Fall into Him
Authors: Evelyn Harper
Fall
into Him
Evelyn
Harper
Copyright © 2013
All
rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or
transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or
other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of
the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical
reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Copyright © 2013
All characters appearing in this
work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely
coincidental.
Warning: This work contains
scenes of graphic sexual nature and it is written for adults only(18+). All
characters depicted in this story are over 18 years of age.
Table of Contents
The most interesting people usually checked in to The Preminenza
between six and eight o'clock or between ten and eleven. Twenty-seven year-old
Jennifer Brooks even had names for them: the Early Birds and the Nightingales.
The Early Birds were the regulars, men in their late fifties to early
sixties who had the same woman every time and checked in under monikers such as
Mr. and Mrs. Jones or the Smiths, but generally paid with their own credit
cards. These were the men whose wives knew about their mistresses but didn't
care, so long as the affairs were discreet. They tipped well and joked with the
staff, even did some friendly flirting.
Take Frederick Parker III. In the two years since Jennifer had taken
this job, he'd brought the same woman to room 418 every Thursday night. Based
on the staff gossip, the woman's name was Claire and she'd been Parker's
mistress for twelve years. When Jennifer had asked why he didn't just divorce
his wife and marry Claire, the head housekeeper had just chuckled and told
Jennifer that she just didn't get it. A man like Parker would never be able to
marry someone like Claire. Curiosity piqued, Jennifer had been trying to figure
out why ever since. The best she could figure was that Claire's profession was
less than desirable. Judging by the woman's build and graceful way of walking,
even in six inch stilettos, Jennifer was willing to bet Parker had met Claire
in a strip-club.
Then there was Ronald Lewis who'd married for money. He showed up twice
a week with his long-time mistress Leah, a woman at least ten years his senior.
He and his wife had been married for thirty-five years and stayed together even
after she'd finally come out a year ago. On occasion, he and Leah had even been
seen out with Miranda Lewis and her twenty-something girlfriend Jessica. Still,
he came to The Preminenza as if nothing had changed. He said that he and his
wife liked the routine.
That's when Jennifer had decided that rich people were strange.
Then there were the Nightingales. These were the men who always paid
cash and rarely showed up with the same woman, or man, twice. The Nightingales’
dates carried themselves differently than the Early Birds' mistresses. These
weren't women of the world – women cultured and refined at finishing schools or
taught the ways of money by an older man. These also weren't the high school
dropouts who prowled downtown in micro minis looking for their next score.
These were the high-priced escorts of the wealthy, with at least a high school
education, perhaps even some college.
Once, Jennifer had recognized a woman from her college writing class that she
had taken eight years ago. The woman hadn't recognized Jennifer, but that
wasn't surprising. When she was in college, Jennifer had dyed her naturally
nutmeg brown hair a honey color and wore glasses. Now, her hair was back to
brown and she wore clear contacts in her hazel eyes. She'd also lost about
thirty extra pounds. She doubted anyone from that time would recognize her now.
Well, except maybe Brad.
Jennifer shivered. She didn't want to think about Brad.
“Room 213, Mr. Smith,” she gave the couple a plastic smile and tried to
pretend that she hadn't recognized the CEO of one of the biggest companies in
the city. He and his wife had just publicly celebrated their twentieth
anniversary. His 'friend' had probably still been in diapers when he and his
wife tied the knot.
As she watched them go, not for the first time, she wondered what
prompted these women to choose this life. The mistresses made some sense in
that they were with men that they loved, even if the men weren't willing to
leave their wives. She understood falling for the wrong man better than most.
The escorts gave her pause, though. These weren't runaways with no job
prospects.
All right, so the job market wasn't at its greatest. Jennifer
understood that. She'd had six different jobs between graduating from college
before finally coming to The Preminenza. Even the worst of them – tending bar
her last year of college at a dingy little dive called The Golden Hammock –
hadn't been enough to make her consider prostitution.
“And there's your key, Mr. Jones,” Jennifer bit back a sigh. She really
wondered who they thought they were fooling. The sheer volumes of Smiths and
Joneses on the books were laughable.
