She (32 page)

He laughs at my dramatics. “It takes two to tango, baby,” he says, putting the onus on both of us.

I grin. Yesterday was lightning. Today is tango. Whatever will be next?

I throw a quick, furtive glance over to the clock on the beside table and delight in finding that I’ve another half an hour before I have to start getting ready for work. I sit on top of my delicious, delectable boyfriend, still cautious not to apply too much pressure to his abdomen, and cover him with kisses, before I claim his mouth with my own and we spend the rest of our time together making out.

*

Once I’ve had my morning shower and am half-dry, Logan walks, tall and nude, into the bathroom. There’s something about the way he smiles at me that makes me think:
I’m going to be late for work
.

He watches in silence as I apply my makeup and then I leave my towel in the bathroom, and walk nude to the dressing room where my overnight bag is resting on an armchair in the corner. It’s an Amelie thing to do, putting an armchair in a dressing room.

Logan follows me, and stands observing me from behind while I’m bent double, sifting through my bag looking for something to wear. I smile to myself as I feel his undeniable presence. I
love
that feeling! And though he doesn’t say a word his charismatic magnetism makes me feel like he’s whispering tantalising things into my ear.

Several moments later, he notices, “You’re wet.”

“From the shower,” I clarify, looking over my shoulder at him.
Jeez
, he’s gorgeous! I’m not sure that my words are entirely true, and after taking in his impressive physique, I’m even less sure.

He smiles. “I don’t think so, baby. I know the difference,” he declares, and I’m not at all surprised given his signature attention to detail.

My insides squirm deliciously.
Oh
,
Logan
! He always knows exactly what to say to turn me on! “You know the difference?” I ask and he nods immediately. “Prove it,” I grin, throwing down the gauntlet and hoping that he’ll pick it up.

He does. “Yes, Ma’am,” he laughs happily, springing to life.

I watch him moving towards me, a gleam in his eye, and then I turn to face my bag again, still grinning. I know he’s going to do something, and I wait, my heart rate suddenly through the roof and my desire spiking. He’s standing right behind me now, and a moment later Logan’s supple fingers glide lightly over my sex, making me quiver. He’s right, I
am
wet.

“
Oh
!” I gasp and then giggle as his fingers slowly immerse into me. I’m
very
wet. His fingers move infinitesimally and I writhe against them. He feels so good! “You know, some of us have jobs to go to,” I play with him.

He chuckles, it’s a low and sexy sound. His countering words move me. “I don’t want to let you go,” he says softly, his voice laced with affection. And then his fingers start taking me, targeting my sweet spot, and his thumb skims over my clitoris.

Oh
! My hands grip the edges of the armchair, my nails digging in, bracing for more.
More
,
please
!

“Baby, you look and you feel so beautiful,” Logan murmurs, and I just know that he’s looking at me in that mesmerised way he does.

I push back against his hand, thoroughly enjoying what he’s doing to me. Despite that, I can’t keep from asking, “What is this, if not a pursuit of an orgasm?”

“This is my entre from last night,” he reminds me, and I can hear in his voice that he’s smiling.

“Ah, yes,” I remember. Ah, yes…
ah
,
yes
!

Logan takes his time with me; at least as much time as he can. I build so quickly, spurred along by the erotic image of our scene: me with my ass in the air, holding on for dear life and reveling in my pleasure; and Logan standing firmly behind me, one hand holding my hips, and the other one delivering my pleasure.

I’m climbing higher and higher, surrendering to his handiwork. I’m
so
close!
Oh
! My legs stiffen and inside I feel myself tighten around Logan’s fingers.

“
Logan
!” I cry.

I come, loudly, my body trembling, my tension exploding. Then I let myself relax, an immediate, glorious tranquility overcoming me.

Logan retreats his fingers from me, and as I straighten up and turn to look at him, I see something that nearly makes me convulse again! He’s sucking his fingers:
those
fingers!

“You taste so good,” he tells me, smiling alluringly.

