Chapter Nine
Jess
I am fully prepared to be met with a sleepless night, and so I’m pleasantly surprised when I feel myself drifting off, the exhaustion and the stress pulling me under. The bed is cozy, and the heat of Nick warms my back, providing a comfort I don’t want to acknowledge.
Exhausted plus warm and cozy equals a fabulously deep sleep.
And even better dreams.
Many peaceful hours after climbing into bed, I feel myself drifting into the land of in-between, that moment when you’re almost awake but not quite there yet, and I fight against it, keeping my eyes firmly closed and my breaths even and deep.
Because this dream is too damn good to leave behind.
A pair of strong arms encircles me, anchoring me against the hard plane of a chest. Fingers sweep over the bare expanse of my thigh, winding around, brushing against the exposed curve of my butt, teasing at the hem of my underwear for a hint of a second before they slide back up, under the fabric of my T-shirt, over my belly. The fingers skim my hip bones, somehow knowing the place where my hip and thigh meets is one of my favorite places to be touched. But the touch doesn’t linger, tracing up to swipe the undersides of my breasts.
Dream me groans, my ass shifting back. The hard length of him presses against me, and dream me lets out a soft gasp.
I lean into it, lean into him, grinding my ass against his rock-hard cock.
My mystery man lets out a groan of his own, burying his face in the crook of my neck. I turn my head and my nose fills with the scent of pine and juniper.
Pine and juniper…
It’s the familiar scent that yanks me out of the dream, thrusting me into the harsh reality where there will be no more thrusting and—ohmygod, was there really thrusting just now?
Somewhere in the space of the night, Nick managed to twine himself around me. I tell myself it was him, when I quickly realize we’re actually in the middle of the bed and it’s highly possible I’m the one who gravitated toward his warmth, toward the shirtless expanse of his chiseled chest.
But I refuse to believe even dream me would be so stupid.
Also, awake me needs to put a stop to this. Immediately.
But fuck it feels good, Nick’s fingers hitting all of the spots he still, even after all these years, even in the muddled state of half-asleep, knows turn me on.
It’s been a while since I’ve had a man in my bed, and I forgot how good it feels.
But no. This isn’t right. Even if I did want to be wrapped up in Nick Matthews, which I clearly do not, the man is still asleep and obviously has no idea what he’s doing.
“Nick.” I place my hand on his forearm, the one currently locked around my waist, keeping our bodies pressed tightly together. I give his arm a little shake, but his only response is to find my hand and lace our fingers together.
He rocks his hips, letting out another groan, and he’s so hard I want to reach in between us and stroke him.
Wait. What?
I definitely do not want to do that.
I turn over, repeating his name until his hazel eyes fly open.
In the few quiet moments before he realizes what’s going on, he gives me a soft, sleepy smile, like this is right where he wants to be. Like this is right where we’re supposed to be.
“Hi,” he says, his voice croaky—and not at all sexy—with sleep.
“Good morning.” I raise my eyebrows, looking down at our bodies tangled together.
Realization dawns in his eyes, and I start laughing at how quickly he scrambles away from me.
He pushes out of the bed so fast he almost face-plants on the floor. “Shit. Jess. I’m so sorry. I did not…I never meant…fuck.” He plops onto the floor next to the bed, pulling his knees up to his chest, which can’t be comfortable given the state his dick was in.
“It’s fine. We were both asleep. Dream me was a willing participant.”
He covers his face with his hands. “Still. You didn’t want to share a bed with me, and I poked until you gave in, and then I went and did the exact thing you didn’t want to happen.”
“Are you sure ‘poked’ is the word you want to use there?” I attempt to lighten the mood with a joke, but when he doesn’t laugh, I crawl across the bed, lying on my belly so the two of us are near eye level. “Hey. There was no malicious intent. We’re two people who clearly used to be attracted to each other. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“I’ll sleep on the floor tonight.”
I hop up from the bed on the opposite side from where he’s still hunched on the floor. “There isn’t going to be a tonight, remember? I’m going home.” I throw open the curtains, letting in the bright morning light.
Also letting in the reality that there is no way in hell I’m going anywhere today.
