Jill Shalvis - Room Service

He looked at her for a long moment, then slowly loosened her fingers. “I’m sorry.”

Well, so was she. Sorrier than he could ever know. Letting out a frustrated breath, she stood up. She met his gaze for one long, helpless moment, during which she would have sworn time stood still, would have sworn that he wanted to tell her he felt everything she did.

Because she wanted him as a chef in her show, yes, but she also wanted him as a man. And not just in her bed. She wanted him to be hers. She wanted him to understand that love could happen, that it could even happen in a blink of an eye.

Or on an elevator.

It could happen in a year, a month, a few days, it didn’t matter. She wanted him to know that when it was real, it was meant to be sought and kept.

Not tossed away.

But most of all she wanted him to understand that what they had, what they could have had, was as real as it gets.

In the end, she didn’t say any of that. She just walked away.

And he let her.

THIRTY MINUTES LATER Em was in her room, in the white, fluffy, luxurious robe after a long, scalding shower, waiting for room service to bring the French fries she’d ordered, contemplating how stupid men were.

Because Jacob should be up here. Sighing, she brushed through her newly washed hair. He should be in bed with her right now.

But he hadn’t turned out to be much of a mind reader, and she was a grown-up. If she’d wanted him so badly tonight, she should have saved her little goodbye drama until morning.

Someone knocked at the door.

Tightening her robe, she put her eye to the peephole, then her body went as still as her heart went wild, leaping inside her chest, banging against her ribs.

Jacob stood there, still in his chef’s uniform.

Em pulled back. What was he doing?

“Open up, Em.”

Open up. Hadn’t she done that? Hadn’t she opened up her heart and soul? What more could she give him?

“Em.”

She put her hand on the knob, drew a deep breath, then opened the door. “What are you-”

“You called for room service.” He gestured to a covered tray at his side, then pushed it past her and into the room.

“But…” She stared at him as he shut the door and lifted the plate covers.

“Crisp pan-seared salmon,” he said. “And from Pru I’ve brought a very nice 2001 Robert Stemmler pinot noir.”

She couldn’t help it, she laughed.

He raised his face in surprise. “What?”

“I ordered French fries.” The ultimate comfort food.

He made a soft sound of disapproval as he looked over the meticulously arranged tray, and she laughed again. “You are such a food snob.”

“I am not.”

Oh, yes, he was, and he had no idea. Nor did he have any idea how absolutely, stunningly adorable he was. She had a feeling he’d never been considered adorable before.

“Will there be anything else?” he asked.

You on a plate. “No,” she whispered, then remembered her little chat with herself. Be honest. Be open. “Yes.”

“No or yes?”

“Yes.”

“Name it.”

She licked her lips and thought about how to tell him that if she couldn’t have him in her life, she’d take him for the next few hours. “I want you.”

His gaze flicked over her wet hair, her undoubtedly shiny, makeup free face, and then lingered on her robe-covered body.

For a long moment he just looked at her as she grew uncomfortably warm under the terrycloth.

“Well, we do aim to please here at Hush,” he said finally, unbuttoning his chef’s coat and tossing it to a chair, which left him in his black trousers and a snug white T-shirt that invited the general public to Bite Me in block letters. She smiled.

He wrapped his fingers around the tie of her robe and tugged her to him. “What’s so funny?”

“I’d like to bite you.”

He arched a brow. “Watch out. I bite back.” His hands had easily unknotted her robe. Holding the lapels, he looked into her eyes. “What are you wearing beneath this thing?”

“Um-”

“A sexy thong?”

She shook her head.

“Flannel pj’s?”

She gave him a weak smile. Thank God she hadn’t put her flannels on. He’d have laughed his ass off. “No,” she managed.

“Hmm…”

“Nothing,” she whispered. “I’m wearing nothing beneath.”

With a groan, he spread the robe open, slipped his hands inside and looked his fill. “You are so beautiful.” Sinking to his knees, he put his mouth to her hip, kissing her softly. Then her belly button.

And then lower.

Her hands fisted in his hair. Her head fell back. Then his mouth moved southward-and hit her equator. One lick and she was panting for air, her senses on overload. “Jacob.”

“Mmm,” he said, his mouth full, his tongue…God. His tongue.

