Chapter Eleven
Max
Warmth envelops me, keeping my muscles loose and happy.
A truly worthy compensation for yesterday’s pain and suffering.
I smile and burrow deeper into the pleasant heat, raising my leg to wrap around it so it doesn’t dissipate too fast. Besides, this position eases the pressure in my lower back.
Wearing high heels all day makes my lumbar ache at times.
Dadum-dadum-dadum. White noise, mmm. Rhythmic and soothing. The pillow I’m wrapped around smells nice, if a bit too hard and—
I inhale sharply as my reveries come to a screeching halt. What the hell? My eyes fly open, my fingers flexing. I blink in the dark. My ear’s pressed over a chest, my hand resting a few inches away. And my leg is thrown over narrow male hips, and his hand rests on my shoulder, keeping it warm.
Panic wells. I press my lips together to contain a shriek.
What happened to the pillow border fortress?
I don’t feel anything that resembles pillows between me and Rhys. If I slide away now, will that wake him up? And then what? Embarrassment heats my face.
But…no need to jump to conclusions. It’s possible he moved to the center and put me on top of him because he didn’t want me falling off and accusing him of violating my territory.
Or maybe you just flopped over on top of him!
A silent scream swells. I press my lips tight. I’d never! I’m not that kind of—
But you do like to cuddle, my inner voice says, uncaring of my internal turmoil.
I scrunch my face. I’d better extricate myself before Rhys wakes up and…notices…our tangled limbs.
Praying it’s him who committed the incursion, I carefully bend my knee and lift my thigh.
My big toe grazes the edge of the bed, and hope withers faster than a hothouse orchid left out in winter.
A hand over my mouth, I listen to Rhys’s breathing.
It’s steady, and he isn’t moving at all—definitely dead to the world.
I pretend to adjust my position, slowly sliding backward. My thigh shakes with the effort to be careful, then grazes something hard and hot. Is that—?
No, don’t think about his thingy!
My face burns as I finally get clear and roll away from him in slow motion. I carefully drop my legs over my edge of the bed, then stand and turn around to see if he’s awake. Nope. Not moving. I exhale slowly. I’m safe.
I take a step back. My toes brush against cool pillows. There they are. It was definitely me.
I start to smack my forehead, then stop, lest the noise wake him up. Carefully I gather all the pillows using the dim night light and place them back on the bed. My phone screen says it’s five. Early, but not that early. I’ll take the bathroom first and shower. Rhys will never know.
“You can squeeze in half an hour more of snoozing.”
I jump at the raspy voice and place a hand over my racing heart. “Crap.”
“Why are you sneaking around?”
“I wasn’t!” I hiss like a cat whose tail got stepped on. “I was getting up.”
“Sneakily. And why are you throwing pillows on the bed?”
“Is that what woke you up?” Now I regret trying to restore the border. I should’ve just showered, then played dumb if he asked me about them.
“No. I woke up when you started to knead my chest.” His voice holds a hint of smirk and something else that makes me want to shove my hands into my hair and scream in shame and self-directed frustration.
Reining in the impulse, I settle for a dignified denial. “I did no such thing.”
“Taking advantage after a successful invasion.”
I choke. “I didn’t invade.”
“Ripped out the pillow wall between us and practically jumped on top of me, while I was unaware, innocently sleeping.” He’s entirely too droll.
“You should’ve said something,” I say between clenched teeth.
“I would’ve if you’d given me a chance.”
“What are you saying?” Did I kiss him in my sleep or something?
“You don’t remember?”
I shake my head, then realize he can’t really see me in the dark. “No.”
He makes a thoughtful noise, and I have no idea what’s going on in his head. “Huh. Hard to believe, given how you rubbed your leg all over my morning wood—”
“Don’t say that, you pervert!”
“Me? A pervert? Max, you were the rubber I was the rubbee. My reaction was simple biology. I was asleep, not dead.”
“You—you—” I can’t think of anything clever to say.
Why am I trying to engage when I haven’t had coffee? Clearly, the best course of action is a strategic retreat.
I spin around and go to the bathroom with my toiletries and a change of clothes. Just how long has he really been awake? Why didn’t he say something earlier? Even if I tried to kiss him, he could’ve avoided that by turning his head! His neck isn’t broken. And he’s much bigger and stronger.
