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“Is there a gym in the hotel?” he asked the porter.
“Yes, sir. First floor, to the left of the reception, take the hallway and you’ll find a state-of-the-art facility.”
Paul appeared, his dress shirt off and white t-shirt pulled from his dress pants. “We’ll be getting room service and catching up on emails and watching new episodes of ‘Queer Eye,’ if anyone’s interested in joining in.”
Jonathan shook his head. “That’s what Paul’ll be doing. I’m going to get some sleep.”
Meg yawned. “Me, too.”
It was only late afternoon, and as concerned as Liam was for his brother, there was nothing he could do until the phone lines and weather improved. His nerves would keep him awake.
“And here is the second two queen beds room. The suite is across the hall, Señor.”
The porter handed off keys and excused himself.
Meg made her way into the room, kicking off her shoes as she walked. “’Night, Liam.”
“’Night, Meg.” Liam adjusted his bag from one arm to the other. “I hope you have a nice evening, Captain.” He wanted to call her “Callie” but needed her to be safe with the familiarity, again. She’d been through enough today, and he didn’t want to push her. But amid his courteous theories, he realized they both needed to eat. He considered inquiring if she’d like to join him for dinner, but he only stared at the woman who had literally flown into his world and now he wondered if she needed to escape her life for a little while, too.
She straightened her back under his gaze. “Good evening, Mr. Young. If there’s anything we can do to assist your stay here?—”
Liam stepped close to her. “You can’t turn it off, can you?”
Callie’s head pulled back. “Turn off what?”
“The whole professional thing.”
“This layover isn’t for pleasure, Mr. Young.” Her gaze held to his with intensity, but her body fidgeted like it desired something she couldn’t say.
“Pleasure doesn’t have to be a bad thing. It’s a tropical destination. Maybe it’s time to let go of that professional veneer and find out how blameless pleasure really can be.” He stepped back. “Just something to think about. Good night and sweet dreams.” He made sure to soften his voice as he offered, “And my name’s Liam. I won’t answer to anything else from now on, Callie.”
Her open mouth and lax eyes told him he’d been right.
And it’s my pleasure to be at her pleasure when she’s ready.
7
Callie
Callie flipped with her back to Meg and yanked the pillow over her head. Her friend snored like a freight train attached to a dump truck being passed overhead by a cargo plane. But it probably wasn’t the snoring that was really keeping her awake.
Mr. Young. Liam Thomas Young. Liam. She almost couldn’t think his name without detonating every nerve he’d ignited with his little speech sending her off to bed. Like he didn’t know the effect he’d have on her. Maybe he was more player than she’d assumed. She’d just have to make better effort to maintain her composure, no matter how much she wanted to see how firm those muscles of his chest were and how that package in his pants might be the greatest gift she’d ever wished for. And…
“Ugh. Just stop!”
Meg raised her head and grumbled in her sleep from her bed. “You stop,” she said, but regained her snoring passion as soon as her head crashed back to the pillow.
Sitting up, Callie dropped her pillow to her lap and smirked at her friend. There was no tequila tonight for either of them. Meg crashed from all-natural exhaustion. They’d been working fifteen-hour days for six months now. There was no use lying here and staying awake. The clock blinked at her—12:38 AM. Not exactly late or early.
The tile floor cooled the bottoms of her feet while the rain continued to pelt the patio window with sheets of water, creating a trickling melody. She checked her phone’s weather app, but the signal hadn’t come back. The room phones were for the resort only. There might be a phone in the lobby to use for calling out, but she didn’t have anyone to call.
Callie pressed her forehead against the cold glass. “It’s not fair. In a tropical location and can’t even enjoy it.” Legitimately, it was not that she couldn’t, but she didn’t know if she should.
She slipped on the flip-flops that came with the clothes Meg purchased for them. Meg was only into comfortable and casual— but often, dangerously high-heeled shoes—but fortunately, the majority of clothes were soft terrycloth shorts and t-shirts. Callie searched the bag and found a zip-up hoodie in her size. The shorts weren’t exactly the size she would’ve chosen. She’d had gyno exams less invasive. But she reluctantly admitted they made her feel like she was in high school again and topped the charts in comfort. And the hoodie brushed against her skin with perfection, warm and fuzzy inside. She shuffled to the door.
In a short walk, a beautiful sitting area off the lobby invited her in. She plopped down onto a teak chair. The only sound was the receptionist typing into the computer. Click-clack, click-clack echoed the tile and metal room.
Being alone often comforted Callie like the protection of her new hoodie but not right now. In a strange place, trapped in a hotel with a battering storm outside with only her thoughts to keep her company. Reflections rambled and anxiety swelled, especially with the relentless banging of pieces of tree or furniture—or who knows what—as they crashed against the building. Her heart jumped in her chest, causing her body to do the same. She needed a distraction.
