It Will Always Be You (You Series Book 1)

Copyright 2015 by Tina Ness. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the publisher; exceptions are made for brief excerpts used in published reviews. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

ISBN 13: 978-1-940014-45-6

eISBN 13: 978-1-940014-96-8

LCCN: 2014953805

Printed in the United States of America

11        12        13        14        15                    5          4          3          2          1

Cover & Interior Design by Tina Ness

Published by Wise Ink Creative Publishing

Minneapolis, Minnesota

www.wiseinkpub.com

WARNING: This book is intended for mature a
udiences and contains graphic language, explicit sexual content and
adult situations. It is recommended for ages 18+.

To my husband for taking on more work hours than any single person should so that I could make my dream become reality and for realizing that this wasn’t just another one of my little projects that I would never finish.

To my beautiful daughters, who were at most times patient with having a less than present mother. You’re both so smart and beautiful. You make me a better person.

THANK YOU

To each and every one of you who believed in, supported and encouraged me. There are a lot of you, and I am
blessed.

To my mom and JR for having my back in so many ways.

To Dad, Chris, Cheryl and the many family members and friends for your love and support.

To my cover models, Kayla and Dustin, for enduring the arctic elements for our photoshoot.

To my cheerleaders, Katie, Jenica, Kayla, Melissa, and so many others.

To my beta readers, Sara and Cassie, for your feedback and honesty.

To my patient editors, Darlinda (my grammar fairy), Matt and Laura, for helping turn my creative mess into something amazing.

To Dara at Wise Ink Creative Publishing for talking me down off my ledges, believing I could do it and becoming my friend.

And a very special thank you to my unexpected angel, Katie, first of all for helping me write my song for the book, but most of all for seeing me for who I really am, for offering to be my wingwoman and for becoming one of my most cherished friends. I love you, girl!

Thursday, May 20

Why on earth am I so nervous?
The heat of embarrassment radiates from my face, and I’m not even looking at tall, tan, blue-eyed Marshall Roderick, whose very proximity makes me squirm. He approaches the hotel desk for his routine check-in, as he does every couple of weeks. From what I hear (and people in this town really like to talk), Marshall owns two businesses in Minnesota, one in Minneapolis and one here in Duluth. I grab an envelope—which I don’t actually need—from the cabinet; I’ll do anything to keep my anxiety in check. I pray that my sweaty underarms won’t be detected. As he nears, I realize how rude it would be to keep my back to him.

Dammit, why did Krystal have to step away from the front desk right at this very moment?
I stand frozen in place. I can’t move my legs.
Come on, Elizabeth. You can do this.

I decide not to turn around and face him since he’s on the phone and clearly enjoying his conversation. I busy myself with the paperwork he’ll need to check in, eavesdropping as I reach for a pen.

“Well, Aubrey, I just got to the hotel. Let me get checked in, and I’ll see you tonight.”

Aubrey? Who’s Aubrey? She must be his girlfriend.
He has always checked in alone, but being a successful businessman, he may keep his romantic rendezvous under wraps. I can only imagine his life, full of variety and adventure and nothing like my mundane daily routine and sex-deprived existence.

He’s chuckling and barely even looks at me. His laughter makes me imagine what it would be like to tell him a joke (not that I know any)—maybe while lying on his hard, warm chest in bed—and be rewarded with that perfect laugh. The fantasy almost throws me off balance.

“Yes, 8:00 p.m. at Beacon Pointe Resort. I sure have missed all my beautiful ladies,” he declares before hanging up.

All his beautiful ladies?
I’m suddenly frozen again, unable to recall what I was doing before he ended his call.

He gently clears his throat, jarring me from my daze. “Miss?” He’s talking to me, and I’m just standing here, unable to look up at him.

“Excuse me, Miss?” he says, louder this time.

I’m sure my face is beet red as I look up at him, scared to death. “How may I help you?” I manage to squeak out.

“Oh, hello, Elizabeth,” he says cheerfully. “I’m hoping to check in to my room,” he says, still smiling.

Crap, now my palms are sweating too.
Every time he checked in before, I pretended to act busy and left Krystal in charge of checking him in, even though I could feel his stares upon me. His attention to me has always made me nervous, but right now, I’m mortified. I can’t even continue to look at him.

“Are you okay?” he asks, leaning farther over the desk, looking genuinely concerned. His face is only a foot from mine.

My heart races as I slowly lift my head. I open my mouth, and nothing comes out.

Suddenly, Krystal comes charging in, fingers snapping in her usual over-the-top way. “Mr. Roderick, it’s been a while,” Krystal bellows with confidence as she returns to her space behind the front desk.

Thank God she’s back.

“It sure has. I’ve been out of the States on business. Feels good to be back.” He smiles at both of us as if we are old friends.

