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“Yes, we want ‘us time’ for a few days.”
“Well, if you two love birds will follow me, your romantic room awaits.” I beam as I lead them down the main hall towards the dining room, pass the kitchen and walk up a second stairwell. “You’re in room ten, I’m sure you will be comfortable.” I punch in the key code and hold the door open for them. Kristin is gushing over the accommodations. She loves the private terrace. “The packet on the desk gives you all the information about breakfast and evening appetizers. Let me know if you need anything.” I smile as I let myself out of the room. I think I’ll make sure to put my other parties away from the couple. I laugh at my dirty thoughts.
I’m writing down another reservation when I hear the door chime. “Give me one minute.” I never look up. His cologne tickles my nose … oh my god what is that scent? It is delicious … carnal.
I put my pen down and glance up at my next guest. His broad back is turned to me; his hair is dark, medium length. Damn he’s tall. I feel odd gawking. He’s looking around at the inn.
I clear my throat. “Hi, welcome to Amelia’s.” He turns around at the sound of my voice. My breath hitches in my throat. I can’t speak. I’m sure I look like a foolish schoolgirl gawking at him. He is positively the most incredibly handsome man I’ve ever seen.
He looks at me like I have two heads;shit do have something in my teeth?Why can’t I find my words? After all, this is my establishment and I’m a damn professional. Oh and yes married for god’s sake. I break our eye contact—he’s kind of freaking me out. I look down. “You must be …”
“Quinton Starks.” He holds out his hand to shake mine. His voice is deep and alluring. I certainly don’t make him forget his words, but why would I? I am just average. His eyes pull at mine like magnets. I cannot help but look into his eyes. I smile as I slip my hand into his. I feel an electrical charge: like a zap or something. I try to pull my hand back, but he doesn’t let go. His eyes are locked on mine. He gasps. “It’s you … your eyes!” His grip tightens. At this point I’m trying to free my hand, but he doesn’t let go.
“I’m sorry …” I jerk my hand free from his. “I am who?” I’m totally baffled by him. He can’t be a psycho—Gerry works for him.
He shakes his head, almost like he was in some weird trance. “I am sorry … what?”Now he’s talking weird.
I laugh brushing off the weird encounter. “I must remind you of someone.” He smirks as he mumbles something. “Okay so your assistant Gerry already paid for your reservation in full. Would like me to show you to your room?”
“Absolutely,” he breathes, all seductive sounding.
“Right this way, Mr. Starks,” I purr his name. My hips sway as I pass in front of him. My body is freaking me out now. I don’t sway, this is uncontrollable. I walk to the first set of stairs. He walks behind me. I feel like he’s checking my ass out. Obliviously I’m creating a fake illusion in my head because I’m undeniably attracted to him. If I was Catholic, I would have to say a lifetime’s worth of Hail Marys.
I take him to the second room at the top of the stairs. “You’re in room four,” I tell him. I punch in his key code. “All the rooms have private key codes, for security.” I look at him as I enter his room. This is the most masculine room I have in the entire inn. The walls are painted in Benjamin Moore Hush complimented by a stark white trim; the wood floors are stained in espresso. They’re beautiful but a total pain to keep clean. The soapstone mantel is original to the house. The oversize, dark platform style king bed dominates the room. There is also a desk and a small sitting area with a very comfortable loveseat. I watch him walk in, looking around. I can’t tell if he likes it or thinks he’s in a doll house. “It’s a king size bed; your ensuite has both a jetted tub and walk in shower, depending on your preference …” I let my voice trial off. “Breakfast is served in the dining room between eight and ten; evening hors d’oeuvres are served between six and eight.” He doesn’t say anything, just walks around looking and touching the furnishings. He’s actually making me nervous that the room isn’t up to par.
“Fresh linens are provided daily.” This is where I typically offer to show him the grounds. I hesitate. Maybe he can sense it.
“What’s your name?” he asks me as I watch him take his luggage and lay it across the bed.
“Oh! Sorry, Amelia.”
“Amelia from Amelia.” He smiles. God his teeth are perfect. He knows he’s sexy. You can tell it in the way he saunters around the room; the way he’s smiling at me.
“Would you like a tour?” He rakes his fingers through his hair. I watch him take his blazer off and gently lay it across the bed. My mouth goes dry, his tailored shirt fits beautifully against his body. I laugh on the inside, we’re both in navy. Navy likes him too.
“Sure.” He turns smiling at me, probably catching me eyeing him like he’s a piece of juicy candy.
“Okay.” I quickly turn. “There are three more guest rooms on this floor.” I point toward the elevator. “There is an elevator, it’s original to the house so bear that in mind with its small size.” I turn to go down the stairs.
“Where do these stairs go?” he asks, pointing to another set heading to the third floor.
“Oh, that’s my private quarters.” I grin as I continue down the stairs.
“So you live here on-site then?” he questions as he follows me.
“Yes, every room has a call button. So I’m literally a call away if you need anything.” I point into the living room. “I’m sure I don’t need to give you a description of this room; every place is a common area except private rooms and the third floor.” He nods as we walk, looking at the house.
“How long have you owned the establishment?”
“Oh … going on four years or so. This is the dining room, and the kitchen is there.” I hear my buzzer as we approach. “Excuse me, I need to get the tartlets.” I walk in and grab my oven mitten. The cranberry brie tartlets smell divine. I place them on the counter to cool.
“You do all the cooking yourself?” He smiles as he walks in, looking at the modern kitchen. “I like this space.” He runs his fingers across the white granite.
“I do.” I smile as I pull another tray out of another oven.
“They smell delicious. Savory.” He walks behind me, looking over my shoulder. I look at him suspiciously because he’s just too comfortable.
“Cranberry brie tarts,” I breathe. I sound breathy and he smells amazing. Even over the aromas in the kitchen, I can smell him. “I like the modern kitchen too.” I remember his comment. “I know it doesn’t fit the historical aspect of the house, but I like clean, white modern lines.” I scoot between him and the counter. He’s not blind to his closeness; we move as if we have been doing this dance for years.
