweet, like her perfume, like her laundry and the syrup-filled chocolates she liked to snack on in bed. He felt weight on his legs. Irene was there, lying on top of him, barefoot in a sundress. Her nails were freshly done, a maroon that went beautifully with her skin tone. She had unzipped him, taken his cock out and was holding it, lapping at it like an ice-cream cone. ‘Where the hell were you?’ she whispered, her lips moving over his pink head as if she were speaking into a microphone. Her eyes were fixed on his, unreadable. ‘I looked and looked. We missed our plane. This is your punishment.’ She licked his cockhead again and he shuddered at the intensity of the feeling. No more emptiness. Joy was back instead, so strong he didn’t have the strength to cry out or grab her. He lay back with his eyes shut, smiling idiotically. I’m crazy, but I don’t care. I don’t. ‘I’m not going away again,’ he told her. ‘I promise. If I go anywhere, you’re coming with me.’ For the rest of our lives.I’m never losing you again. ‘You’re right about that, Mr Man. And look …’ She gave his cock a last kiss, climbed up so they were cheek to cheek. She took his hand and slipped something over the fourth finger. ‘There,’ she said smiling. ‘What?’ he asked, but he knew what it was. He held his hand up. Late-afternoon sunlight caught the metal and gleamed. It looked strangely familiar now. Irene bit his earlobe. ‘I found your ring,’ she told him. Ice Is Nice (#ulink_1e631582-4a0c-57d1-9f89-11d3e17b8da4) Louise Hooker (#ulink_1e631582-4a0c-57d1-9f89-11d3e17b8da4) ‘This is what you chose?’ Caroline said, setting her bags down on the snow-covered floor. The place was beautiful, without a doubt, but it was definitely not what Caroline had expected her husband to pick for their getaway. She had been expecting Vegas, California, New York … not Canada. Not that Canada was not nice, again. And even less expected than Canada was the ice hotel she was now standing in, shivering. She glanced down at her brown luggage set, furrowing her brow as she wondered if it was cold enough for her bags to freeze to the floor. Then she brought her eyes back up to the room her husband Victor had rented for a couple of nights’ time. It was definitely a suite. It had just about everything you could expect from just a standard room, the little table with two club chairs, a bed, a chest of drawers – except … it was all carved out of snow and friggin’ ice. A fireplace, unlit, stood in one corner of the room. Caroline approached the bed, sat down on the only non-ice thing she had seen in the place aside from the fireplace – the comforter and pillow set – and was pleasantly surprised to find that the mattress was just an ordinary mattress. She sighed in relief. Victor laughed at her. ‘You didn’t really think they’d make people sleep on a block of ice? That could kill you,’ he said, picking up her discarded bags and moving them to an out-of-the-way corner of the room. Caroline did not even crack a smile. ‘I didn’t know what to expect.’ Victor crossed his arms over his broad chest – honestly, the first thing Caroline had noticed on him, next to his brilliant green eyes, those five years ago when they had met at a mutual friend’s wedding. ‘You said that we couldn’t mock the other one’s choices, and that I got to pick the hotel,’ he reminded her. Caroline nodded. It was very true. Those had been her terms. They would be married five years, exactly, come three days from now, but that marriage was … well, on ice. They had tried for children a couple of years back, and somewhere along the way, with all the ovulation sticks, pregnancy tests and fertility-doctor visits, they had grown mute. Once upon a time, they always had something to say to one another, even on a boring day. Used to be, they would miss each other if they went more than a day without being in the same room, and their lovemaking … oh, the lovemaking. But all of that was gone now. They had become comfortable with each other in the worst way, resorting to living like roommates more than husband and wife. They still loved each other, though. Or, at least, that was what this trip was setting out to discover. Could they save their marriage by a simple getaway where they let loose, forgetting their normal, everyday concerns … or would they have to seek professional help? Or worse? ‘I’d pick the hotel, wherever, whatever, and you would pick the kink, so long as it wasn’t borderline illegal. No questions asked, and the other would go along. That was your idea, Caroline,’ Victor reiterated, not moving one muscle to sit beside his wife. Caroline nodded, pushing the furred hood of her heavy coat off her head to reveal her dark brunette hair. She ran a gloved hand through her locks, shaking them out and down until they fell to their natural length – about midway down her small torso. She smiled up at Victor, nodding again. She stood and moved to wrap her arms about him, as best she could with his broadness and his own heavy blue winter coat not really aiding her. ‘I know. It was just … I decided my kink and I’m just a little worried about doing it here. I’m not sure how sexy it’ll be if my teeth are clattering,’ she laughed. Victor smiled down at her, his green eyes finding her brown ones. She knew that look, and it was such a relief to see it again. That mischievous glance that was teasing her, having fun with her. It relaxed Caroline instantly to see it, like an old friend, and she tightened her hug. ‘So … what did you choose?’ Victor asked, bending to brush her ear with his lips. She loved that. She shivered, and not from the cold, and shook her head. She backed away, placing a finger of her glove to his lips. ‘Nu-uh,’ she said, giggling. ‘Remember? It’s a secret until it’s time for us to do it.’ Victor laughed, picked her up like she weighed nothing and carried her to the bed. He leaned over her – his six and a half feet of height impressive to her five and one inch – covering her completely. He planted a kiss on her lips, deep and full, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world. Like all their marital problems had just poofed into thin air. He pulled back and unzipped her coat just a little so that he could lean in and nibble on her neck. She moaned, her hips grinding up into him. ‘What’s stopping us from doing it now?’ he murmured into her skin. Oh, wow, was that tempting. Where was this Victor back at home? His voice was deep, guttural, like he would take her now, no matter her protests. And she kind of liked that. But she resisted, no matter how warm her body had suddenly gotten – which was a welcome relief from the cold she was not used to – and gently pushed her husband up. ‘Nope. We made the mutual agreement that we would spend a romantic, non-sexual evening together. Drinks, dinner, fun. And then sex. That was part of the plan,’ she said. Victor laughed. ‘If it’s leading to sex, how can it be non-sexual?’ Caroline considered that for a moment. Finally, she shrugged. ‘I just mean, no pawing or groping while we’re out. Just kisses, hugs, dancing, talking, wine, song. You know.’ Victor got back to his feet, and, even through the thick denim that he wore, Caroline could see the familiar bulge of his arousal. It pleased her to know that it was not a rush, there was nothing at stake here – well, save their marriage. But they were not going to make love with the agenda of procreation. It was going to happen naturally. At that thought, her eyes flew to her suitcase, and she bit her lip lightly. She really hoped what she had picked for their new kink was not going to be too silly. Nothing killed the mood like being laughed at. Victor held out a hand and pulled her to her feet. Once he let go, he handed her a pamphlet, and she took it with a brow raised. As she began to unfold it, he ran a hand over his short blond hair – very short, almost shaved – and Caroline vaguely wondered how his head was not freezing. ‘It’s a list of the attractions and stuff they have here. There’s a bar, a slide … all kinds of stuff. Oh, and you can even take the tour and learn more about its construction and stuff. I know you like tours and crap.’ Caroline laughed, and he gave her a questioning look. She shook her head, her eyes flitting back down to the section of the pamphlet about the bar. ‘I want to do stuff we’ll both enjoy. This trip is about us, not you and me separate, you know?’ He wrapped an arm about her shoulders. ‘Yeah. And, what, five minutes in, and we’re doing OK? Right?’ She breathed in deeply, ignoring the fact that frigid temperatures made her nostrils hurt. She leaned her head on his shoulder – or, at least, as close as she could get to his shoulder – and nodded. ‘Yeah. Honestly, I do feel better.’ ‘That’s good, right?’ ‘I’d like to think so.’ Victor smiled like he had accomplished some grand quest. He pointed towards the door of their room and gently guided her towards it. ‘Then let’s have some fun, shall we?’ Caroline nodded. ‘OK. But let’s hit the bar first … I think I could use something warming.’ Victor nodded. ‘I agree. Of course, we could just go into the spa that’s attached to this room if we get cold tonight.’ He pointed to a darkened doorway that Caroline had somehow managed to miss in her original scan of the room. Her eyes widened. ‘Is that why you told me to pack a bathing suit?’ * * * Caroline had to admit, the bar was cool, and this time she was not speaking just of the temperature. They both ordered simple alcoholic beverages to begin with, nothing complicated, and marvelled at the bartender mixing them inside square glasses with a circular centre that were made entirely of ice. To the right of the bar was a fireplace, with clear ice benches surrounding it in a square, while secluded corner booths carved into the walls were behind them and to the left. They chose one of the booths. She slid in first, followed by Victor boxing her in, and they clinked their cubic ice glasses together before downing the beverage within. The burn of the alcohol was warming all the way down to her stomach, and she instantly felt her body relax. ‘So far so good,’ Victor said, setting his glass down. ‘I wish you’d stop doing that,’ Caroline said. He turned to her. ‘Doing what?’ ‘Counting down the fun. Or counting up. Or whatever the hell it is with you always mentioning that we’re doing good.’ ‘But we are. I just want this to work. Is that so bad?’ She shook her head. ‘Of course not. But it’s feeling forced. Like you’re afraid I’m going to explode at you or something.’ ‘Well, you didn’t seem too happy with the hotel I picked, even though I got the best suite they have here. That was a private spa, by the way.’ She turned to stare at her husband, somewhere between being pleased that he had really worked hard to pick the best of what he wanted for his portion of their deal and being pissed that he was just assuming that she was angry with him. She chose to go with a middle ground – soft annoyance. ‘I’m not angry,’ she huffed. ‘I was just worried about whether my kink would work here or not. Or whether we’d actually get to have sex in this climate. But I am pleased with your choice. It’s really exotic. Nothing like what we usually do.’ ‘You mean, our usual fifty-dollar-a-night cheap hotel where you’re left wondering how many prostitutes have slept on the bed before you?’ he chuckled. She laughed, nodding. ‘Exactly.’ He lifted his empty glass as if toasting. ‘Mission accomplished!’ She clapped a hand over her mouth to keep her laughter in check, and didn’t remove it until it was reduced to giggles. She sighed, snuggling up to her husband. ‘Let’s just talk. We haven’t just talked in a while,’ she said. ‘I thought we were talking.’ She looked up at him, about to snap, when she saw that look again. That playful tease that told her that he was just being silly. She smiled and returned his playfulness with a slap across the arm. ‘You know what I mean,’ she said, grin still in place. He nodded. ‘All right, what do you want to talk about?’ Caroline did not answer, searching her mind. What did she want to talk about? She wanted to avoid the subject of their marriage as much as possible. This was about that, but it was also about getting away from those troubles to see if this trip could fix it. She wanted to think about relaxing things, and, hopefully, what the night would bring for them. She gazed up at the man she had been with for the last five years, and her heart broke a little that she felt as if she had nothing to say to him. What could that mean? Surely nothing good. But Victor smiled down at her. Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. 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