“Thank you, Jennifer,” the elderly gentleman winked at her as he slid
his arm around his “date's” waist. The woman rolled her eyes so that only
Jennifer could see and allowed the man to lead her to the elevators.
Jennifer watched the last of her guests make their way to the elevators
and glanced at the clock. Eleven fifteen. Things would be quiet now. She might
have another person come in before the end of her shift at midnight, but it was
doubtful. She glanced towards the lobby doors and waited.
After a quarter of an hour, she decided that it was safe to step away
from the front desk. She didn't do it often, but whenever she had the chance,
she liked to take advantage of the grand piano that sat just a few feet away in
the lobby. She sat down on the bench and let her fingers rest on the keys. She
closed her eyes, savoring the moment. It had been too long since she'd had the
chance to play. The last few days, she'd had enough paperwork to keep her busy
until midnight so she'd hadn't had the opportunity.
She took a deep breath and slowly let it out. She pressed her fingers
down and let the music flow through her hands. Chopin. She'd seen one of her
favorite actors playing the piece on screen and instantly fell in love with it.
She'd gotten over her childhood crush, but still loved the music. Every time
she played it, her affection for it grew.
The music enveloped her, moving her beyond the lobby, away from the
chaos of her life, away from Brad and their hideous disaster of a relationship,
away from this job where she'd never get a promotion. When she was playing, she
could be anyone, anywhere. A whole new person with a better life and without
any baggage. She let the music take her away, enjoyed the freedom that came
with it. Her piano teacher had said that she had a heart and soul for music.
All she knew was that the only time she felt like she understood her life, why
she was there and what it all meant, was when she was playing. She didn't have
to worry that she wasn't good enough or pretty enough or what anyone else
thought about her. It was just her and the music.
The last crisp note faded away and Jennifer gave a contented sigh. Her
anxieties had drifted away with the final notes. She breathed a little easier.
Maybe tonight she could sleep.
Suddenly, a sound cut through the new silence. Jennifer jumped,
startled. She turned, heart stopping at the sight of an impeccably dressed and
clean-cut man clapping. He leaned back in one of the hotel’s plush chairs. He
had thick dirty blond hair and one of those faces that made guessing his age
virtually impossible. His green eyes were intelligent, his gaze admiring.
“That was quite lovely.” His voice was smooth, with just the right hint
of warmth to be attractive without the feeling of an ulterior motive.
“Thank you,” Jennifer got to her feet, nearly stumbling. The man's
sudden appearance had thrown her.
“While I appreciate the show, I would like to check in, if it's not too
much trouble.” He flashed her a charming smile.
“I'm so sorry,” she apologized as she hurried back to the desk.
The man waved his hand. “Not a problem. Like I said, I enjoyed the show.” He
stood, straightened his jacket and then sauntered towards her with the
confidence of a man who was used to being watched.
“Even so, sir, I apologize for not being at the desk.” Jennifer was
vaguely aware that she sounded like a simpering idiot, but she was unable to
stop herself. If this man complained to her boss, she was screwed. What was a
little ass-kissing when her job was at stake?
“How long have you been playing?” He stuck his hands in his pockets,
the beautifully tailored suit drawing attention to the defined lines of his
lean body.
“Um, since I was sixteen.” Jennifer knew she sounded distracted, but it
couldn't be helped. The computer didn't seem to want to pull up the screen she
needed.
“So just a few years, then?” He teased.
“Flattering,” Jennifer automatically smiled. “But more like eleven.”
The screen she needed finally opened up. “Name, Sir?”
“Um, Philip Haas,” he leaned over the top of the desk, close enough
that Jennifer could smell the spicy cologne or soap he used. It was heady,
mixing well with his body chemistry. He gave her a quizzical look, as if
surprised she had to ask.
The name was familiar, and Jennifer had a feeling that she should
recognize it, but she pushed the thought aside. She had to get Philip processed
as quickly as possible. She swore silently as the screen revealed that the man
standing in front of her was listed as a high-ranking visitor.