“Glad to have you back, Mr. Roderick,” Krystal says, looking over at me. At this moment, I’m the awkward redheaded girl with oily skin, braces, and a bad haircut who looked back at me every morning before my freshman year of high school. Here I stand, like her, in my size eight sneakers, wishing I could hide, wishing I were the girl blessed with height and looks, wishing I were my twin sister, Rose, whom all the boys chased after. Krystal’s hazel eyes widen in surprise as she realizes I’m a total wreck. To my relief, she proceeds to check him in, pretending not to notice.

“I see you have the Lakeview Penthouse Suite and will be staying with us until Monday. Is this correct?” Krystal inquires.

“Yes, Krystal, thank you,” he says. He examines me with what appears to be a mixture of amusement and confusion.

I turn away from him and resume my charade of busyness, fumbling with a tower of toilet paper rolls. Before I realize what I’m doing, they topple over. I feel like I just may lose this morning’s fruit and yogurt. I bend over to scoop up my display of awkwardness.
Why does Marshall Roderick have such an effect on me?

Krystal’s businesslike posture shows no sign of her usual flirtatiousness. She and I have worked together for two years now, and she is in no way a shy woman. I’ve seen her work her magic on many men, and she is clearly not looking to bait the hook for her big catch. She is recently divorced, so many would think she’d take more notice of this beautiful man before her, but a man like Marshall just isn’t her type. Her ex, Ross, is nine years older than she, a guitar player in a blues band, and covered in tattoos. He loves to party and is a complete freak show in the bedroom, from what she has told me. But come to think of it, most of the stories she has told me don’t involve the
bedroom
at all.

One night, over buffalo wings and cocktails after work, Krystal had moaned loudly as she licked the sauce off her fingers, one by one, drawing an embarrassing amount of attention. Then she went into detail about how Ross had gone down on her in broad daylight on a park bench at Split Rock Lighthouse two days earlier and how a couple passing by noticed Ross’s head buried under her skirt and walked away shaking their heads. I think I was embarrassed enough for everybody in the place as she gave me the play-by-play.

The craziest story I could tell her was about the time I did it in a speedboat in the daylight on Lake Superior with Tanner—the older brother of my best friend, Holly—the day after high school graduation. It wasn’t my first time with Tanner—he had taken my virginity a month prior—but that day it was different. Tanner had been rough, pulling my hair and biting my shoulders and neck, and oddly enough, I really liked it. It was the beginning of what I thought would be a great new relationship. We met up several times at his apartment after that day, and every time we did, it was new—new positions, hands tied, blindfolded—it was exhilarating. But after giving him what he said was the best fuck of his life, he kicked me to the curb and said he had a date. Holly hoped it would turn into a relationship after I’d told her that I thought I was falling in love with him, but instead, it turned out to be the beginning of my now-estranged relationship with my best friend after fifteen years of being inseparable.

What I wouldn’t give for a tussle between the sheets with Marshall Roderick. That lean muscle, chiseled jaw, and rear view makes Tanner look like a little boy. Marshall could without a doubt bench press my recent ex, Gavin. And I’d be willing to bet that Marshall knows every trick in the book to fully satisfy a woman.

“Well, Mr. Roderick, here are your keys.” Krystal sets the keys in his hand. I watch as they converge, noting a tinge of jealously. “Enjoy your stay at Beacon Pointe. Please let us know if you need anything.”

A million-dollar smile directed at Krystal flickers over Marshall’s perfect lips, but it vanishes with a nod directed at me.

I look down at my shoes, and there I am, in my high school hallway, the world passing me by as the remnants of the broken clay bowl I just dropped lay scattered at my feet. I’m afraid to look up only to be met with scrutinizing eyes.

Krystal snaps back to look at me with a mischievous grin. “How in the world did I not notice it before? You’re damp in the panties for Marshall Roderick.” Krystal’s eyes widen with delight, and she bites down on her lower lip to mask her smile.

Krystal’s vulgar comments are something I’m used to, and she is going to have a field day with this news. For a few moments, I’m proud that I kept my desire for Marshall a secret as long as I have. Finally, a sly grin comes across my face. “Gee, what gave that away?” I say in a smart-ass tone.

“So, Lizzie, you’re into pretty boys, are you?” she says with a smirk.

“I would hardly call Marshall Roderick a pretty boy,” I say defensively.

“Wow, your panties are definitely in a bunch, aren’t they? Bet you wish they were bunched up on Marshall Roderick’s penthouse floor.” She nudges me and winks.

“Mind in the gutter as usual, Krystal.” I scowl at her.

“That’s what I do best. Besides, you need a good lay. How long has it been since Gavin?” she says, gagging.

