Frayed
Page 5“Good night, Matt,” she answers.
“Night, Bell. You sure you’re okay?” the other asks.
She looks at me. “Yes. And thanks for all your help,” she calls as they both walk toward their own cars.
They seem young, yet hot for her just the same. But I can’t help wondering if the taller one is having a thing with her. The thought makes my stomach churn. Ignoring it, I set the stuff I’m holding on top of the others and close her trunk. I’m relieved that she doesn’t hurry to get in her car but instead stays where she is. My hands feel a little wet and sticky from the dishes, so I rub them together.
“I have something to clean your hands with in my backseat. Hang on,” she says, and opens her car door, pulling out a pile of black linen napkins monogrammed with a BH in the corner.
I raise an eyebrow. “Contraband?”
Her mouth falls open. “No! I grabbed what I could find quickly from the ballroom when I brought the food in. I used them to wipe up the juice from a tray that spilled on my seat on the way here. I’ll return them the next time I come.”
“Isn’t that what they all say?”
She places her hands on her hips. “I will!”
“I believe you,” I say with a grin.
She hands me one of the napkins.
“You know there’s a reward for items like those.”
Her eyes narrow. “You’re lying.”
My smile grows smug. “No, I’m not. Well, there’s a reward for seventy-five-year-old items like them. Come on, let me show you.”
“I don’t know, it’s late.”
“It’s not far, and who knows, we may even run into the ghosts who are said to haunt the place.”
I finish wiping my hands and reach for her elbow. She doesn’t flinch, so I let my fingers slide down her arm and rest on her tiny waist. Heat flares between us. “Come on. I’ll keep you safe.”
She slants me a look, her eyes settling on the position of my hands. She steps back. “This isn’t going to be like one of those Alfred Hitchcock movies, is it?”
I snort. “No, I promise.”
She shrugs. “Sure, okay, why not?”
As we walk side by side, I find that my glance keeps shifting down to her shapely legs and then up to her full br**sts. She’s such a knockout. I blink a few times rapidly to erase the images playing in my mind and ask, “You watch Hitchcock movies?”
She clasps her hands together in the cutest f**king way. “Yes, I love old movies. I used to watch them with my dad all the time when I was a kid.”
I open the side door, which is surprisingly unlocked. “Me too.”
In the hallway of the hotel she’s very quiet. “Everything okay?” I ask.
“Why do you think this hotel is haunted?” she asks, and I think she might actually be a little scared.
“It was built on a cemetery and it’s said you can hear laughing inside the Crystal Ballroom, but when one opens the doors, no one is in there. Some people have even claimed to have seen a ladylike shape walking through it.”
“How did you become such an expert on the place?”
“I’m not really an expert. I bought a book over the summer about the history of LA, and haunted locations was one of the chapters.”
“You mean there are others?”
I step aside as I open a door for her to yet another hallway. “Yeah, like twelve more. The Roosevelt is one. Marilyn Monroe lived there for a while. In fact, her first magazine spread was shot there. It’s rumored that people who stay in room 1200 can see her. I guess that’s the room she lived in.”
Her eyes widen. “See her how?”
“They say they see her living in the mirror.”
The hallways are dimly lit, so I do my best to lead us back to the Crystal Ballroom. The sound of a door slamming makes her jump.
I stop to look over at her. “Hey, Red, you’re not really scared, are you?”
She looks a little pale and I take a step closer to her. She closes her eyes and I follow the line of her jaw to the peak of her collarbone, gently brushing my fingertips up that same line. “Hey, look at me.”
She opens her eyes and there is no denying it. It’s the way she looks at me, has always looked at me. As though she gets me. It makes me want her as I’ve never wanted anyone.
“What are you two doing in here?” a husky voice calls from the end of the hallway. “This is for staff only.”
The trance is broken and she finds her voice. “Oh, I worked an event earlier and left something behind. I’m just going back to get it,” S’belle tells the man.
“Oh, okay, then. Make it fast.”
“Did you just lie to that man?”
Her eyes cut to mine. “It wasn’t really a lie. Just a half-truth.”
“There’s a difference?” I feign ignorance.
“Yes, now come on before he catches up with us,” she says nervously.
I laugh and her eyes stay locked on mine. Her initially hard stare softens second by second and then just like that she shoves me forward and takes the lead. I follow her and the next door takes us right into the Crystal Ballroom.
I scratch my head. “How did you know how to get here?”
I raise my eyebrows. “I’m impressed.”
“We’re closed,” the bartender calls.
“Hey, man, I just popped in to show this nonbeliever your sign behind the bar.”
“Mr. Covington, I didn’t realize it was you. Come on over.”
“Mr. Covington,” she scoffs, and straightens her shoulders as she strides toward the bar. “Hi, Ryan. How was your night?” she greets him.
Shock overtakes me. She knows him too?
He smiles at her. “Busy,” is all he says when he catches the look on my face.
