Inn on the Edge (3 page)

But I didn’t.

Finally, with a lingering touch suspiciously like a caress,
his hands left me. “There! That’s much better.” He turned his attention to
Josh. “Put your arm around her. No—lower.” He took Josh’s arm and moved it into
position. “Like that. Now. Cup her breast in your hand. Play with her nipple.”

Josh laughed. “You must be kidding!”

The old man just stared at him.

Josh hesitated. Then I felt the warm weight of his hand on
my breast, causing a shiver to run the entire length of my spine.

The camera flashed.

“Now kiss her, Joshua Taylor.”

Our lips found each other. Familiar. Comforting. A touch of
home in this place that had us both so unbalanced. Josh’s hand squeezed my
breast, his finger ran lightly over my nipple. I sighed.

The old man sighed.

The camera flashed twice more. Then the old man slipped the
camera back into his pocket. “Ah. Heroic. A blushing bride! On her wedding
night! But this old man’s knees rebel.” He went down a step. “Regrettably, I
will not join you on your climb. Eight flights might as well be the heights of
Machu Picchu, entirely too much for the likes of me. You will find your room at
the top, to the right. You would be hard-pressed to miss it. The key is in the
door and your supper is prepared.” The old man turned to me. “Your chocolates
await you, my dear. As does your randy husband.” He turned to Josh. “Oh yes,
young man, I am well aware of your mighty erection. You will have a fine time
tonight, rest assured.” And with that, the old man turned from us, limped down
the remaining stairs, shambled across the room and was gone from sight.

We stared after him, aghast.

Josh broke into a wide grin. “That horny old geezer is
right, you know.” He took my hand and held it over his crotch, pressing my
fingers against the aforementioned mighty erection.

“Goodness! You
are
randy!”

Randy. When had I ever heard that word used in real life?
For that matter, had I ever said the word “goodness”?

The place was rubbing off on me.

Josh threaded his fingers through mine. Gave me a final
kiss. Told me what he intended to do to me tonight. Then my randy husband and I
took the first step toward our drafty room at the top of the North Tower.

“We still don’t know his name,” I said.

Josh tugged the suitcases up the last few stairs and stood
beside me on the landing, breathing hard. He raised his eyebrows.

I set my painting case down. “We should make one up for
him.”

“Weirdo,” Josh said. “Weirdo McStrange.”

“Or is it…Bizarre Q. Oddball?”

He snorted. “What does the Q stand for?”

“I don’t know.” I leaned over the railing and peered down.
“Jeez, that’s a long way. Someone could get hurt if they fell from here.” I
turned around. “Quirkerton. The Q stands for Quirkerton.”

“Nah. Forget that one. His name is Freaky Freaktown. This is
our room? Are there any others up here?”

The door was straight off the landing, directly in front of
us, just as Mr. Freaktown had promised. A key stuck out of the lock. I was
mildly disappointed—why wouldn’t a place that made guests sign in with a quill
have skeleton keys for their rooms? No matter. I turned the key and pushed on
the door. It wouldn’t open.

“Let me try,” said Josh. But he hadn’t even touched the knob
when the door flew open, causing us both to jump backward.

A woman stood in our room. She was tall, long-limbed, with a
narrow face and a cascade of warm reddish-brown hair. I have a talent for
remembering precise valuations of color—back in art school my professors told
me they’d never seen anything like it—and this woman’s hair was the exact hue
of Burnt Sienna paint, straight from the tube. It was beautiful. I hadn’t known
hair could be that color.

“Oh! I’m sorry!” she said, “I was just setting up your
dinner. See? I meant to be done with this by the time you arrived.”

“No worries,” Josh said.

“Come in!” She pushed the door wider, gesturing. “Angie and
Josh Taylor, right? This is your room! The North Tower! Complete with en suite
bathroom.” She grabbed one of the suitcases and dragged it over the threshold.
“I’m Zenith. I work here—but you probably figured that out, didn’t you? I’m a
Guide. Did he tell you about the Lessons? I’ll be teaching some of them. Hey!
The three of us will get to know each other pretty well in the next few days!”
She swung her long hair over her shoulder.

That hair.

I couldn’t stop staring. I wanted to take that hair and run
my hands down its shimmering length. I wanted to pat wayward strands back into
place. I wanted to tuck it behind her ear. I wanted to brush it, braid it,
touch it.

Touch
her
.

Josh cleared his throat. He put his hand on my elbow.

This place was getting to me. Since when did I want to touch
a woman? And what kind of person was I, to even think of touching someone else on
my wedding day? But Zenith didn’t seem to notice my bizarre bout of lesbian
lust or my excruciating embarrassment. “Let me show you the room!”

“Uh, sure,” I said.

She bobbed about, plucking a fallen luggage tag from the
floor, straightening a flower vase on the windowsill, latching the wardrobe
door, switching on the lamps beside the bed. She pointed to the far side of the
room. “The bathroom is over there.” She gestured to the wall across from us.
“Extra blankets are under the window seat.” Then she took three steps over to
the dresser and picked up a basket. “Condoms,” she said, shaking it. “They’re
all over. Free for the taking. And lube. Also free.” She looked up at us,
winking. “Take handfuls. Put them in your pockets—you’ll need them.
Use
them,
please. No protection, no sex. It’s inn policy.”

