Part 8 (1/2)

We made our way through the lobby, and I swear, every eye in the place turned our way. Trip pasted his movie-star-smile onto his face and ignored all of them, save for the concierge behind the desk who welcomed him by name. ”Mr. Wiley. Welcome back. We were all very sorry to hear about your father. How did everything go back home?”

Trip had turned into him by this time, so he was able to answer appropriately, ”Thank you, Jim. Everything went very well. Of course we're all saddened by the loss of a good man, and I'm sure the TRU won't be the same without him. But I see everything's in order here?”

Jim puffed up a bit with pride as he answered, ”Of course, Mr. Wiley. Miss Wilmington is making sure of that.”

When Mr. Wilmington's health had finally taken its ultimate turn for the worse, Claudia had stepped into his vacated role as Chairman of the Board. I thought it was more of a figurehead-type position-you know, keeping with the family name and all-but apparently, she was actively running the show. Good for her.

Trip introduced me to Jim, then checked me in under the name Mrs. Martin Bishop. Still with the freaking Redford characters. He smiled cheerfully at his name choice, but he wasn't very happy about having to kiss me goodbye. He pulled me behind a potted tree and planted his lips on mine. What started out as a simple goodbye kiss quickly picked up a bit of steam. I hoped none of the tourists in the lobby could see us, or worse, pull out their cameras and start snapping photos.

We were both a bit jetlagged from the flight, so while half of me wanted nothing more than to drag him upstairs with me, the other half just wanted to crash for the next twelve hours.

But there we were, right there in the lobby, our goodbye kiss turning heated.

Screw sleep. Some things were more important. I needed this man between my thighs more than sleep. More than food. More than air.

He slipped an arm around my waist and we followed the bellboy to the elevators along with the baggage cart that held all my stuff. Once the doors closed, Trip didn't waste any time. He slid a hand right down my spine, teasing his fingers under the waistband at the back of my jeans. I stood perfectly still, even though I wanted to slap his hand away. I could've killed him for playing games with the bellboy right there in the cramped elevator. Either that, or jumped his bones. I wasn't sure which. In any case, the ride to the penthouse took forever.

We were shown to our room, and Trip promptly tipped the bellboy. As soon as he was out the door, we started tearing at each other, our clothes strewn all over the floor. Trip shoved me onto the bed and pounced on top of me, kissing his way along every inch of my body.

”No way, pal. It's my turn,” I teased, as I rolled him to his back and straddled him, kissing his neck and running my hands along his smooth, hard chest.

The light from outside had started to dim, and I was reminded of a dream I once had, during a time when the mere thought of having this gorgeous man back in my life was an abstract idea at best. And yet, there he was, right there, his hands clasped behind his head, his eyes closed, a contented smile pasted to his beautiful face, lying right there underneath my naked body, the reality far better than any dream could ever be.

I kissed him, brus.h.i.+ng my mouth along those full, sensual lips of his, savoring the taste of him, the feel of his heart rus.h.i.+ng under my palms. A possessiveness overtook me as I pushed back against his torso, trying to brand myself into his skin. I had waited for this, longer than any woman should have been asked to wait. And now, he was mine.

I earned him.

Trip wasn't feeling very patient at that moment either. He released his hands from behind his head and grasped my hips, pulling me toward him and spearing himself into my body. I gasped as I rocked against him, feeling the fullness of his hardened length plunging inside of me, claiming me as his own.

He was smiling as he had his way with me, his free hands running over every inch of exposed skin within his reach, his hips thrusting to meet my movements, again and again and again, eventually causing the both of us to explode, leaving us sated and out of breath.

What is it about a hotel room that turns people into s.e.x-crazed lunatics?

We settled into the heavenly mattress, our limbs tangled together under the bedsheets as I ran my hand along the soft skin on the inside of his arm.

He was staring at me, his face half-buried in the pillow. ”I can't believe you're really going to stay here. Isn't there anything I can say to change your mind?”

My chest was still heaving as I tried to catch my breath. I nuzzled into his neck, s.h.i.+vering at the brush of stubble that tickled my lips. The truth was, all I really wanted was to curl up in that man's bed and stay there forever.

I slowly pushed myself up and straddled his lap, peering down at him while he offered me his most lethally persuasive glare with those potent blue eyes of his-eyes that I was virtually powerless to deny.

I s.h.i.+fted my attention to take in the room we had all but ignored in our frantic dance to make it to the bed.

