"Lean against the counter," she ordered, and I got the feeling she had done this sort of thing for someone much too often. Not hotel guests, though. She had the practiced movements of a young woman who had been helping an alcoholic or addict parent. I watched her unwrap the provided toiletries and start the shower. "Brush your teeth. It will help you feel better. I'll be back with some first aid supplies and water. You need to hydrate."
I found myself nodding silently and doing exactly as instructed. The first glimpse of my reflection in the mirror, and I winced. My stage makeup had smeared down my cheeks and across my forehead. I turned to the side and examined the cut on my head. It wasn't very deep or too long, but it must have been a bleeder if the amount of dried blood flaking in my short hair was any indication.
I brushed my teeth twice and rinsed three times with mouthwash to get the awful taste of my debauched night off my tongue. Hands on the counter, I stared at my reflection and experienced the most intense wave of shame and regret. Thirty years old, and I was acting like a goddamned teenager!
You could have died last night, asshole. You could have been robbed or killed or worse. You could have hurt someone.
Instead of the best birthday ever, I had had the worst and most embarrassing one. As I stumbled toward the toilet to relieve my aching bladder, I had a sinking feeling in my stomach. I could just imagine the stories those three chicks were circulating about my limp dick and the nose-dive I'd taken onto the bedroom floor. The fact that they hadn't stuck around to make sure I was alive hurt in a way I would never admit to anyone. To know that they hadn't even cared about whether or not they had left a corpse on the bedroom floor wasn't a good feeling.
"Mr. Vasiliev? Sir?" She knocked on the door. "Are you decent?"
I laughed harshly. "Hardly, sweetness."
"You know what I mean."
"Yes."
She entered the bathroom and placed a small first aid kit on the counter along with bottles of sports drink and water. "When you're finished showering, I'll help you bandage your cut." She glanced back toward the bedroom. "Where are you clothes?"
I scratched at the heavy, raspy shadow of a beard on my chin. "I think I lost my shirt somewhere in the living room and my pants in the dining room."
She dropped her gaze. "Oh. Well. I'll go get them for you."
"You don't have to do that." I didn't know why, but the idea of her hunting down my clothes and finding the evidence of all the crazy shit I had been up to made me feel really bad.
She shrugged. "It's my job."
Guilt crashed onto my shoulders like an anvil dropped from the top of a high-rise. I thought of the absolute mess we had made of the suite. This one girl had to clean it all up. How many other maids had I tormented and fucked over with my bad behavior? Shit, I was not proud of that at all. One more check for the rotten bastard column.
Not liking myself very much, I unwrapped the towel and stepped into the walk-in shower. The blast of steam and heat sent a wave of unexpected dizziness through me, and I leaned to the left. In an instant, she was there. She swooped in under my arm and caught me around the waist. I found my balance and staggered back under the spray of hot water, dragging her with me.
She squealed and tried to disentangle herself as the water soaked right through her uniform. That sound she made sent a shockwave of want and need straight down to my cock. Her lush breasts pressed against my body, and I wanted to cup them in my hands, to feel the weight of all that soft flesh on my bare palms.
She wiggled to get free and my arms instinctively tightened around her. She gazed up at me with confusion. Little beads of water rode her jawline and the bridge of her nose. I didn't know what it was about this girl but that one simple look had ensnared me. She was like a damned siren, and I wanted to hear her sing.
I captured her mouth before she could protest. Her hands flew to my chest, first to push me away, but then I stabbed my tongue between her lips and she whimpered. Her fingers curled against my pecs and then her hands slid to my biceps. She held on tight as I cupped the back of her head and plundered her mouth.
I battled the urge to pick her up, shove her thighs apart and sink into her soft, slick pink. I managed to ease off the throttle and slow my sensual attack. She gulped and panted against my chest, her face just inches above my navel. This close, I was reminded of how short she was. An uncomfortable thought hit me. "How old are you?"
