Eden

I followed Michael to his car, my legs moving on automatic pilot. I didn’t look left or right, worried I might see Sean, but even more, trying to understand what had just happened.

Why I wanted it to happen again.

That encounter had been explosive, and even as I tried to process it, some part of me instinctively understood that Michael and I had been headed toward this moment for years. It had been more than I could have imagined, and, I feared, had unleashed a ravenous hunger that had me needy even after that shattering climax.

After I got into the car, I looked at Michael quickly, and through the shadows, I could see his stony expression. But seeing that expression, knowing that Michael probably regretted sleeping with me didn’t dampen my desire for him.

I wondered if anything would.

As he drove off, I looked out of the window, wondering what had come over me. I tried to muster some embarrassment, but found I couldn’t. This would complicate things with Michael, but I couldn’t bring myself to be sorry about it.

However, we’d need to talk about this, figure out what it meant.

I shifted in my seat and looked at him. “Michael, I—”

“Not now,” he said without looking at me.

A surge of anger rushed through me, and I looked out the window again, struggling to hold my temper and somewhat amused that reality had so quickly reasserted itself. That was probably for the best. I could easily imagine letting myself think that sex had changed something, but Michael was still Michael, and I couldn’t let myself forget that.

The ride to my house passed in silence, and it only occurred to me after we arrived that Michael knew my address. I didn’t think about that though, and instead got out of the car the instant Michael stopped it.

To my surprise, he followed, but I still didn’t speak. When we reached my front door, I stopped and looked at him, trying to figure out what to say.

When I met his eyes, I swallowed hard, the intensity in his expression making me shiver. After a breath, I spoke. “Michael, I—”

Once again he cut me off with a kiss, his lips commanding and coaxing and leaving me breathless. After my brain cleared, I opened my eyes and met his, the darkness of the blue, the intensity in them softened by something like tenderness. I lowered my lids, an attempted defense against that thought, one I knew I had no business even entertaining.

But I looked up again when Michael pulled the keys from my fingers, my animated mouse key ring looking so out of place in his large hand.

“You can come in anytime, Eden,” he said.

It was only after he spoke that I realized he was inside while I stood outside, and I smiled at the irony of Michael inviting me into my own home. That smile dropped once I entered and he closed and locked the door behind me, then deposited the keys on the small table next to the door.

I studied his face as he took in my home, and then I started to speak. “Michael, I—”

“Where’s your bedroom?” he asked, turning his eyes toward me, though I couldn’t read the expression in them.

“My bedroom? Why?” I asked.

I realized the stupidity of the question when Michael tilted his head in that way that told me he was wondering if I was dense.

I chuckled lightly, suddenly nervous and also surprised. I wanted him badly, but I hadn’t expected him to stay. Now that he was, this was taking on a new light. It was one thing to say I got caught up in the moment. But, this, this—now was a calculated choice, one I knew would have repercussions.

I looked at Michael. He didn’t look patient, at least not exactly, but I could see that he was waiting, telling me without words the choice was mine.

As if there was a choice.

Moving with a boldness I didn’t quite feel, I reached for his hand and began to walk, realizing that he had done much the same to me only a short while earlier. I walked toward my bedroom on shaky legs, my heart pounding with nerves, those feelings nothing in the face of my desire for him.

After we entered my room, I dropped his hand and then stood still, looking at him as he looked at it. Then, moving with the same grace and ease that he always had, Michael walked to the small chair I kept in one corner and kicked his shoes off. His shirt came next, the shadowed darkness of my room doing nothing to hide the rippled planes of his chest, the ink of the tattoo I couldn’t quite make out.

When he reached for his pants, I kicked off my own shoes but then stopped when he shook his head. “Don’t take off your clothes,” he said in that stern tone I said I hated but that had my sex clenching now.

I stilled and then watched as he removed the rest of his clothes, mesmerized as he opened a foil packet and slid it down his long, hard length.

I was breathless, on the verge just from watching him, and when he moved closer, his cock bobbing with each step, I knew it would only take a few of Michael’s hard thrusts to send me over.

But when he stopped in front of me, he paused, staring down at me. And when he finally touched me, it was barely a graze of his fingers against my neck, down my padded collarbones to center his hands at the first button of my shirt. He opened the first, the second, third, moving slow, like there was no hurry at all, though I could see his own need.

He finished unbuttoning my shirt, and then he pushed it down and off my shoulders. But again, he moved slowly, letting his fingers play around the waistband of my skirt before moving them up my stomach and finally cupping my breasts in his hands.

I arched my back, moving without any thought other than Michael touching me. He stayed still, something I was powerless to do. Instead, I moved, the friction of my bra and his palm against my nipples making me cry out.