“Eight months,” I say in a pouty voice. Eight months too long. Not that Gavin and I had an interesting sex life. It was missionary-style boring every time, but at least I got off on occasion without having to do it myself. Nearly four years of missionary with no willingness to change it up. I brought home books and the occasional toy, but nothing. I once purchased a Better Sex video and had it ready to play at bedtime. The second the video started, he sat up like a shot from a gun and turned it off. “What the hell, Liz? Our sex life is fine!” He yelled so hard I could see the veins in his forehead. “Well, maybe for you, but I need more,” I said. It was the first time I ever said this out loud. He told me to leave if I wasn’t happy, but I didn’t. I was too attached to the idea of coming home to someone. Gavin never looked at me like he desired me; that look was saved for those moments he thought I wasn’t looking and a good-looking guy would pass by. I always told myself that it was simply that he was eying up the competition. Not that anyone was beating down my door. Heck, who did I think I was kidding anyway? Just myself I suppose.

The financial security Gavin offered, having been raised by a wealthy family who gave him everything and a promising new career as a pilot, was the icing on the bland, tasteless cake. My father, a bank vice president, taught me the importance of money, but his motto was “save everything, don’t spend.” I was enjoying the freedom that comes with spending for once in my life.

After that night, I learned to take charge of my own pleasure, which kept me somewhat content for another two years. Gavin slept on the couch that night, and I watched the rest of the video (and many others after that). I tried out some toys, a few of which I still favor to this day. Nothing but the real thing can set me off like the little pink butterfly kiss can. I feel for the poor soul who gets Gavin next, male or female.

Hearing the many stories Krystal has so willingly shared with me over the past two years has set fire to a longing for some sexual variety. I want my world rocked like it was with Tanner, but beyond that. I find myself fantasizing about it often these days, craving a warm body next to me; running my hands over tight, masculine, toned abs similar to the ones Tanner had; and feeling a working man’s hands on my body. I need anything but vanilla sex. I may have to settle for some
strange,
as Krystal would put it.

“Well, maybe you should head up to Marshall Roderick’s room and see if he needs his pillow fluffed,” she says with a little giggle, making her sound more like ten than thirty-two. “Oh, that’s right. You can’t function when he’s around.”

My face flushes again at the thought of my behavior. The newfound confidence I’ve been trying to convince myself I had stripped away.

“You’re getting a real kick out of this, aren’t you?” I sputter.

“Just calling it as I see it.”

I take my seat at the front desk in hopes of getting back to work and taking my mind off being mortified. I stare blankly at the computer screen, the heat on my face still present.
Damn, is this day over yet?

“What time are you off tonight?” asks Krystal.

“Ten,” I say, gritting my teeth. “You?”

“Eight for me. Open mic night tonight at the Brewhouse. You should swing by when you’re done.”

“I’ll think about it. After the day I’ve had already, and it’s only”—I glance down at my computer—“six!” I shout a little too loudly, “this is going to be a long one.”

I turn again to my computer screen to get lost in my work at least for a little while, but within minutes, I’m taken back to the first day I met Marshall.

I was in the lobby speaking with hotel guests, doing my best to act interested as they rambled on about the many amazing birds they’d seen that morning along their walk on Lakeside Trail. I strained to hear Marshall’s voice and watched his every move as Krystal checked him in. After that, I looked to see how long his reservation was and, for the next few days, found myself staying close to the front lobby, hoping to get the opportunity to see him. I even picked up an extra shift that weekend. Hell, I’ll admit it’s borderline stalking, but Gavin and I were together at the time, and I was only looking. But I can’t deny that the vision of Marshall Roderick has been the only thing on my mind every time my fingers danced me to orgasm since that day two years ago.

***

The phone rings, and I jump.
Jeez, what’s with me?
I quickly clear my throat. “Front desk. This is Elizabeth speaking. How may I help you?”

“Yes, Elizabeth, this is Marshall Roderick from suite 321. I’m wondering if somebody could bring up a few more towels?”

It’s him. Oh, God, what do I do? Can I talk this time? Why does he need more towels for just one person? He must have company. There’s probably more than one woman ready to hop into his Jacuzzi. Maybe it’s Aubrey.
I feel my face getting hot.
How silly, Elizabeth. You can’t even see him, yet here you sit, red-faced
. The line goes silent for few moments.

“Hello? Are you there?” He sounds slightly annoyed.

“Ah … yes. Um … sorry. Uh … we can have someone up with towels shortly.” I take a deep breath and hope he can’t hear me. “H—how many would you like?”

“Two more would be sufficient.”

“Two more—uh—sure.” I manage to sound a little more upbeat.

“Thank you, Elizabeth.”

“No problemo, sir.” I finally get the words out, and I say “no problemo”?
What an imbecile!

I hang up the phone and cover my face with my hands, wanting to bang my head against a wall, but I refrain. My face has been red enough for one day.

The oversized antique clock hanging over the lobby fireplace reads 9:50 p.m. I’d picked up the clock at a local estate sale when I was hired to redecorate Beacon Pointe Resort four years ago after completing an online interior design course through the New York Institute of Art and Design.