Tempest Rising

If Ryu was at all aware of the tension his presence had created, he wasn’t showing it. He just kept up his smooth patter—in French, no less—with first the receptionist and then the concierge. Then he came over to me, took my hand to kiss my palm, and led me off to the elevators, leaving our bags to be delivered up to our room. If he’d pulled out a sword and decapitated me, the various female employees who’d slowly congregated behind the desk would not have looked any more horrified. I wouldn’t be surprised if the next day they all went out and bought themselves some Converse.



In the elevator, he pulled me toward him and kissed my mouth hungrily. I felt grubby and tired after the long drive, but my body still responded to Ryu’s kisses. By the time our elevator pinged to indicate we’d arrived at our floor, we were both slightly disheveled.



“We’re in here,” Ryu said, slipping his key card in the door. I’d overheard the receptionist say that she had the Cocooning Suite ready for us, whatever that meant. But despite the implications of the name, I was not at all ready for what greeted me behind the door.



First off, my gaze was riveted by the enormous four-poster bed. It was piled high with pillows and looked like it could have fit half of Rockabill. Across from the bed was this amazing sofa-lounger thingy that, with its ottoman flush against it, made a big oval.



And then I saw the bathtub. Which was not in the bathroom, but sitting proud as a daisy right next to the four-poster bed.



I gawped at the tub, and then looked around for the actual bathroom. Was that the only place to bathe?



Of course not. There was an enormous state-of-the-art bathroom that had its own huge bath and shower. The bedroom bath is just for sex, I realized. Cripes!



Ryu went into the room, taking out his wallet and keys to place them on the nightstand. I was still standing in front of the open door, marveling, when I heard the quiet sound of a throat being cleared behind me. It was the bellhop with our luggage. I let him through, moving into the room as if I thought somebody might jump out at me, while Ryu tipped him and gestured for our luggage to be set by the bed. I flicked apart the heavy curtains to peer out the window. We overlooked the Château’s grounds, which looked absolutely magical, all lit up for the evening.



I heard the door close as the bellhop left, and the next sound I heard didn’t really surprise me. It was the sound of water filling a bathtub. Then I heard Ryu open something, and a delicious smell filled the room—bubble bath. He’s done this before, my virtue warned, at which my libido rolled its eyes.



Strong arms wrapped around my waist, and Ryu’s teeth closed ever so gently on the nape of my neck. The gentle bite turned into a kiss that trailed over to my ear as his hands cupped my breasts. I turned around to meet his lips in a proper kiss as he pulled my sweater up over my head.



He led me to the bathtub—just in time to turn it off before it got too full—and the rest of our clothes joined my sweater in a heap on the floor. When I got in, the water was achingly hot and smelled like pears. The bath fit the two of us most comfortably. We proceeded to have the most fun in the tub that I’d had since I was a little girl, although my adult experience clashed with my childhood memories—there are indeed some bath toys more exciting than a rubber ducky.



The next three days were glorious. Everyone treated me with respect: There were no whispers or subtle glances between two gossips or hastily pointed fingers. Or, if there were, they were from women jealous of my relationship with Ryu, rather than because of my past.



While my lover slept, I spent the mornings swimming in the heated outside pool, and even though it was cold out nobody raised an eyebrow. I was just some girl who liked to swim so much she even did it in winter. That said, the pool didn’t satisfy me like the ocean did, and I would have preferred it unheated. But I still enjoyed it thoroughly. Not least because I could enjoy it, blanketed, as I was, in glorious anonymity.



Midafternoon, after Ryu emerged from his coma, we’d head into the city to do touristy things. I took loads of pictures and sent postcards to my father and to Grizzie and Tracy, and bought a few more to send on our return trip so that it looked like I’d spent the whole week in Québec rather than just half of it. Then we’d have dinner somewhere, go out for some drinks, and finally head back to the hotel for bath time. Boy, did I love bath time.



Our last day at the Château was the best yet, despite the knowledge that tomorrow we would be heading out to the Alfar Compound. We didn’t even bother to be tourists that day. Upon his waking midafternoon, Ryu hustled me off to the Château’s spa to get the full treatment: facial, manicure, pedicure, and this amazing massage that used hot rocks. I don’t want to know how much it cost, but the fact that he got himself a manicure, shave, and a haircut made me feel a little better. I felt guilty about the pampering, but I have to admit I walked out of that spa feeling like I was made of rubber. Very content rubber, at that.



