Same Time Next Year

SAME TIME NEXT
YEAR

The woman
in room 512 got to
the hotel first.

Elizabeth
was behind the front desk, and at
first, she didn’t know who the new guest was. She’d been at the Piedmont for less than six months, and hadn’t seen Mrs.
512 before.

She’d heard rumors, though. A lot of
them, lately. Those who had been working here longer said Mrs. 512 had been
coming to the Piedmont for seven or eight
years. Always on the same night. Always to the same room.

As had he. Mister 510.

Elizabeth
rolled her eyes. Privately, of
course. The Piedmont had too much class for
anything else, and Mrs. Dugan the front desk manager was always getting on her
for inappropriate behavior. But really, who did they think they were kidding?
Every year like clockwork, two separate reservations, two different names,
always the same two rooms with a connecting door between. And just look at the
woman’s hand. If that thin white line at the base of the third finger wasn’t
from a missing wedding band, Elizabeth
was a mongoose.

Still, she managed a stiff smile,
folding her hands on the counter while making sure her own thick gold band was
prominently displayed. “Good afternoon. May I help you?”

“I’d like to check in, please.” Mrs.
512 was gorgeous, with high cheekbones, big, green eyes, and perfect skin. Nice
voice, too. Deep and sultry. And not only was she beautiful, she was rich. That
was a BMW she’d driven up in, and the shoes on her feet were
Manolo
Blahniks
. Elizabeth had seen shoes like those before,
but never in real life. “Regina
White. Room 512.”

“Of course.” Elizabeth
turned to the computer, wondering what Ms. White would do if Elizabeth told her that there’d been a mix-up
and 512 was unavailable. Pitch a fit, most likely. She looked like the kind of
woman who was used to getting her way. Women like her always were.

And she’d probably complain, and then
Mrs. Dugan would be upset, and it was best not to upset Mrs. Dugan. Elizabeth needed this
job. She and Jim had just gotten married, and things were tight. She couldn’t
afford to get fired. Better just to do her job and tell Jim about the people in
510 and 512 later.

“There you are.” She pushed the
keycard to room 512 across the counter.

Ms. White picked it up, her long, red
nails bright against the black granite counter. “Thank you.” She smiled,
anticipation already shimmering in her eyes.

Elizabeth
watched resentfully as Regina White
wheeled her overnight bag toward the elevator, her high heels clicking on the
marble floor of the lobby. And then the elevator doors closed, and she went up.

It wasn’t but a half hour later that
Mr. 510 arrived.

And Elizabeth, who had a brand-new
husband at home, blushed when he leaned on the counter and smiled at her. “I’d
like to check in, please. Room 510. Tyler Harrison.”

She smiled back. Couldn’t help it.
“Of course.”

He was too old for her, in his
mid-thirties at least, but
very
good-looking. Rumpled brown hair, bright
blue eyes, dimples when he smiled. Tall and lean in a navy business suit with a
white shirt, open collar, and a tie that was as loose as it could get without
being undone.    

“Here you go.” She slid the keycard
across the counter to him, her own nails short and serviceable. Natural.

“Thank you.” He gave her another
dazzling smile before picking up his briefcase and heading for the elevator.

“And they’re off,” a voice murmured
next to Elizabeth’s
ear. She jumped. And turned, to look into Mrs. Dugan’s eyes.

“Romantic, isn’t it?” the older woman
added, watching Mr. 510 waiting for the elevator. His stance was impatient, a
finger tapping the seam of his blue slacks and his eyes on the decreasing
numbers above the door. 4. 3. 2...

Elizabeth
stared at her. How was this
situation romantic? “They’re married!”

Mrs. Dugan nodded. “I know.”

“And they’re here every year! That’s
what you said, right? Same date, same rooms. Adjoining.”

“They met here. Must be almost ten
years ago now. At a seminar or conference or something. Those were the rooms
they stayed in then. I guess the connecting door got opened at some point.”

Mrs. Dugan giggled. Elizabeth stared.

“I think it’s romantic,” the older
woman said. “Every year they come back here, and spend one night in the rooms
they had then. And open the connecting door. And then they return home, to
their everyday lives, and wait a year for the next time.” She shook her head,
noting Elizabeth’s mulish pout. “When you get older, you’ll understand.”

Elizabeth shrugged. And watched Mr.
510 get into the elevator. Just before the doors closed, she saw him slip his
wedding band off his finger and stick it in his pants pocket.

Gina’s heart was already thudding by
the time she inserted the key card in the lock of room 512. The light turned
green and she pushed the door open, wheeling her overnight bag inside and
looking around.

It looked just like it had last year.
And the year before.

Perfect.

It was always such a downer when
something changed. The first time they painted the walls a different color and
put up different artwork, it had taken all of... oh, three minutes at least, to
get in the mood once Ty arrived.

Grinning, the first thing she did was
unlock the connecting door on her side. The other side was still locked, so she
knew Ty hadn’t gotten here yet. She hadn’t expected him to. He’d be here in the
next half hour, she’d bet. She waited all year for this, and he did too;
neither of them wanted to waste a moment. He’d probably leave work early today,
as she had.

There was time to take a bath, so she
did. Dumping a ton of bath salts in the water and slathering herself with body
oil once she got out. Flavored as well as scented, because she knew Ty, and Ty
liked to take his time. He liked to kiss her. All over.

Then she got dressed in the outfit
she’d stopped to buy on the way here, because she hadn’t wanted to keep it in
her lingerie drawer at home for even a day. Bright red lace, to match her
mani/pedi
. She hadn’t worn red lingerie for him before; it
was usually black or white. Green once, to match her eyes. Teal another time.

