Room 1208
Authors: Sophia Renny
Room
1208
Sophia Renny
Copyright © 2013 by Sophia Renny.
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. For permission requests, contact the author:
[email protected]
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination.
Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any
resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies,
events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Book Layout ©2013 BookDesignTemplates.com
Cover Art credits: © Olivier Le Moal - Fotolia.com; © Artem
Furman - Fotolia.com
Cover design: Sophia Renny
Room 1208/ Sophia Renny. -- 1st ed.
If it hadn’t been for his
laughter she wouldn’t have chosen him.
He was the first man she’d noticed when her eyes
made an initial, subtle sweep around the lounge area. She’d intentionally chosen
a small table next to the piano, pretending fascination with the fedora-wearing
hipster slouched over the keys. As she took cautious sips of her skinny
margarita, her upper body swayed in a slight, graceful tempo with the slow,
bluesy tune.
I’m just here enjoying the music, relaxing after a busy day.
Don’t bother me
. That was the body language she hoped she was
portraying.
She’d dismissed him almost immediately because he
was good looking in a way that only made her feel more nervous and anxious than
she already was. Seriously, he was devastatingly handsome—the kind of handsome
that had practically every other woman in the lounge giving him increasingly
more brazen come-hither smiles and glances; the kind of handsome that had the
cocktail waitresses commiserating with one another in a corner as, one by one,
they failed to capture his attention with their rolling hips and cherry-red
lipstick.
He was sitting with three other men in a booth at
the front of the lounge near the entrance to the hotel lobby. They were all
wearing business suits. He was the only one who faced her directly. Two of the
men had their backs to her, the third was in profile. They seemed to be having
a business meeting of some sort. As she watched them it became clear that the
three other men were giving a presentation, one of them sliding his finger
across a tablet screen while the other two took turns speaking.
If she hadn’t been a woman on a mission she might
have enjoyed watching the scene before her and anticipating how it played out.
Would any of the women eventually entice him? Would he buy what the other men
were evidently selling? Only fifteen or twenty minutes had gone by since she’d
walked into the lounge, but she’d wasted too much time already. She had to act
quickly before her self-confidence, already dangling on a very fine thread,
completely slipped away.
There were a couple of average Joes sitting at
the bar watching the basketball game that was playing on mute in the
background. Neither one of them were wearing a wedding band. Not that that
meant anything, especially at this busy airport hotel that catered to business
travelers. This was the one flaw in her plan: making sure that the man she
chose was actually single and available. She would have to trust a complete
stranger. She loathed cheaters.
One of the Joes must have felt her stare. He
swiveled his bar stool towards her and gave her a smile. It was a nice, genuine
smile, nothing sleazy or cagey about it. Her gut instinct told her that he didn’t
have a wife and kids at home. Though she didn’t have any experience in bar
hookups to back up that instinct, she felt almost certain that he was single.
He raised one eyebrow and nodded at the empty
seat at her table. She was on the verge of giving him a smile of agreement when
she heard the laughter. It drifted across the lounge towards her, its deep,
husky timbre brushing over her skin like a sultry summer breeze, instantly
luring her gaze back to the booth near the entrance.
His head was flung back as he continued to laugh,
the arch of his throat an inviting stretch of warm tan above his crisp white
shirt collar. All of the men were laughing now, rocking their heads back and
forth, shoulders shaking.
She was entranced. His face, now radiant with laughter,
was too gorgeous for words. She wanted to bask in his light. She wanted to
slide her fingers in his black, close-cropped hair. She wanted to touch the
crinkles on either side of his blue—oh, she hoped they were the blue they
appeared to be from this distance—eyes. She wanted to press her mouth to the
groove next to his mouth, discover the taste of his healthy, glowing skin, take
his firm, lower lip between her teeth before sliding her tongue…
He was staring at her.
He was still smiling as the other men’s laughter
gradually diminished and they began making motions to leave. But his smile had
transmuted from that given in the spirit of male camaraderie to one that came
with the awareness that she was blatantly watching him. His gaze sharpened, one
eyebrow arched in question, as if he were trying to figure out whether or not
he knew her.