Thick blankets of snow completely cover the ground, and though nothing is falling from the sky at this current moment, it’s an ominous sort of white, almost blending in with the ground below, which means it won’t be long before it opens up and dumps on us once again.
“Shit.” Nick has abandoned the floor and stands behind me. He echoes my unspoken sentiments.
“Maybe a room has opened up.” I offer the suggestion half-heartedly, knowing all of the other hotel guests are trapped here just as I apparently am.
At that moment the phone rings, and Nick crosses the room to answer.
I tune out the conversation confirming what we already know, instead taking in the details of the room I tried to block out the night before. It really is an adorable little hotel, and if circumstances weren’t what they are, I would love to be spending a night or two of the holiday season here.
Our room—Nick’s room, I mean—isn’t overly decorated, like they somehow knew he’s an incognito Grinch. But there’s a beautiful wreath hanging on the back of the door, and the blankets on the bed are a red and green plaid. There’s a small wooden table next to the one armchair and on it sits a bottle of whiskey with a red bow tied around the neck.
I finger the tag, not caring that I shouldn’t intrude on Nick’s gift.
Congrats on Romance Author of the Year! You deserve the honor and many more. We’re so happy to have you as a member of the SVP family.
The note is handwritten and signed by the president and publisher himself.
I force myself not to yank the tag from the bottle and rip it to shreds. Safe to say the publisher of SVP has never sent me so much as an email.
Nick clears his throat, and I turn away from the very expensive gift. In the meantime, I couldn’t even get a room, let alone a bottle of booze.
“That was the front desk.” Nick tugs on the longish hair at the nape of his neck, the move putting on full display the cut of his muscles. “It’s still not safe to leave the hotel, but they’re opening up the restaurant for meals, and we’re welcome to use any of the facilities while we’re here.”
I nod, attempting a smile, though my lips seem to be frozen in place. “I think I’ll get dressed and go downstairs then. I could use some coffee before I try to get some words in.”
Thank god I brought my laptop, even though my original plan was only to be here for the one night. The one upside of being trapped here might be that it forces me to focus on my work in progress.
I also only brought one change of clothes, so I head into the bathroom and slip into my jeans and the chunky red sweater that gives holiday vibes without being overly Christmasy. After brushing my teeth and washing my face, I gather my laptop and the notebook I’ve been using to jot down ideas and possible plotlines for this manuscript.
When I come out of the bathroom, Nick is sitting in the armchair, his elbows resting on his knees, his head hanging down. Something about his posture screams defeated, and upset, but I don’t give myself the space to care. Grabbing one of the keys from the dresser, I mumble a goodbye and head for the elevator.
I didn’t get to explore much of the inn the day before, since I had to go straight to the party. But it’s easy to find the tiny coffee counter, as it’s got a long line of people streaming from it. I keep my head down in case there are any other SVP authors or employees waiting for their daily dose of caffeine. There have to be quite a few of us stuck here, though I’m sure some ducked out of the party early to escape the impending storm.
Despite the long line, it doesn’t take more than a few minutes before my hand is wrapped around a steaming mug filled with chocolate-peppermint-flavored caffeine. Nick drinks his coffee black, I remember, and just the thought makes my nose wrinkle.
But I’m not sure why Nick’s disgusting coffee preferences should weigh on my mind. This is my one chance to put him out of my head, before we go back to being trapped in a cute little room at a cozy inn together. Which, of course, happens to have only one bed. Really, if I were still stuck for inspiration, this whole situation has all the makings of a romance novel.
Since it’s us, it would be the Nick Matthews version of a romance novel: no happy ever after in sight.
I take my coffee and laptop over to one of the quiet corners of the lobby. There are tons of people milling around, everyone probably going a bit stir-crazy and looking for a little escape. But this section is separated from the main space, a tiny nook with a small café table and a perfect view of the Christmas tree that dominates the center of the room.
I use this small bit of privacy to check my phone for the first time today, knowing I’m going to need to find a way to spin this story to my friends so they don’t completely lose their shit. Alyssa has already texted to check in, and I know I can’t just leave her on read.
Alyssa: How did everything go last night?!?! I need all the details immediately! Can we FaceTime later tonight?
