Hush

From what he knew about Manhattan hotels, she was in the right ballpark. It would be interesting to see what was behind the penthouse doors.

She didn’t make him wait. She opened the door, stepping aside to let him enter. As he walked in, he caught a hint of her perfume. She still wore Samsara. Surprising. He’d thought that scent belonged in the past, along with her innocence.

He forced himself to focus on the room. The foyer was large, as large as some New York hotel rooms. The floor was Italian marble, the artwork on the walls Warhol originals.

“This is the Pop Room,” Piper said, her heels clicking across the floor. “It’s three-thousand square feet. There are two bedrooms, three baths, butler, secretarial and limo services. It was designed by Jean-Paul Gaultier. Our other penthouses were done by Stella McCartney, Donatella Versace, Zang Toi and Vivienne Westwood. The bridal suite was done by Vera Wang.”

“That’s a hell of a list.”

“Good PR,” she said. “They’re all coming to the opening, as are their favorite clients. We’re having several photo spreads done. The GQ will be out next week.”

“So it’s to be celebrities all the way?”

“They get the press.”

“But they don’t pay.”

“Not in the beginning, but they will. They’ll spend oodles of money here because every star worth his salt wants the world to think they’re the hottest studs to walk the earth. It’s going to be a badge of manliness to come to Hush. And where there are hot, hunky men, hot, horny women follow. It’s as elemental as the tide.”

“There’s nothing here that these people can’t get at any other hotel.”

“Why don’t you shove, uh, wait on that opinion until you’ve experienced the entire hotel.”

“You think I haven’t seen a vibrator before? Come on, Piper. I’m not convinced.”

“Well, then why don’t you just leave? Go back and tell Nicholas that I’m a very bad girl who doesn’t deserve a penny.”

“That would be way too easy,” he said, his smirk so annoying she wanted to scream.

4

TRACE WALKED PAST her to the window and looked out at the view of the skyline. Impressive. He turned, scanning the space.

The color scheme was pastel, with sharp additions of crimson and black. He could see the attention to detail in everything from the crown molding to the silk drapes. Piper had clearly spared no expense here. It was the kind of penthouse designed to make the rich feel privileged, that catered to the most discriminating tastes. In fact, it reminded him of the Burj Al Arab hotel in Dubai—the only seven-star hotel in the world. Piper was aiming high.

“Let’s see the rest.” He stepped forward, but she headed away before he got too close. Which was good because his body thrummed with a need that was purely sexual.

It was insanity. His private hell. He wished he could forget about his job and just screw her through the mattress.

He followed her into the master bedroom. She’d walked over to the incredibly huge four-poster bed and her hand, with her long, narrow fingers, her perfect pink nail polish, rested on one of the plush pillows.

“We had the bed custom-made, along with all the linens. It’s larger than a California King, and the sheets are six-hundred-count Egyptian cotton. Which, by the way, we’ve used on all the beds in the hotel.”

“Not cheap.”

“Worth it,” she said, her hand skimming the detailed cherrywood headboard.

He wrestled his attention to other appointments. The velvet chaise, the deep burgundy walls, the modern crystal chandelier.

He heard a soft hum, and right in front of the chandelier, he watched a large slim screen lower from a hidden recess in the ceiling. Walking around to her side of the bed, he waited until the screen was in position. “Plasma?”

“The best there is,” she said. She pointed to a panel on the sleek bedside table. “Everything in the suite can be controlled from here. The temperature, the drapes, the sound system, the TV.” She pressed a button and the elegant draperies opened to reveal another floor-to-ceiling glass wall.

“So where’s the sex?” he asked.

“Everywhere,” she said, pointing him to a large armoire in the corner. “There are films, books, cameras, condoms of all kinds….” She swung the cabinet doors open. “Everything for the adventurous couple.”

He could see that. Aside from the items she’d mentioned, there was another aspect of adventure well stocked. Silk scarves, fur-lined cuffs, a leather harness, riding crop. And that’s all that was on immediate display.

“Of course,” she said, “all really intimate accessories are gifts from the hotel. Something to remember Hush by when the guests go home.”

He struggled to keep his expression neutral. All he could think about were the cuffs, with Piper’s wrists in them. The dark-red scarf covering those too-knowing eyes. Her body, stretched to its limit on that enormous bed.

Her hand moved from the cabinet door to the small of her throat. It was too easy to let his gaze move up those few inches to slightly parted lips, to the high color in her cheeks. To the hunger in her dangerous blue eyes.

PIPER CONTROLLED her breathing, but she couldn’t stop her heart from slamming in her chest. She tried to turn away from the heat of Trace’s gaze. She couldn’t move. Not an inch. Because what she saw in his eyes made everything that had happened in the past ten years vanish.

He wanted her. No denial would ever be enough to convince her otherwise. She’d seen him like this before, and as before, her sanity fled and her imagination took over.

Images tumbled as the strange connection between them grew: his face contorting in a mask of passion as he came inside her, the feel of his lips as they tugged at her nipples. How he would teach her what it was to let go, which didn’t make a damn bit of sense because the man was the epitome of stodgy.

Of course she’d had lovers after her embarrassing seduction fiasco with Trace. He might have turned her away, but others hadn’t. Unfortunately, dream-lover Trace was far more interesting than her real lovers had been. Not that she’d never had fun. Heavens no. But there was always something missing. Something she’d made up in her weird little brain.

The smartest thing she could do would be to just throw the man on the bed, right now, this minute, rip off his pants and get it over with already. There wasn’t a chance he could live up to the man she’d imagined. And then she could hate him in earnest.

He took a step. One step. That was enough. She broke free, turned her head, closed the armoire. Came back to her senses. “The bathroom is also designed for couples,” she said, forcing herself to walk casually.

For a blessed minute he didn’t join her, which gave her time to finish calming down.

“It’s big.”

She turned to Trace standing by the tub. “Big enough for four adults,” she said, grateful to be on an even keel. “There’s a separate sound system, a television, full access to lighting and an intercom.” She pointed to the freestanding shower. “Six showerheads plus the water bar. It’s also a steam room. The floor is heated from below, the towels are warmed to body temperature.”

“What, no oiled towel boys?”

She smiled. “For you, honey? We’d make an exception.”

“Oh, funny. You’re a scream.”

“You make me look good, lover.”

“In your dreams.”

She opened a mirrored cabinet which revealed shelves stocked with black-and-pink bottles. “We have signature scents, oils, soaps, lotions, shampoos. A small company in Brooklyn makes everything for us. Exclusively.”

“You’ve thought of everything.”

“Probably not. Yet.”