Policy? What kind of place had a policy for condom usage?

“You’ll use them?” she asked, waiting for an answer.

“Fine,” I said.

“Okay,” said Josh, shrugging. “We can do that.”

“Wonderful!” Zenith grinned. Her smile was contagious. She
radiated a heady mixture of sensuality and…what? Grace? Freshness? Good
old-fashioned niceness? All of the above? Whatever Zenith’s secret was, it
enthralled both me and Josh. I knew that because he had my hand in his and was
squeezing it. Hard.

“Umm,” said Josh, sounding breathless, “what do you teach,
exactly?”

“Lovemaking. Sensuality. Erotic touch.” Zenith threw her
arms out in an all-encompassing gesture. “And it’s
wonderful!
”

Josh and I stole a look at each other. He arched an eyebrow.

“I’m a Guide,” she said again. “There are four of us and we
all teach the same thing. We have the best job in the world.” She laughed, a
delightful thing. “But first things first. You must be hungry. Look! I brought
you an evening meal.” She flung her hand to the left, toward a table where
plates and glasses and silverware and covered platters were neatly laid out.
“And chocolates too! Why did you get chocolates? He must really like you. None
of the others got chocolates!”

“Oh?” I tore my gaze from her to the window on the far side
of the room. It was dark out. All I could see was a faraway light and a few
stars. I took shallow breaths, fighting to get enough air, annoyed by the
tight-fitting bodice of my wedding dress. I wanted to get out of it in the
worst way. “I suppose he liked us. I guess.”

“He did.” Zenith nodded toward the dinner table. “See that
note card? It’s from him. Be sure to read it before eating. Okay? It’s very
important.”

“Sure,” Josh said.

“Good. Leave the dishes here—I’ll collect them in the
morning.” Zenith went to the still-open door. Then, her hand on the doorknob,
she turned back to look at us through her fall of hair. “Breakfast is at
eleven. Even if you screw like bunnies all night, drag yourselves down, you
hear? Don’t miss it! The dining hall is on the first floor, near where you came
in. See you then!” She closed the door behind her and Josh and I were alone.

“It’s one thing after another in this place, isn’t it?” he
said.

I nodded, biting my lip. It certainly was. If you could call
my shocking attraction to a beautiful woman with Burnt Sienna hair a
thing
.

Josh’s hand fluttered at his side. “She was…um…”

“No! Don’t talk about how gorgeous she was!” I gave him my
most ferocious frown. “Not on our wedding night!”

“Okay. I won’t.”

I kissed him. “But she was, wasn’t she?”

He laughed through the kiss, which made an unusual sensation
on my lips. Kind of like trying to talk underwater. I liked it.

“I’m starving,” he said. “And yes. She was. You liked her—I
saw!”

“Maybe,” I said, kissing him again. Then I broke away. “I’m
hungry too. C’mon.” I took his hand and we stood over the table, taking it in.
“Wow,” I said, sniffing, trying to identify the many tantalizing smells. “This
is…unreal.”

Unreal was right.

It wasn’t a small table. It couldn’t be and still hold the
six covered platters. Plus a small, coconut-covered cake on a crystal pedestal,
a handful of shell-shaped mints in a miniature dish, a coffee service complete
with real sugar and cream, the chocolates, wineglasses and a bread basket. So
much food! Much more than the two of us could handle but I wasn’t complaining.
It seemed like hours and hours since our reception, not that I’d had anything
to eat, what with all the hugging and speechifying and toasting.

I’d do my best to make up for it now.

Squeezed amid the platters were two slim vases of yellow
flowers of a type I’d never seen before. And tapered candles. And tiny
cut-glass salt and pepper shakers, a set for each of us. And soft linen napkins
of—I squinted—Manganese Violet with a touch of Cobalt Blue, a favorite color of
mine. The napkins were delicate little works of art, origami almost, folded
into long-necked swans that perched atop snowy white plates, so perfect I
wondered if I could take my swan home with me without ruining it. Probably not.
In a swoon of delighted anticipation, my mouth watering, I leaned over and
lifted the lid from the largest platter. Four plump steaks nestled in a bed of
wild mushrooms. The aroma nearly knocked me over.

Josh dipped his index finger into the sauce and slurped it
noisily into his mouth. “Oh my god. You have to try this.”

But I’d already replaced the cover. “Not yet, Josh! We can’t
eat yet. We’re supposed to read the note first. Remember? Where is it?” I fell
into the nearest chair, wedding dress, high heels and all. I picked up a white
envelope in the very center of the table, from where it leaned against a
candle. “Christ! It says Mr. and Mrs. Joshua Taylor. I hate that! I’m me. I’m
not Mrs.
You
.”

He ignored that. He was busy snatching a mint from the candy
dish.

“Put that back,” I said.

“Fine. But I may die of hunger if this takes much longer.”

