Authors: Miranda Veil
Chapter 6
“Housekeeping!”
I wake with a start, my heart thumping from my chest as my body trembles in anticipation; fight or flight responses cranked to the very edge. It takes a few seconds to remember that I’m still in my room at the hotel, but who the hell is at my door at this hour?
“Housekeeping!”
They’re knocking so hard against my door, I swear I can hear it creaking and splintering beneath the assaulting fist. The voice that rips against my ears is harsh, deep and near deafening. Is it really necessary to be that loud this early?
*knock knock knock*
“HOUSEKEEPING!”
“Okay, okay. Give me a minute!” I shout. Did I forget to put the Do Not Disturb sign on my door? I could’ve sworn I took care of that last night.
I stumble out of the bed, nearly slamming myself face first against the wall as my feet tangle themselves in the sheets. Freeing myself from my bonds, I make a mad dash for my robe and pull it on hastily. A quick glance around the room, and it’s pristine; no evidence of my activities from the night before, as if she had never existed. It’s easier this way. No good-byes, no follow up calls, and no expectations.
The smell of her lingers on my skin, on my lips, and all over the bed sheets. Taking a moment, I breathe deep…letting myself drown out the room to reminisce over the memories I’ve allowed to resurface for a single, bittersweet moment.
The incessant knocking breaks me away from my thoughts prematurely, and the obnoxious voice continues to slam against my ears. I grab the door handle and wrench it open, the full might of every known foul word, and perhaps a few made-up ones, anxious to fly off my tongue.
Standing before me is Ethan, the man I met on the elevator last night. He’s grinning so widely that his eyes are naught more than two thin slits, and the apples of his cheeks are saddled high on his finely crafted cheekbones. My words die on my tongue, and slip out silently through parted lips. Jostling my mind back from the shock, anger from being woken so unceremoniously now takes the lead.
“What on earth…how did you…what do you want?!”
“Well, aren’t you the picture of perfection in the morning. You do realize it’s just past 10, yes? Now, Miss Cass, you mustn’t give in to sloth-like tendencies.”
A scowl plasters itself upon my face as I stand there barefoot, hair resembling a very large bird’s nest, and with blackened rings under my eyes from the runoff of eyeliner. When you’re exhausted from a night of passion, you often forget to remove your makeup.
And yet, he’s here, beaming like a child who was just given a puppy for his birthday.
“Coffee?” he asks innocently as the grin on his face tones down, taking on an amused smirk. “You look like you could use it.”
Biting my tongue, I resist the urge to slam the door in his face. This is not how I imagined waking up this morning, and to be honest, I didn’t think I’d ever come across this man again.
“Fine” I relent.
I really could use the coffee.
“Give me a few minutes, and you’re buying!”
“I’d have it no other way.”
Closing the door, perhaps a little harder than I originally intended, I run to my suitcase and shuffle through the few clothing options in my bag, settling on a pair of jeans from the night before and a grey t-shirt. I douse my hair in the sink to tame it, shaping the curls quickly with my fingers, then grab my purse and am back at the door.
“Ah! The queen emerges!” he exclaims, a twinkle in his color-shifting eyes.
“Shut it.”
Laughing, and obviously far more entertained by his own humor than I am, he leads the way down the hall to the elevator.
“I’m glad to see you’re still here.”
“How is that a shock? I told you I’d be here all weekend. And how did you know what room I was in?”
“Oh. That. Yes, well, I knocked on eighteen other doors before I found yours…”
“In the same manner?”
“Of course!”
What could possibly possess someone to knock on a bunch of strangers doors in an effort to find someone you met for a couple of minutes the night before? It’s kind of creepy. I hope he has no plans to slice me to bits and hide me in the floorboards of some abandoned building.
“I’m sure the occupants weren’t amused. I’m surprised they didn’t have security escort you out.”
“Oh, they were a lovely group of people, and I found out that I’m pretty quick! I dodged all but one ice bucket.”
His hand slips into his hair, rubbing the side of his head and ruffling his waves as if suddenly remembering the blow.
“Ah, anyhow. Coffee, yes? It’s a bit too strong for my taste, but I can understand the allure of it. The smell is far better than the taste is, in my opinion.”
“Yes, please. I could definitely use the extra kick this morning, maybe with an extra shot…or three.”
We take the elevator to the lobby and exit the hotel, and the air smothers us the minute we leave the doors. It’s already 90 degrees and climbing. Why did I move down here, again?
Reaching over, he takes my hand and leads me across the street and about two blocks down to a small French country style café.
It’s a beautiful little place tucked into a nook on the street, and flanked by two larger buildings. The floors are the mixed shades of rustic stone, the walls are covered in brick and the ceiling is a white washed arch with patterned leaves painted along its edges. The tables are quaint, round, and covered with an emerald glass mosaic that shimmers in the light streaming through the large front windows. Each table is paired with a set of worn, white iron chairs.
The café is fairly empty this morning, with only three other patrons occupying the small, intimate space. He picks a table in the front corner by the street, and pulls out a chair for me.
“M’lady.”
He smiles, his eyes sparkling as he holds the chair for me, waiting patiently. Embarrassed by his gesture, I sit down and shoo him off to his own chair as our waitress comes to greet us. Thankfully, the chairs are more comfortable than they originally looked.
“Peppermint mocha, please, and can you add an extra shot?”
“I’d love some tea. Earl Grey, if you please.”
He flashes a smile at the waitress, and she catches his eye, blushes then rushes off to fill our order. Ethan settles in and holds me in his color shifting eyes.
“Why did you find me this morning?” I’m genuinely curious and wary about his possible stalking tendencies. Does he do this to everyone?