My jaw dropped.

The room was ginormous. That bedroom alone was probably two times larger than my entire apartment in the city, and decorated a hundred times better. The Wilmingtons' Beverly Hills hotel was way more relaxed and inviting than their ber-hip Times Square property. Less mod; more island. Rustic wood furnis.h.i.+ngs contrasted against pale cream walls with the perfect kisses of Wilmington Blue in the patterned fabric of the upholstered furniture, pillows, and curtains. Along one wall, floor to ceiling windows showcased the Los Angeles skyline at night, a breathtaking array of bright lights in darkened skysc.r.a.pers against an almost amethyst sky.

I looked down at Trip. ”I'm in L.A.,” I said in awe.

He grinned cautiously and nodded.

I glanced back up, scanned the room again, then collapsed on top of him. ”Holy s.h.i.+t! I'm in L.A. I'm really here.”

Trip's arms wrapped around me, his hands gently stroking up and down my back. His voice rumbled through his chest. ”You're where you're supposed to be, Lay.”

I buried my face in his chest and fought the wave of disbelief was.h.i.+ng over me. ”A week ago, I was Layla Warren, self-employed writer, living in her childhood bedroom in Norman, New Jersey. You were nothing more than a late-night fantasy, and a crazy day was a visit from Lisa and the kids.”

I rested my chin on his chest and looked up at him. ”Now I'm in the penthouse suite of the Beverly Hills TRU. Naked, mind you, in one of the most comfortable beds I've ever felt, with one of the biggest movie stars the world has ever seen.”

I hesitated, mentally reminding myself of my new pledge to verbally vomit, then went for it. ”Also one of the world's biggest playboys.”

His mouth opened, then closed. I squeezed my eyes shut and burrowed into him, wis.h.i.+ng I could ignore the insecurity I had thus far managed to keep at bay.

It was impossible to avoid the numerous reports about the many, many women who had been ”guests” at his home over the years. Not to mention an ex-fiancee who had actually lived there. I could only a.s.sume that Trip had seen more action in that house than Hef did in the Playboy Mansion.

Okay, maybe not more than Hef.

It had better not be more than Hef.

His arms tightened, and he whispered against my hair. ”You know they meant nothing to me. You know I've spent the last fifteen years pining away for some infuriating chick I met back in high school.”

I smiled slightly. ”But you were engaged. To a freaking Victoria's Secret Angel, Trip. She had to mean something.”

He pressed soft kisses along my hair and jaw. ”She was just a placeholder until you were finally able to figure out how awesome I was.”

I sputtered out a laugh, then slapped his chest. He grabbed my arm and slid his hand to my cheek, tilting my face to look at him. ”She wasn't you, Lay. Do you understand what I'm saying?”

I stared into his blue eyes, taking in the devotion br.i.m.m.i.n.g from their depths. I swallowed past the lump in my throat and nodded.

He brushed a soft kiss against my lips, but I soon pulled away. ”Give me a few days, okay? Let's catch our breath. You've just come back from your father's funeral. I'm twenty-five-hundred miles away from the only home I've ever known, with a man I never thought I'd ever see again. I just need a minute to wrap my head around all of this. A few days, and then I'll gladly stay with you.”

He nodded, giving me a deep, toe-curling kiss to let me know he understood, no hard feelings. Then he s.h.i.+fted my body off of him and got out of the bed.

”Hey! That didn't mean you had to leave now!”

A grin spread across his lips. ”Yes, it does. Otherwise certain body parts are going to get way too happy to have a naked you against them, and then it will start all over again, and the next thing you know, it's morning.” He gestured below his waist to my favorite body part. Sure enough, it was waking up and taking notice.

I brazenly watched him pull on his jeans and yank his T-s.h.i.+rt over his head, shamelessly ogling what was finally mine to ogle. He smirked, then stalked to the bed and flattened me with another searing kiss.

I gasped for breath as he pulled away and said, ”See you tomorrow, babe. This is good. Now I have time to make sure there are no lingering thongs under my mattress.”

I shrieked and grabbed one of the dozens of pillows from behind my head, launching it at his retreating form.

”Kidding! You know I'm only kidding.” He flashed a huge smile, kissed the air between us, and ducked out the door.

I fell to the bed, the giggles escaping despite my efforts. About thirty seconds after he left, I pa.s.sed out and slept forever.