Near mindless, I reached for his wrists to hold him still as I arched my back deeper. But Michael being Michael, he didn’t comply. Instead he pushed my arms back to my sides and then, after giving my breasts a hard squeeze, he unsnapped my bra and pulled it off. Did the same with my skirt.

Since Michael had kept my panties, I was naked and when I lifted my eyes to his, I shivered again, then stood on my tiptoes and pressed my lips against his collarbone, then stretched higher to kiss his jaw, then, finally his lips.

I brushed my mouth against his tentatively, then with more confidence, more still when he palmed my ass. I followed his lead and let my hands roam his body as I kissed him.

Again he broke away and stared down at me as if he was trying to figure me out. I understood the feeling. I had no idea what was happening here, either, but whatever it was, whatever the consequences, this felt right.

No longer content with simply kissing me, Michael pushed me back onto my bed. I gestured for him and he came, settling his big body between my thighs. His cock nudged at my opening, and I wanted him to thrust inside me, silently begged for him to do so.

He didn’t.

Instead, after staring at me intently, he captured my lips and kissed me softly, tracing every inch of my mouth. He kissed me until I clung to him, limp, needy, desperate for him. Then finally he reached between us, stroking his finger along my wet slit. Apparently satisfied with what he found, he lined his cock up with my entrance and then filled me slowly until he was fully seated.

Then he stilled, rested his forehead against mine for a moment before he again kissed me. This kiss was even softer, gentle, something I never expected from Michael, something I didn’t even know I had wanted from him.

Didn’t know I needed.

That thought in my mind, I held Michael tighter as he drove me to ecstasy.

* * *

Eden

As I’d ridden with Michael in tense, stony silence, I’d thought I would stay awake for hours, tossing and turning, wondering what the hell I had done.

After he left, I slept like a baby.

That was Michael’s work.

He’d given me the most powerful orgasms of my life and then left, all with almost no words. I wanted him to stay but hadn’t been brave enough to ask. So instead I’d let him leave. But rather than agonizing about what had happened, I’d fallen directly into bed and into a deep sleep.

Not surprisingly, the next morning, Michael was the first thing on my mind.

This whole situation was weird, fraught. An understatement, actually.

Michael and I had a certain synergy. I thought I understood him, or could at least predict what he might do or say. He was either resentful, displeased, or, on some very rare occasions, willing to give someone praise if they did a good enough job.

Simple.

Easy.

Except nothing about this was.

Sure, I had been nursing that stubborn crush, but never, not in a million years, had I dreamed it would be reciprocated.

Even now, after the best sex of my life, I wasn’t sure that it was.

It was funny because I should have been concerned about my job and what my recklessness might cost me.

Instead, I was consumed by thoughts of him, with wondering what he might think about me.

I suspected I was one of the only people not named Murphy who was brave enough or foolish enough to tell Michael exactly what I thought.

I was also smart enough to know that my doing so bothered him.

He rarely tried to hide it, and I knew that my unwillingness to bend to his will was something Michael couldn’t tolerate. So last night was probably a part of that, Michael’s display of dominance, a reminder he always had the upper hand.

But I didn’t think that was the entire story either.

Michael wasn’t that callous. I knew his reputation and had seen personally how little he cared for politeness or other people’s feelings, but my gut told me he wasn’t that much of an asshole.

Which left me in a conundrum, one that I turned over and over in my head as I headed to work.

How would I approach this?

Should I pretend that nothing had happened?

That would be impossible, utterly, completely impossible in every way.

To pretend that the night before hadn’t happened was beyond me.

So that wasn’t an option.

But knowing what I couldn’t do didn’t give me any idea of what I should do.

I’d have to address this. The question was how?

I tried to imagine sitting down with Michael and having a reasonable conversation, me struggling to forget how his lips felt against my skin, his warm breath against his neck, his delicious thickness filling me.

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel, tried to refocus, consider Michael’s reaction. Maybe he’d say things got out of hand. Or, God forbid, apologize.

My blood ran cold at the very thought of Michael apologizing.

Before, one of my minor life’s missions had been to get Michael to admit that I was right about something, but I’d never even dreamed he’d apologize. I thought of it now, imagined listening to him being polite, appropriate.

The thought made my stomach revolt.

Asshole Michael was problematic. Polite, appropriate Michael was something I never wanted to encounter.

Plus, I couldn’t forget the more practical things.

What if Michael told Patrick?

Patrick and I had a polite but distant relationship, but I had no illusions about him. He was completely by the book, and more than once had made it clear he wouldn’t tolerate any bullshit or drama. I could think of little that would fit that definition more than me sleeping with Michael.

If Patrick got wind of this, I would be out on my ass, and I wasn’t sure I could count on Michael to shield me. Didn’t know if my pride wanted him to.