Kennedy: I’m around in the evening hours! Hope Nick wasn’t a complete and total douchebag.
I groan, pinching the bridge of my nose, attempting to formulate a response. I decide to go with the basics—keep it simple and offer them nothing more than what they’re asking for.
Me: The awards ceremony went about as well as can be expected. I made it through my speech and managed to get some face time in with the director of publicity, so it might have made the whole thing worth it.
Alyssa: Amazing!!! That’s such a great connection to have!!!
Kennedy: And how was Nick? Did he make the whole thing super awkward?
Me: He was fine. We barely spoke to each other, which is probably for the best.
Of course, in between all the hardly speaking, there was a morning full of groping, but they don’t need to know that.
Alyssa: Are you back home already? Seems like the storm is still raging here!
Me: I’m actually still at the inn, waiting for the weather to clear. I’m going to get some words in while I wait out the storm and then hopefully I’ll head home later today.
I know I won’t be heading home, but they don’t need to know that—at least, not right this minute.
Alyssa: Yay! Let us know when you make it home so we know you’re safe!
Kennedy: And if you see Nick Matthews wandering the halls of the hotel today, tell him his books suck for me.
Me: Alyssa, I will do that. Kennedy, I’d like to not blow up any goodwill I gained last night so I will hold off on insulting my publisher’s bestselling author.
Me: Love you both!
While I have my phone out, I send a text to Morgan letting her know I’m stuck at the hotel and, absent some kind of weather miracle, might miss my afternoon shift at the coffee shop tomorrow. Hopefully I’ll be able to make it home in time because lord knows I can’t afford to be missing shifts. Plus, as chill as Morgan is, leaving her hanging the week before Christmas is a bad look.
A shiver of fear runs through me as I think about what might happen if she had to fire me. I push that thought out of my mind. I need to manifest clear skies and getting the hell home, not just for my job’s sake, but for my mental health’s sake. I can’t endure forced proximity with my ex for much longer. I am not cut out to be a romance heroine.
After shutting off my phone to prevent further distractions, I hunker down, sipping on my coffee as I read through everything I’ve written in this story so far. I haven’t written in a few days—something I’d like to chalk up to the stress of the party and the weather, but really is more than likely due to a certain author who won’t be named—and it helps to refresh my memory. I also use this time to flesh out any parts of the story so far that are lacking or need development. This method means it sometimes takes me longer to write, but it results in a first draft that is (usually) not a total dumpster fire.
And when it comes time to get some new words down on the page, I’m pleasantly surprised by the way they flow. It’s been about a week since I’ve been able to come up with anything new and I’m thrilled to find my mojo hasn’t completely abandoned me. These characters have really come to life in my head, and it’s easy to craft the banter, the banter that slowly shifts from combative to riddled with sexual tension to just plain sexual. The only thing I’m really struggling with is seeing how they reconcile in the end. How do they survive another breakup—the one that traditionally happens in the third act—without completely writing each other off? Are second chances in love really even possible?
But that’s a problem for future me. I’ve just about written myself to the sex scene, a place where I know I will have to stop for the day because I am incapable of working on sex scenes in public, and even though my table is tucked away in the corner, there are too many other people around for me to be able to feel fully comfortable writing about throbbing cocks and peaked nipples.
I finish up the last few sentences, saving my document before I click over to the Internet so I can email myself the latest draft and also respond to any messages I might have. Though, of course, it’s days before the holiday so publishing has shut down for two weeks and my inbox is empty.
Despite the cloudy skies, I can tell just from a peek out the window that it’s still early afternoon and I can’t imagine heading back to the room until I’m ready to climb into bed, needing to spend as little time in Nick’s presence as humanly possible. But my options are pretty limited. I passed by a spa on the way to the barn yesterday, but I can’t imagine they have any openings, and even if they did, I probably couldn’t afford it.
Maybe they’ll give me a discount since they totally fucked up my room situation. But something tells me that was likely an error on my publisher’s part, not the hotel’s.
I’m about to go grab a second cup of coffee when a familiar woman slides into the empty seat across from me.
“Lauren,” I say, the surprise evident in my tone. I sit up a little straighter. “Good morning. Or is it good afternoon? I’m sorry, I’ve been writing and the time seems to have gone a little fuzzy.”