“What about the real room service? They might come,” she gasped, her eyes rolling back in her head when he did something fantastic and wickedly wicked with his fingers.

“The only one coming is you.”

Then he lowered her to the floor, and made good on that promise.

JACOB LAY FLAT on the floor, stripped naked, with an equally naked Em nibbling her way over his body. It was torture, but the best torture he’d ever experienced.

“You’ve got such an amazing body,” she told him, exploring every inch. “Just looking at it makes me want to gobble you up.” She licked his nipple, then lifted her head. “I’ve never said such a thing to a man before.”

Oh, yeah. Torture.

“This is my favorite, right here.” And she sank her teeth into his inner thigh.

When he jerked, she lifted her head, eyes luminous, breasts swaying. “Do you want me to stop?”

“God, no.”

She resumed her activities, taking her mouth on a happy little tour, until she reached his erection and licked it like a lollipop.

He jerked again.

Once more she lifted her head, with an adorable concerned little frown puckering her brow. “Am I doing it wrong?”

Choking out a rough laugh, he slid his hands into her hair and guided her head back. “No.”

“Are you sure? Because I can-”

“If you stop again, you’re going to kill me.”

She let out a slow, sex-kitten smile that had him groaning and his toes curling. He’d created a monster. “Come up here, Em, and let me-”

“No, let me,” she murmured in the voice of a pure seductress. “Because this time, Jacob Hill, you’re the one coming.”

He’d wanted to be inside her when he climaxed, had planned for that with the unopened condom on the floor next to him, but she tore the control from his tightly held reins as no other woman had, with those fingers, with that incredibly soft, sweet mouth, both of which she used on him until his eyes crossed.

He was going to lose it. He was really going to lose it, right here, right now. “Wait,” he gasped.

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not that-” He couldn’t think with the blood running out of his head and his entire body on high alert. “Em-Wait.”

But she didn’t, and there was something about her slightly fumbling hands and mouth, the endearing inexperience mixed with the sexual yearning that completely and totally undid him.

He exploded. And when he lay there, annihilated, still quivering, humbled to the core and just as shocked, she put her hand on his chest and leaned over him until her face wavered in his view.

“Jacob?”

“Still here. Barely.” He smiled.

Hers wobbled. “I love you,” she whispered, and destroyed him all over again.

Note to Housekeeping:

Guest requested more silk scarves in room 1214.

There’s some wild action going on in there!!

“LET ME GET THIS STRAIGHT.” Pru blew the steam from her mug of Maddie’s coffee and looked at Jacob. “You stood us up last night for that cute little TV producer you accosted a few nights back?”

Jacob had known this was coming. He’d stumbled home from Em’s room at dawn. Pru and Caya had dragged him out of bed a short time later, bringing him here for the interrogation. He concentrated on not burning his tongue on his coffee and said nothing, silently pleading the Fifth.

At his lack of comment, Caya raised a brow. “Interesting.”

“There’s nothing interesting,” he said.

“Uh-huh.” This from Pru. “You went back for seconds. That’s very interesting.”

“Look, just because you two have found…whatever it is you’ve found-”

“Love,” Caya said, and reached across the table to squeeze Pru’s hand.

Pru smiled in a way Jacob had never seen, a soft special curve of the mouth. He sighed. “It doesn’t mean everyone has to be just as happy as you guys.”

“What’s wrong with being happy?” Caya wanted to know.

He stared into his mug and thought about that. Thought about other things, too, things that started with “I” and ended with “love you.”

Holy shit, had that really happened? Had he had the most mind-blowing orgasm of his life flat on his back in Em’s hotel room floor, and then blinked back to consciousness to find her leaning over him, smiling with her entire heart in her eyes as she said “I love you”? “Nothing’s wrong with being happy,” he finally answered. “It’s just not as easy for some.”

“You think it was easy for us to get to the point where we know it’s real, that beneath the passion there is enough to sustain us for the long haul?” Pru asked. “Because you know it wasn’t easy, not at all.”

“I do know. But-”

“No buts,” Pru said. “Look, Jacob, I think you have this thing, like you believe you somehow don’t deserve love and happiness the same as the rest of us.” Her eyes were warm as she looked at him. “You’re wrong, Jacob. You do.”

He frowned at the both of them. “I thought we had an agreement. You two worry about your own lives, and I’ll worry about mine.”