Room 1208 (4 page)

She brought her other hand to her breasts, idly
rubbing her nipples as she lost herself in her sweetly lurid imagining.

“
Fuck
, that’s hot.”

The lusty growl, coming from the foot of the bed,
wrenched her out of her dreamlike state. She clenched her legs together and
reached for a pillow, intent on hiding her body from his smoldering appraisal.
She felt a crimson flush of embarrassment spread down from her ears to her
throat and chest.

He grabbed the pillow and tossed it aside. “
Don’t
.
Don’t hide from me. Not after what we just did.” He knelt down on the bed at
her feet and ran his palms up the outside of her legs before pushing them
between her clasped thighs to pry them gently but firmly apart. His eyes blazed
with renewed craving as they journeyed up her body to her rosy face. “Don’t you
know how absolutely stunning you are?” he asked softly, his tone a mixture of
admiration and bafflement.

And it was at that moment, after two years of
therapy, two years of learning how to like herself and her body, two years of
parroting words of self-praise that now echoed hollowly in her memory, that
she, at last, truly felt beautiful. He’d revealed the truth of it in every
sweet caress, every sigh and groan and whisper. There was nothing false or
self-serving in his praise. His touch spoke genuine veneration as he grazed his
fingers over her thighs and hips, the soft swell of her stomach, her breasts,
her throat. He cupped her face in his hands and pierced her with intense blue
eyes.

“Tell me your real name.”

She swallowed, slanted her eyes away from his.
“Please… No names.”

“Why?”

“I-I didn’t expect… I hadn’t… We won’t be seeing
each other again.”

“Why not?”

She frowned at his harsh insistence even while
her heart fluttered with unfamiliar hope. “I’m just traveling through. I don’t
live here.”

“Neither do I. Where do you live?”

She reached up to place her palm against his
face. “Will you leave if I don’t tell you?” She heard the throb of anxiety in
her voice.

He was silent for a moment, eyes probing.
Something of the disquiet in her expression was suddenly reflected in his own,
along with something deeper still that he quickly concealed as he dropped his
gaze, glancing away from her for a moment. He moved his hands from her face and
slid them down to her shoulders. His eyes spoke nothing more than a fierce
hunger when he returned his flashing gaze to hers. “All right, then. No names.”
He gripped her shoulders tighter. “Turn over.”

Her heartbeat kicked up several notches as he
easily flipped her onto her stomach and straddled her legs. She glanced over
her shoulder, catching a disconcerting bleakness in his expression that he was
quick to conceal. “What are you doing?”

He stroked his palms over her upper back, the
soothing touch belying the shadows that had briefly made him look grim and distant.
“No more questions.”

“I—”

Two thumbs massaged the smooth nape of her neck,
guiding her head down until her cheek rested against the pillow. “
Shh
.
I’m not going to hurt you, sugar.” He replaced his thumbs with his mouth,
kissing his way down her nape and up the side of her jaw before grazing her
ear. He bit gently on the lobe before saying, “You’re right. We’re just
strangers passing through this place. No more talking then. Let’s just enjoy
this for what it is.”

She suddenly felt like crying.

She hadn’t anticipated this curious sense of
connection with this man, this feeling of completeness, this mysterious
yearning for more than just this one night, these few hours. She fought to tamp
down the abrupt wild impulse to tell him everything, including her name. That
had never been part of the plan.

He took the bobby pins out of her chignon, sifted
his fingers through her unrestrained hair, spread it down her neck and over her
shoulders. He pressed his face into it, inhaled, and then exhaled with a husky
sigh of approval and desire. His palms grazed down her arms, finding her hands
where they tightly clenched the pillow to her chest, drawing them out until her
arms were spread on either side of her as if in supplication. He clasped her
hands in his, meshed his long, supple fingers with hers for a few moments. His
solid chest was against her back, hot skin pressing. She felt his penis against
her buttocks, twitching, growing hard again.

She closed her eyes, mouth parted in a tiny gasp
of longing.

He released her hands, bringing his own up her
arms, returning them to her shoulders with a brief squeeze before skimming down
her back. Thumbs brushed the outer swell of her breasts, the sides of her
ribcage, a startling tickle instantly followed by a soothing rub of palms,
palms that soon slid lower to curving hips. She felt the damp, warm sandpaper
of his tongue on her nape and then the scrape of his teeth as he nipped her
there lightly. His torso gradually slid down her body her as he kissed and
licked and nibbled a leisurely journey along her spine to her lower back.