“You looked stressed and wound tight last night. It seemed to me like you deserved a bit of relaxation, so I was hoping to make you laugh this morning. You know, to loosen you up a bit. Maybe give you an excuse to cast aside your worries for a day.”
“So you’re just a regular white knight, trying to save stressed out women from their burdens?”
“Oh, nothing like that, Miss Cass.” He chuckles. “It’s more akin to seeing someone who could use a smile in their day, and wanting to help. I hardly consider that something deserving of knighthood. I see it more as one human being helping out another. We all need a bit more joy in our lives, these days.”
I smile at his stirring response as our waitress places our drinks in front of us. She asks if we need anything further, lets her hand linger for a few seconds on Ethan’s drink as her eyes take on a look of longing, then she rushes off to tend to the other customers.
“What is it you do? If you don’t mind me asking?”
“Well I’m currently staying here with some mates for a work-related conference.”
“That doesn’t tell me anything about what you do.” I grin.
“I’m a nurse, if you must know. Well, technically, at least. I’m here in New Orleans for an annual conference at the request of my employer.” He leans back, sipping on his tea. “I travel around quite often, and it can be stressful. It’s nice to meet new people from the various walks of life, and from the wide array of cultures that span this country. It’s refreshing.”
“You hardly know me, though, and you’ve invited me out to coffee.” I tease. “You know, I could be a secret axe murderer or something.”
“Oh, my dear, I’m a big boy. I think I could take care of myself. I do believe I could ward off any attacks from a woman of your…stature.” He stifles a laugh, hiding his grin behind his cup.
“Is that a short joke? I don’t think you’re giving me enough credit. I’m fairly certain I could take you down. You shouldn’t underestimate those of us who are vertically challenged…”
“I don’t underestimate you at all. I’m just confident in my ability to bat my eyelashes and make you swoon.” He grins.
I wrap my fingers around my drink and sip cautiously at the scalding liquid, my thoughts wavering back to my phone. Should I call Delacroix today about that meeting? I think he wanted me to call him today…or did he say he’d call me? Damn my shitty memory.
“What can you tell me about this city? I haven’t had a chance to wander around yet, but I like the feel of it. It’s almost buzzing.” He asks, his deep, sultry voice spanning the space between us and flowing like honey between my ears. His eyes wander out the window as he speaks, and he seems to lose himself in his own thoughts.
“Honestly, I don’t think I can tell you much. I moved to this state a few years ago with a friend, but this is the first time I’ve actually set foot in New Orleans. I’m just as new to this city as you are.”
“It’s a shame you’ve never been here before, though I guess I don’t have much of an excuse either. I have a brother that lives fairly close by, but whenever I’ve come to visit, we never ventured out here. It feels a bit rough around the edges; this city, but it strikes me as a bit of a creative haven. Have you heard the street musicians? They’re wonderful!”
“I suppose they are.”
“Well, what brings you here then?”
“My editor pushed me to come here and conduct an interview, which I failed. I didn’t get much that I can use, though I’m hoping to gather a bit more before the weekend is over so my editor doesn’t string me out of her office window by my ankles.”
“So you’re a writer then?”
“Maybe, in so many words, though I don’t really know if that suits me. I just write the occasional article for a magazine based out of the city I live in, and write some things for my own pleasure that never see the light of day. I don’t know if anything I create is really that good…certainly not good enough to label myself as a writer. That seems like such a prestigious title to me.” I laugh
“That sounds fascinating. I have never had the talent to write, myself, though I’m quite the avid reader. I’m sure you’re being too hard on yourself. We’re all our own worst critics.”
“I suppose. It helps pays the bills at least, though not very well. I don’t always get to write about subjects I’m interested in, but I get by. So, you’re a nurse? Here, in the states? You sound like you’re from…”
“I’m from Britain, originally. I have still managed to keep the accent. It really helps with the ladies.” He winks.
Laughing, I shake my head.
Yes, I’m sure it does help you with the ladies.
Whether he was making a simple jest or not, his accent mixed with the deep tones of his voice are difficult to hold out against. His voice is definitely having an effect on me.
“What brings you to this side of the pond, then?”
“My brother and I moved here about seven or eight years ago when we were teens. My father relocated to this country for work and I saw no real reason to go back afterwards. My brother found work here, in Louisiana, and I briefly moved up north just outside of Boston, Massachusetts. My parents live along the eastern border of the country, on the coast of Virginia.”
“I see. So you have a brother that lives here?”
“I do. Not here in New Orleans, but yes, in Louisiana. He’s maybe an hour’s drive away. Maybe a bit more. We’ve always been close growing up, and I usually stay with him when I make trips here. He’s not exactly close to this conference, however, and it was easier to stay in a hotel than it would be to rent a car and drive the distance.”
The conversation slips into him speaking more of his childhood, his family, and his work as we sip our respective drinks. I seem to have this curse where people find themselves immediately comfortable around me, and spill the secrets of their lives within minutes or hours of meeting. A blessing, and a curse, I suppose; as it often helps with potential partners when trying to figure out their desires.
His eyes shift from blue to green and back again as they seek out mine, but I can’t seem to keep myself focused. My eyes slip from his, over his prominent cheekbones and down to his soft lips that I had the pleasure of feeling on my hand the night before. There’s something about him; something odd that makes him stand out of the crowd, and as my ears pull the sound of his voice from the air, my mind wraps lovingly around each syllable. Each sound from his mouth melts through my body, trickling down my spine to rest between my thighs.
I’m aching unexpectedly, and I don’t know how to make it stop. The conversation has gone so well and it’s nice having something so casual and non-sexual, but my body is rebelling against me. I absently nibble the corner of my lip as my eyes trail down his neck and take notice of how the buttons on his royal purple shirt strain against one another, begging to burst free and reveal the pale skin hiding beneath.