Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Ella
“Here kitty kitty,” I coax as I kneel on the gravel concrete on the second-floor balcony.
He opens his mouth and lets out a little meow.
This damn cat has been scaring guests. Jumping out from behind the ice machine and purring up against the legs of the recliners by the pool.
Slithering up to seats at the bar, leaping and perching there on the cracked leather, trying to find respite from the heat just like everyone else in this city.
Feral little thing. Always running around and terrorizing people. I’m the only one who can tame him.
The cat’s glossy black tail curls as he comes out from under my housekeeping cart. The bustling sound of partiers on nearby rooftop bars floats through the air.
The city is absolutely on fire today. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen so many cabs rolling down the street with excited partiers in the back seat, eager to arrive at the clubs and get bottle service.
My father says that I should go out and make friends my own age. I firmly disagree with him.
This motel is my entire world. And even though we’ve had about 16.8 billion offers from big developers, my dad doesn’t want to sell it. I think letting it go would be too painful for him. It’s a reminder of the life he had with my mom.
I also know that if he ever does sell it, whoever buys it will knock it down and turn it into something else.
It’ll be pretty on the outside, but it won’t have the soul this place has.
Those new hotels and clubs look shiny and exciting, but their infrastructure sucks. Developers just want to build something that will look good on Instagram but they don’t care that the walls are paper-thin and the water pressure is just sad.
The walls over here are sturdy. They might be painted in outdated yellow and orange paint or have old-school wallpaper with palm trees and coconuts on it, but at least you can’t hear your neighbors having sex and partying all night.
Not that there’s much partying going on here. It’s mostly old people in our motel. I hope the sex part is true, though. I hope I’m still getting freaky with my future husband well into my 90s.
I coax the cat closer using one of the treats I like to keep in my apron. He slinks forward, snatches the treat, then runs down the patio and leaps onto the stares.
Do I wish I were more like him? Do I want more freedom?
Cole certainly knows about freedom. He’s built his entire world around it. He can hop into his private jet at a moment’s notice. He answers to no one but himself. He can do what he wants, when he wants, with nothing tying him down.
I wonder where he ran off to. Probably lunch with someone very important.
It was strange when I got back to the bar and no one was there. Those two weird creeps were gone. It was only when my shift was over and I left that I realized someone had flipped the sign on the door from “open” to “closed.”
Did Cole have something to do with that?
I get to his room and a thrill goes up my spine. I unlock it quietly and step inside so I can get to work.
I’m in his space. And I didn’t even have to break in. I slip the key into my pocket and let the door close behind me.
I tie my hair back and grab some fresh towels to stash in the bathroom.
The air inside here is balmy, the thick scent of spicy cologne swirling around me, all spice and deep citrus and something darker beneath.
The air clings to my bare arms, making goosebumps plump over them.
The backs of my shoulders feel cool and heavy, but everything else inside me is burning hot.
I pull aside the shower curtain and see an expensive-looking bottle of something light green and translucent.
I reach in and grab it, being careful not to drop the glass bottle into the tub.
I snap it open and take a whiff. It smells so good, like spicy orange and deep cedar.
The scent snakes its way through my brain and settles between my legs.
I walk to the dresser, where he has his laptop closed and a notebook next to it. I pick it up, itching to look inside. The cover is worn. Some of the pages are sticking out at odd angles and the paper seems old and brittle. His whole life must be contained in these pages.
I place it back down without peeking inside and flick my duster in its direction.
My phone dings. I dig into my apron and see that Cole’s posted a picture on Instagram, which somehow already has thousands of likes.
It’s amazing. Somehow, he’s captured something I’ve seen a million times, but now I feel like I’ve never really seen it before.
It’s the same sky and ocean that I am so used to, but now it somehow just looks… different.
Plus, he isn’t posting pics from one of those trendy spots, and I appreciate that. I slip my phone back into my pocket and smile. I might have a few locations to show him later.
He would be totally at home at one of those rooftop parties with influencers and DJs. He would clean up. He could get a new girl every night. Or maybe more than one.
And I know one thing: they would be nothing like me, a mousy virgin whose best friend is a disobedient street cat. And, who is his oldest and best friend’s daughter.
As I step out of the bathroom, my eyes drift to the bed.
How amazing would it be to have Cole in there while I slid the sheets off to reveal the big dick I know he’s got.
Would he let me crawl between his legs and inch my fingers up his muscular thighs until I reached it?
Thinking about it is making my pussy do jumping jacks. I have to fan myself.
The blankets haven’t been disturbed at all. I’m sure this man is too busy to ever slow down. He probably got cleaned up and then booked it out of here to resume his busy life, without sitting down for even a second.
