yet it wasn’t real. Logically Em knew this, even through the sensual, earthy haze he’d created, but it also seemed shockingly profound. And nothing, nothing at all, like a simple toad’s kiss.
Then he lifted his head, her perfect stranger, and for one beat in time looked every bit as flummoxed as she.
But the moment passed and he smiled—a smile that was sin personified. She tried to respond in kind, she really did, but all she managed was to open her mouth, and quite possibly drool.
With one last stroke of his hand up her spine, a touch that conveyed a carefully restrained passion, he pulled his arm free, and when the elevator doors opened, he pushed his gaping friends off the elevator.
Then turned back to Em.
She stood there blinking like an owl, unable to shift her tongue from drool mode into talk mode.
“Thank you,” he said.
Thank you?
“I’m in your debt.” His voice was far tighter and more tense than it had been before the kiss. Interesting.
And then, just like that, the shockingly sexy, charismatic man walked away.
Still gaping, body still pulsing, Em became vaguely aware that the elevator doors closed again. Her heart pounded, her knees shook, and she stood there like a stunned possum until the elevator doors once again opened.
A few people got on.
At least she finally managed to close her mouth, then leaned back against the mirrors, happy for the support.
There was some talking around her but her brain couldn’t process the words.
When the doors opened again, everyone got off and she had to laugh at herself.
She was back on the lobby floor.
“Get it together, Harris,” she told herself, and even hearing her voice seemed funny. She sounded shaky, a little off her axis.
A little? She’d fallen right off her world, that’s what she’d done.
Shrugging, she once again hit the button for the twelfth floor, wondering when the doors had opened there and she’d missed it.
During the kiss?
Or after, when she’d been rendered a mass of sensual nerve endings incapable of doing anything but reacting?
Because of that kiss. The mother of all kisses. The kind of connection a woman dreamed about but was never really certain even existed, except in romance novels or the movies.
How did a man learn to kiss like that?
Given her reaction to it, that sort of ability should be registered as a lethal weapon.
And she didn’t even know his name…
When the doors opened on the twelfth floor, again, she stopped hugging herself and stepped off, still in enough of a daze to do so without her roll-on luggage.
She ran back onto the elevator and grabbed her belongings.
Then she headed toward her room, unable to help but wonder if the rest of her trip was going to prove as adventurous as the first few minutes had been.
And that’s when it came to her, what the women had called her glorious stranger.
They’d called him Chef.
2
To: Maintenance
From: Housekeeping
Check the air vents and temp regulator on elevator 2A. Guest seen coming out of it today looking dazed and flushed.
JACOB HILL walked through the employee quarters, located on the second sublevel. Employees were treated well at Hush, probably because the creator of the hotel, Piper Devon, was a genuine, caring people-person, no matter that the press liked to call her the original Paris Hilton. That was because they saw only a gorgeous blond trust-fund baby. But anyone who’d ever worked for Piper knew the truth. She worked her ass off, especially on Hush.
Jacob moved through the cafeteria toward the locker room. There he received a few whistles and catcalls, and when he got close to his locker, he saw why.
A pair of black satin panties hung off the lock.
“Another thong.” Jon, one of the doormen, stood at the locker next to Jacob’s, changing for his shift. He was young, in his early twenties, and staring at the panties as if they were a choice cut New York steak. “It must be two times a week you get them,” he said, bemused. “All I ever get is dumped.”
Jacob gingerly removed the thong and tossed it to him. “Merry Christmas.”
“Seriously, Chef, I want to know.” Jon looked down at the satin in his hands. “What’s your trick? I mean you get phone numbers, presents…give up the secret, man.”
Jacob opened his locker and said nothing. There was nothing to say. After all, he didn’t purposely do anything to gain women’s attention—it just happened. A lot. He’d enjoyed it far more when he’d been young and stupid, when he’d happily worked his way through the line of women that had come his way.
He still enjoyed a woman’s touch, her scent, her body, her everything, but lately, something had changed. He didn’t seem to have quite the same patience for the game.
Was he getting old at thirty-four? Scary thought.
“I mean, I’ve done everything right,” Jon said. “I call a woman when I say I’m going to. I listen to her ramble on and on and on. I take her dancing. I sweet-talk her.”
Jacob grabbed his gear, shut his locker and then looked at Jon. “I’m going to sound like a first-class ass here, but the truth is…no. Never mind.”
“Tell me. Whatever it is, I can do it.”
“Okay, but listen. I should add a disclaimer here. I really don’t recommend—”
“Dude. Just tell me.”
“You’re trying too hard.”
The kid stared at Jacob. “Huh?”
“I know.” Jacob lifted his hands. “It doesn’t make any sense, but women seem to go for the guy who steps all over them, a guy who doesn’t call, doesn’t listen—”
“That’s your secret?” Jon asked in disbelief. “Treat them like shit?”
Jacob shrugged. “I didn’t say I condone it. I’m just giving you my observation.”
“Wow.” The young doorman stared down at the panties in his hands. “Wow.”
Jacob patted his shoulder and took the stairs back to the main level, entering the leaded glass doors of Amuse Bouche from the lobby.