We dined in the hotel that evening, for which I wore my mother’s red wrap dress. It was by Diane von Furstenberg, a name that even I knew, and it was the epitome of understated elegance. I was really careful with my makeup that evening, trying to do my own version of smoky eyes, which worked okay. They were more “slightly hazy” than “smoky,” but it was still pretty. Ryu, dressed in a gorgeous charcoal-gray suit with a black shirt and no tie, had never looked so handsome. And that was saying something.



We lingered over dinner. First, we had raw oysters, one of my favorite treats. We sprinkled them with lemon juice and little slices of shallot soaked in vinegar. In my mouth, they tasted like the essence of the sea herself: briny and ozoney and scrumptious. Then we had a tasting platter of sashimi, served with wasabi, soy, and ginger. I didn’t have to be part seal to enjoy the fish—it was all as fresh as could be and absolutely mouthwatering. For our main course, we shared an enormous Black Angus porterhouse steak—I figured that should replenish my iron subsidies—and the taste of the very rare meat was deliciously carnal. Just like the Wu-Tang Clan, baby, I like it raw.



For dessert we had a selection of naughty little sweets the menu listed as “Sensual,” a suggestion we needed like a hole in the head. Underneath the table I’d had my bare foot on Ryu’s crotch since the waiter put down our steak, and by this point in the evening he was reduced to stuttering, his fangs were so long. Yet we were enjoying our tantalizing wait. Knowing our bedroom was ready for us upstairs but that we were going to hold off, just for now, was as much an aphrodisiac as the oysters had been.



After we’d finished dessert, and our port, and each quaffed our little demitasse of espresso, I very deliberately folded up my napkin and slipped my foot back into my shoe. I stood, Ryu watching me, and leaned over to whisper in his ear. He nodded.



I left him there, in the restaurant, to go up to our room. I very calmly pulled out my prize from where it waited, in secret, in a pocket of my duffel bag. I shook it out, and then draped it gently from a hanger. I took it into the bathroom with me, hanging it so that the steam from my shower would take out the few wrinkles it had collected during its stay in my bag.



After I’d bathed and refreshed my makeup, I pulled the red satin nightgown over my head. Looking at myself in the mirror, I couldn’t help but smile. Grizzie had done me more than proud, she’d done me fabulous. The gown fit like a glove in all the right places.



I brushed out my hair before opening the bathroom door. The lights were out in the main room, and it took my eyes a moment to adjust to the dark. But then my vision focused, and I could see Ryu sitting, still as a statue, on the sofa. He had kicked away the ottoman, so that it was up against the end of the bed. His hands were steepled in front of his face, but I could see he was watching me intently.



Without speaking, he held out his hand towards me.



I moved forward slowly, the pulse of my blood echoing in my ears. In the darkness of the luxurious hotel room, with Ryu so still and quiet, I was suddenly nervous. It was like this was the first night we’d spent together—everything that had become familiar felt new and strange.



Taking my hand, he pressed my palm to his lips, making me quiver with anticipation. Then he took my hips in his hands and leaned forward to inhale my scent, slowly raising his golden eyes to mine. I’d never seen anything so sexy in my life. He’s got more moves than M.C. Hammer, my mordant inner voice observed.



He stroked his hands down my hips, enjoying the cool satin touch of the fabric as much as I did. Then he pulled me to him so that I lay on my back, over his thighs, with my bum fitted snugly in his lap as he cradled me in his strong arms.



He used his free hand to stroke my side—first down my ribs, and then over my breasts and along my stomach. His eyes followed his trailing fingers. When he finally spoke, his voice was husky with desire.



“This is how your life should be,” he said, his eyes gazing into mine. “You should be dressed in satin…” He ran a finger over my lips, which parted under his touch. “…pampered…” he murmured, as I nibbled on his finger. “…loved,” he concluded, pulling me toward him for a kiss.



The emotions I felt hearing those words could not have been more conflicted if they’d been born on opposite sides of the Berlin Wall. Most brutal was the wave of guilt that swept over me. I had been loved in my life, and really loved, at that. What Jason and I had shared was far more profound than what I had with Ryu, no matter how sexually intense our relationship was. I never doubted that for a minute.