I sit on the edge of the bed, letting my body sink into the mattress. What would it feel like to lie down here and have him press his mouth to mine? I’d part my thighs and let him settle there, heavy and thick, the shape of him grinding into me through our clothes.
I want to see his face when I reach into his jeans and finally get my hand around that him—long, hot, hard for me. I want to hear him groan into my mouth when I stroke him. I’d beg for it. I’d tell him to fuck me right here, to ruin the sheets, to ruin me.
I squeeze my thighs together. I can’t help it. I’m soaked.
I groan softly and lie back, staring up at the ceiling. I need to get out of here before I have to change the sheets again.
I’m so deep in thought, so caught up in the tension pooling in my core, that I don’t notice the footsteps marching confidently toward the room until it’s too late. The door creeks open before I have a chance to jump up from the bed and pretend I’m in here just doing my job.
My eyes fly open to see Cole standing in the doorway, his camera strap slung over his shoulder. I jump off the bed and smooth my dress down my thighs, my heart lodged in my throat.
I just want it to look like I’m cleaning any paying customer’s room.
“What are you doing here?” Cole says, taking a small step forward.
His voice is low and sharp, like a whip cracking through the humid air flowing in from behind him, conforming to his massive frame and pulling his manly scent into the room.
He closes the door behind him with a soft thud and glances around the room before letting his gaze settle on me. There’s something in his expression—worn, unreadable. Tired in a way that doesn’t look physical.
“Just doing my job,” I say, trying to recover and give myself a veneer of professionalism.
I walk to my maid cart and pluck a rag and a bottle of cleaning fluid from it, and squirt it aimlessly on the mirror.
As I rub it down, I try to pretend my reflection isn’t a total mess.
My hair is slipping from its ponytail, the weak elastic in my scrunchie telling all of my secrets.
I yank it out and let my hair fall down my back.
Cole drops his keys on the little table by the window.
I watch him through the mirror as he opens the curtains, dying inside at the way he’s able to spread them apart so easily.
His arms are so thick and big that he’s able to do it in one go.
I need to shuffle around and do a whole maneuvered dance to get those curtains open.
There’s a healthy sheen of sweat on his brow and his t-shirt is stretched to the limit. I wonder if he needs to get them custom-made.
One thing that is definitely custom-made are his full sleeves of tattoos.
They all work together in harmony. I’ve never seen them up close, but I know they’re hot as all hell.
There’s something about an older guy who has all of the markings of youth and rebellion.
It’s a reminder that Cole has already lived 15 lives’ worth of adventure.
And it seems like he’s just getting started.
And me? I’m here, living in a completely different world than he is. I could never keep up with him.
“I’m surprised to see you back here so soon,” I say, still running the rag in circles on the mirror. I swallow thickly, hoping my voice doesn’t give away the fact that I was just lying on his bed imagining obscene things.
He walks toward me, slow and deliberate, and the space between us shrinks. He’s not crowding me—he’s careful, like he’s holding something back—but his presence presses into me all the same. My skin prickles with awareness. My thighs squeeze together without my permission as I turn to face him.
All I want is for him to lean down and put his lips against mine. I am starving for it.
“It feels like there’s nothing out there for me,” he says.
“How do you mean?” I ask, pretending I’m not vibrating like a tuning fork just being near him.
He lets out a sharp breath and looks down for a moment.
“Every photo I shot today feels flat. Like I’m chasing something I can’t find.”
A ripple of heat surges through me.
“That’s a shame,” I say. “You’re very talented.”
“I’m only as talented as the subjects I photograph allow me to be.” He takes another step toward me.
“Maybe you’re looking in the wrong places,” I say.
“Where do you think I should be looking?”
My shoulder lifts.
“I might have a few places in mind.”
I am digging myself into a hole, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to climb out of it. I’m just a provincial girl in his life, and that’s always the way he’s going to see me. I am being too forward and too flirty with this man.
He studies me for a second.
“Will you show me?”
There’s a note in his voice—soft, but serious. Not playful. Not teasing. And it sends a warm pulse straight to the center of me.
I nod my head up and down, hoping it will dislodge my heart from my throat.
“When do you want to go?”
He takes a step toward me, erasing all of the distance in one step. I look up at him. The expression in his eyes makes me so wet. It’s like he wants to reach out and touch me. I know I certainly want to touch him.
“As soon as fucking possible.”
I should put an end to my misery now. I should bury myself in the sand and let the sea wash over me.
In thousands of years, archeologists are going to find my bones and identify me as a new species: Ignifera pateramiqus, which translates roughly to: girl who spontaneously combusted because her dad’s best friend was just too freaking hot.
“Are you okay with wandering off the beaten path?” I say.
His lips twitch, just barely.
“Baby, I live off the beaten path.”
My stomach flips over.
Oh dear lord, please help me.