The Perfect Plans Series [Box Set] (8 page)

Ugh.
What’s the matter with me? Thank God I didn’t share the conversation with Stacey. This decision needs to be my own.

My much-needed late morning coffee in Shepherd Market helped a little—my excitement over moving into my new flat kicking in, effectively shielding my sadness over Stacey’s departure. I enjoyed my relaxing moments at the café imagining all the places we can visit when she returns next month. Of course, she’ll stay with me versus at the hotel.

But, unfortunately, the memories of my new flat begrudgingly include memories of Alex. I’m still blown away that I sent him packing not once, but twice now. Seriously, I am without a doubt a looney-bird. Would it be so bad to just sleep with him? To cave, and give him the one night he asked for? No it wouldn’t. Why didn’t I have this revelation yesterday?

With my favorite book in hand, I make my way back into the hotel. Most of the staff are used to seeing me pass through, absorbed in some book or another. It’s only been a week, but I’ve become accustomed to the familiar faces behind the desk. They don’t bother to say ‘hi’ anymore, instead simply present me with a smile, leaving me to my solace. I’m getting comfortable here. It’s unfortunate that I’ll have to check out at the end of the week, given Stacey was only able to secure me an additional five days at a discounted rate. I shudder to think of the
affordable
hotel that I’ll relocate to.

Engrossed in my novel, I press the elevator button, subconsciously awaiting the ding that will announce its arrival to take me to my lonely hotel room. A room that’s not occupied by Stacey.
Or
Alexander Tate.
What a sad, sad day,
I shake my head, attempting to escape back into the steamy pages.

“Aby.”

Tearing my gaze from my book, I stare shocked into the eyes of the man who has occupied my every waking thought—Alex, in the flesh, standing before me.

He’s clad in unbelievably sexy, loose fitting jeans and a white V-neck t-shirt, with a dark blue baseball cap pulled low over his stunning blue eyes—eyes filled with warmth as he flashes me a bright smile. “Good book?”

“Ummm . . . yeah. What are you doing here?” I can’t disguise the surprise in my voice.

“Courier at your service, Miss Ryan,” he bows regally in jest. “I have the sublet papers.”

I’ve become mute all over again, standing before this gorgeous creature, hearing his words but unable to find my own.

With a slight cock of his head, his smile widens, “The sublet papers from Amira. She told you she would send them here to your hotel.”

And she uses the Sexy-as-shit Actors Courier Service?—
my inner dreamer bounces in excitement, snapping me back to planet earth. “Yes . . . of course,” I begin, a little less confidently then I would like. “The sublet papers. Yes, she did say that she would courier them . . . here . . . to me.” Right, he’s not just here to see me
.
Of course he isn’t.
And, yup, now I’m babbling.

“I thought I’d take advantage of her offer and deliver them myself.”

“But . . . how did you know I’d be here?” I stare bewildered at his wanting to make the delivery,
and
the notion that I could have missed him.

“Well, I didn’t,” he replies, somewhat shyly. “I had the front desk call up to your room, but when there was no answer, I thought I would sit and wait for you.”

He waited for me?
“How long have you been here?”

“About . . . an hour,” he shuffles his feet a little.

He waited here for
an hour
for me? I have no words. What must this man think of me?
Every time I’m in his presence I become a speechless idiot. A tongue-tied, trembling ball of desire.
Oh, what this man makes me want to do with my tongue . . .

My subsequent visual of
his
tongue all over my body creates a sudden heated tingling throughout my core.
His tongue
and
a sexy tie, now there’s a hot visual—
my inner actress jumps in.

Oh, good lord.
I really need to take a break from these damn erotic novels—I quickly stuff my steamy book in my satchel.

“Well, more like skulked in the corner to avoid notice, but yes, about an hour,” he adds, interrupting my heated reverie.

Wide eyed, I stand motionless, lost in his dazzling baby blues.

Moments pass in silence as he searches my eyes, “I hope my being here is okay?” I note the cute look of vulnerability donning his face.

Okay?
That’s a slight understatement. It’s more than ok
.
“Of course. It’s fine,” I mumble through an awkward smile, “I just wasn’t expecting to see you . . . here . . . today.”

“So, you were expecting to see me
another
day?” he retorts, his playfulness returned.

