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h wine and sneak under the covers with me.
If he did, and if he got his hands on me, I don't know if I could resist him.
So, instead of my usual routine, I go the bathroom and brush my teeth, and then I take a pillow over to the sofa, grab an extra blanket from the closet, and fall asleep to the sounds of Jon's intermittent snores and the talking heads on CNN.
"Oh, damn," I hear Jon say when he wakes in the morning. I crack an eyelid and see that he's sitting up at the side of the bed, rubbing his eyes. He glances in my direction and our eyes meet. "Sorry. What a jerk."
"My thoughts exactly," I say, but can't stop a smile.
"It's not funny," he says, rubbing the heel of his palms against his temples. "I have a raging headache."
"Serves you right. Harry Nilsson? At 12:38 a.m.?"
He shakes his head. "I seem to recall singing a verse or two. I thought you loved the seventies."
"I loved Harry Nilsson's version. Yours left little to be desired." I sit up and stretch. The clock radio beside the bed reads six forty-three. We have a meeting in two hours and fifteen minutes at the Pentagon.
"I better go back to my room and shower." He stands up and gives me a smile. "Sorry about last night."
"It's okay. It'll be one of those stories I get to tell the rest of my life whenever I want to embarrass you."
He points to the door. "My room’s just down the hallway. Can you bring me some fresh coffee, black, in about fifteen minutes?"
I nod. "I have to have a shower first, but I'll get us some coffee from the café downstairs. You should take some aspirin and drink some water."
He nods and walks to the door. "See you in fifteen."
I get up after he's left, smiling at the memory of him singing, and have a quick shower. I brush my teeth and get dressed for the meeting, choosing a silk blouse and pencil skirt. Then, I take my laptop and bag and go down to the cafeteria and get us some coffee, two bottles of orange juice, plus a couple of Danishes. That will have to do for our breakfast.
I take the elevator back up, wondering how Jon will be when I arrive. Contrite? Apologetic?
I go to his room and find that the door is held open by the deadbolt.
"Jon?" I say as I open the door and enter the hotel room. "I've got coffee and Danishes."
The room is empty, but the door to the bathroom is closed and I can hear water running.
He's still in the bathroom.
I start to say, "I'll just leave the coffee and come back later," but the door opens and there's Jon, half naked with just a wisp of a towel around his waist, tucked in low on his hips so that I can see his amazing washboard abs over a very ample bulge. His chest is magnificent – broad, his pecs well-developed, his biceps bulging, an amazing tribal tattoo on his arm and chest.
God, he's gorgeous. A surge of desire flows through my body at the sight of him, standing in the bathroom doorway, his hair wet and falling into his eyes in that sexy way…
"Stay," he says. "I won't be long."
I go into the room and put the food and coffee cups down on the desk. While he finishes whatever he's doing in the bathroom, I sit on the bed and turn up the volume on the television. It's tuned to CNBC and two talking heads are discussing the stock market's latest heights. A stock ticker runs along the bottom of the screen.
Jon comes out of the bathroom and opens the closet door, removing his suit and shirt from hangers. Then, he proceeds to slip on his shirt.
"Are you going to get dressed in front of me?"
He fastens his cuffs. "Nothing's stopping you from looking away if you want."
I glance away, staring out the window, through the curtains at the city beyond. I clench my fists, angered that he's being so damn provocative.
"Are you trying to turn me on by getting dressed in front of me?"
"Is it working?"