She felt a hot clench of desire between her legs.
She wiggled slightly in her chair, unable to quell her immediate reaction to
his scrutiny. Her breath caught in her throat as his eyes slowly swept over
her, down and up, an assessment that led to approval and then, to her utter
shock, a reciprocal desire.
Only in her wildest imaginings had this kind of
man fulfilled her oldest and deepest longing. She’d convinced herself that this
kind of man could never be attracted to a woman like her—or, rather, the woman
she used to be and still was sometimes inside her head. This kind of man
belonged solely to that exclusive sphere where only the beautiful people
mingled.
Joe at the bar would have been easy, not entirely
comfortable, true, since she couldn’t possibly feel completely comfortable with
any man in this situation, but…safer.
Dr. Moira’s voice filtered through her agitated
thoughts:
You
are
beautiful. You are a woman worthy of happiness and
love. It’s time to let go of the things that are holding you down, holding you
back from becoming the person you were meant to be. Let go…break free…
The men were leaving. He stood with them to shake
hands and clasp arms. The others motioned towards the street exit, but he
glanced at his watch, shook his head, and said something in a low voice as he
pointed to his drink. He sat back down in the booth as they left.
He wasn’t looking at her now. He seemed pensive,
almost sullen, as he studied the cocktail glass in his hand, slowly twirling it
on the glossy black tabletop. One of the waitresses sashayed over with an eager
smile to ask him if he’d like another drink. He shook his head without glancing
up.
If she didn’t do this now, she knew she would
never find the courage to try again. She dug into her purse for the blank
notecard and envelope she’d put there earlier. It was her backup plan. She just
knew that, if she were to walk over right now and sit down across from him, any
words that managed to escape from her mouth would only be so much gobbledygook.
All her efforts to appear sexy, sophisticated and worldly wise would be exposed
as a total sham.
She wrote quickly, having practiced the lines
over a hundred times in her head:
Please understand that I’ve never done
this kind of thing before and never will again. I’m not a prostitute. I’m safe.
I don’t do drugs. I’m not drunk. I find you very attractive and I want to spend
the night with you. If you are married or otherwise attached, rip this up and
throw away the key. If you aren’t married or otherwise, and you’re interested,
please come to room 1208. If you don’t show up within a half hour, I will
leave. Thank you for considering this offer. It’s not given lightly, but with
the full appreciation that life is too short and every moment is meant to be savored.
She slipped the notecard and a plastic room key
in the envelope and sealed it. Taking a fortifying breath, she stood, making
sure her legs were steady before slowly walking towards the hotel lobby
entrance. She felt him watching her as she approached his booth. She didn’t
have to pretend to stumble slightly just as she came adjacent to his table. The
envelope tumbled from her nerveless fingers. Bending over quickly, praying that
not every single eye in the lounge was on her, she picked up the envelope and
set it on the table next to his glass. “I believe this is yours?” Then, without
waiting for a response, she continued through the lobby towards the elevators.
The room was as she’d
left it, the covers turned down on the king size bed, a single lamp glowing
softly in the corner. She’d been relieved to discover that the lamp had a
dimmer switch. She wanted the lights turned down low, but not so low that she wouldn’t
be able to see his body. There were condoms in the nightstand drawer and one
tucked under the pillows.
She removed her earrings and necklace and placed
them in the safe along with her purse. She closed the closet door, concealing
her suitcase and coat, then paused a moment to study her reflection in the full
length mirror. The dress was her most recent find, ordered from an online
boutique that specialized in vintage clothing from the Fifties and early
Sixties. It was periwinkle blue and white floral chiffon with a ruched waist
and full skirt. It had a bateau neckline in front, and a deep curved back
neckline that came across the middle of her shoulder bones. Matching suede
periwinkle pumps completed the look.
It was a dress that spoke romance. It was a
dress, she hoped, that begged an easy touch and slow hands, not one to be torn
aside in a rush of passion. Oh, she wanted that mad rush eventually, but not
for her first time.