I stare at him with wide eyes.
Shit
, I’m so turned on! I weigh up my options. Stay, and be late for work? Or go, and wish I had stayed? Logan’s smile broadens, swaying my decision.
Fuck
! I’m going to have to think of a
really
good excuse, because I’m definitely going to be late!

12. Burn

I’m hot and flustered when I enter Pierson House, but I have my excuse ready and waiting: car troubles. It’s shameful, I know. Fortunately my absent hour goes mostly unnoticed so my pathetic excuse fails to matter. When I do cross Amelie’s path, I discover that she’s busy on the phone talking to none other than my boyfriend, who is working from his home office today.

Logan’s on loudspeaker when I enter Amelie’s office, a large workload under my arm.

“Ah, Miss. Samuels, I’m just finishing up with Mr. Leary,” she tells me.

“Good morning, Gemima,” Logan says.

“Good morning, Logan,” I say back, trying not to smile. Erotic images flash through my mind of us entangled on the dressing room floor.

“Mr. Leary, thank you for your time this morning. And I wish you a speedy recovery, as evidently Miss. Samuels didn’t pass my wishes along.”

Oops
!

“Thank you, Mrs. Clemence. I look forward to working with your colleague in the coming weeks.”

“I’m sure,” Amelie says politely, but Logan can’t see her smirk.

“Bye, baby,” Logan says to me, making me blush in front of my boss.

“Bye. See you later,” I say back, before he hangs up. Immediately, I ask Amelie, “Which of your colleagues has been assigned this project?”

“That would be you,” she says pointedly.

I can’t help but smile at her.

“Not because he’s your boyfriend, Gemima, but because this project is of significant importance, and I need it seen to by someone I trust. I can’t do it myself, I’m too busy, therefore the job is yours.”

“Thank you, Amelie,” I say, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

She looks at me perspicaciously, and I feel like there is more that she’d like to say, whether about the job or Logan, I don’t know, but she stops herself. Instead she gazes at the large stack of files that I’ve brought in to discuss with her. “Right,” she sighs, “to work!”

*

At five-thirty Logan picks me up outside of Pierson House. On the backseat of his BMW he’s got both of our overnight bags, and he’s draped my evening dress over the top of them, minimising the chance of creasing it. I’m leaving my car at work, conceivably until Monday, so I quickly double check that it’s locked before getting into the passengers seat of Logan’s car.

“Shouldn’t I drive?” I ask, my eyebrows raised.

In driving himself, Logan is ignoring one of his post-operation instructions; though, he’s broken so many of his recovery rules without ramification that I’m not
too
concerned. I trust he knows what he’s doing.

“It’s part of the service,” he quips, “picking up distinguished guests and delivering them to the hotel.”

I grin at him and allow his reasoning.

In the evening traffic it takes thirty minutes to drive to Logan’s hotel.

“
Six Zero Three
?” I ask, looking at the name as we drive past. “Your birthday?”

“It’s self indulgent, I know,” Logan tells me; he seems a little off about something.

“I like it,” I say, and I do. He was quiet for most of the drive, and I start to wonder if he’s apprehensive about this evening. “Are you nervous about the function?” I ask openly.

“No, baby,” he smiles at me; a smile that reassures me like no other can.

We park a little way down the street and walk to the hotel hand in hand, both of our bags thrown over one of Logan’s shoulders, and my dress folded over my free arm. The closer we get to the entrance, the tighter Logan holds my hand.

He
is
tense.

Why
? I wonder.

I look up at his face; his jaw is stiff and his eyes are serious.

“Logan, what’s the matter?” I demand to know.

He stops walking a few paces short of the doorman. Turning his back on the man and facing me, Logan admits, “I’m nervous…”

“You just said that you weren’t!” I exclaim.

“Not about tonight,” he clarifies, “about right now; about showing you my hotel. What if you don’t like it?”

Aw
,
Logan
! I stare at him adoringly, a smile spreading across my face.

“Are you laughing at me?” he says, his voice filled with amusement.

“No,” I giggle. “Oh, of
course
I’ll like it, Logan! Look at it,” I say, staring up at the impressive facade, “it’s beautiful!”

