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My heart fluttered as I turned and strolled to the door. I tugged the door open, and just before I stepped through, I glanced at him over my shoulder. “I’ll be waiting, Billy.”
As I tugged his shirt around my body and walked to the elevator, I inhaled his heavenly, manly scent. The pleasure of his simple act of giving me his shirt made me feel special. Wanted.
I held my breath as I waited for the elevator to open. If anybody was in there, I would shatter into a thousand quivering pieces. It pinged, the doors slid open, and I let out the breath I’d been holding when it proved to be empty.
Back in my room, I undressed and showered, allowing the hot needles to massage my weary body. I felt good. No, better than that. Way better.
Every inch of my body reminded me of how lovely it was to have Billy’s mouth on me and his hands caressing me.
I felt amazing.
I sat on my bed, opened my diary, and turned to the 1st of March.
I wrote Billy Johnson’s name and room 41 at the top of 1st of March, and as I recalled him helping me with my groceries this morning, I wrote My Hunky Hero.
I described what we did in his room and how incredible his tongue felt both on me and in me.
Today, I learned that the act of restraint had as much intensity and pleasure as the opposite.
I put the diary away, and with Billy’s crumpled shirt on the second pillow, I curled onto my side, inhaled his sexy scent, and drifted into blissful sleep.
It had been eleven days since my last raunchy adventure with Cowboy Billy, and I hadn’t realized how ready I was for another man. My challenge from Lolita was to have a sexual encounter with one man each week of this year.
Between us, we’d decided that a week was measured from a Sunday to a Saturday, and rather than a strict seven-day period, I could find one man on the Sunday of one week and the next man on the following Saturday and still be within the boundaries of her crazy challenge. Thirteen days was the longest I could go between each man.
Now that I was at eleven days, I felt the ridiculous pressure of needing to find a suitor.
It wasn’t until late on Friday evening when a young man walked into the lobby of the Hot Horizon Hotel with a confident swagger that screamed young and dangerous, that things perked up.
He was young. Very young. But I wasn’t so sure about the dangerous part. He seemed more cute and innocent to me. With sandy blond hair, an elegant nose, and a thick blond goatee that emphasized dark pink cupid lips, his cheeky smile and confident demeanor made me wonder if he was a surfer.
“How can I help you?” I flicked my annoying bangs from my eyes.
He wriggled his eyebrows as if I’d implied something completely scandalous. “I’m Jay Ward. I have a room booked for tonight.”
“Okay, let me see.” I fished through the index cards for his booking details.
He leaned over the counter and looked down. Maybe he was trying to see what I was doing or look down my top, either way, it was a bit cheeky.
“Is the bar still open?” he asked.
I checked the clock behind me. “Yes, it is. It’s open until one-thirty.”
“What time do you get off shift?” He cocked his chin toward me.
The way he said it, cute yet forthright, made me wonder if he was flirting with me. But I quickly dismissed the question as idle chitchat.
Besides, I was way too old for him. “I’ve only just started,” I said. “Seven more hours to go.”
“Pity. You could’ve joined me.” He wriggled his eyebrows again.
I blinked. He is flirting with me. . . with the Jane me.
Remembering my plan to find out what the men did, I asked, “What’s brought you to the Gold Coast?”
His face changed slightly, and I thought I noted embarrassment in his reluctance to respond. “I’m here for the Gold Coast Literature Festival.”
“Oh.” I couldn’t hide my surprise; he didn’t strike me as an academic.