I read the note to myself, sucked in my breath in surprise,
then passed it to him.

He read it, then met my eye. “A game!”

“A
sex
game,” I clarified, “for the two of us. It
might actually be fun.”

“It might.”

“Lots of fun.”

Josh narrowed his eyes. “It says here that he’s offering a
prize if we complete the game.”

“That’s a dirty old man who wrote that.”

“Shocking, really.”

“Appalling.”

Josh leaned back in his seat, batting the letter against the
edge of the table. “It says if we want to play, we have to follow his
directions. If we want our prize tomorrow morning at breakfast, we have to do
everything his way.” He scratched his knee. “We can’t touch each other—or do
anything—without following his directions from this moment on. Angie.
That’s…sick.” Josh eyed me, his glance lingering on my bust, as Mr. Freaktown
had called it. “It’s sick. But tantalizing. Can we do that, Angie? Can we make
our wedding night into a game?
His
game?”

We stared at each other, motionless.

“Should we?” I whispered.

“We shouldn’t. Definitely we shouldn’t. Why are we
whispering?”

I cleared my throat. “I don’t know.”

“Really, we ought to do the opposite of whatever that man
tells us.”

“I know.”

“We ought to grab our stuff and leave.”

“I know.”

His chest rose and fell. Rose and fell. He leaned forward.
“Angie, it’s crazy, but I think I might want to play along. Give me your hand.”
He set my hand on his crotch. “Feel that? I have the world’s hugest cock! Just
thinking about his game is making me hard.”

I gave his erection a helpful squeeze through his suit
pants. Still holding my hand on his lap, I leaned closer to him and whispered
as quietly as I could, barely even moving my lips, “Josh. My love. It’s our
wedding night
.
I want you. I want you bad. I’ve waited for you all day.
This whole thing…having rules. Doesn’t it make you want to break them? Doesn’t it
make it all seem that much more tantalizing?”

He kissed me. A light, gentle brush of lips. “Yes. It does.
Absolutely.”

I breathed the next words right into his ear. “Just so you
know, I’m sopping wet down there…”

“Down where?” he breathed back, his groin pressing against
my hand, his cock straining the seams of his dress pants.

“A place you’ll soon be exploring. And yes. We’re
this
close
to breaking the rules.”

“So we’re going to play?” He stared at me, unblinking.

“We’ll play. Then tomorrow morning, after we get our prize,
we’ll leave.”

“After breakfast?”

“Immediately after breakfast.”

We kissed again, breaking the rules one last time. Then I
leaned back and took a deep breath. The letter lay on the table beside Josh’s
dinner plate, where he’d let it fall. I picked it up. Read it a second time.
Met Josh’s eyes. “It says to begin the game by taking the napkin off the bread
basket.”

“Go ahead.”

I did so, revealing a deck of cards nestled beside a small
pile of whole-wheat rolls. Rolls! Fresh from the oven! My hand hovered over the
nearest one. My mouth watered, my nose twitched.

“Don’t do it,” said Josh.

Giving him an exaggerated sigh, I picked up the top card. I
ran my finger over the ornate raised scrollwork, then turned it over. “Card number
one. It says we start the game by serving each other one ladle of soup. Fine.
We can do that.” I leaned over the table, deciding which covered dish was most
likely to hold soup. I chose the deepest one, a tureen, and took the lid off.
“Yum. Tomato bisque.”

I served Josh, then he carefully filled my bowl. “Now we’re
supposed to draw the next card,” I said, hoping we’d actually get to
eat
the soup.

Josh took a turn, reading aloud. “Take turns sharing the
details of a favorite sexual memory. One memory for one swallow of soup. No
more, no less.”

“Okay,” I said. “An explicit memory?”

“It doesn’t say. Just a detailed memory. But probably yes.”

“You go first, then.”

Josh picked up his spoon, dipped it slowly in the soup,
stirred. Steam rose in a delicate vine, then dissipated. He held the spoon to
his lips. “Here’s a memory. We did it… Um, we had sex—this is so weird,
Angie—at your uncle’s house when they were on their trip to Europe. On their
living room couch. Remember?”

“I do!”

“It was so cold we kept our jackets on. Butts to the wind but
with our coats on!” He laughed, then slurped loudly at the soup.

I smiled at the memory. “We were such kids.”

“
You
were a kid. I was a suave ladies’ man. We can
have water, right?”

“A ladies’ man? No. You weren’t.” I waved my spoon in his
direction. “The card doesn’t say anything about water. Have some.”

He drank, regarding me over the rim with his eyes. “Your
turn. Go for it.”

I thought for a moment. “Okay. I’m remembering the first
time we had sex. The very first time.”

“I’m interested. Go on.”

“I was so worried! Terrified, in fact.”

“Really? Terrified of what? Of me? Of sex? Of getting
pregnant?”

“No.” I held my spoonful of soup at my lips, poised and
ready for my first taste. “None of that. I, um… I’d just gotten over my period!
I was afraid you’d see the spots on my underwear! But you didn’t.” I swallowed
my mouthful of soup. “Delicious. Absolutely delicious. I want more.”