Her hands shook slightly as she skimmed them down
her waist and over the skirt. She loved wearing dresses. For too many years,
she hadn’t been able to wear them, not without feeling like she was on a poster
advertising a carnival sideshow. She’d had to content herself with cutting out
pictures of dresses she liked, taping them to her bedroom mirror or tucking
them in a scrapbook.
Someday
, she’d promised herself.
Someday
.
Her hair, a medium auburn, was now long enough to
put up in a chignon. Her first grade teacher had complimented her once on her
“pretty brown eyes,” telling her that— in a certain light—they were the exact
color of her “lovely red hair.” She’d never forgotten those words, a rare gift
of praise that she’d held deep in her heart like a buried treasure to be opened
on those too many occasions when her world had become almost too dark to bear.
Now those years almost felt like they’d belonged
to someone else. She and Dr. Moira had worked through them, one by one, as they
uncovered old wounds and gave them fresh air and the healing balm of
forgiveness. So much had changed in the last two years. She could now
truthfully say that she liked herself, that she liked her own body, a body that
had been kept hidden too long in a prison of low self-esteem and hurt. There
had just been this one final stepping stone, this last barrier to cross. She’d
chosen to deal with it in this way; Dr. Moira knew nothing about what would
transpire in this room tonight.
Or would it? How much time had gone by? Would he
take her up on her offer?
She looked at the bedside clock. It’d been twenty
minutes since she’d walked out of the lounge.
Twenty minutes.
He wasn’t coming.
Her eyes itched with the threat of tears.
No
.
She wasn’t going to cry. She rushed into the bathroom and hit the cold water
handle, running her wrists under the icy stream. She pressed one wrist against
the back of her neck as she took deep, calming breaths. “I
am
beautiful,” she whispered.
She would
not
allow herself to think that
he hadn’t come because of her appearance. He had a girlfriend, he was married…
A knock sounded on the door.
She froze.
A second knock came, no louder than the first.
She shut off the water, dried her hands, and then
turned off the bathroom light before stepping into the small hallway. She
looked through the peephole. It was him. He had his profile presented to her as
he looked down the corridor towards the elevator bank. She heard the ping of an
arriving car. He gave a slight shake of his head before taking a step towards
it.
She opened the door.
He turned to face her directly, his eyes—a clear,
vivid blue—took a burning sweep from head to toe and up again. “Hello,” he
said, his voice low, soft as kidskin leather.
“Hello,” she breathed.
Up close, he was taller than he’d appeared in the
lounge. She was five feet seven inches in heels. The top of her head was even
with the bridge of his nose. This close, she caught the fragrance of his
cologne, a hint of citrus with cedar undertones. God, he was so handsome. She
swayed slightly and grabbed the doorjamb to keep upright. His eyes followed the
motion before returning their piercing directness to her face. He frowned in
question, dipping his head towards her. “Is your offer still on the table?”
“Y-yes.”
His eyes narrowed at the telltale quiver in her
voice. Several seconds that seemed like eons went by during which he seemed to
be locked in some inner debate. He inhaled sharply, closed his eyes for a
moment before he lightly touched her waist and gave her a gentle nudge
backwards. The brief flicker of indecision—or had it been nervousness?—in his
expression had vanished. “Let’s continue this in private.”
She released her grip on the doorjamb and her
hand drifted down to his shoulder—his broad, strong, firm shoulder concealed
under the fine, clearly expensive, fabric of his black suit jacket. It was
almost like a slow dance as he continued guiding her further into the room
until the door clicked shut behind them. He turned slightly to flip the safety
latch, quirking one eyebrow at her as he did so. “Okay?”
She nodded.
They stood close together in the narrow hallway,
his hand still at her waist, both of hers now resting lightly on his shoulders.
Her unsteady breathing seemed to echo his. She’d never, willingly, been this
close to a man before. She lost herself for a giddy moment in the vibrant male
warmth radiating from his body. His fingers tightened against her waist,
tugging her forward until her chest brushed against his. He set the knuckles of
his other hand under her chin, tilting her face up and capturing her eyes.
“What’s your name?” he rasped.