Hot Ticket (13 page)

“Not a scene I’d like witness.” Tierney gazed sympathetically at Aggie as her friend yawned loudly, rubbing her eyes. “Tired?”

“Exhausted. Besides the Herd, we’ve got some pain in the ass British rock star and his entourage staying here. About two hours ago, they called down to order—get this—deep fried Mars Bars. When I had room service tell him Mars Bars were hard to find but we could do Snickers bars, he freaked out and threatened to jump out the window.”

Tierney lowered her fork. “What did you do?”

“What do you think I did? I told room service to tell him ‘Have a nice fall.’ They didn’t, of course. But I wish they had.”

“You’re bad.”

“Hey. You know me: I aim to please. But I’ve got no patience for that kind of prima donna bullshit, you know?” Removing her chef’s hat, Aggie smoothed back her short blond hair. “As if that wasn’t bad enough, we’ve got fifteen guys in from Bangalore for some trade show down at McCormick Place. All vegetarians.
And
I’ve got the Mykofsky wedding on Sunday.” Aggie’s shoulder’s sagged. “Just shoot me now, okay?”

“Oh, c’mon. You love it.”

Aggie smiled sheepishly. “I do.” She stifled another yawn. “I’m going to crash at the hotel tonight so I can start getting organized for the wedding bright and early tomorrow.” Like Tierney, Aggie was unattached and had no one to go home to. “The Herd lost, you know. I heard it on the radio.”

“They
did
?” Tierney couldn’t believe it. They’d routed Chicago the past three years.

Aggie relieved Tierney of her fork, stealing a bite of ganache. “Ever think of getting a real boyfriend? You know, the kind you can spend quality time with the other 364 days of the year?”

“I’ve tried,” Tierney insisted. “I haven’t met anyone I really like.”

Which was true. Thanks to her job, Tierney had met and dated lots of men. Many were good-looking and most were rich:
high-powered businessmen used to having women fall at their feet when they’d casually slip their income into the conversation. But Tierney was unimpressed. She preferred substance over income and humor over materialism. Maybe it was her rural origins; all she knew was that she’d yet to meet a man who cared more about having a real relationship than showing off his Rolex.

Aggie changed the subject. “You staying all night with hockey boy?”

“I usually do.”

“Don’t let Nugent catch you when you creep out of his room in the early morning hours.”

“He won’t.”

“He might. The guy lives in the hotel, you know.”

Nugent was Willy Nugent, the hotel’s new manager, brought in from New York when the last manager left for a more lucrative gig in Los Angeles. Aggie hated him. A neurotic micromanager, Nugent had a tendency to stick his nose “where it didn’t belong,” which to Aggie meant her kitchen. But Tierney got along with him just fine.

“If I bump into him, I’ll just say I stayed overnight because of the snow.”

Aggie sighed. “You ain’t kidding. They’re saying—”

“—that we could get up to a foot of snow overnight,” Tierney finished for her. One of the things she’d learned was that, like farmers, all Chicagoans were weather forecasters. In Nebraska, everyone worried about summer corn. In Chicago, it was winter snow.

Aggie shook her head. “It’s enough to make me pack up and move to Key West.” She patted Tierney’s shoulder affectionately as she moved past her to take leave of the kitchen. “Have fun.”

“I’ll try,” Tierney promised, finishing the last bite of chocolate cake. She smiled to herself. When it came to David Hewson, fun was a given.

Saturday, 12:12
A
.
M
.

Stretched out on the bed in David’s hotel room, Tierney wondered why he never seemed interested in returning to find her decked out in some sexy negligee, or waiting for him in a tub full of bubbles, champagne glass in hand. She’d offered, but he seemed more excited by the idea of peeling off her work clothing. Not that she minded: she loved the idea of him being turned on by her urban sophistication.

She thought back to what brought them together. She was just ending her shift when he and his teammates burst into the lobby, exuberant after beating Chicago. David told anyone who would listen how he’d just been traded to Buffalo, how he’d just played his first game for them, and how, thanks to him, they’d just achieved a shutout. Eventually, exuberance gave way to exhaustion, and one by one, his teammates drifted upstairs to their rooms. But not David. He approached the concierge desk.

