hunger from the moment his companion got off the elevator. Molly had seen it happen at least three dozen times. She imagined that the short walk across the lobby to the bar would seem like miles to the woman he had come here to meet. The urge to be near him was always written all over them, and the more Molly watched, the more she understood it.
The elevator chimed, and she watched the drama unfold.
He never changed, but the women did. Most fell into the range of middle age, though some were younger than she was, while others had silver hair. A few dripped with diamonds and had faces pulled tight as a drum, but most came off as powerhouses in their own right. After working in hotels for the past decade and a half, Molly had grown accustomed to learning everything she needed to know about people, based on their wardrobes, demeanours and the credit cards they used.
She’d developed an odd admiration for the women who sat with the man in the bar. They believed they deserved the best, and, if she read the man right, he was the best.
The woman who slid into the seat opposite the man had checked in wearing a power suit. She had changed into a little maroon dress. While she hadn’t shed her powerhouse outer shell entirely, the bangles on her wrists and the hoop earrings made her appear flirty.
Molly often wondered if these women dressed for him or for themselves. She leaned towards the latter. Who was he to impress when he was a thing to be bought? They were there to pamper themselves. He, like the in-room massage, was a part of the experience.
Another guest approached the reception desk to check in. He was tall and broad and obscured her view of the lounge. When the man and the woman strode arm in arm past the reception desk Molly stifled a growl from the back of her throat. She’d seen the to and fro of sexual negotiations enough that she didn’t need to look, but she still wanted to watch it unfold this last time.
No matter, she thought. You’ll be seeing him soon enough.
The checking-in guest moved on, and Molly rose from her desk. She peeked around the corner in time to see the couple step into the elevator. As the doors closed, the man lifted the woman’s hand to his lips, and then he leaned in.
Molly stood on the threshold between her office and the reception desk. ‘Nick, would you mind coming in here for a moment?’
He nodded and spoke to the other clerk, then straightened his tie as he headed towards her. She blocked his way when he reached her door, and when he looked at her she lowered her voice.
‘You might want to bring that little green notebook you keep under the keyboard,’ she murmured, and tried not to smile at the flash of panic on his face. ‘Come on, Nick. There aren’t many tricks I miss in this place.’
She had just cracked the top on a bottle of water from the minibar when the workstation phone in room 720 lit up and chimed. She took a swig from the bottle, placed it on the credenza that housed the minibar, then strode to the phone.
‘Yes?’
‘Miss Tallery?’
‘Yes.’
‘Your guest has arrived,’ Nick said. ‘He’s waiting in the bar.’
‘Would you please ask him to come up?’
‘Certainly.’
Molly supposed she could have arranged for him to come to her office, but she wanted as much discretion as she could. It wouldn’t do to have a male prostitute sitting in her office. Someone might recognise him. Someone might think he was actually in the hotel’s employ.
There had always been the option of doing the cowardly thing by having a front-desk clerk tell the man he wasn’t welcome on the property again, but she couldn’t do that even to Nick, who would have been the best candidate for the job.
What if he caused a scene? She didn’t think he would, though. He thought far too much of his appearance. It was better to meet him on his territory and explain it herself.
A quick look in the mirror satisfied her. When she’d left her office shortly after five, she’d gone to a nearby café for supper and changed from her uniform to a sweater-dress, then left it on to keep him at ease. With crimson lipstick refreshed and glossy brown-black hair neatly combed, she looked like she was ready for date night.
Molly didn’t want to intimidate; she wanted to reason. When he walked through that door, she wanted him to think she was just another client eager for his special skill set.
She quickly rolled her tongue in her mouth to work up some of the saliva she had lost between answering the phone and now, then pressed her ear to the door and listened.
Through the rush of blood in her ears, she heard it: the faint chime of the elevator car reaching its destination, and then his footfall, growing louder.
It seemed to take for ever. She knew it was his and not some other guest’s. The thump-thump-thump matched the rhythm of his gait when he strolled across her lobby.
Molly stepped back and sucked in a deep breath, then ran her sweaty palms over her thighs.
The sound stopped, but nothing happened. He was there on the other side of the door, but he wasn’t doing anything.
He’s probably patting down his hair and checking his breath for freshness, she thought, and was tempted to stand on her toes to look through the peephole.
Finally, he knocked: a slow, rhythmic knock. Even that sounded seductive, and Molly’s breath swept from her body in a gale. She was actually nervous to meet this person who probably made more in a night than she did in a week by selling that gorgeous body.
Her hand was once again steady as she grasped the door handle. She took another moment to refill her lungs, then opened the door.
The man’s hand was raised mid-knock, wrist turned and long fingers curled into his palm. He held it there as he met her gaze, then cocked his head.
‘Sonia,’ he said, using the name she had given him.
It wasn’t a question. She knew it by the way her blood sang with the word. This was the first promise.
The things I’ll do to you, it said.
Molly held open the door and stepped aside. ‘Come in, please.’
She might as well have answered the door in nothing but her panties. He gave her one long, sweeping look and stripped her bare.
As she burned up, the man strode into the room and trailed the whiff of expensive cologne that had been his trademark since he first approached the reception desk. She touched her tongue to the roof of her mouth, and couldn’t tell whether it was the scent or his magnetism that made her mouth water.
With every step his dominance of the space became more oppressive, and the thought of closing that door, of closing herself in with him, brought back the pounding in her head.
She stood, frozen, and watched his movements. He draped his coat over the arm of the sofa and reached for the