Expecting? No, not at all. Wanting?
Oh yes.
“Well, I did agree to think about it,” I smile—I can’t help myself. His playfulness is quite charming, though I’m sure my crazed-awe is written all over my face.

“That you did,” he smiles. “There’s a café here in the hotel, would you like to get something to drink?”

“Ummm . . . sure,” I manage.
Why don’t we go to the gift shop and pick up a nice tie too?

This is it. My one last chance. My do-over. Alex has handed it to me on a silver platter, though why, I can’t quite wrap my head around. Perhaps he’s not used to having someone say no to him? Well, I didn’t quite say
no,
I said I’d think about it. And think about it I have. Day and night. I’ve thought endlessly about what a crazy fool I was to walk away from him, tortured by equally endless conjured sexual escapades starring the man himself. How
did
I manage to walk away? Momentary insanity, clearly.

I’ve spent so many years lost in a life that wasn’t meant to be mine, my needs and desires absorbed in my own imagined fantasy, or some authors’ creative sex-filled utopia. Maybe that’s why I’ve been able to walk away from him—my subconscious’ clear reminder that this can’t be real, despite how much I want it to be.

His damn good looks and shy gentlemanly behavior are making me want to rip his clothes off. He has an effect on me like no other man I’ve ever come across, in the
real world
at least. Well, real or otherwise, I can’t continue to fight this uncontrollable pull towards him. I feel like I need him right now more than I need air to breathe. Whether this is the only opportunity I’ll have to see him again, I’m done fighting.

Sliding his warm, and very large, masculine hand in mine, he walks us towards the hotel café, trying to keep his face hidden by the brim of his hat. He’s clearly concerned with being recognized. And that’s just fine. Better safe than sorry. I’d hate to cut this chance meeting short because of a fan-frenzy.

Although . . .
I could take him to my hotel room?
Finally get my chance to do the inappropriate things to him that are currently floating around in my head
.
No, scratch that. It’s best we stay on neutral territory until I can feel him out.
Particularly his intentions
.

Walking towards the back of the café, he finds us a cozy table for two secluded behind large potted greens. He seats me in my chair before taking his across the small table, his back to the mass of surrounding patrons.

My breath hitches as he takes my hand, holding it in his on the tabletop. His touch sends tingles shooting straight up my arm; my heartbeat thumping at an erratic pace as he gently strokes his thumb across my knuckles.

Trying to appear casual, I peruse the surroundings.
This is a charming café,
I attempt to ignore what his intimate touch is doing to me, eying the seated guests enjoying their mid-day tea; internally wondering why I hadn’t come here for my requisite morning coffee.

I notice the waitress nearing our table, Alex following the direction of my gaze, abruptly turning his head in the opposite direction. “Would you mind ordering for me?” he whispers as she’s upon us, his tone barely audible.

“Good afternoon, would you like to order something to drink while you browse the menu? Perhaps a cup of tea?”

My gaze darts to Alex at his gentle squeeze of my hand. His inconspicuous headshake makes me giggle. He’s obviously trying to maintain his anonymity,
and
is not up for tea. At least I think that’s what he meant.

“Hi,” I reply with a smile, hoping to keep her focus. Although I now realize that I have no idea what it is that Alex
would
like to drink.
Ugh.
“Two hot chocolates?” the uncertainty of my order is obvious. Responding quickly to her questioning head tilt, I clarify, “Just hot chocolates, thank you.”

“That sounds lovely,” she replies, not paying Alex any mind, turning to walk away. I’m sure she would kick herself if she knew she just stood two feet away from a Hollywood heartthrob and didn’t even realize it.

“Thank you. I don’t want to cut this short by being recognized. It might cause a little pandemonium. Interesting beverage choice, Miss Ryan,” his sparkling white smile shines brilliantly, instantly melting my heart. It’s ridiculous the feelings he evokes in me.

“Well, I didn’t know what you wanted, so . . . you like hot chocolate?”

With a quick nod of his head, my nervousness evaporates; until I register the continued leisurely glide of his thumb across the top of my hand, filling me with renewed butterflies.

The waitress promptly returns with our mugs of steaming hot chocolate, leaving us to enjoy. The succulent smell wafts up to my nose. It smells good, but not as good as Alex. Next best thing? Licking hot chocolate off his delectable body . . .
Jeez. Get a handle on yourself, Aby.
These last few days filled with imaginary sex-capades with this man are getting the best of me.