“Hi,” he said. “I need a wake-up call for 7:13
A
.
M
. tomorrow morning.”

Tierney pointed to the main reservation desk. “They can take care of that, sir.”

“No, you don’t understand. They’ll wake me at 7:15. Or 7:14. Or even 7:16. I need to be awake at
exactly
7:13 on game days.”

Tierney blinked, all the while thinking,
This guy is hot, but boy, is he nuts.

David must have read her look. “Let me explain,” he said patiently. “I woke up at exactly 7:13 this morning, and we won the game. If we want to win tomorrow, I have to wake up again at exactly 7:13. Understand?”

Tierney gave a small nod, fascinated. “Yes. You’re superstitious.”

“All goalies are superstitious,” he informed her. Since he was the first goalie she’d met, she believed him.

“I’ll make sure you’re awakened at
exactly
7:13,” she promised him.

David looked grateful. “One more thing. I’m on the fifth floor, and I need my room changed to the third floor.”

“Let me guess: Last night your room was on the third floor.”

David smiled, and it was heart stopping. “You’re catching on.”

Tierney pointed again to the reservation desk. “A room change can be arranged.”

He disappeared, only to return to the lobby ten minutes later, claiming he couldn’t figure out how to program his clock radio. She was getting off work, so she offered to go back to his room with him and show him herself. When she got there, she realized his helplessness was a ruse: Two Diet Cokes sat at the small table by the window, open and waiting. “I know it’s not champagne, but I was hoping you could help me celebrate my victory tonight,” David explained shyly.

Tierney accepted. It was way out of character for her, but that only made it more exciting. Where she came from, the only thrills to be had came from tipping cows or knocking over mailboxes. She was flattered he chose her to celebrate with.

She took her conversational cues from David, talking only about work. She had no doubt that if he knew she’d learned to drive a tractor before she could drive a car, he might not be so enamored of her. Tierney could tell he was impressed with her uniform, with her knowledge of the city, with her whole professional demeanor. She was playing a part for him, and she enjoyed it. When he eventually asked her to stay the night, she agreed, grateful for the arrangements they made the next morning to meet again the following year, and to keep personal info to a minimum.

Her reminiscence came to an end as David entered. Usually he wore faded jeans and a blue crew neck sweater. Tonight, she noticed, the sweater was rust colored.

“Hey,” he said glumly.

“Hey.” She sat up, folding her long legs beneath her. “Where’s your blue sweater?”

“I only wear that when we
win
against Chicago. Tonight we
lost. It was my fault,” David lamented. “Actually, it was your fault.”

“What?!”

“I was thinking about you before the game, and it totally distracted me.” He shook his head. “Not good. Not good at all.”

Tierney wasn’t sure what to do. Usually he came in the room, bounded happily onto the bed as he crowed about the Herd’s victory, and made mad, passionate love to her. Tonight he was cradling his head in his hands. “Um . . . do you want me to go?” she offered.

David slowly looked up at her, surprised. “Do you want to go?”

“No. You just seem upset.”

“I
am
upset. We lost. But I’m sure you can help me get over it.” He reached for her, planting a soft kiss on her mouth.

There was hunger there, blistering and real. “I’ve thought about this all year,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers.

Tierney sighed. “Me, too.”

“I’m sorry I blamed our loss tonight on you. I didn’t mean it.” There was no mistaking the hungry look in his eye. “Forgive me?”

“Done.”

One minute they were kissing. The next David had lifted her off the bed as if she were light as a feather, putting her down before him so she stood between his open legs. His big, strong hands reached up to grasp her shoulders, fingers hooking under the lapels of her blazer. Then, almost as if he were a sculptor lovingly unveiling a work of art, he slowly slid her jacket off her shoulders.

Tierney shivered, closing her eyes. “How come you like me in my business suit?” she whispered.

“I love a woman in a uniform,” David replied, his hands sliding down her body to cup her buttocks and draw her more closely to him. “Besides,” he added as his hands slid back up her ribs to gently caress the side of her breasts, “It’s a turn-on seeing you in this conservative attire, knowing what an adorable little sex kitten you are underneath.”

Tierney laughed.

“What’s so funny?” David asked, his hands making their way up to her neck.

“No one’s ever called me a sex kitten before,” Tierney admitted. “I kind of like it.”

