Holiday Man Read online

  “I’m getting impatient now, and my body hurts from holding back—”

  “Your boxers aren’t still on, are they, Bram?”

  They were. “Well, uh—”

  “Oh, God, take them off.”

  He did as she commanded. “They’re off. My t-shirt, too.”

  “It’s about time.”

  He laughed. In spite of his lust for her, she always made him laugh. Amazing woman.

  “Where were we?” she said.

  “I was holding your hands and sucking your nipples.”

  “Oh, that’s right. Please continue.”

  “So, in order to get further down, to where your panties are, I have to let go of your fingers. I slide my lips to the top of your waistband where the lacy elastic is pressing into your skin. I bite against the edge of the dark green fabric—”

  “It’s not green, Bram.”

  “Ivory?”

  “Nope.”

  “Yellow?”

  “Huh-uh.”

  “Fuchsia?”

  “Guess again.”

  “Goddammit, Shannon. Tell me now before I take the first direct flight back to the States to throttle you.”

  A deep, throaty laugh greeted him on the line. “My panties are black. A very sheer black. And you’re successfully pulling them off with your teeth.”

  “Of course I am,” he replied, picturing the said panties and their subsequent removal.

  “So, now that they’re on the floor, Bram, what are you going to do next?”

  “I’m kissing you again. Can’t you feel my lips against your thighs? My tongue moving between your legs?”

  He heard Shannon reply with a sound that could only be described as a whimper.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” he said.

  After a heated pause, she said, “Yes.”

  And in his mind, his lips were right there, against her pale, moist skin, a slant of light escaping into the room through the closed blinds. He inhaled her sweet scent, as potent from six thousand miles away as from a distance of six centimeters, and he heard her call his name.

  “Bram…”

  He exhaled into the receiver, struggling for his usual control, but his imagination had taken over. They seemed to have entered a new realm of connection together. A place where their shared vision dictated their reality.

  “Bram, I want you inside of me.”

  “I want that, too.”

  And as his cock rubbed against the smooth sheets of the Belgian hotel’s mattress, he mentally plunged deep into Shannon, emitting a sound he knew she’d recognize on the other end of the line as pure desire.

  “I can almost feel you,” she whispered.

  “Use your fingers. Thrust as I do, sweetheart. I’ll tell you when to do it.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay,” he said, pulling his hips back. Then, just as he was about to thrust again, he said, “Now.”

  She moaned.

  “And now.” He thrust even deeper. “And now. And now. And now again.”

  Her breath caught. “Ohhh, I—I’m—”

  “How close are you?”

  “Close.”

  “Then I’d better thrust some more.” And he did, telling her each time and feeling her rising heat sizzling through the phone line until he heard her cry out.

  With a sense of concentration he didn’t know he possessed outside of his company’s boardroom, he focused his mind’s eye on Shannon. He let his body follow her lead, feeling her hands clinging to his back, squeezing him as he pumped, until he, too, found his release and called her name.

  Bram had never been a man to shy away from bedroom games or dirty talk, but phone sex with Shannon surprised him by being one of the most erotic thing he’d ever done in his life. And he intended to do it again. Ideally, without the phone.

  “How are you?” she asked once he’d caught his breath.

  He pulled himself up from the now-wet bed sheet and grinned into the receiver. “I’m having a marvelous start to my birthday, Shannon.”

  She laughed. “Glad to hear it. I wouldn’t want to leave you unsatisfied on your big day.”

  “Not possible, sweetheart.”

  She sighed. “I know this is anticlimactic, but I should probably get back to work soon. Maybe, if you want, we can, um, talk again…later…”

  “Yes,” he said, but he knew time differences and his packed work agenda would complicate matters. The CEO in him started to take over again as he began to strategize how to merge their schedules to his liking. “What are you doing at this time tomorrow?”

  “Talking to you?”

  “You’d better believe it. And, Shannon?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m not gonna bother guessing the color of your panties next time. I want you to skip wearing them altogether.”