Losing my job would suck. I liked the people I worked with, liked the relative autonomy that Patrick, and even Michael gave me. I was certain I would find another job. I was very good at what I did, so unemployment wasn’t a concern.

The idea of not seeing Michael was unthinkable.

Further proof I needed to get my head examined.

Michael Murphy was off-limits.

There were reasons for that. Professional ones, like the fact that his family signed my checks and I knew better than to put my financial well-being on the line for sex.

There were other reasons as well, ones I’d be stupid to not take into account.

No one spoke about the Murphys and their other “business” in the hotel. And, to the best of my knowledge, none of that stuff happened on M.’s grounds.

But a personal relationship…

That was entirely different, potentially dangerous territory.

Their lives might have looked quiet, staid from the outside, but I couldn’t rely on that. Starting something with Michael would mean opening myself to that side of him…

Would I be able to?

I parked and walked into the hotel, telling myself to slow down. I was contemplating my life as a mob wife, and Michael and I had never even been on a date.

That helped temper me some, remind me I needed to take things step by step.

I’d focus on doing my job. Catch up on any emergencies that cropped up and let the rhythm of my day crowd out any thoughts of Michael.

Not thinking about him was a near impossibility, something I was reminded of when my eyes strayed toward his office unerringly. It looked like he wasn’t there, and I felt some relief.

My inbox was full when I opened my computer, and I nearly cheered. I had plenty of reason not to be in my office should Michael happen to appear.

Less than five minutes after I arrived in my office, I left and made my way to the hotel kitchen, looking over my shoulder furtively, searching for any sign of Michael.

I was disappointed that I didn’t see him, but soon turned my mind to work, hoping at least to find some refuge there.

The kitchen was humming with activity, as it always was.

M. Lounge and Hotel provided full service 24/7, and in the kitchen, it could be three in the morning, three in the afternoon, or anytime in between. The place was always abuzz with activity.

“Hey, Eden,” Henry, the kitchen manager called when I entered.

“Good morning, Henry. What’s the problem?” I asked.

He nodded and walked me through the line to the back where the kitchen equipment was.

“I have two washers down,” Henry said, pointing at a huge metal box.

I followed Henry as he walked toward the box and watched as he pulled up one of the stainless-steel doors where the dishes where stacked and then washed.

He reached in, pulled out what had to be an eight-inch butcher knife.

“I found this in the motor,” he said.

I looked at the knife, which was bent in the middle and looked like it would break if touched. “I could see that being problematic,” I said. I didn’t want to overreact, but I was alarmed. That definitely could have hurt someone, and it seemed unusual for someone on the staff to be so careless.

“Yeah. There’s one over here too,” Henry said.

He walked to the second machine and reached into the drawer and pulled out a similar knife.

“There was one in each of them?” I asked, some of my exasperation coming through.

“Yeah,” he replied. “They’re both busted. We’re down to one.”

“How far behind will this push you?” I asked.

“The weekend is coming up,” Henry said.

He didn’t need to say anything else.

Weekends were the busiest time at the hotel and there was little margin for error.

“Approve more overtime for the kitchen staff. You’ll have to do this by hand until I can get replacements. Then make sure everyone is trained on how to use this equipment. That kind of thing shouldn’t happen, let alone twice,” I said.

“Will do. Thanks, Eden,” Henry said.

I nodded, then made my way back to the executive suite, thinking about this.

Replacing equipment wouldn’t be a problem, but I still felt somewhat nervous. It was my own doing. I really was confident in my ability, but this kind of stuff always made me worry. I took it personally when there were issues in the hotel, knew that poorly trained staff reflected on me. Ultimately, everything that happened here did.

Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately for me, when I got back to my office, I didn’t have to worry about running into Michael.

I was so busy, that even if I had stood still long enough, I wouldn’t have had a chance to talk to him.

Between people missing shifts, demanding guests, and other issues that only I could handle, I was on my feet for almost the entire day.

“Long day,” Gerald said late in the afternoon.

“Yeah,” I replied.

“Is everything under control?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’ve put out most of the fires. The new equipment is coming in, and a couple of guests need some extra attention. But everything’s good,” I said.

Not ten seconds later, the phone rang.

I groaned, looked at the receiver but then picked it up.

“What now?” I asked.

I could hear Shelly, the switchboard operator’s smile through the phone.

“There’s a water pressure issue on the tenth floor,” she said.

“Did you call maintenance?” I asked.

“I did. The guys are out to lunch,” she replied.

I frowned but kept my voice calm. “Thanks for letting me know, Shelly. I’ll take care of it,” I said.

I hung up the phone, stood.

Gerald looked at me, concerned. “Is everything okay?”

“It’s fine,” I said, giving him a smile that I didn’t quite feel.

As I headed down to the basement, I remembered my mother’s admonition about being careful what I wished for.

“You were right about that, Mama,” I whispered.