It
is
beautiful. It’s a double fronted, seven storey building, constructed in light-grey granite. Just like Pierson House every bay window is adorned with an abundant flower basket that houses pink flowers which compliment the pink shades in the granite. This hotel is a
girl
, I remind myself.

“Is the inside this pretty?” I ask Logan.

“The inside is much nicer!” he scoffs and I laugh.

“Well, then, you have nothing to be nervous about, do you?” I say stepping closer to him and reaching up on my toes to kiss his full lips.

“I guess not,” he grins, his lips against mine.

I give him another quick peck and then say, “Come on!” I pull him the last few paces to the doorman.

“Bonjour, M. et Mme Leary,” he bows, opening the door for us.
Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Leary
.

“Oh!” I mutter.
That certainly has a ring to it
, I smile to myself.

“Hello, Paul,” Logan says as we enter the foyer. “Sorry,” he apologises to me for the misunderstanding with our names.

“No need,” I say,
far
too enthusiastically.

Logan smiles at me.

“What?” I ask, suddenly blushing.

After a brief pause, Logan bravely confesses, “I liked the sound of it, too.”

Immediately I smile back at him, my face flushed with emotion. For a moment I forget that I’m supposed to be looking around, acquainting myself with Logan’s hotel, and I simply stare at him. We’re lost in our bubble, lost in one another’s eyes, reveling in the fact that we’ve basically both just quietly admitted that we’d like to (at some point) be man and wife!

“Logan?” someone calls, interrupting our moment.

We both look to see a middle-aged woman with an hour glass figure walking towards us. From the way she’s dressed, in a tight pencil skirt and a shirt-and-jacket combo, I assume she’s one of his business associates until I realise that she’s the hotel manager. Or so the badge pinned to her chest tells me.

“Bonjour, Megan,” Logan says, as she approaches. He introduces me, “C’est Gemima, ma petite amie.”
This is Gemima, my girlfriend
.

“Bonjour, Gemima,” Megan smiles.

“Salut,” I say.

“Do we need to check-in?” Logan asks quickly, giving me the impression that he wants to get me alone.

“Already done,” Megan tells us in English, her accent heavy. “Here are your keys.”

“Wonderful,” Logan says, taking two keycards from her. “Merci, Megan,” he says, going to pick up the bags.

Yup
,
he’s in a rush
, I note happily.

“Leave them!” Megan exclaims. “I’ll have them taken up for you. That as well,” she says to me, holding out her arms for my dress, which I give her.

“Thank you,” I nod, before she hurries off, back to reception.

Without a moment to waste, Logan takes my hand and starts walking at speed towards the elevator.

While we wait for it, I finally take my chance to look around. The foyer is very classic in style: white marble floors with matching columns, which offset the dark burgundy walls. Only a truly confident and competent designer would have created a dark red interior for the light pink exterior. I am impressed by the boldness of it. To our right is the dining room, where two dozen tables are set up with crisp white linen tablecloths and sparkling silverware, ready for the dinner service. Liking what I’m seeing, I’m keen to see some more, but before I can, Logan pulls me into the elevator. He impatiently jabs the button for the top floor.

“You do know that won’t make it move faster, don’t you?” I tease.

He looks at me, his eyes smouldering.

“You’re in a rush to get upstairs,” I tell him.

“Yes,” he confirms. “Paul put me in the mood.” He starts laughing as soon as he’s finished talking, evidently not meaning his words to sound so homoerotic. I look at him for a split second, taking in his breathtaking face. He is
so
beautiful when he laughs; so relaxed, carefree, and playful.

A moment later, I laugh too. “
Excuse
me?
Paul
put you in the mood?”

“No, not him. You,” Logan stammers through his laughter. “But his words appealed to me.”

Ah
! My smile broadens, and my heart suddenly beats double time. “About me being votre épouse?”
Your wife
.

“Yes,” Logan says. He stops laughing and looks at me intently. I can see the cogs turning in his head. I can see that he’s considering the possibility.