   He ran his hands over her buttocks, rubbing
her skin between nips and kisses. He was on his stomach now, between her legs,
his broad shoulders relentlessly spreading her wide. There was no hesitation,
no inkling of modesty or embarrassment in his touch as he dug his fingers into
the crevice of her buttocks, his tongue following as he licked his way down
that crevice to her anus, a few inquisitive licks at that puckered area before
sliding down to the patch of skin lower down. God, she hadn’t known that that
area was so sensitive!

She groaned and lifted her hips, arching up and
into his mouth, urging him to continue licking and pushing with his tongue. He
lingered for a few delirious moments, his own hungry groans muffled against her
skin. When he finally slid his sleek, demanding tongue inside her vagina she
nearly came off the bed. She buried her face in her pillow along with her moans
of pure rapture.

She was not the same woman she’d been just one
hour before. That woman could never have imagined such a joyous, unabashed
surrender to this stranger’s decadent touch. She felt reborn, released from all
the doubt and confusion that had weakened the bond of her mind and spirit with
her own inherent femininity.

Her body expressed total acquiescence when he
eventually lifted himself up to straddle her legs again. She was clay in his hands,
allowing him to mold and position her as he pleased. Drifting on a cloud of
bliss, she scarcely heard the snap of the condom as he prepared to take her a
second time. Then he was pushing inside of her, his low grunts of pleasure
enhancing his slow but insistent excursion into her wet passage.

He fell against her, chest heaving against her
back, rock-hard arms bracketing her head, his harsh breaths fanning her hair as
he rocked his hips forward and back. “So good,” he rasped. “So damn good.”

She writhed beneath him, striving for even closer
contact, frenzied sounds of need bursting from her mouth. He felt so deep inside
of her, deeper than the first time, this new position and angle touching and
rubbing places she never knew existed within her own body.

He moved one arm under her stomach, his hand
seeking and finding her clitoris. He rubbed and squeezed as he strove to push
even deeper inside of her, pressing her hips into the mattress. His other hand
cupped her face, angling her head to the side so he could cover her mouth with
his. He plunged his tongue inside, wickedly mimicking the thrust of his hips.
He tore his mouth away only long enough to catch his breath before capturing
her mouth once again. She responded in kind, instinctively sucking his tongue
deep inside her mouth as, down below, her inner walls clutched at him, urging
him on.

He came unglued, his every motion and touch
kicking into high gear. He slid his mouth away from hers only to suck and bite
at the delicate place where her neck met her shoulder. His fingers continued to
rub her wet, swollen clitoris, compelling her to climax. Through a dark fog of
lust and pleasure filtered the knowledge that he was waiting for her, that he
wanted them to come together.

Her whole being seemed to burst into glittering
shards of color as she willingly obeyed his unspoken plea. Light and heat
pulsed behind her closed eyes as her climax shattered inside and around her.
All feeling was pinpointed on that place where he throbbed deep inside her,
pulsating and shuddering in the throes of his own release. He was gasping and
moaning into her ear as he collapsed on top of her. Her rapture came as a long
wail, a decrescendo of sound that was uninhibited and profound.

The afterglow lasted longer this time, setting
her adrift in a sea of sexual fulfillment. She was scarcely aware of him
eventually moving off of her and out of bed. The loss of his body heat was,
thankfully, only temporary, as she felt him return to her, drawing her onto her
side to cuddle against him. The last thing she remembered before she floated
into sleep was the touch of his hands, sure and possessive against her back as
he held her close.

She came awake in the early morning hours to find
herself draped over his body, her legs on either side of his as he rubbed his
engorged shaft against her belly. His eyes were closed, his mouth slack, his
face smooth and relaxed as if he were still asleep.

She gradually realized that he was still asleep,
apparently lost in a lusty dream as his hands roved up and down her back. He
whispered something unintelligible when he found her breasts, latching onto
them and rubbing his thumbs over the extended nipples.

