Bess
Lane sat all night at the end of the bar. He made small talk with Robbie, ate his dinner, ordered dessert, and occasionally looked up and spotted me. I caught quick glimpses of him, never meeting his eye, but I knew every single time he turned his eyes on me. My cheeks burned, fire licked up my back, and embarrassingly enough, my panties got wet.
I asked Paul to do my bar runs for the evening; he knew my background. After I blamed it on the booze getting to me, he was gracious enough to do that favor for me.
But it wasn’t totally the alcohol. It was mostly the hot-blooded male at the far corner.
Now the end of another holiday had come, and my feet were at war with my heart. My body longed to crawl into bed and go to sleep. Unfortunately, the muscle beating furiously in my chest screamed for more Lane.
I wound my way around the back hall of the hotel to the housekeeping locker room in an effort to avoid any temptation to talk with him by walking through the restaurant. Beating back desire the whole way, I tried desperately to lose myself in the sterile ivory decor, a stark contrast to the opulence of the hotel’s front areas. Christmas carols were still piping through the speakers, and “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” did little to calm my nerves.
Opening my locker, I checked my phone and found I had two voice mails and thirty-two texts. Quickly scrolling through the texts, I realized they were all from AJ. They started out benignly enough, wishing me a merry Christmas and asking about my day, before they sank into a pathetic slump, begging me to text him and hurrying me to finish work.
After packing up my bag, I hit LISTEN TO MESSAGES and held the phone between my ear and neck.
Hi, honey. It’s Dad. Merry Christmas. I was hoping to hear from you, thinking you probably worked a double, but wishing you spent some time with friends. I know I didn’t say it enough when you were growing up, but I love you. Come see me sometime, Bess-baby. Okay, happy holidays. ’Bye.
After the beep came my next message.
Bess! It’s me, AJ. Where the hell are you? I was hoping to at least wish you a merry Christmas in person. I know we left on bad terms the other day—well, I did, and I’m sorry, but I have to see you. It’s Christmas, and I don’t want today to end without seeing you. Come on, Bess, answer the phone or text me back. Shit . . . please?
I shoved on my jeans and sweater, slammed my locker shut, deleted my dad’s message, and walked to the door. Completely lost in thought over AJ—picturing him pacing and taking drags on his cigarette while leaving me that message—I was trying to dig deep and find some inner resolve over his current freak-out as I swung the door open.
“Ouch!”
“Shit! Sorry,” I said as I looked up into blue eyes, a little red-rimmed, and shadowed behind dark hair.
“No, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have snuck up on you, Bess,” Lane said, his hands held high in mock surrender.
“What are you doing back here?” I leaned against the locker room door, taking in the fact that even under the harsh bright light of the staff hallway, Lane looked lickable. I knew that underneath his perfectly pressed Italian suit of armor he was toned and fit, based on the times I’d collided with him. Both times I’d practically bounced off his muscles.
And that hair; it was such a contradiction to his proper and business-like appearance. It was wild and always mussed, and I wanted to dig my hands in it and use it to pull him close before melding my lips to his.
Hot damn. I was a hormonal puddle ever since sleeping with AJ. It was like the power was back on and all my sexual fuses were burning brightly.
AJ. The man waiting for me, texting and calling nonstop. The guy who doesn’t want me to be a booty call.
“You okay?” Lane asked, pulling me out of my heated moment.
Was I flushed? I brought my hand up to touch my cheek, and sure enough, it was hot to the touch.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Tired. I worked brunch and dinner today, so I’m just really tired.” I stumbled over my words. Collecting myself, I asked again, “What are you doing back here?”
This was when my world tilted because Lane leaned in with a smirk and a wink and whispered, “Checking on my favorite WildFlower employee, and wishing her a very merry holiday.”
If I were a kite floating through the sky when he leaned close, I was a jumbo jet at thirty thousand feet when he mentioned “favorite employee.”
He brought two fingers up to his lips and said, “Shh. Keep the favorite part on the down low, because I don’t want to offend anyone.”
Afraid to speak, I stayed quiet, but he didn’t.
“Happy holidays, Bess,” he said as he moved closer and tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear.
When did this totally inappropriate flirting and touching start?
“Umm, Mr. Wrigley, I’m not sure I’m understanding you exactly. What are you really doing here? In Pennsylvania? Back at the WildFlower after your deal was closed? On Christmas by yourself? And who let you back here?” The pitch of my voice rose a little with each question until I was practically squeaking as I flailed a bit, waving my hand up and down the staff corridor.
