Connected (Connections, #1)(24)
I have always been an independent person; even with Ben, I would exude my independence, often getting really upset if I thought he was infringing on it. Strange, how for some reason, I’m not the least bit upset that this adorably charming man took control of getting me checked into my room. Actually, I find his actions somewhat of a turn on.
Before handing me my room key, he looks at it while sliding his tongue over his lower lip and dragging his teeth across it. “I’ll wait in the bar, unless you need some help getting to your room.”
I stare at his lower lip and try to control my heavy breathing. I choose to focus on his flirty comment and not his overwhelming sexy charm. With that, I just shake my head at him. Flirting back I bite my bottom lip and scan the length of his long, lean body in a very obvious manner. Then cocking my head I say, “I’m good, thanks.”
He responds with a slight groaning noise, and his eyes flicker over me. I quickly turn, laughing to myself as I walk to the elevators without even glancing back. When I reach my room, I call the concierge and arrange to have my bags delivered. While waiting, I lie on the bed trying to figure out what is going on with my feelings and emotions. I feel a connection to River. We have the same ease we did the first night I met him. He’s adorably charming, beyond charismatic, and more than attractive. All of the same qualities that made me want to stay with him that night at the bar and that make me want to spend more time with him now. It’s like he’s reenacting parts of that night even though he doesn’t seem to remember our encounter.
I look around my hotel room at the pictures of guitars on the walls, and thoughts of wanting someone to touch me, kiss me, someone to be intimate with me, flood my mind. Glancing out the window, I begin to question myself, and what I’m doing with River. Am I betraying Ben? How much time is enough time? Am I ready to be with someone else? I have only ever had sex with Ben, what if I suck at intimacy with somebody else? Is this dinner actually a date, or is this just a business dinner? Am I prepared for a one-night stand with the man who has captured my attention faster than anyone I have ever known, twice? With everything racing through my mind, I’m only certain of the answer to the last question. Maybe I am. So for now I put away all my doubts and questions and tuck the guilt away as well.
A knock on the door takes me out of my thoughts and I jolt off the bed. Oh yeah, my luggage. Opening the door, I ask the bellman to wait a sec while I get some money out of my purse. Answering quickly, he tells me it has already been taken care of by a man wearing a Fender t-shirt and black leather jacket. All I can do is smile.
As I close the door, the hotel room phone rings and I slide across the bed to answer it. River’s seductive voice penetrates the line, “Just wanted you to know I made dinner reservations at N9 Steakhouse, in case you want to change, or not. They couldn’t fit us in until eight, is that okay?”
Lying on the bed, clicking my heels together I answer, “Sounds great actually. I’ll change and come down.”
I can hear him chuckling on the other end of the phone as he asks, “Do you need help?”
Giggling, I roll over and standup so I can hang up the phone. “I’m good. Thanks though. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
I hide my face in my hands. I can’t help but laugh out loud at the exchanges that have taken place between us over the last few hours. In no way would I ever classify our conversations as professional. He’s flirting with me and I’m flirting back! It’s fun and exciting and I feel almost reborn.
Thanking God that I packed extra clothes, I’m happy that I had trouble deciding what to wear this morning. I packed a few different outfits in case I decided to change before the meeting, along with clothes for a quick morning run.
Opening my suitcase, I take out a dress. It has a crisscrossed silk top with an asymmetrical black leather mini skirt bottom and a drawstring waist. It’s edgy and short, perfect for dinner with an almost famous, adorably charming rock star. I pair it with my black and nude ankle strap pumps and silver clutch.
Since I never change my jewelry, my wardrobe for tonight is set. I have worn the same jewelry every day for as many years as I can remember. My jewelry ensemble consists of a pair of two carat diamond studs, given to me by my parents for my thirteenth birthday; my grandmother’s vintage watch with a black satin band and diamond surround; my aunt’s white pearl and black pearl bracelets; my most recently added Cartier bangle; and my engagement ring from Ben that I still wear on a chain around my neck.
Looking in the mirror as I quickly strip down to jump in the shower, I wince at what I see. Knowing actual clothing choice is irrelevant to men but looking sexy certainly isn’t, I shake my head at myself. That’s definitely not sexy looking back at me. My tall thin frame is now soft. I’ve lost most of my muscle tone along with the definition I spent years creating at the gym and in Pilates’ classes. What is left is merely skin and bones. My legs have very little shape and any semblance of the small chest I once had is now gone, even the bra I just removed is too big. Suddenly I have doubts that the hot, attractive, and charming man waiting for me downstairs will even want what I’m willing to give.
Deciding to just let fate take its course, I take a shower, brush my teeth, fix my face, spritz on some body spray, and put on my too big black bra and panties, before slipping on my dress and shoes. I look in the mirror again and flip my hair over to brush it so that my now ashen blonde hair falls in a cascading mess down my back, and then I give myself a self-assuring smile.