  ***

  Shannon hung up the phone and let herself curl into the silky sheets of the massive bed. For a moment or two, with Bram on the phone, it had really felt as though they were sharing it. She missed the sensation already.

  She glanced at the clock. Hmm, nearly dinnertime. But since no guests were at the inn yet, she was alone.

  Well, okay, not exactly. Almost alone.

  Several members of the staff scurried around downstairs. If she strained her ears to listen, she could hear the bustle of activity just below the Astaire Suite floorboards. Everyone was preparing for the big holiday weekend, and her staff had probably noticed her absence an hour ago.

  But, guess what? She didn’t care.

  She pushed herself off the bed, dressed quickly and tugged off the sheets to send down to the laundry room. She’d deal with them later. Then she opened the door to the hallway and stepped out of the suite.

  “Hello, Shannon.”

  She swiveled around to see Jake standing a few paces away, staring at her oddly.

  “I—um, hi, Jake.” She forced a wide-eyed smile at him.

  “Everything okay in there?”

  “Oh, yeah. Sure. Of course.” Her mind raced through a list of questions: Good God, had he heard her? Could he have figured out what she was doing? Whom she was talking to? Would he have stayed to listen if he had? Jake’s expression gave nothing away, so she could only speculate. “And, uh, how are you?”

  He laughed. “I’m fine, Shannon. I thought, I don’t know, you disappeared for ages, so I wondered… You’re not feeling sick or anything, are you?”

  She let out a relieved sigh. “No, no. I just needed a break from all the commotion.” She began walking toward the staircase. “Coming?”

  Jake shook his head. “We’ve got a honeymoon couple that reserved the Astaire Suite for the weekend. Silvia said she made up the bed earlier, but I want to do a quick check of the kitchenette to make sure we’ve got enough stuff on hand for them.” He pulled out his master key reached for the doorknob.

  Panic came flooding back. “No! I mean, let’s do that tomorrow, shall we?”

  He raised a light-brown eyebrow in her direction. “Why wait? No time like the present.”

  “Because—” Oh, what convincing reason could she give him? “Because I was hoping to have dinner with you and, then, maybe talk about some of the activities we’ve got on the agenda for this weekend.” She grinned at him. “I asked Margaret to send over some of Ricardo’s Florentine lasagna and garlic bread. Want to share it with me?”

  Jake groaned. “Oh, that guy is The Cholesterol God. I swear, every time I eat at The Ashland I put on five pounds.” He patted his flat stomach. “But I’d never refuse a dinner date with you, even if it involves enough garlic to scare off Dracula and his entire extended family.” He waggled his brows at her, but she didn’t bother to correct his misuse of the word “date” as it related to her invitation.

  Jake slipped his master key back in his pocket and trailed her down the stairs, but Shannon didn’t fully relax for the rest of the evening. Not until everyone went home and she could embrace the memory—real or imagined—of
Bram’s arms around her, his lips creating a trail of heat against her skin, his body joined with hers.

  Fantasy, when tinged with just enough reality to make it exciting, held an innate sense of safety. She had nothing to fear while in its grip.

  But, in the inky black of midnight, she couldn’t help but wonder: Does one adventure naturally lead to another? Does one small risk open the door to an exponentially larger one? And how long before she would be faced with a challenge she couldn’t overcome?

  This funneled her thoughts back to Bram again and brought with it her first real bolt of apprehension at his impending return.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Independence Day

  Shannon paced behind the reception desk, certain they’d need to re-carpet to cover up her tread marks.

  She heard the fifteenth explosion. Bang!

  Then the sixteenth. Bang!

  Then the seventeenth. BANG!

  She squeezed her eyes shut, clenched a miniature American flag in each fist and paced some more.

  Bang! Bang, bang, bang, bang! detonated the latest blast of pyrotechnic interjections from the Crosby Room. Followed by…big surprise…bang, bang, BANG!

  “Jeez, get me some goddamn aspirin,” Jake groaned, tapping his forehead against the counter and slapping his palms on the desk in emphasis. He lifted his head, caught Shannon’s eye then sniffed the air. “Uh, do you smell smoke?”