“So do I.” David let his hands linger, the rough pads of his fingertips a tantalizing contrast to the soft skin of Tierney’s throat. The longer he caressed her, the more Tierney longed for him to unbutton her blouse. She wanted his hands on her breasts. Wanted his mouth there, too, and everywhere else.

By the time David’s hands began unbuttoning her blouse, Tierney was throbbing with desire. David was deliberately tormenting her: he’d undo one button, then kiss her mouth, undo another, then kiss her neck—on and on, until Tierney’s blouse fell away and she was standing before him in the gray lace bra she’d handpicked for the occasion. She shuddered involuntarily as his hands stroked her ribs, warming to the sensation of heat as his burning fingertips began playing with her nipples through the lace.

“You like—?” he whispered.

Tierney nodded.

“Anything else I can do for you?” David continued, pressing his mouth to her right breast. The thin material between his mouth and her flesh felt like an insurmountable barrier. Tierney reached behind her, and with one snap of her left wrist, unhooked her bra. Lifting his mouth, David slid the bra off her shoulders and threw it behind him, where it landed atop one of the bedside lampshades. Tierney experienced a brief moment of panic—would it catch fire if it was too close to the bulb?—but then relaxed. She was being ridiculous.

She brought herself back to the moment, to the mounting pleasure building in her body. David’s hands were cupping her breasts now, desire clouding his eyes as he nuzzled his face there.

“You taste wonderful,” he murmured, taking her left nipple into his mouth. Tierney arched into him, sparks shooting through
her body as her legs nearly buckled beneath her. Her hands found David’s hair, and she buried her fingers deep in his curls, moaning as he suckled. She couldn’t believe she’d gone a year without this delight, this heaven. She began trembling, slowly at first, and then more violently the closer she came to the edge. And just when she was almost there, David lifted his head and laughed wickedly.

“I’m kind of tired,” he yawned.

“Over my dead body,” Tierney growled, pushing him back onto the bed and climbing atop him. She didn’t care if he hadn’t finished undressing her. She wanted skin-to-skin contact. Frantic, she began rolling his sweater up his body, kissing the sculptured flesh beneath. David gasped as his mouth curled into a smile of pleasure. Lifting his torso up off the bed, he pulled his sweater off over his head and threw it to the floor.

“Better?” he asked.

“Better.”

Tierney kissed his neck, then his jaw, before planting her mouth solidly on his chest. She tickled his nipples with her tongue. She traced a path with her mouth from the top of his collarbone down to the waistband of his jeans. The more aroused David became, the hotter she found herself getting, too. David was hard now. Hard and ready. Tierney reached down to unfasten his jeans.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” David breathed. Again, with a grace that astounded her, he turned her onto her back and resumed command.

“This skirt’s gotta go,” he declared. Tierney lifted her hips so he could undo the zipper at the back. She watched him pull down her skirt, taking extra care as he gently tugged it over her hips. It made no sound as it hit the carpeted floor.

She lay back, beside herself in anticipation of what might come next. David lowered his mouth to kiss each of her hipbones before peeling off her stockings and sending them sailing to the floor, too. The heat in the room kicked on, sending a warm breeze across Tierney’s already-heated body. David was now stretched out beside her and was gazing at her with such unabashed tenderness
Tierney’s breath caught.
Hey, mister, I thought this was all about lust
, she wanted to say. Then she realized: David Hewson could look at her any way he damn well pleased, and she’d love it.

“Now what?” Tierney murmured, letting her eyes drowse shut.

“Now I torture my little sex kitten until she begs for more.”

Tierney swallowed, breath frozen in her throat as he began rubbing her slowly through the silk of her panties. The sweet friction his hand caused was like an arrow aimed straight at her core. She felt greedy: the more he touched her, the more she wanted to be touched. David’s hand began moving faster as wave upon wave of pleasure assailed her. Finally, Tierney’s body could take it no more. Crying out, Tierney let herself go, freefalling over the precipice into her body’s first white hot finale. Nothing was better than this. Nothing. Except . . .

Tierney opened her eyes to catch David watching her hungrily. Grinning mischievously, she reached down to grasp him.

“I guess I should say thank you,” she sighed.

David laughed huskily. “What a polite girl you are.”