The red might not go too well with
her hair, she admitted, as she inspected herself in the mirror inside the
bathroom door. It set off her pale skin rather well, though. And she didn’t
look too bad for being several years past thirty. Her figure was still slim,
even after two kids. Her breasts would never be small and firm again, but she
didn’t think Ty minded. And they filled the bra cups nicely. Bigger bra cups
than she’d needed the first time she’d come here. Although the red really did
clash horribly with her hair...

Then again, only Ty would ever see
her. And not for long; he’d have her out of the skimpy pieces a few minutes
after he arrived. Sometimes she wondered why she bothered getting dressed up
for him at all, when he rarely paused to appreciate her effort before stripping
her naked. But it was part of the game. Even if she really just wanted to meet
him at the door in her skin.

Maybe she’d do that next year. It’d
make for an interesting change.  

Gina smiled as she curled up in the
middle of the bed, remembering. They’d met here at the Piedmont eight years
ago. Attending the same small business seminar. Had noticed each other right
away—how could she not notice Ty?—and had connected over drinks in the bar
later. Had gone up in the elevator together at the end of the night, and
realized they were on the same floor. On the same side. In adjoining rooms.
With a connecting door.

She had tried to resist, she really
had. She’d had a boyfriend, Ty a business he wanted to grow. Neither of them
wanted it to happen, or so they said. But when the knock came on the door a
little after midnight, she’d still been awake, listening to the sounds from the
next room, and it hadn’t occurred to her not to open the door to him. She’d
wanted him, in a way she’d wanted no one or nothing in her life before, and God
help her, she still did.

Someone was at the door again now. Ty
must have arrived while she’d been reliving the past, too caught up in the
memories to notice the sounds from next door. She heard the deadbolt slide
back, and the regular lock disengage. The doorknob twisted, and the door
opened. And Ty stood in the opening.

Gina scrambled to her feet, facing
him.

Damn
,
she looked good
.

Ty had perfect recall when it came to
the way Gina had looked eight years ago, when he first laid eyes on her. Those
bright green eyes and white skin and that long tangle of red-gold curls down
her back, and that killer body in the short skirt and tight top she’d had on,
with those long, long legs he could just imagine wrapped around his
waist.  

He’d been pretty one-track minded
back then. Not that he didn’t imagine those legs wrapped around his waist
still. 

He’d gotten hard watching her from
across the room, when he should have been listening to ways he could take his
small accounting firm to the next level. Instead he’d kept an eye on his watch,
counting the minutes until the lecture ended, planning what to say to begin
maneuvering this woman he didn’t yet know, but wanted to know much better, into
his bed.

She’d been a knock-out eight years
ago, but she was no less of one now. Stunning, wearing that low-cut bra and
those barely-there panties. Crimson lace, vivid against all that pale skin.
Those mile-long legs, made longer still by four inch heels. And that sheer
robe, which exposed more than it concealed.

He grinned, his body tightening in
anticipation. “I like it.”

She lowered her eyes demurely, long
lashes sweeping over her cheeks. “I thought you might.”

He moved a step closer. “Looks good
on you.”

Understatement of the century. She
looked fantastic. Almost as good as she’d look naked. Under him, with her legs
wrapped around his waist. And her eyes blurry as he buried himself inside her
and brought her to a screaming climax.

She took a step back. “Champagne?”

“You ordered some?”

“And dessert. I made sure we wouldn’t
have to open the door again for the rest of the night.”

He smiled. “Good thinking. And no, I
don’t want champagne. I want you. Naked. And wet. And begging.”

He watched as she sank her teeth into
that plump bottom lip while a flush stained her cheeks. As always, it was a
turn-on. After eight years of this, you’d think she’d have gotten used to the
way he wanted to be inside her the moment he walked through the connecting
door, but she always tried to slow things down, to make it seem she wasn’t as
eager for him as he was for her.

As if he couldn’t see right through
her. Couldn’t see the way her pulse beat in the hollow at the bottom of her
throat. The way her breath came fast and shallow. The way her nipples had
tightened against that red lace bra, straining for his touch, his mouth.

She moaned when he pushed the robe
aside to fill his hands with her breasts. He ran his fingers over the tight
lace, his thumbs rubbing the fabric covering her nipples, watching as her head
fell back and that bright red hair—shorter now than when he first saw
her—brushed her shoulder blades.

“God, I want you. More and more every
year.”

His voice was thick. And he didn’t
wait for an answer from her, just lowered his head to feast. Licking her
through the lace, suckling, drawing one tight bud into his mouth and using his
teeth to make her whimper, shudder, squirm in his arms.

Her hand brushed against his zipper
and it was his turn to groan. He’d been hard when he walked into his own room
earlier, and by now he was threatening to bust a seam.

She smiled, her hand settling,
touching him through the fabric, making him suck his breath in sharply, but she
didn’t offer to do anything to relieve him. She knew what he liked: knew that
he’d push himself as far and as long as he could, touching her, kissing her,
tormenting her, his own desire becoming sharper with every minute that passed,
until she was a throbbing bundle of need in his arms, begging him to take her.
When he finally buried himself inside her, they’d both go up like a house on
fire.

And then he’d start all over
again. 

But for now...

He went down on his knees in front of
her, leaning forward. Breathed deeply. He could smell her arousal through the
scent of vanilla and gardenia she’d rubbed into her body to keep it soft and
silky for him. When he leaned forward and tasted her through the fabric, her
fingers laced through his hair and tightened there, and she let out a long,
tremulous sigh. He smiled.

It had been like this the first time,
too. She’d seemed so sophisticated, so confident and experienced when she’d
flirted with him in the bar downstairs... but later, when he’d gotten her
naked, she’d been all sweet compliance and desire and unaffected need.