Chapter 4 #2
The air smells like eucalyptus had a love affair with lavender—clean and expensive.
A receptionist smiles at us. She looks like she floats to work, her smile serene and glowing. I’m sure she’s never yelled into a pillow or cried herself to sleep in her life.
Behind her, a waterfall trickles down a slab of stone that probably cost more than my apartment.
Soft music plays from invisible speakers. I feel like I should have moisturized more aggressively this morning, but at the same time, my frayed mind is drawn to this blissful oasis.
This place doesn’t just whisper luxury—it recites it, with perfect diction and a posh British accent.
Xander leans in, and his breath fans my skin, snapping me out of my awe. The shiver his closeness sparks is another issue I’m going to ignore.
“Have I achieved the unheard of and rendered you speechless?” Even his whisper sounds obnoxiously loud in this room.
“This is a spa,” I say, my eyes wanting to close just from the scent. This place oozes relaxation.
“Beautiful and smart,” he teases, but I stare at him, robbed of my ability to quip back. Xander frowns. “Are you okay?”
How many times have I wished for a spa day in the last few years? Too many to count. Actually, I banished any thought of pampering and relaxation as soon as they sneaked in, because I don’t have the luxury of time or money for such frivolity.
To my horror, tears prickle behind my eyes. I blink them away quickly. The receptionist says something, but Xander raises his arm to stop her, stepping in front of me, shielding me.
Like he knows I need time to compose myself.
Jesus, this is embarrassing. Maybe I’m so tired that the whiff of some downtime unlocks something I don’t want to examine. The other thing I don’t want to examine is why this practical stranger intuitively gifted me exactly what I needed.
“Thank you,” I whisper, and he smiles and turns to the receptionist.
I got a two-hour-long facial and the best massage ever, and now I’m enjoying myself in the relaxation room stocked with fruit, nuts, and cucumber water in a crystal decanter.
Fuck, I can get used to this. But I guess even if I could afford it, it would become ordinary after a while.
I scribble a verse in my small notebook and put it down, sighing. Closing my eyes, I sag onto the soft mattress.
“This is the softest robe ever,” I mew to myself, stretching on a lounger that is frankly more comfortable than my bed at home.
“Talking to yourself?” Xander’s voice is all playfulness and gravel. It wraps around me more softly than the robe.
Has he always sounded like this? My mind must be so shocked from the onslaught of peace that it plays tricks on me.
I open my eyes to tease him back, but if I had any quip ready, it dissolves as I take in the sight.
Holy fuck.
Xander Stone stands across the room in nothing but a towel. His skin glistens, droplets of water beading across his broad shoulders.
Even with his clothes on, it has always been clear the man is ripped. But for the love of my trembling ovaries, I wasn’t prepared for this level of magnificence.
He picks up a decanter and pours himself a glass of water. The ripple of his muscles as he executes this mundane task is like catnip for a woman who hasn’t had sex in… Let’s not go there.
He turns to me, raising his glass like he’s toasting to something. Oh, he knows what he is doing to me. Asshole.
“I was just complimenting the softness of the robes here.” I rub my cheek on the collar to emphasize. “You should definitely try them.” I reach for the bowl of nuts to distract myself.
“Nah, I’m good.”
I busy myself with the nuts like Cinderella sorting the peas and ashes, but I’m still acutely aware of him sauntering over and plopping onto the lounger beside me.
On the periphery of my vision, I see him putting his hands behind his head. I refuse to look at him, because God knows what happened to his towel as he flopped onto his bed.
“I needed this.” He sighs.
A smile curls my lips up, and I put the nuts down and lower myself. I keep my eyes closed for the sake of sanity. I’m not going to let a half-naked man distract me from this visit to paradise.
“Thank you,” I murmur, because as ridiculous as his infiltration of my day is, I can’t argue with the facts: no one has ever done something like this for me, and I haven’t had a day to myself in the longest time.
“You thanked me already.” The bed squeaks a bit as he moves. “What happened out there earlier?”
Based on the proximity of his voice, he must have shifted to lie on his side. I swallow, painfully aware he’s probably watching me.
If I hoped he’d let that moment pass, I was being na?ve. He might have shielded me from the receptionist, but he wouldn’t miss the opportunity to tease me.
But then I’m grateful for this experience, and he did offer a sliver of vulnerability today, so I decide to reciprocate. “I don’t remember the last time someone did something like this for me.”
“Taken you to a spa?”
“Allowed me to be selfish.” I want to look at him, but then I remember he’s practically naked, so I throw my forearm over my eyes for good measure.
“Self-care isn’t selfish. I could see you were tired. You mentioned at the gala how much you work… You deserve a brief break. I’m glad I could organize one for you.”
There is that cocky undertone in his voice, but fuck if his words don’t stir more emotional turmoil inside me.
I almost wished he had said he wanted to come and just tagged me along, but he brought me here because he thought this was what I needed. A man who had only met me a handful of times before.
My emotions clog my throat, and I think my swallow must be audible. Tears threaten their reappearance, so I change the topic.
“Why do you live in a hotel?” I reach to take a sip of my tea.
“Why not?”
I whip my head toward him. “Are you for real? It must be expensive, and wouldn’t you want a home instead of an impersonal space?”
He shrugs. “I never got around to finding something since I moved. At first, I didn’t know where I’d want to live, and then I got too busy at work.
I enjoy the service that comes with a room here.
