Trouble

Letting go of the lip that I most certainly want to suck on, she folds her arms. “I want to stay for two weeks, and I’m asking if you have a room available for that long?”



Forcing my eyes from her, I look down at the booking sheet.



Like I have to check. Of course I have a room free for two weeks. We don’t have another booking coming until next week, and that’s the Perry’s who stay every year for their anniversary. I just needed a reprieve before I do something stupid, like hit on her.



God, I want to hit on her. So bad.



Clear your head, Matthews. No hitting on the hot tourist.



You can do this.



Right. I’ll put her in Lakeview. It’s the most expensive room we have. And the nicest. The kind of room a girl like her should stay in.



And judging from the flashy Mercedes I can see parked outside, I’m guessing she can more than afford it.



Also, it’s the one room I haven’t had sex in. Not that it matters in regards to her, but Mom and Dad spent their first night as a married couple in Lakeview. That’s why I steer clear of it.



“We do,” I say. “It’s one hundred and seventy five a night.”



“That’s fine,” she replies. She doesn’t even blink.



Like I thought. Loaded. I wonder if it’s Daddy’s money, or maybe she has a husband?



She doesn’t look old enough to be married, but who knows the ages of women nowadays. Earlier this year, I banged a chick who looked twenty, but she was thirty. The marvels of plastic surgery.



I give a quick check to her ring finger. Empty.



Picking up a pen, I mark out the week. I pull out a booking form from the drawer for her to fill out her details, then slide it across the counter to her, putting the pen I was just using beside it.



“Fill this out with your name and home address.”



She picks the pen up. I notice her hand is trembling. Odd. Is she nervous, or afraid?



Not a damn reason she would have to be afraid, so I’m betting on nervous.



Now why would a hot girl like her be nervous around me? Only one reason. She wants a piece. They always do.



Hey, I’m not an arrogant ass. I’m just aware of how I look. And most women like how I look. Okay, all women like how I look. It’s the hair and tattoos. They like the bad boys, and I’m bad. What can I say?



But this girl is not worldly. I can tell. This one is inexperienced, hence the nerves. Maybe she’s a virgin.



Nah, she can’t be a virgin looking like she does.



She finishes filling out her details and hands the paper back to me. Her fingers brush mine in the exchange. She snatches her hand back like touching me is a big no-no.



Odd. Women usually can’t wait to get their hands on me.



I glance down at her name on the paper in my hand.



Mia Monroe.



Huh. Like Marilyn Monroe, but not.



I didn’t just say that out loud, did I?



I cast a glance at her. She’s staring off toward the living room.



No, don’t think I did. Thank fuck for that.



“I just need your card details and we’re done. Your card won’t be charged until you check out.”



“Okay.” She bends down to her bag. I take the opportunity to lean over the counter and check her ass out.



Nice. Real nice.



I shouldn’t have looked because I’m getting hard again.



She comes back up with her card in hand.



I key the amount in and hand the card device to her.



“Put your card in … and now your PIN.”



I take the device back and wait for it to ring through.



When it’s done, I pull her card from the machine and hand it back to her.



I notice she takes care not to touch me this time.



She shoves the card in her back jean pocket. For a moment, I actually wish I was that card.



I grab the key for Lakeview and step out from behind the counter. “This way.”



She reaches down for her bags and sluggishly lifts them to her shoulder. That’s when I realize how tired she looks.



Here I am checking her out like a total douche, and the girl is exhausted. I feel like a complete tool. My mom raised me better than this.



“Here let me get those for you.” I hold my hand out to take her bags.



She hesitates. Her fingers curl around the handles, gripping them tight to her.



What does she think I’m going to do, run off with her stuff?



Retracting my hand, I scratch my head. “It’s my job to carry your bags. We’re not the kind of establishment that has a bellboy.” I grin so not come off as an asshole. She is a paying guest after all.



Her death grip relaxes and she lifts the bags from her shoulder, placing them in my hand.



“Thank you,” she says in that sweet voice of hers.



She doesn’t talk much, but when she does … it’s effective.



Then she smiles.



I called her stunning before. I take it back. With that smile, she’s nothing short of beautiful.



I don’t think I’ve ever referred to a woman as beautiful before. Now, there’s a first.



If she can look this beautiful with those huge hideous sunglasses covering what I imagine is the best part of her face, then I can only imagine how she looks without them.



And how she would look under me.



Naked.



I sling her bags over my shoulder and stride off in the direction of Lakeview.



You can’t have sex with her, Matthews.



My dick, of course, disagrees. Yeah, my dick is absolutely positive that I could screw this chick for two weeks straight and not get bored once.



Who am I kidding? I’d get bored after a week. I lasted that long with Shawna, and she had a huge rack and legs that went on forever.



