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A doorman opens the limo for me and welcomes me to the Condor Hotel. The single word that’s synonymous with luxury accommodation around the world as well as in every city stateside.
There’s a strong smell of paint and new carpet inside the gleaming towers of the huge building.
A strange scene is superimposed over it too. Every person who’s at work looks like they’re rushing but taking their time to appear relaxed doing it.
It looks like they’re getting ready for an extra special guest, too, apart from working around an almost finished multi-billion dollar building.
I know I’m not the special guest, and even though I’m a complete fraud, I feel my patience tested when I’m left waiting in the dauntingly huge reception area.
Bright lights explode off the thick brass railings and fittings.
The marble tiled floors join seamlessly to thick, red carpeting that flows like a wound from the trademark Condor double-wooden staircases.
I’ve never been inside a Condor Hotel, and I never had to be either.
The TV and magazine ads leave nothing to the imagination, and I have to admit that seeing the building in person is breathtaking.
The smell, though? I’m not a fan of fresh paint or new carpet aroma.
Open a window already…
After a lengthy wait, there are more apologies, but I can see and feel myself acting like a normal person as I’m shown up to the top floor to my suite.
It feels almost like I’m floating outside of my body, watching somebody else pretending to be me pretending to be someone else. I don’t say a word because inside, I’m still shaking.
Still screaming at myself in my mind. Chloe? What are you doing?
By the time the bellhop leaves, huffing once it’s clear I’m in no position to tip him, I re-think my initial impressions of the Condor Hotel.
The view of the city out to the ocean is breathtaking.
That new carpet smell isn’t in the suite, mostly marble floors and rugs.
But it’s the sheer luxury, the tasteful style, and elegance that has me already craving more as I start to explore my new surroundings.
I don’t get any further than the coffee table, though, and I see another copy of the same promotional magazine I already missed from the plane gleaming up at me.
I should close the door, but the bellhop assured me of my privacy, and there’s only one thing I really wanna see right now.
In seconds I’ve flipped my way to him, those eyes, that smile.
I feel more than a shiver inside as my breath shudders in time with a more pressing need.
I watch my hands trembling as my body aches in a way that only touch can heal.
And maybe the strong jets of a brand new never used hotel suite shower head…
Okay, so the main bathroom is worth checking out after all…Almost giving my dreamboat magazine man a run for his money.
Almost.
Probably the spoiling I’ve had already today, along with getting so worked up seeing his photo all over again. But suddenly, the idea of a cool shower on a hot day floods my mind.
So much so that before I know it, I’m naked under the streaming jets of water, and yes, it’s a thousand times better than I thought it could be.
Cooling, then a little warmer until I find just the right temperature.
Along with just the right angle of this handheld water jet –.
Damn!
I totally forgot the suite door is wide open. If someone walked in and saw me like this?
I better close it.
I try to keep the heat between my legs alive long enough to work something out when I get back to the shower.
But sometimes, life has a way of just tossing you right into the deep end.
I’ve barely shut off the faucet and wrapped myself in a robe when I hear a deep male voice calling out.
“Helloo! Anybody home!?”
It all happens so fast, I think I must be hallucinating, or worse.
Worse meaning that Xander Alexander could actually be in my hotel suite.
And yeah, it’s worse, alright.
It’s him, and although he’s much taller than I imagined, he’s also about two thousand degrees hotter, making the slick valley between my legs a freakin’ flood plain.
All this from just looking at the man.
He starts to introduce himself, even taking my hand in his and pressing it to his lips.
Shifting my already inappropriate arousal into overdrive.
Wow, do real men even do that anymore?
There’s no need for him to introduce himself, though. I know who he is.
And apart from forgetting exactly who it is I am anymore, there’s something in his piercing, intense gaze that tells me that he knows more about me than even I do.
And none of it has to do with names or places.
Unless that place he’s thinking about is in the master bedroom just a few yards away.
CHAPTER FOUR
Xander
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” I remark once we move a safer distance apart, letting my eyes shift down to her chest again, “…but the door was open.”