"Twenty-one."
I breathed easier knowing the age difference wasn't as big as I had feared.
"Why?"
I cupped her face and bent down. "Because now I don't have to worry about doing this again."
This time she didn't fight my kiss. She melted into me and let me have my way—but not for too long. Just when the kiss was starting to get really interesting, she tugged free and shook her head. "We have to stop."
"Why?" My voice was thick with desire.
"Because I'm getting all wet."
I laughed darkly. "Baby, that's the idea."
Her face turned bright red, and I almost felt bad about teasing her. Almost. "Sorry, sweetheart."
"Jem," she said. "My name is Jem."
"Jem." I liked the sound of that. "Short for?"
"Jemima."
I smiled and bent down to kiss her again. "Come here, Jemima Puddleduck." I didn't think it was possible, but she turned even redder at my joke about the children's book. "What is it?"
"That's, um, actually what inspired my mom to name me Jemima," she admitted a bit bashfully. "My little brother is Benjamin."
I couldn't decide if naming two kids after Beatrix Potter characters was the sweetest thing I had ever heard or the weirdest. "That's…interesting."
She laughed and rolled her eyes before playfully shoving me away from her. "Interesting is a good way to describe my family."
I wanted to grab her and drag her right back into the shower, but I let her go. When she hid behind the door, she unknowingly touched off a primitive chase response. Like a wolf who had caught the scent of a deer, I wasn't about to stop chasing now. I could still see her reflection in the mirror, but she didn't know that.
While I soaped up, I watched her peel out of the pink uniform dress. She wore simple pink panties and a white bra. After having sexually confident and scantily clad women throwing themselves at me and chasing their fantasies of being fucked by a rock star, it was strange to see a woman behaving so modestly and wearing something so plain. All these years, I had thought that I wanted a woman who could match or beat me in the bedroom department, but maybe I had been wrong. Considering the way my body was responding to Jem, I seemed to have swung to the opposite end of the spectrum. There was something alluring about shy, kind Jemima the Maid.
She wrung out the excess water from her dress into the sink and then ducked behind the door again. I watched her blast the damp fabric with the hair dryer. When I stepped out of the shower, I grabbed a clean towel, dabbed at my wet skin and wrapped it around my waist. I snatched the plush robe from the back of the door and thrust it at her. "Wear this."
She shot me a grateful look, and I realized that she wouldn't have taken the robe if I hadn't offered it to her. She would have stood there, soaking wet in her undies, rather than break some inane rule about using the hotel's guest amenities. I shook out the robe and draped it around her shoulders. Even though I really wanted to see her naked, I decided not to push her, not yet. I turned my back. "I won't peek."
"Thank you." Her voice seemed smaller now and uncertain.
Fast and rushed was my speed, but I got the feeling Jem liked to take things slow and easy. Not wanting her to pull away from me now, I hurried to reassure her about what had just happened. "I plan to kiss you again today and take you to dinner and then kiss you again."
"Oh." She seemed surprised. "I thought maybe…"
"Maybe I drag all hotel maids into the shower with me and kiss them like that?"
"Well…"
"I get around, sweetheart, but I'm not that bad." I glanced over my shoulder to find her hugging the robe tightly to her chest and staring at me as if she couldn't quite figure me out. There was something about her that had grabbed hold of me and wouldn't let go.
I was suddenly dragged back to my childhood, to a late night when my dad had drunkenly told me about the day he had met my mother.
Like a lightning bolt to the head.
That's how he had described it. I hadn't understood it then, but I sure as hell did now. All these years of looking all around the world for the woman who would shake me up and make my heart race—and she had been right here in Houston the entire time!
"I'm flattered, Mr. Vas—Step, but I can't have dinner with you." She draped her damp panties and bra on the towel bar.
A flutter of panic invaded my chest. "You have a boyfriend?"
"No."
I glanced at her left hand. "A husband?"