But even with those assets, she was nowhere near as hot as Mia Monroe.



Hot or not. I don’t have the staying power. And right now, money is more important. And proving a point to Beth, of course.



I come to a stop outside Lakeview. I unlock the door, turn the light on and go inside, setting her bags on the bed.



When I turn back, I see she’s still standing out in the hall.



Everything about her body language screams tense. My eyes flicker to her hands. They’re trembling again.



What is wrong with this girl? I thought it was because she was hot for me, but no, it’s not that. It’s something else.



She wraps her arms around her chest and straightens her back up.



With care, I walk toward her. She steps back to let me pass.



“Your key.” I hold it out to her, leaving a distance between us.



Freeing a hand, she takes it from me.



And now it’s me making sure not to touch her in this exchange. Even though I want to, something tells me that right now I shouldn’t.



“Breakfast is served between seven and eight-thirty.” It’s on me to make breakfast tomorrow as it’s Paula’s day off. Paula is both our cleaner and our cook. She’s worked here ever since I can remember.



“And we don’t do evening meals, but there are plenty of restaurants nearby,” I add, remembering the remainder of my spiel.



“Are there any other guests staying here?” Her voice sounds small.



I turn back to her. “No. Not until next week. Until then, it’s just you and me.”



The look on her face throws me for a loop. She looks terrified.



What the hell? Jeez, it’s not like we’re the Overlook Hotel.



“Don’t worry. It’s totally safe out here,” I feel compelled to say. “We have a great alarm system, and I have a shotgun. You know, just in case.” I wink as I laugh.



At the mention of a shotgun, her body stiffens and she looks like she’s about to bolt.



Or puke.



Okay, I’m guessing that was the wrong thing to say.



“I’m totally kidding, I don’t have a gun here.”



That’s a bit of a lie. We do have guns. My dad used to be a cop, so he still has shotguns, and rifles for hunting. I know how to shoot. I’m pretty good. Dad taught me when I was a kid, but I think it’s best if she doesn’t know that.



I lift my empty hands, palms facing, placating. “No guns. I promise. No need for them. Like I said, it’s a safe place.”



She pulls on her lip again. Then runs her fingers around her ear, tucking her short hair behind it. I see that her hand is trembling again.



“Are you okay?” I take a small step forward.



“Yes. I’m fine.”



She doesn’t sound it, but I don’t press it. It’s none of my business.



“Okay, well if you need anything, just press reception on the phone in your room, and it’ll bring you straight through to me. Goodnight, Mia.” I step back, ready to leave.



Her brows knit together. “How do you know my name?”



Damn, I should have called her Ms. Monroe, but something about her feels familiar like I should always be calling her Mia.



And now I sound like a stage five clinger.



Awesome.



“I got it from your details when you filled the form in.” I smile.



“Oh, right. Yes.” She laughs a little sound, and it hits me straight in the chest, leaving a tingling fullness there.



What the hell?



“What should I call you?” she asks.



There are a million different ways I could answer this, none of them clean.



I lean my shoulder against the wall and push my hand into my pocket. “Jordan.”



She turns and mirrors me, wrapping her arms around herself.



“Is this your hotel, Jordan?” My name sounds amazing on her lips.



I let out a laugh. “No. My dad’s. He’s away taking care of my Grandpa at the moment, so I’m holding the fort.”



“Oh, nothing serious I hope?”



“No, just a minor op, but he’s off his feet for a few weeks, so Dad’s gone to take care of him.”



She nods her pretty head. “Well, thank you. Again.” She smiles once more before disappearing into the room.



The door shuts. I hear the lock click.



I lean back against the wall.



So I have a very hot, nervous one minute, friendly the next, chick on my hands who I cannot have sex with under any circumstances.



Should be interesting.



Feeling unsatisfied … but satisfied that my only paying guest is settled for the night, I push off the wall and head downstairs to feed my other guest.



He’s actually more of a resident than a guest. Guests usually leave, but he’s been a permanent fixture here for over a year now.



He makes for a great alarm system, but he’s slobbery and hairy, and the only one I’ve ever let sleep in my bed. He’s a mouth we could do without feeding, but when he turned up at our door a starving puppy just over a year ago, I couldn’t turn him away. So we kept him, and now we have a dog. A huge fucking dog.



I go to the kitchen and get his clean bowl off the drainer. I grab a can of his favorite food from the pantry and empty it into the bowl. Jesus, this stuff stinks. I mix in his biscuits just as he likes and call for him.



“Dozer, dinner’s up.”



I hear his huge paws pound against the floor as he makes his way from our private living room down the hall.



He comes barreling through the open kitchen door and straight into my legs, nearly knocking me off my feet. “Jesus Christ, Dozer!” I growl, steadying myself on the counter.