I’m comfortable, and it’s convenient, which I value more than a painting on the wall and a picture on a nightstand. ”
I blink a few times, trying to understand his view, but I fail. Though I guess it must be nice not to cook, clean, or do laundry, or even grocery shopping. “But it must cost you a fortune.”
He picks up an apple and takes a generous bite. The juice rolls from the corner of his lips, and his tongue darts out. A sexy apple bite. God help me!
I lie back down and force my eyes to stare at the ceiling.
“It’s a fraction of what I make.”
“That must be nice,” I snort.
In the few beats of silence, the robe becomes incredibly uncomfortable, the sweat trickling between my breasts and down my spine.
I contemplate how different our worlds are, and with sadness, I realize that his world feels so much easier than mine.
“I don’t think a piece of real estate creates a home. It’s the people you share it with,” he says casually, but the sentiment behind his words is anything but casual.
He moved here from San Francisco to start Merged, I think. I paid little attention to what my friends said about him.
Thinking about it now, we had one lengthy conversation at the gala, but he somehow made me talk without sharing much. How did I not realize that?
“Do you miss your family?” I turn to him, hoping I’ve somehow built immunity to his muscles.
Unfortunately I haven’t. But it doesn’t feel like I should have this part of the conversation while talking to the ceiling.
The room fills with a heavy silence, and I regret taking this direction immediately. My family situation is something I never discuss, so why would I ask him that?
“I miss them, but this is where my life is now.”
The statement sounds like a sentence of exile more than a decision, but I don’t pry anymore. It’s not like we’re close enough to share details. Besides, I don’t want to talk about my family, so let’s leave it.
“And what a life! I can get used to this.” I smile.
“You’re welcome anytime.” He winks.
“Don’t tempt me.”
My words are innocent… or that’s how I meant them, but his pupils darken, and the air between us thickens with suggestion.
He gives me that slow, sinful smile that seems very familiar, but which didn’t seem to affect me before today.
“Maybe we can continue this upstairs in my room?” He reaches to tuck a curl behind my ear. The robe becomes a furnace as I try, and fail, to regulate my breathing.
“We agreed no shenanigans,” I rasp, the words barely passing my throat. The devil on my shoulder throws a tantrum, questioning my sanity.
“I wonder, though, why you suggested it? What are you afraid of, Cora?” he drawls.
That is a good question? What am I afraid of? Because if I judge by my body’s reaction to his touch—his mere presence—I’m fighting something, and I don’t even know why.
I haven’t been in a serious relationship for almost ten years, protecting my heart at all costs. I used to choose my casual hookups carefully, with men who felt safe. Men who wouldn’t call the next day.
Even if there were a slight indication they would, I would just give them a wrong number. Yes, protect my heart at all costs, while potentially stomping over theirs.
I’m pretty sure Xander won’t call the next day, but I’m also quite sure the loss would sting. He’s not a safe option.
His hand lingers near my ear. It sends micro-explosions throughout my body. Swatting it away, I sit up.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Xander, you’re a decade younger. This makes no sense.” I laugh, but it’s strangled.
This man is good, I’ll give him that, but he won’t fool me. A playboy like him would have another woman on his arm within hours of sleeping with me.
He sits up as well, and as he pivots, his legs bracket mine. I glance down, but at least the towel is long enough to cover what seems like a growing erection. The awareness of his cock in such proximity makes me press my thighs tighter.
“Age is just a number. I don’t care how old you are—”
“You should,” I croak.
Nothing that happened today is ordinary for me, and yet all of it has been wonderful. Why can’t I just be reckless for a bit longer?
“Now who is being ridiculous?” Xander says.
“I’m being realistic—”
“No, you’re being stubborn.”
Asshole. “Has it ever occurred to you I might not be attracted to you?”
His dimples make an appearance. “No.”
“Well, that’s presumptuous.” At least his cockiness cools my inconvenient desire.
His hands settle on my thighs. I didn’t even realize the robe had parted—not until his touch meets bare skin, and I freeze. My breath hitches. Goddammit.
I should swat him away, but it’s like I have a point to prove—though I have no idea what I’m proving or to whom—so I don’t move.
He doesn’t advance any farther—just traces short lines up and down my inner thigh with his thumb. Even that feather contact makes me want to spread my legs.
I want to look away, but for some reason I’m a prisoner of his hooded gaze.
Okay, he’s right, there is chemistry. Or my body is just so sex-deprived that it reacts. Not that I can tell him that.
“Coraline, we’re both old enough for lies like that.
We share an attraction, and I have a feeling that burying my cock in your pussy would be unforgettable.
Because I’m not going to lie, I invited you to that gala because I wanted to get to know you.
And since that gala, I have been thinking about all the ways I can make you scream, and believe me, you would enjoy every single one of them and ask for more. ”
Fuck, if he puts it like that… I pant by the time he finishes his declaration. One that sounded more like a threat.
It’s not just the promise he so casually, but so passionately, threw between us. It’s not that he’s just admitted he’s been thinking about this for weeks.
It’s the way he used Coraline for the second time today. My father is the only person who used my given name. Until he stopped.
I lick my lips, and Xander’s gaze drops. He reaches to trace his thumb where my tongue was. It’s slow and seductive. “Stop overthinking it.”
He is right.
The thought feels so liberating, a smile stretches across my face. Before I get to nod and let him deliver on that delicious threat, we both jerk as my phone starts dancing on the table beside us.
Fuck.
I look at the screen, and dread replaces all the lusty fire in my veins. Tessa, my sister, never calls.
Groaning inwardly, I straighten my spine and answer.
“Finally. Where are you? Dad was robbed.”