She let loose an amused laugh. "No."
"So what's the problem?"
"I'm working a double shift today."
I started to say that wasn’t a problem, that we could just go out later, but then I realized how tired she would be after sixteen hours of backbreaking work scrubbing floors, cleaning bathrooms and making beds. "I'll take you out for breakfast tomorrow."
She shook her head. "Sorry. I have plans."
Now I was getting frustrated. "Cancel them."
"They can't be canceled."
I let out an irritated huff. "I want to see you. Properly," I added. "I want to take you out."
"I want you to take me out." Her eyes widened slightly, and I could tell she hadn't meant to admit that. I wanted to smirk triumphantly but didn't. "Look," she said with a little sigh, "my family life is really complicated. That kiss in the shower? It was fun, but it can't happen again."
"Says who?"
"Says me."
"Why?"
"Step, you don't want to get involved in my crazy, hot mess of a life. We're not compatible. Let's just chalk up that kiss to your hangover and let it go."
"No." I strode toward her and boxed her in with my larger body. I planted my hands on the wall just above her head and bent down until we were nearly eye to eye. She licked her lips and stared up at me with apprehension. "I'm not going to hurt you."
"I know."
"So why are you looking at me like that?"
"Because I think you're going to get me into trouble," she admitted quietly.
I couldn't help but smile at that. "I have no doubt."
"Step…"
"Jem," I cut in before she could come up with a million reasons why this wouldn't work. "I'm asking for one date. Say yes."
"I…"
I nuzzled her neck and nipped at her jaw before teasing my mouth against hers. "Say yes."
"Yes." Her breathy answer made my balls ache. I wanted to hear her whispering yes like that when she was pinned beneath me on a bed. "One date."
"Tomorrow," I decided. "I'll pick you up."
"Not too early," she said. "Benji and I have to drive up to Dayton in the morning to visit our mom. It will probably be an all-day thing."
"You and your brother live together?" It didn't surprise me. She struck me as the kind of woman who took care of her own. Hell, she had just dragged me out of my tequila-and-Viagra-induced coma into the shower. If she would do that for a stranger, I could only imagine the lengths she would go to when it came to protecting and caring for her family.
I liked her more and more.
"Yes, we live together. He's still in high school."
That didn't quite make sense to me. "Your mother is back home in Dayton while you two are here in Houston?"
She hesitated before reluctantly admitting, "Mom is locked up in Henley doing a twenty year bid."
Twenty years? Jesus Christ! What had that woman done?
As if reading my mind, Jem explained, "She was picked up during a drug raid at our old house where they were cooking meth. My little brother was in the house so she got hit with a list of charges a mile long."
"I'm sorry." I didn't know if that was the right thing to say, but I wasn't sure what else was appropriate.
"Don't be. She got what she deserved for putting him at risk like that. She did stupid, selfish things that hurt us, and now she's paying the price."
She didn't speak with malice or anger in her voice. I heard only resignation. "What about your father? He let her keep your brother in a house like that?"
"My father is dead. Benji's dad was locked up in the county jail on a DUI charge. By the time he got out, I had custody of Benji, and he split."
I decided not touch the stepdad in county lockup part. "Custody? How old is your brother?"
"He'll be sixteen in a few days. I took custody of him almost three years ago."
I hastily did the math and found myself in awe of her. How many other eighteen-year-olds would have gone to that trouble to save a younger sibling from foster care? What else had she given up to take on the role of parent at eighteen? College? Her dreams?
I thought of how selfish I had been at that age and the stupid shit I had gotten tangled up in at an even earlier age. Semyon, my older brother, had saved my ass on more than one occasion. He had gotten me through high school graduation before giving me the speech about being a man and making a life for myself. He had chosen to join the Navy, and I had chosen to run away to Los Angeles with Dom. Eventually, we had ended up in Oslo, of all the cold fucking places, and bumped into Tor and Leif. The rest was metal history.