I brush my teeth with vicious vigor, like it’s all my teeth’s fault that I might’ve kissed Rhys. Yes, he’s hot as hell, but he’s my boss and I have a boyfriend. What wouldn’t I give to remember what happened last night!
Frustrated and irritated with myself, I make the water extra hot for my shower, as though that will help wash away my shame.
I’m not the superstitious type, but the series of unfortunate mishaps makes me wonder if Tokyo and I have some kind of cursed relationship.
Maybe I should check if Mercury’s in retrograde or something. Jeffrey swears by that stuff.
I put on today’s outfit—a green dress that brings out my eyes.
The conservative cut reveals very little skin, for which I’m thankful.
I carefully dab concealer over my freckles until they all vanish, then apply some mascara and lip gloss to finish my makeup.
I fast-dry my hair and twist it into a sleek updo.
There. Now I’m back in my uber-career-woman armor.
“Whatever happened before a shower doesn’t count. A shower is a total reset.” I nod decisively at my reflection in the mirror.
Much more confident and calmer, I walk out. The lights are on. Rhys is sitting up in bed, checking his phone. Probably got a billion messages again. Although most people don’t know his personal number, it always gets so many texts that I wonder if he has to buy a unit with extra storage space.
“All yours,” I say, gesturing at the bathroom with a flourish.
“I ordered room service breakfast for us. Should be here in the next twenty minutes or so.” He starts to get off the bed.
Of course. He doesn’t do buffets. But that doesn’t mean I have to eat with him after…whatever…happened, right?
Even if the whatever was before the shower? Why worry about it when you made a rule?
That’s different, I argue with myself. “You shouldn’t have. I’m eating down at the buffet. I’ve always wanted to see what Japanese hotels serve for breakfast.”
His mouth quirks into a sly, knowing grin. My heart flutters. The way his lips curve is sinful because I can easily picture them descending on my mouth. Or me doing it to him, like he implied.
My lips tingle, and I press them together to expel the sensation. Stop associating Rhys with kissing!
“I’ll meet you in the lobby when you’re ready.” I grab my purse and laptop bag and rush out before he can stop me.
Since I can’t function without food in my belly in the morning, I head to the restaurant the receptionist mentioned during the check-in.
The entrance has a bronze metal plate on a maroon marble wall etched with MURAKAMI in block caps.
The interior is roomy, with a high ceiling and plenty of tables and seats.
One wall is made entirely of glass and faces a garden.
On the other side is the busy morning city traffic.
Although it’s early, buses, cars and taxis already crowd the streets, along with clusters of commuters, some on foot, some on bikes.
I give my name and room number to a hostess in a black suit. She taps her tablet, then leads me to a small table by the garden-side window.
“Where can I get some coffee? Just black with some sweetener should be fine.” I need to be caffeinated to figure out a way to overcome the Predawn Embarrassment and lay out the day’s agenda for Rhys when he meets me in the lobby.
It’s awful of me, but I almost wish somebody would have a major emergency that made them cancel their reservation so I could have a room of my own.
“I can have it brought to you.” She smiles, then returns to her station, tapping away on her tablet.
I head over to an enormous spread. It has everything: freshly baked bread, pastries, fresh and dried fruit, three egg stations and two rice stations.
I stare as a cooking lady places a piece of grilled salmon inside a fist-sized clump of rice and molds it into a triangle.
She then wraps it with a black sheet of seaweed. Looks interesting.
I must be staring like a starved dog, because she places it on a plate and hands it to me with a smile.
“Sumimasen.” I manage to remember the word that Yuka said was the most important for a foreigner in Japan.
The lady smiles and says something that sounds like “Don’t touch my mustache.
” I grab a bowl of miso soup from the next station and return to my table.
A mug of steaming coffee is waiting for me.
I stir in Splenda and sip, then bite into the rice…
triangle thing. It’s much more savory and substantial than I expected.
Should be good enough for breakfast. I check my phone for any critical messages, but there’s nothing.
No urgent emails either, except for a couple from Finn about Ohimesama.
Again, why couldn’t he have come here and shared his suite with June?
Then I wouldn’t have woken up wrapped around Rhys like this seaweed around my rice.
Thinking about it still makes my cheeks heat.