Looking back into his eyes, I swear he can tell exactly what I’m thinking. His probing baby-blues are making me squirm in my seat.
That’s twice he’s made me squirm,
I realize, flashing back to the night we met.

Reluctantly pulling my hand from his, I pick up my hot chocolate, giving it a little blow before taking a quick sip. It tastes as delicious as it smells. I close my eyes in enjoyment, a little moan escaping my lips. Opening them, I find Alex’s previously probing gaze turned molten. I watch in awe as his tongue runs along his bottom lip, wetting it. You could cut the sexual tension between us with a knife.

“So, you have those papers?” I ask, a little breathless.

“Yes, of course.” He sits up slightly, pulling the folded papers from his back pocket, handing them to me, “Here you are.”

These papers were touching his ass, and now I’m holding them . . .
I think that means I can now say I’ve touched Alexander Tate’s ass,
I giggle to myself, recovering with an accepting smile.
“Thanks,” I take a quick look, scanning them in a professional manner, as much as my thoughts—still lost to his ass—will allow.

“So, did
you have a chance to think about my request?” he asks, his strong hands idly holding his hot chocolate.

Ok, this is my chance.
After two days of a hellish back and forth struggle, filled with incredibly agonizing erotic imagery, I’m now beyond ready to accept his request. I simply can’t, in good conscience, walk away from him again. Especially when he’s being so persistent. Not to mention, sexy as hell licking the foam off that bottom lip.
I want to lick those lips . . .

“Yes, I’ve thought about it,” I answer, trying my hardest to play it cool.

“And, what did you decide?”

“Yes. I’ll have dinner with you.”

“Splendid,” he flashes a triumphant smile.
Such a British reply.

Pulling my gaze away before I lose all motor skills, I turn back to the papers, “Thank you for delivering these. I’ll sign them and get them to Amira.”

“It was my pleasure. It gave me this chance to see you . . . and get my answer.” Folding his hands closely to mine on the table, our fingers brush slightly in the movement, the simple touch exuding a mutually heated spark. The same spark that’s been building since the moment I met him. The one I’ve been trying so hard to deny.

Returning his intense gaze, the warmth of my hot chocolate exaggerates my continued arousal. The sexual tension devours me in the lingering silence, I’m under his spell, unable to look away.

Standing, Alex places a few pounds on the table before reaching his hand down to me, “Shall we?” His eyes are still alight with desire. Desire I imagine is clearly mirrored in my own.

Sliding my hand in his, I feel the instant vibration again. His touch is molten. Indescribable. He doesn’t move an inch as he pulls me up, our bodies coming slightly into contact. Surely he can sense my want for him.

“I
needed
to see you today. And I know, despite your previous resistance, you wanted to see me too,” his chocolate breath fans my lips as I stare up into his face.

Oh honey, he knows you want him—
my inner actress reminds me with usual sarcasm. I’m breathless from the onslaught of arousal that’s overtaken me from his closeness alone. He smells divine. And chocolaty. Better than my memories of him. Better still than from the dreams that have dominated the past two nights.

With a gentle tug on my hand, he leads me out of the café towards the bank of elevators.

Thankfully, we’re alone in the vestibule. Given my heightened arousal, I’m grateful for our solace.

“Shall I pick you up at eight?” he presses the elevator button.

I have to wait an excruciating six hours?
“That sounds great,” I lie, beginning to conjure up all the reasons why he shouldn’t join me in my room
right
now. Screw going to dinner—
my inner dreamer peels off her clothes.

Reluctantly releasing his hand, I walk inside the elevator, pressing the button for the eighth floor.
Am I honestly going to walk away from him once more?
Turning to face him, I’m frozen at the sight of his sexy stance encompassing the open doorway, his gloriously strong arm out-stretched, his hand impeding the door in its casing.

Our eyes lock, a mutual sexually charged stare. A silent shared want and need. I know he wants me, just as I want him.
Why am I fighting this?
I want to open my mouth and tell him exactly what I want. I want to ask him to follow me to my room . . . to finally give in to him. But I’m unable to move. Despite my inability to speak the words, I know my eyes are silently asking the question.