Sighing with pleasure, she sank into his touch,
half amused by the look on his face. He was like the proverbial kid in the
candy shop, given free rein to indulge as much as he wanted. She didn’t want to
wake him just yet, enjoying his gleeful expression.

Suddenly, he was rolling her onto her back and
coming over her, inserting his legs between hers. His eyes were still closed as
he surged into her, filling her to the hilt with one determined thrust.

She winced a little, not yet fully aroused, sorer
now from the second coupling. But it still felt good, so good, and different
from the other times. Heat and dampness pooled and spread as she relaxed into
his slow, unhurried rhythm, her arousal increasing as his chest rubbed against
her breasts and his breath sounded strong and even against her ear.

For a long, pleasurable time, he rocked languidly
into her. She wondered if he would ever wake up, missing the penetrating fire
of his gaze. But when his pace quickened and he braced himself on his arms
above her, his eyes were still shut, squeezed tightly together now as he
groaned and heaved. She clasped his arms, on the verge of climax, when she
suddenly felt his release, a gush of hot liquid bathing her womb.

Oh God. He wasn’t wearing a condom. Yet, even as
her mind was trying to grasp that troublesome fact, she was enthralled by the
feel of that virile heat inside of her body, the intensity of that feeling
instigating her own quiet orgasm.

All coherent thought was pushed aside as he fell
against her, his cheek pressed to hers. She wrapped her arms and legs around
him, keeping him close, holding on to him for as long as he would allow.

Coasting on the edge of sleep, she gradually
became aware that something had changed. His arms had tightened around her. He
must be awake. But his head was still pressed close to hers and he was shaking
uncontrollably, his body convulsing with what she gradually, and with shocked
dismay and concern, realized were silent, gut-wrenching sobs.

He was crying.

She brought one hand to his head, running her
fingers soothingly through his hair. At a loss, she didn’t know what to say.
She could only respond with a silent, tender touch to the dark, deep emotions
that seemed to emanate from the very core of his being.

She felt his mouth against her neck, burying
tear-soaked kisses there. He muttered something against her skin. She strained
her ears to decipher the one word as he spoke it again.

“
Rachel
.

Six months later
.

          “Rob wants everyone to meet in the
conference room in five minutes.”

          Maggie glanced up from her computer
screen. “Do you know what it’s about?”

Her colleague and fellow copywriter, Samantha,
shrugged, already moving away from the entrance to Maggie’s cubical. “No clue.
But he seemed pretty excited. I’ve got to round up the herd. See you in a few.”

Maggie rubbed her eyes, welcoming the break from
writing fresh advertising copy for one of the agency’s longstanding clients, a
Midwest steakhouse restaurant chain. Trying to come up with new and unusual
words to describe a cut of filet mignon was making her feel a little queasy.

Grabbing her yellow legal pad and a pen, she made
her way down the hall to the conference room. All of the employees at Pelham
and Mason Advertising Agency were gathered there, including the receptionist.
This was something major then.

Maggie took the empty seat between Samantha and
Dan, the art director on their team. The three of them reported to Tim Mason,
owner and Creative Director of the firm, a title he shared with Rob Pelham. Rob
and Tim had started the agency located on the outskirts of Des Moines three
years ago, both having come from a prestigious New York agency. It was a small
agency with just under twenty employees at the moment, but it was beginning to
grow since business had picked up within the last year. The copywriters and art
directors reported to either Tim or Rob, each team responsible for different
projects, but sometimes banding together to work on a larger account.

There was a buzz of excitement in the air when
Rob and Tim entered the room along with Mike Brosky, the agency’s top account
manager. Rob began to speak before he reached the front of the room. Forty
something, he had an energy and enthusiasm that was infectious, playing
counterpoint to Tim’s more laidback demeanor. “Hey, gang, thanks for dropping everything
on such short notice. I’m going to get right to the point. We have the
opportunity to land a major national account.
Major
. If we get it, this
will be our first client outside of our Midwest base. I can’t begin to tell you
how excited I am about this. I’m really confident we can pull this off. Mike,
tell us what you got.”

Maggie’s pulse gave a little flutter as Mike
strode to the front of the room. An Iowa native, born and raised on a corn
farm, former college quarterback, tall, broad-shouldered with blond hair, blue
eyes, square jaw and a captivating grin, he was the poster-boy for the All
American male. He was the first guy she’d felt any real attraction to since…

Focus, Maggie. Now’s not the time to go there.