But I wasn’t quite finished because then, boldly and out of left field, I asked, “Why me? Why are you back here talking to me?”
He leaned back on his heels, a tiny glint in his eye as he said, “Let’s see. I came back to Pennsylvania to see my brother for the holiday, except he had plans to go skiing up here. So, I came up with him and his lady friend. We had dinner last night, but today was their day on the slopes, which left me all alone.”
Licking his lips, he ran his hand through his dark hair and leaned close once more. “As for why I’m back here with you, I can’t really say. I only know I haven’t been able to get you out of my head since our unbelievably boring dinner in the tavern, or the coffee we shared in the back room the morning after.”
His expression softened. “There’s just something about you, Bess. You’re sweeter than the aroma of the blueberry muffin I devoured with you, prettier than the sun setting over the ocean back home, and tangier than the lemons you squeeze into your water. Something I can’t put my finger on pulls me in and makes me want to be close to you, probably the same thing that makes you want to run. Hell, it makes me want to flee so fucking fast, but I’m not. So, just don’t.”
He stopped talking and looked intently in my eyes. I stared back, studying the blue of his irises. They were so blue, but more a cornflower shade than ocean. There was something untouched and innocent about them, which was probably misguided to think on my part, considering that standing in front of me was an extremely successful, well-traveled, worldly, and probably well-fucked man.
My throat dry, I choked out, “I’m not sure what to say. Actually, I don’t think any of this is appropriate, and we should probably just part ways.” Completely unnerved, I pinned my lower lip between my teeth, and could almost taste a tinge of coppery blood as I bit down on it.
And then I got lost in his eyes, like blue skies floating above me. My mind drifted, barely registering the arms that reached out and framed me against the door. The sky came closer. It was so, so blue, not a cloud in it. And then he kissed me. Lane’s lips touched mine softly, and I braced myself against the wall. I was falling or floating, I didn’t know which.
His mouth was warm, his tongue probing my troublesome bottom lip, looking for entrance. I gave it, and my own tongue found its way over to his side. He tasted like scotch and some other smoky flavor mixed with gingerbread.
What did he have for dessert? Maybe gingerbread cheesecake?
I sought the sweet and ignored the bitter, not one bit tempted by the essence of alcohol, only the man. In my mind, I was an innocent girl without a past, and definitely not a past that included cocaine and ecstasy and months of inpatient drug and alcohol rehab. Just a young woman entranced with a gorgeous, brilliant, smart man, one I assumed was very rich and worldly.
Lane broke away first, but didn’t step back. Instead he reached one hand behind my neck and released my ponytail. My hair fell all around my shoulders, giving me a false sense of protection. And then he invaded my space once again while muttering, “Need another taste.” His lips feathered along mine cautiously before his tongue swept along my bottom lip, forcing itself inside. No longer gentle, Lane was now fucking my mouth, and with every stroke of his tongue, I visualized other body parts delving long and luxuriously inside me.
I wanted his dick in my mouth, deep and choking. I was like a fiend, tapping a vein, tying a handmade tourniquet, seeking the fastest, quickest way to feel my high.
My body was hot and sweaty, desperate to intertwine with his. My hips were drawn forward, reaching for something they didn’t know but wanted to—intimately. I’d fallen down the rabbit hole, lost in everything Lane, searching for the way in or out from this brand new sensation. Behind closed eyes, I could almost feel him pulsing inside my vagina, holding my hips steady while he rammed inside me, pulling out all the way and then doing it again.
I was so wired I was practically hallucinating. I didn’t know who or what I was.
And then he broke away. My eyes wide, I watched him catching his breath, the rapid pulse fluttering in the hollow of his throat matching mine beat for beat.
Stepping close again, he leaned in, his lips lingering on my temple before grazing my ear. “Now it’s a very happy holiday, Bess,” he said as his breath fanned along my cheek.
I needed space, air, room to breathe. Sliding to the side, I hitched my bag higher on my shoulder, just now realizing I was still holding it despite my descent to the dark side. Rational thought finally returning to me, I found my words.
“Happy holidays, Mr. Wrigley. I’m not sure what just happened, but I don’t think it was meant to, especially between you and me. I trust you can find your way out of here since you figured your way back. Good night,” I said, and walked straight down the hall to the rear exit.
It took every single fiber in each and every muscle of my body to keep from turning around and rushing back to the party known as Lane Wrigley.