“I saw a chapel down the street,” I joke.

Logan smiles. “We’d be crazy, right?”

“Oh, completely,” I agree.

“Yes,” he nods. “But it did sound nice,” he says earnestly.

I nod too. “Yeah, it did, baby. But we’ve got the rest of our lives to make that happen,” I press him against the side of the elevator, my lips effortlessly finding his.

“
MmmMmm
,” he murmurs. He likes the sound of that as much as I do.

When the elevator delivers us to the top floor, I see that there are three suites, but the one that Logan has set aside for us has the best view of them all, or so he says. The moment I cross the threshold I suspect he’s right.

The door opens into the living room of the suite and on the far wall, through a huge floor to ceiling window, I can see the Eiffel Tower lit up in the dark. Instinctively I’m drawn to the window and I stand right up against it, gazing out at this city’s icon. Logan joins me, standing behind me.

“This is beautiful!” I tell him, breathlessly.

He wraps his arms around my waist and I’m transported back to his bedroom, and the similar big window there. I rest my hand on the glass, and then Logan starts chuckling.

“We can’t do
that
here, baby,” he tells me. “This glass is definitely see-through,” he says.

“So no kinky business up against this one, then?”
What a shame
, I think. The part of me that still feels like a tourist, despite the number of years that I’ve lived here, finds the idea of having sex whilst looking at the Eiffel Tower magnifique!

“Nope,” Logan says.

“We could just turn the lights off,” I suggest.

“People on the street below would still see your amazing body pressed up against the glass, Gemima,” he informs me, as desire erupts within me.

Memories of yesterday morning come flooding into my consciousness. My body groans as I recount how hard I came. I turn to face Logan and wrap my arms around his neck, forcing his head down to mine. I kiss him headily.

After a long, steamy minute, I whisper to him, “I don’t want anybody seeing that but you.”

He smiles at me and kisses me again, thrusting his tongue into my mouth, making me moan. He is such an incredible kisser! “Let’s order dinner,” he then says unexpectedly.

Uh, really? “
Now
?” I ask, slightly out of breath.

He smiles again, and I know that he’s up to something. “All the meals here are made from scratch. We’ll have plenty of time to kill waiting for ours.”

Ah-ha! In that case…

We make our selections and Logan calls down to room service to place our order. As he does so, I close the curtains, biding
au revoir
to the beautiful view, and then I go and stand before Logan, next to the bed. His free arm enwraps me, and he bows his head to kiss my neck.

“Oui,” he says into the phone. “Oui…c’est exact.”
Yes…that’s right
. “Merci.” He hangs up.

At once, I push him backwards onto the bed. He falls with a grin on his face, and then scrambles quickly up into a sitting position, his back resting against the headboard. I straddle him eagerly, and we begin making out…until there’s a knock on the door.

Instantly I suspect that we’ve been sprung.
We weren’t making any noise
, is my immediate thought. Silly, Gemima!

“I, uh, thought you said we’d have time?” I say quietly.

“Oh, shit, it’s our bags,” Logan remembers.

I let him out from under me, laughing at myself for completely and utterly forgetting about our bags! This happens when I’m with Logan: time does strange things and something that happened less than ten minutes ago lies entirely forgotten because I’m so consumed with him in the now.

Logan disappears around the corner and I hear him talking rapidly to the bellboy, knowing that he’s trying to get rid of him (or her) as quickly as possible. He does a good job, quickly returning to the room, dumping our bags on the floor and carefully lying my dress over the back of a chair.

“What
amazing
service this hotel provides,” I say, making Logan chuckle. “First the chauffeur, now the bags…”

“It’s all standard procedure, baby. However, the hotel can provide a very
personalised
touch, if you’d like to sample it? Compliments of the owner,” he adds. He returns to the bed with a delectable grin on his face.

Personalised touch from the owner?
Yes
,
please
! “Are all guests treated so well?” I joke.

“No, Ma’am,” Logan laughs, pulling me onto his lap once more. “You’re the special one. The one and only.”