“Like Rob said, this is major, people. It
literally fell into our laps. The CEO of this company came across our Goldfinch
Beer ad while he was on business in Chicago last week. He liked what he saw and
had his CMO track us down. Based on that ad alone, we’ve been selected to pitch
our ideas to them. Only two other agencies are in the running. So, before I go
any further…” He started clapping his hands. “Major kudos to Maggie and Team
Tim for putting the Goldfinch campaign together in the first place.”

Damn her propensity to blush! Maggie grinned,
sharing high fives with Dan and Samantha but avoiding looking directly at Mike
as she felt heat spreading across her face. Rob and Tim both came over to slap
her on the back. Mike even gave a wolf whistle.

“So, who’s the potential client, Mike?” The loud
voice, carrying an undertone of
whatever, let’s move along
, sliced
through the commotion.

Maggie shared an eye roll with Samantha before
swiveling her chair around to look at Kayla Polson who was sitting directly
across the table from them, giving them an evil eye that she quickly masked
when Mike looked in her direction. Kayla was their counterpart on Team Rob.
She’d been snide and rude to Maggie since Maggie’s first day on the job, and
Maggie still didn’t know why, in spite of several attempts to make nice. She’d
eventually given up. Some battles just weren’t worth fighting.

Mike couldn’t tamp down his boyish grin. “Ever
hear of Jagz Vodka?”

There was a moment of silence before Dan said,
“You’re shitting me.”

A few people in the room, the non-drinkers,
Maggie guessed, looked confused. Someone said, “Who?”

Emily, the fresh out of college receptionist who
was enthusiastically vocal about her weekend club outings and celebrity
crushes, rolled her eyes. “It’s only one of the hottest vodka brands in the
country, dumbass. The A-listers love it. Adam Levine had it served exclusively
at his last birthday party.”

“Who’s Adam Levine?”

Emily threw her pencil at the jokester.

“They’ve had a pretty decent campaign running for
a while as I recall,” Samantha said. “What do they want to change?”

“We have a video conference call scheduled with
their CMO this afternoon to get the full briefing,” Mike answered. “In a nutshell,
they’re now ready to expand the brand internationally and target a more
sophisticated, upscale demographic. Their brand is hot with the young celebrity
crowd as Emily so graciously pointed out,” this with a wink at Emily, “but they
want to become one of the top three vodkas in the world.”

Dan whistled. “No small task.”

Tim, who’d been standing quietly in the corner,
stepped forward. “No, it isn’t. And the kicker is we have to come up with our
concept and pitch by next Wednesday. We’re a last minute entry in the bidding
process. They’d set that deadline a month ago.”

“That’s just one week away!” John, one of the
copywriters on Team Rob said with a groan. The room grew noisy with sounds of
agreement and muttered side conversations.

Rob clapped his hands together. “OK, people,
listen up. Drop whatever projects you’re working on now. Jagz is priority
number one. We’re going to have to work over the weekend and pull some
all-nighters to meet the deadline. I want both teams back here at three o’clock
for the conference call. In the meantime, dig up everything you can on Jagz
Vodka, its parent company, its previous ad campaigns, etcetera, etcetera.”

“Do we know who will be on the call from their
side?” Kayla asked as everyone began rising from their seats.

“Sean Bannister is the CMO,” Mike replied. “It
will just be him and some of his marketing team, I believe. Jason Armitage is
the CEO of Jagz Enterprises. This is just one of several businesses that he
owns. I’m not sure how hands on he’ll be with this project so I doubt he’ll be
on the call.”

 “Hey, Mags, thanks again
for your work on the Goldfinch ad. If we land this Jagz deal, I owe you big time.”

Maggie blushed. “It was a team effort, Mike. But
thanks, I appreciate your kind words.”

 “I really like that color on you by the way.”
With a cocky grin and a wave he walked away.

“Tell me he did
not
just hit on you,”
Samantha whispered.

“I think that was a definite hit,” Dan confirmed.
“Though I’m not sure if he was talking about the color of your face or your
dress.”

Samantha laughed. “If you blush any harder,
Mags
,
your face will match your hair.”

