Chapter 12
My body clenches in a lush, spasming rhythm that feels so insanely good it slowly, serenely … wakes me up.
Holy shit.
I don’t want to wake up.
I’m floating.
I’m coming.
I’m dreaming.
Of him.
That man who sat at the bar last night for hours, just watching me.
Dallas, he said his name was.
I want to sink back into the deep-dark pleasure, but it’s fading now. I lay mostly still, letting the ripples lap at the lingering bliss.
Oh my god.
I just had my first orgasm.
In my sleep.
Dreaming about him.
My eyes blink open.
I’m in my dingy little room. All the shininess is gone.
It’s barely dawn.
I need to get up. I have to start my shift at six and I always make sure I’m up before anyone else is. The laundry room is nearby and some of the housekeeping staff start early. I don’t want my secret to be discovered. If that witchy manager ever found out—
I push that thought out of my mind.
I don’t want to think about that. Not yet.
I let myself sigh.
It feels so good.
Slowly, I let my fingers rove.
Lower.
Touching the place.
Gently, gently.
His hands.
Another lush orgasm rolls through me.
Oh god, oh god.
The pleasure rushes are deep and brimming. I can do nothing but allow the hot beauty to surge through my body and soul.
Will I see him again. Will he come back?
Probably not. There’s every chance he’s long gone.
Then again, he might be in town for a few days, at a conference or something. Maybe he’ll stop in one more time.
When the bliss finally subsides, I feel different. It’s a release and it’s relief. I’m wildly relaxed for the first time in … well, as long as I can remember. My body is sated and my brain has taken on a technicolored brightness. My thoughts feel crystallized and electric.
It’s the first time in over a year that I’m not fully consumed by loss.
Live a little, Amelie. See how good life can feel? It’s time to pick yourself up and brush yourself off and get on with it. So what if Theo III and this fucking hotel broke your heart. Those things don’t have to define you.
I get out of bed and pull on my worn uniform. I have two identical black uniforms. Both are threadbare and very close to one size too small, but it can’t be helped. New uniforms aren’t in the budget right now, Ellen said. The billionaire has more important things to spend his money on, apparently.
Pulling my hair back, I tie it with the only hair tie I haven’t lost yet. I brush my teeth in the tiny sink. And I grab my ring of room keys.
Letting myself out, I carefully lock the door with the only existing key and slip it into the buttoned back pocket of my pants.
I stop by the laundry room. I load some cleaning supplies into a bucket and I grab some linens and some pink rubber gloves.
I start with room 22, which is the one at the back on the third floor with its own little wrought iron balcony.
It’s one of Hotel Thibodeaux’s quirks. We’re a four-story hotel and we have 27 rentable rooms. It used to be 26 until the hotel got sold and then the two-bedroom suite I was born and raised in became another guest room.
So the rooms aren’t numbered according to the floor they’re on.
No one really knows why, maybe great grandpa was drunk at the time he numbered the rooms, which wouldn’t surprise me at all.
We hand guests the brochure with the map that explains the “unique” and “fun” idiosyncrasy when they check in, but there’s always the odd guest who forgets or ends up getting lost.
Room 22 had a leak in the ceiling that needed repairing. The contractors finished yesterday, so I need to get it ready for guests to check into this afternoon.
Locking the door behind me, I strip off and take a shower as I’m cleaning the shower—something I’ve been doing every day—or most days—for the past year. I get dressed again and quickly dry my hair. Damn it, where did I put that hair tie? I’ve lost another one. My last one.
I’m making the beds when the doorknob rattles. “Amelie?”
There’s the sound of a key having trouble opening the lock. I go open the door.
“Miss Ellen.” I’m a little shocked that my boss has tracked me down out of the blue like this. My hair is still barely damp. Can she tell I just got out of the shower?
“These locks need replacing,” she announces. “The keys barely work. Amelie, it’s really becoming a problem that you don’t answer your phone. I don’t want to have to constantly be chasing you down whenever I need you for something.”
“Oh. Sorry. My phone’s charge only lasts around twenty minutes so I usually turn it off when I’m working.
” My phone is ancient and has a cracked screen.
I haven’t had the money to buy a new one.
I pull it out of my pocket and Ellen watches me turn my phone back on.
I do it more because I remember that Sadie wanted to keep in touch since she’s leaving soon than for Ellen’s benefit.
“There’s someone here to see you.” She looks highly displeased by this. Almost cagey.
“Oh.” My first thought is that it might be one of those lawyers that “helped” me go bankrupt. They kept coming back, for months, with more papers for me to sign.
I’m about to ask her who it is but she’s already heading back down the stairs. “Now,” she hisses over her shoulder.
Bitch.
Fine. I leave the cleaning supplies where they are and follow Ellen down the stairs.
Despite Ellen’s always-atrocious mood, I can’t help but noticing what a beautiful morning it is. The sun is up, the sky is blue, and some of the tropical plants in the courtyard are blooming with garishly bright pink flowers. Everything looks so beautiful.
I must still be high from my early morning … awakening.
I can’t believe it finally happened.
I mean, I’ve tried doing that before but I could never quite figure out how to … get there.
Even though I’m traipsing after my awful boss like her obedient little lapdog, and even though I’m probably on my way to sign more papers that will pound yet one more nail in the coffin of my destitution, and even though I have nothing to look forward to except cleaning all day and serving drinks all night—and maybe, just maybe, running into the man from my dream again—I feel weirdly and unreasonably alive.
Maybe it’s because of the lingering endorphin rush, who knows.
I’m a little out of breath when I get to the lobby of the bar. I realize I’m still wearing my pink rubber gloves.
And I can barely believe my eyes when I see him standing there, looking even better than he did in my dream.
He’s wearing the hat and sunglasses again but as I get closer he takes them both off. There’s wild relief in his aqua eyes. And some darker and much … hungrier.
Damn, the man is gorgeous.
It’s Dallas.