  She sniffed, too. Yep. Oh, God. “This guy had better know what he’s doing.”

  “Look, Shannon, I know you think the world of Margaret Ashland, but where she finds some of these freaking bizarre-o people—”

  The Freaking Bizarre-o Person in question emerged from the Crosby Room with tap shoes on his feet and a fistful of unlit theatrical firecrackers in his hand. “Totally awesome space, lady.” He did a quick Shuffle Off To Buffalo and grinned at her and Jake. “The show’s gonna go super great, don’t you worry a bit. I got Freddie’s routine down pat, and we’re all gonna have a blast.” He laughed. “Get it? A blast!”

  Shannon and Jake stared at him.

  “Okay, then, dudes. I’m off to do a little more rehearsing in the studio tonight, but I’ll be back with my buds to set up the FX on Saturday afternoon. You sure you don’t want that smoke machine, lady? I can bring one in real cheap?”

  Shannon was quite sure. “No, thank you.”

  “Well, alrighty then, I’m gone.” He put his palm over his chest where his bizarre-o heart must be. “Freddie and me, we’re tight. Even though he’s in the spirit world and all, he’s gonna be with us for the show. I guarantee it.” He did a step-ball-change, spun around in place and tossed a trick firecracker to the ground with each hand. Bang, bang! “This inn has a super cool feel to these rooms. Totally awesome.”

  “Yeah, totally,” Jake agreed, then said, “Who talks like that?” the instant the guy strode out the door. Jake rolled his eyes. “Did I miss Flashback to the Eighties Week or something?”

  Shannon chuckled and pulled out a bottle of extra-strength pain reliever from one of the desk drawers. She lobbed it at her wise-aleck assistant. “As long as he doesn’t burn down the inn, I don’t care which decade he emulates.” She sighed. “His voice sure doesn’t sound anything like Fred Astaire’s, though. Or ‘Freddie’s,’ as the tap guy kept calling him. What did you think of his dancing?”

  Jake shrugged. “Not bad. Better than mine, that’s for sure. But there are bound to be guests who know every move of Astaire’s classic Fourth of July routine from the movie. Don’t know what they’ll say.”

  At this point, Shannon didn’t know either and almost didn’t care. They’d watched the guy do the routine once without the firecrackers and, to her, it looked fine. However, she had plenty of other things to occupy her thoughts. Like the fact that guests were scheduled to start arriving the next day and, with them, so came Bram.

  “What’cha doing tonight?” Jake asked her.

  “My usual before a ‘holiday’ weekend of craziness. Bubble bath. Tall, cool drink. Good night’s sleep.” She winked at him. “Maybe a handful of chocolates to ensure sweet dreams.”

  “Ha. Something your Grandma Quinn used to say when you were a kid, right?”

  She nodded. “That was one of my favorites.”

  Jake looked serious for a moment. “You miss them all, don’t you? Your family?”

  “Of course.” She took a few steps away. The empty space in her heart always grew larger whenever someone mentioned them. Loss might fade, but it never disappeared. “You probably want to get home, and I’ve got to grab a bite for dinner and run that bath now, so—”

  “Hey, Shannon, wait.” Jake motioned her closer. “You need still need that tall, cool drink tonight, too, right?”

  “Well—” she began.

  “So, why don’t you let me make one for you. Long Island Iced Teas are…awesome, lady. Totally awesome.”

  She laughed. “Very funny.”

  “Just say yes,” he said in his serious tone again. “It’s only a drink. Okay?”

  With Bram’s return on the docket for tomorrow, she could use a little something to calm her nerves. True, alcohol wasn’t her usual choice of an anti-anxiety med (her tastes ran more toward Godiva truffles), but why not? She’d heard of the concoction and always wanted to try one. And it was only a drink, after all.

  “Okay.”

  So, Jake rushed off to work his cocktail magic. He returned to the lobby in a flash with a couple of tall, cool drinks that seemed harmless enough, even on an empty stomach. She took a first sip, then another. “Mmm.”

  Jake grinned and started chatting about the warm weather and other innocuous things while drinking his own beverage.

