I awaken to the sound of someone knocking on the hotel room door. I don’t know how long they’ve been doing that, but I suspect it’s been a while, because each succeeding knock grows louder. I sit up in bed, groan at the soreness in my body, and look around.
Cole’s gone.
Even before I opened my eyes, I knew he wasn’t here. I fell asleep to the sound of his steady breathing and his solid, comforting warmth at my back, and his absence is jarring. I know we agreed to one night only, but part of me was secretly hoping he’d change his mind.
Like I have.
Obviously, he didn’t.
Pushing down the disappointment, I rise from bed, grab the white terrycloth robe hanging on a hook outside the bathroom, and tie the sash around my waist. I hurry through the living room. When I peer through the peep hole of the front door, I see an unfamiliar man in a black suit standing outside in the hallway. He’s holding a white garment bag in one hand.
He appears to be in his late thirties. His dark hair is shorn close to his head. He’s fit and broad-shouldered, with a piercing stare that could give Cole a run for his money.
On the left side of his neck, a tattoo of something I can’t identify peeks out from under the starched collar of his white dress shirt.
Through the door, I say, “Yes?”
“Hullo, miss. This is for you.”
His voice is deep and has a British accent. He holds out the bag. I look at it suspiciously.
“What is it?”
“A blouse, miss.”
My breath catches.
“Don’t worry. I’ll buy you a new one.”
Remembering Cole’s words from last night after he savagely ripped my shirt off my body, my face grows hot and my heart starts pounding. Meanwhile, the man in the black suit stands there smiling patiently as if he’s got all the time in the world.
“Cole sent you?”
“Yes, miss.”
“Are you with the hotel?”
“No, miss.”
“Are you…with a delivery service?”
“No, miss.”
He extends his arm, giving the bag a little shake. Deciding he’s not dangerous—though there’s something about him that suggests he would be under the right circumstances—I open the door. “Hi there.”
“Good morning, miss.”
I take the bag, then stand in the doorway frowning and confused. “So you work for Cole, is that it?”
His smile grows wider, as if he’s enjoying some private thought. Whatever it is, he doesn’t share it. He simply says, “Have a lovely day, miss,” then turns around and walks away.
Leaning out the door, I watch him go until he disappears into the elevators. Then I step back inside and unzip the garment bag. Within is an exquisite black silk blouse.
It’s simple, the lines classic and clean, but it’s obviously expensive. When I check the label, I almost drop the bag from shock.
The blouse is a Balmain.
It’s a historic luxury French brand, renowned for the quality of its couture. Not to mention its prices. Their spring collection included a scarlet cashmere jacket that I desperately coveted but could never afford because it was thirty thousand dollars. An off-the-rack T-shirt goes for almost a grand.
I suspect this simple blouse I’m holding is priced in the thousands.
Heart palpitating, I walk back into the bedroom and carefully lay the garment bag on the bed. I stand looking at it for several moments, trying to decide what to do.
I don’t know who the man was who delivered it, so I can’t call him to come and pick it up. And I don’t have a phone number for Cole, so I can’t let him know this is much too expensive a gift for me to accept. Not that I’m seriously considering doing either of those things, because I already know I’m keeping this beautiful piece of clothing, but it makes me feel better to at least pretend to have a crisis of conscience for a moment before accepting Cole’s generosity.
I should’ve started having one-night stands years ago.
Years! Like in my teens!
Except with my luck, those encounters would’ve all turned out to be with married men or escaped felons, so my lack of experience in the area is probably a good thing.
Without anyone to call to thank for this lovely item, I call Chelsea instead.
“Shay!” she shouts the instant she picks up. “I was just about to call you. Tell me everything. Was it fantastic? Did he have a big dick? Are you walking bowlegged?”
Feeling as weightless as an overfilled balloon, I smile. “Yes to all three.”
I bend over to stroke the silky sheen of the blouse, lighting tracing my fingertips around the black pearlescent buttons. Then more knocking on the hotel room door distracts me.