“Welcome back, Mr. Haas,” she immediately gave him her most charming
smile.
“Philip, please,” he straightened again. “I don't believe I've ever
seen you before. How long have you worked here?”
“Two years,” Jennifer answered as she put in his information into the
computer to get the room key in order.
“And how do you like it so far?”
Jennifer's gaze flicked up to Philip's face. There was no way he wanted her
honest opinion. She gave the expected answer. “I enjoy it.” A quick glance told
her that he was waiting for more. “I like meeting new people and there's always
interesting things going on.”
“So,” Philip cocked his head, eyes narrowing, “is that why, after two
years, you're still working second shift on the front desk? Don't you want to
work your way up?”
Jennifer felt her smile tighten. She wasn't entirely sure how to
respond, so she did the only thing that made sense – lie. “Right now, I'm just
enjoying where I'm at. If something comes up in the future, I may look into it,
but I'm not in a rush.”
The slight twitch to the corner of Philip's mouth told Jennifer that he
didn't entirely buy her explanation, but he didn't press the issue. “You said
before that interesting things are always going on here.” He looked around at
the empty lobby. “Looks pretty dead to me.”
“You missed the Nightingales,” the word blurted past her lips before
she could stop it. Heat flooded her face.
“The Nightingales?” Philip sounded intrigued.
“Oh, uh,” Jennifer stammered, “It's, uh, it’s just what I call the men
who come in near the end of my shift.”
He gave her a knowing smile. “I'm guessing they don't come in alone.”
Jennifer shook her head as she turned to retrieve Philip's key.
“But, of course, you wouldn't talk about the ladies that accompany
these men.”
“Of course not!” Jennifer hurriedly held out the plastic card. “We here
at The Preminenza pride ourselves on our discretion.”
“I'm glad to hear that,” Philip brushed his fingers against Jennifer's
as he took his room key.
She shivered involuntarily then mentally scolded herself. It was an
accident. There was no way someone as attractive as Philip would be interested
in her.
“I've really enjoyed talking to you,” Philip lingered. “You wouldn't
happen to want to accompany me to my room to continue our conversation?”
Jennifer stared, barely able to keep her jaw from dropping. She had to be
misinterpreting what he meant. The only guys who hit on her were the old men
who were so used to paying for sex that they just assumed everyone saw money as
an aphrodisiac. Philip Haas wasn't too much older than her, good-looking and
wealthy. There was no way he'd be asking her to his room.
“You do get off at midnight, right?” Philip raised an eyebrow. When
Jennifer nodded, he continued. “Excellent. I just flew in from Tahiti and my
body hasn't accepted the fact that it's not early evening anymore. Do you have
some time to accompany me to my room?”
Jennifer paused before repeating his request, “Accompany you to your
room?”
“Yes, I'd like to discuss your musical skills at greater length. It’s
nice to have company.”
Oh, that’s right, Jennifer thought to herself. This guy probably had a
long flight and wants to have some nice friendly conversation to lighten his
mood. It’s been a while since someone has wanted to talk to her about the
piano. Not a lot of people asked her about her hobbies and about things
unrelated to her job. She wondered what he did and what he was doing in Tahiti.
Work? Fun? What kind of person was this guy to take the time to ask a random
hotel staff what was going on with her? This was a high-end hotel. The patrons
are more interested in being served than finding out more about their servers.
It wouldn’t hurt to go, especially when this man is a high priority
guest. We
are
supposed to be one of the best hotels in the area. But
what if he’s talking about more than just accompanying him to his room? What
else is he expecting?
The thought of this gorgeous man ravishing her, made her blush. His
strong arms wrapping around her and his cheek brushing against hers as he
thrusts deep inside of her. She couldn’t remember the last time such a stud hit
on her. His looks alone would allow him any pick he wanted of any female on
earth. A random fling with a stunning stranger wouldn’t be so bad, would it?
Ever since Brad, she had never done anything really crazy. When would she ever
get this chance again?