  Ten minutes later, after swallowing the last few drops of her drink and licking her lips, she said, “This was really tasty. Kind of reminds me of a tangy lemonade.”

  Jake eyed her curiously. “Want another?”

  She checked her watch. It was still early evening, but she noticed the beginning symptoms of sleepiness sweeping through her body. And thank God. She’d been worried that the combination of fear and excitement over Bram’s approaching arrival would keep her up all night.

  “I don’t know—” she began. Most of the staff had already gone home, and everyone—herself included—needed a good night’s rest.

  “It’s not that late,” Jake countered before she could come up with an excuse.

  She sighed, feeling her body caving to the temptation. “Well, it is helping me unwind, I have to admit. What goes into one of those things anyway?”

  “Why don’t I bring you another one? I’ll tell you all the ingredients.” And before she could say Long Island Iced Tea three times fast, Jake dashed off and soon returned to the reception desk with a fresh glassful. “Here you go, babe. Drink up. It’ll relax you.”

  “Mmm, thanks.” She took a few swigs. Remarkable really. The nervousness she’d been feeling for weeks started slowly seeping out of her. She leaned against the counter and let the negative energy and apprehension drift away.

  So what if Bram was a hotshot, multimillionaire type who could have any woman he wanted in the Western Hemisphere by simply snapping his fingers twice? He said in his last e-mail that he couldn’t wait to get back to her. He liked her.

  Who cared how little they had in common or how lonely she’d been before meeting him? After having phone sex two dozen times, their differences melted away into ancient history. She didn’t have to be tied to the past.

  And why worry about risks and loss and all that other depressing stuff? She could chart her own course. She knew she’d be okay no matter what happened next—she had a job, friends, resources. From the deliciously hazy view through her tall cocktail glass, it all seemed so clear…

  Jake caressed her shoulder with brotherly affection. “Good stuff, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah. We may need to make this a pre-holiday-weekend ritual.”

  Jake laughed, soft and low. He lowered his hand to
the middle of her back and massaged her there. “Fine by me.” He paused. “It’s nice to see you so calm like this, Shannon. I can tell you’ve been under a lot of stress lately.”

  She looked into Jake’s kind eyes. Something different registered in them. He wasn’t being his usual flirtatious self, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on what had changed, or why. Plus, her mind was starting to float away…into fantasies featuring Bram. He was at the inn with her. In the Astaire Suite. Completely naked. She heard herself moan.

  Jake’s fingers slid lower still. “Yeah, I feel a knot of tension right here.” He rubbed deeper, more intensely.

  Shannon put down her nearly empty glass, a slight glimmer of dread settling on her shoulders like a weight. This situation didn’t feel quite right. What was Jake up to?

  She turned to face him, his fingers refusing to break away from her body, just as the front door of Holiday Quinn swung open. Was it the tap-dance guy returning? One of the maids who’d forgotten her keys, perhaps?

  With Jake’s hand still planted firmly around her waist, she glanced over at the door.

  “Hello, Shannon,” the formidable Bram Hartwick said, his jaw clenched. “Am I interrupting something?”

  ***

  Bram strode over to the counter where Shannon and Jake the Prick stood.

  “Bram!” she cried, her expression and her voice indicating delight. It sounded genuine. He desperately hoped it was. She leaped away from Jake and threw her arms around him. “You got here early!”

  Not early enough, apparently.

  He held Shannon for a long moment, then he kissed her hard on the mouth, tasting alcohol.

  With a lethal look in Jake’s direction, Bram reached for Shannon’s glass, sniffed the remaining inch of liquid at the bottom and said, “Mind if I have a taste? It’s been a long drive.”

  “Sure,” she said, grinning up at him. “Jake made it, but I’ve had more than enough already.”

  Bram took a tentative swallow. Long Island Iced Tea. With a mix of seven different kinds of liquor, those things were damn potent, but its strength was disguised by the kind of flavorful fruitiness women loved… Something every remotely intelligent man on the planet knew. Only dishonorable men exploited that knowledge, though.