She takes a seat and I move to stand behind her, making sure he knows she’s with me. But with being this close, all I can think about is wanting to press myself against her.
He lifts the framed sign from behind the bar and hands it to S’belle.
Her laughter jolts through me. She looks over her shoulder at me. “You’re not going to turn me in, are you, Mr. Covington?”
I wink at her and lean down to whisper in her ear, “Not if you behave.”
She sits perfectly still.
I watch in the mirror as her eyes close. I stay close just breathing into her ear and inhaling her lemon scent.
“Funny, right?” Ryan comments as he takes the sign from her and puts it back, making himself scarce at the other end of the bar.
S’belle twirls around to face me. “Your speech told such an emotional tale. I never thought about all you went through. I’m really sorry—”
I place a finger over her lips. “Shhh . . . no sorries. That part of my life is over and I’m moving forward. But I want to apologize to you for the last time we spoke. I really should explain—I wasn’t thinking clearly then. I was in a really bad place and—”
She repeats my action and places her finger over my lips. “Shhh . . . we’ve all made mistakes. I shouldn’t have judged. So let’s just let it go.”
She’s letting me off the hook for my lapse in judgment. Good. Working as a wedding columnist over the summer and fraternizing with the bride is not anything I’m proud of or even want to ever think about again.
We lean toward each other, drawn together like two magnets. I place my hands on either side of her. This close there’s no denying that we are two people who want each other. Lust, fire, desire erupt between us.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Covington, but I have to close the room down now.”
The weight of his gaze as he takes us in tells me he wants to be me. A smug satisfied smile spreads across my lips that he isn’t.
“We’ll get out of your hair and thanks for letting us in.”
I pull myself back to look at her.
She tries to step from the barstool, but one of her heels gets caught in the rung. I catch her splaying my fingers across her hipbones and guide her to safety. “You okay?”
She blinks but doesn’t answer.
When I assess her body for signs of injury, the only thing I notice is gooseflesh up and down her arms. “Ready to head back?” I ask her softly.
She nods, still unable to speak, seemingly in a daze. I find it rather adorable. But that feeling passes quickly when she raises her eyes and they meet mine. In them I see no need for words. I recognize the look—one of pure hunger.
CHAPTER 4
Underneath It All
Bell
I’m not going to try to deny the desire burning within me. Heat flares as he leads me out of the ballroom, and it only seems to get hotter with each breath I take. I am, as always, completely under the spell that is Ben Covington—whenever he is near me now, then, and dare I say forever? The thing is that I can also tell he wants me just as much as I want him.
He turns around, walking and talking at the same time, his eyes drinking me in all the while. “Can you lead us back this way or should we take the main hallways?”
From the intense look he gives me, the same memory that was interrupted earlier assaults me.
• • •
At the frat party his eyes drank me in as if he had been in the desert for days and I were his first cup of water. Shivers went down my spine and I lost my ability to speak, but I didn’t really need to because he communicated with me by trailing his gaze slowly down my body. He stopped on my low-cut shirt and I was sure he could see my ni**les popping out of the thin fabric. My breathing picked up as he lowered his eyes to the short hemline of my skirt. I had a feeling he knew my panties were already soaked, because I saw him swallow a few times.
When his eyes returned to my face, it was my turn. I scanned him in the same way he had swept his gorgeous blue eyes over me—from head to toe. His mop of shaggy blond hair was even more of a mess than usual. I wanted to run my fingers through it and comb it into place. His tall, lean, muscular body looked tan. I wanted to touch it to see how smooth it felt. He wore a white button-down shirt; he seemed to wear those a lot. This one was frayed around the untucked edges, which made it look comfortable—I wanted to wear it. I smiled and with a wicked grin he smiled back. He seemed to understand the purpose of my presence before him, but he didn’t release his hold. Something passed between us and then his stare went blank and he finally let go of the cup.
I twirled in a half turn and bounced over to the keg. I was extremely uncomfortable in this overtly short skirt and tried to shimmy it down with one hand as I walked. Claire’s shoes were too big and I kept slipping out of them, so I had to walk slowly. On my way back I saw Ben motion as if he was unzipping his pants and make a sucking gesture to the guy he was talking to. At that point I wondered if Claire was wrong about him. Maybe he didn’t have a girlfriend? Maybe he liked guys? I wasn’t close enough to hear what he was saying, but in the next moment he was laughing hysterically. The sound of his laugh made a heat creep up my chest.
Just as I approached him he turned around. I was sure I had a look of horror on my face because he said, “What?” with another laugh.
“That’s not really a part of hazing, is it?” I naively asked, wondering if Claire wasn’t kidding after all.
“Fuck no. I was just busting his balls,” he said, taking his beer. Then he said, “Thank you . . .”
“S’belle,” I finished for him.
“I know your name.”
The sound of his voice caused a tingle between my thighs.
That tingling only magnified with the grin he wore. I was surprised he’d remembered. But before I could say anything else, he excused himself and walked away. I tried to mingle, but my eyes kept roving back to him.