Tessa

“What is it, Tessa? Is everything okay?” No one knows me better than my mother, and from over a thousand miles away, she senses something is up. She’s right too.

I have a cover model worthy CEO dressed in a bespoke tuxedo with sex on his mind standing at my door. It’s not a scenario my mother or I dreamed of when I got on the plane and left Alabama. All I dared to hope for was a decent job—or the prospect of one.

At least I’m not sleeping my way to the top. It’s the only solace I have in Barclay not helping me find a job at his company. He must think it would complicate things between us. Plus, there’s my lack of experience with guys, let alone older men like him, and it’s complicated enough.

“Hold on a second. Someone’s at the door.” In a hurry to get to Barclay, I can’t find the mute button on the phone display.

I lay the receiver down on the nightstand next to the phone and walk to the door, passing by the satiny, sheer negligée sitting in a heap on the bed. Another complication I can’t hide. I smooth my dress down over my hips, adjust the halter strap around my neck, and open the door.

My breath leaves me in a rush. Barclay’s leaning against the doorframe, one hand in his pocket while he uses the other arm to brace himself. I lost my heels when I arrived back at the room and forgot to put them back on in my haste, so he hovers over me more than usual. He’s a massive man, and so massively hot, I might melt into a puddle. I should’ve told my mother goodbye and that I loved her. His looks are that lethal.

And how did his stubble get even sexier on the ride over to the hotel?

“Hi,” I breathe, and it takes quite the effort just to push that one syllable through my lips.

I stand there, staring up at him, holding the door, not fully open. Basically, he can’t maneuver around me. There’s not enough space.

“Can I come in?” he asks, flashing me a devastating smirk. It’d likely work as a passkey to any woman’s room, and I think he knows it too.

“Well, there’s a problem …” I pause, and he raises his brow. “It’s my mother.”

“Is she here?” He tries to peek around me into the room, but I pull the door tighter toward me.

“Actually, she’s on the phone. Waiting.” I hold an index finger up to my lips, and his mouth forms a sexy O.

“I’ll be as quiet as a mouse,” he whispers, crossing his hand over his heart.

“Okay, but please, not a word,” I admonish, opening the door wide enough for him to enter.

Barclay tiptoes into the room. It’s not a common display for six-foot-something publishing moguls, and I cover my mouth when laughter bubbles up. He lets his fingers linger over the pink satin on the bed and glances at me with dark eyes. I shake my head at him and mouth, “Later.” He pouts like a little child being told no, which I don’t have time for. I push him past the bed, and he sulks over to the window area, sitting down in an upholstered chair paired with a side table.

Giving me the universal finger drag across his mouth, meaning his lips are zipped, I pick up the receiver before my mother calls the front desk asking them to check on me—or worse, tells Miles something’s wrong. I sure don’t need the police showing up here two nights in a row.

“Sorry, Mother. There was someone from the hotel at the door.” Barclay does own the hotel, but I’m stretching the truth, which equals a white lie.

Lying is something I don’t do with her—or anyone, for that matter. The only time I feel justified in doing so would be to protect someone’s feelings. Honestly, I’m doing something similar now, since my lies will keep her from worrying when I know everything is fine with me. I glance at Barclay, who’s smiling deviously. Things are crazy, out-of-my-mind fine.

“You seem out of breath and flustered, Tessa. What did they want?” she asks.

Barclay picks up a book I have sitting on the side table next to him. I forgot all about it in the rush to clean up the room. Big mistake too. He glances down at the cover and looks up at me with a pointed stare that quickly turns into the devil’s smile.

He holds the book up for me to see, as if I have no clue what it is, and nods his head approvingly. Opening the book up to the first dog-eared page, he waggles his brows. I have no idea which page it is, but I can only imagine since it’s The 365 Days, 365 Positions Handbook.

How do I ever recover from this one?

I look away from the sexy smile lighting up Barclay’s face as he peruses the book. He keeps peering up at me from the pages and either shaking or nodding his head. A flush spreads across my cheeks. I want to put my mother on hold and rip the book from his hands, but I wonder if he’d let me. He seems to be enjoying it too much.

“Uh, it’s uh … it’s someone from the hotel doing a nightly turndown service.” Another white lie, laced with some truth, because I believe Barclay and I will be under the sheets, or at least on top of them, soon.

“Imagine that. Southern hospitality in a big city like New York.” I exhale in relief, but breathe in a lungful of guilt.

I never hide things from my mother. I even told her about the guys pressuring me to have sex in college, knowing they just wanted to claim me as a virginal prize.

“I need to go,” I say, more rushed than I should, but Barclay has set down the book and the look in his eyes makes me squirm. It’s like he’s a tiger ready to pounce … on me.

“Remember, you promised your grandmother you’d light a candle for your grandfather at Saint Patrick’s Cathedral tomorrow.”

“I’ll go to the ten-fifteen service. The choir sings then.”

As we hang up, I can’t dismiss how insane it is that I’m discussing church services while sexy lingerie sits on the bed close to the man who may cash in my V-card. But I’m ready … I think—or more like I should just do it and not think about it. Actually, I’m a freaking emotional mess.