She laughs, and it’s as warm as this hotel lobby. “No problem. I think we’re safely into the afternoon hours now. I take it you’re trapped here like the rest of us?”
I nod, not sure if I want to mention the specifics of the situation. But then I open my mouth and it all comes out. “There was some kind of mix-up with the reservation for my room. They didn’t have me in the system.” I don’t know why I decide to tell her; it’s not like it’s the publicity director’s job to book hotel rooms for lowly authors, but something about her genuine smile makes me feel like she might actually care.
Her brow furrows. “I’m so sorry to hear that. I know it doesn’t help much in the moment, but I will make a note to look into it further.”
I shrug, a flush rising and heating my cheeks. “That’s not necessary. It’s no big deal, really.”
“Where did you end up staying last night?” she asks with what appears to be real concern.
My face feels like it might actually be on fire. “Um, I stayed with Nick. We were checking in at the same time, and he heard about the whole mix-up so he offered to share his room with me. I would have texted Hannah but I know she’s sharing a room with Gina and I didn’t want to intrude on their already-limited space.” I’m babbling, an old nervous habit that I should have kicked a long time ago.
Lauren’s eyebrows shoot right to the top of her hairline. “That was very kind of Nick.”
I nod and purse my lips to keep myself from blathering any other information one of the highest of higher-ups definitely does not need to know.
“I know I mentioned this last night, but I never realized just how close you and Nick are.”
“We’ve been…acquainted for a long time. I wouldn’t say we’re close, though.” As long as you don’t count this morning when we were practically dry humping each other.
“I don’t know. I saw the way he was looking at you last night. It seems like there might be something more than a professional relationship there, if you know what I mean.” Lauren sips from her own mug of coffee, watching me intently over the rim of her cup.
And dammit, this woman must have some kind of magical power, the kind that makes me feel comfortable enough to spew my deepest secrets. “We did date for a while, back when we were first getting our book deals. But it ended, and we haven’t had much of a relationship since.” My mind chooses that moment to fully digest her observation. “How was he looking at me last night?”
I tell myself I only care because I spent so much on that damn dress and I want to make sure I got my money’s worth.
Lauren’s sly smile lets me know I’m not fooling anyone, least of all her. “He couldn’t take his eyes off you. If I’m not mistaken, there was a definite twinge of regret in those hazel eyes of his.”
“They really are a gorgeous color, aren’t they?” I respond before I can think better of it.
Seriously, what the hell am I doing here talking to the publicity director like we’re besties giggling over some cute boy?
I clear my throat. “Anyway. I should be going. It was nice running into you.” I don’t have anywhere else to go, but I would rather go back to the room and spend the day watching Nick type than stay and continue this completely inappropriate and all-too-revealing conversation.
Lauren leans back in her seat, sipping from her coffee. “You know, I could spin a reconciliation between you two in so many ways. It would be publicity gold.”
I freeze in place at her words. “I don’t think a reconciliation is in the cards.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean to suggest anything like that.” Lauren laughs, waving her hand in front of her face. “I’m just thinking out loud. I’ve been doing this job for so long I can’t seem to turn off that part of my brain anymore. I see the PR angles in every situation.”
I settle back into my chair, too curious for my own good. “I can see how pairing up with Nick would be good for me, but I fail to see how it would be beneficial for him too.” Not that we will be reconciling or reconnecting or pairing up in any way. Certainly not in the way where our bodies meld together like they did this morning. That will not be happening again. Obviously.
Lauren glances around the room, like she’s checking for spies. “Let’s just say that the pretty boy who writes tragic love stories schtick is growing a little tired. The readers want something new, and different. The playboy bachelor is only attractive for so long. His audience is ready to see him in a new role.”
I lean forward in my seat, floored by the direction of this conversation.
Lauren rises and waves nonchalantly like she hasn’t just detonated a bomb in my chest. “But again, I’m just speculating, thinking out loud. I’m sure Nick will settle down when he meets the right person. Have a good rest of your day, Jessica.”
I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. What is there to possibly say?
And why does the thought of Nick meeting the right person, a person who isn’t me, feel like I just found out there’s no Santa?