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I moved here to live my pathetic humdrum life. Although Blake here was about to fix some of that. “What brought you to the Gold Coast?”
“I’m an artist, touring. Brisbane. Here. Sydney. Melbourne. Then back home.” His lips were candy cane pink, like they were sunburned, sore, or kissed too often.
I’d never met an artist before. “Fantastic. What type of art?”
He tugged a wayward curl behind his ear. “I paint nudes.”
The rush of blood through my body was instantaneous. A twitch at the edge of his lips convinced me that he saw my heat wave.
I cleared my throat. “Fantastic.” Perfect. That was the third time I’d said ‘fantastic’ in two minutes. I wanted to shrink behind the counter and get swept up by the cleaners.
Plain Jane was a pathetic fool.
He completed the paperwork, and I handed him the security card to room twenty-six. Blake swaggered toward the elevator, and when the doors pinged open, he disappeared inside. I flopped onto the chair and put my hands over my face.
I was a blathering idiot when it came to men. Except when I was my alter ego, Memphis. She was a complete diva in their presence.
Maybe I’m schizophrenic.
It was only ten o’clock. I had eight and a half hours of this boring shit to get through. My heart just wasn’t in it today.
Normally, I liked my job, meeting new people from all over the world. The nights were generally quiet, without too many incidents to cause me grief. But lately, I’d found myself looking more and more at the clock.
I jolted upright. This is my fault. All seven of my sexual adventures this year were performed after my shift. I was literally counting down the minutes until I could leave work and track down the next complete stranger I planned to get my rocks off with.
This midnight shift had screwed up my social life since I moved to the Gold Coast. I couldn’t afford to start disliking my job, too.
It was nearly eleven when an idea began stewing in my brain. Well, not exactly stewing—it was more like it was frying the shit out of my mind.
If I was to eradicate my shitty memories of Valentine’s Day, then I needed to do something amazing on Valentine’s Day.
Not tomorrow, after my shift.
My stomach percolated into excited little bubbles as I did the unthinkable.
I put the ‘back in five minutes’ sign on the lobby counter, grabbed my master access card, and raced to my room like a sex-deprived lunatic.
Chapter Sixteen
I didn’t have time to shower, but I applied my makeup, wig, and disguise in record time. It was like I was racing to avoid missing the last train to paradise. I had forty-eight minutes to have a sexual adventure on Valentine’s Day, and I was going to damn well make it.
I couldn’t decide if I was crazy or brilliant.
But one thing was certain. . . I was freakin’ excited.
I pulled on my trench coat, shoved my stilettos onto my feet, and scurried out the door to the elevator. Two floors up from mine, I walked to Blake’s room, swiped my master keycard over the panel . . .strode in.
And froze.
Blake stood at the window. He had a glass of red wine in one hand and his cock in the other. He wore one of the hotel’s waffle weave bathrobes, and his leopard-patterned underpants were around his ankles.
“How’d you get in here?”
Oh fuck. I meant to knock. Shit. Shit. I shouldn’t have used my access card.
As the door clicked closed behind me, I launched into my spiel. “It’s Valentine’s Day, and I’m horny, and I have no one to be with.” I paused and swallowed. Hard. “And I can leave if you want me to. But. . . it looks like you could use some company, too.”
I knew words came out of my mouth, but Blake didn’t move.