Maggie rolled her eyes. “Knock it off, guys. We’ve
got a ton of work to do before the call.”

They both smirked like a pair of matching
bookends.

“
Seriously
, you two? I’m sure he has a
girlfriend already. Besides, I don’t think it’s a good idea to get involved
with a work colleague.”

“Why not?” Dan countered. “I spend more time in
this building with you two than I do at home. How many times have we all slept
together in this very room?”

“There’s sleeping together and there’s
sleeping
together, Danny boy,” Samantha retorted, flicking his temple with one turquoise-lacquered
fingernail. “And the only way you’re going to achieve the latter is in your
dreams.”

“Come on, Sammy, you know you want it. I’ve seen
the way you ogle my ass.”

“Only because I still can’t figure out how you
manage to fit that big ass in such tight jeans.”

“Are you saying these jeans make my ass look
big?” Dan’s tone was half serious.

“Are you
sure
you’re not gay?”

Emily stalked into the room on her six-inch heels
and slapped a manila folder on the table. “Here are all the deets I could find
on the executive officers. Couldn’t find any pictures of them, though. The
corporate website is pretty discreet and none of them have a social media
presence, just what comes from their PR firm.”

Maggie wrote DISCREET on her notepad in big block
letters.

Emily snapped her chewing gum as Dan started
thumbing through the folder. “Anything else?” She asked in a bored tone.
“Kayla’s pissed off that I was working on this instead of her project.”

“Kayla’s always pissed off,” Samantha muttered.
“That girl seriously needs to get laid.”

Maggie barely managed not to snort. “Give her a
copy of this material. We’re all on the same team here.”

“Already done.” Emily flipped her hair and
sashayed out of the room.

“Oh, to be twenty-three again,” Dan said with a
lusty sigh, watching her hip-swaying retreat.

LUST joined the growing column of words on
Maggie’s notepad.

“No, thanks, I am so done with my twenties,”
Samantha said. “I cannot
wait
to be thirty. Two more weeks to go and
Vegas here I come, baby.”

“I don’t remember much of my thirtieth birthday
other than a bottle of JD and a bong being involved. How about you, Maggie?”

Maggie kept her eyes on her notepad. “I was out
of town. My thirtieth birthday was the week before I started working here.”

“Oh, yeah?” Samantha pried. “Did you go somewhere
fun?”

“Chicago.”

“She’s blushing again,” Dan stage-whispered.
“Come on, Mags, fess up. You got laid on your birthday, didn’t you.”

Oh, lord in heaven
. Leave it to Dan to get
it right in one. “No, not that it’s any of your business. One of my friends is
an event manager. She asked me to come with her at the last minute to help with
a conference. We were both going to stay an extra night at the hotel and go
celebrate, but her boyfriend showed up to surprise her and I was stuck on my own.”
This was mostly true. The rest of the story would stay buried deep in her
heart.

“Huh, some friend.” Samantha sneered in sisterly
commiseration.

“So, you went and painted the town red anyway, I
hope?” Dan chortled. “You did, didn’t you? Look at her face, Sam.”

Maggie narrowed her eyes at him. “You know that
saying ‘what goes on the road, stays on the road,’ Danny boy? Now seriously,
guys. We only have an hour before the call. Get those pencils moving.”

Dan gave one final snicker that turned into a
yelp when Samantha kicked him under the table.

Maggie took a deep breath, struggling to calm her
thoughts. As her eyes refocused on the note pad she realized what she’d written
at the bottom of the column, written and traced over repeatedly, underlined and
encircled:

ROOM 1208.

That evening found Maggie
sitting on her plush sofa in her living room, a glass of red wine in one hand
and her notepad resting on her knee. The video conference call had gone well.
Sean Bannister, a seemingly affable teddy bear kind of man in his fifties, had
clearly expressed which direction he wanted the Jagz Vodka brand to take, and
his goals almost perfectly aligned with the ideas that had been churning in
Maggie’s head since the internal team meeting.

Classy, Playful, Intriguing, Polished, Exclusive,
Tasteful, Sexy, Discreet. Disparate words that could blend together in a unique
way, yet she found herself unable to concentrate on exactly how. Her eyes kept
going back to the letters and numbers she’d circled over and over until she’d
torn a hole in the page. Room 1208. Heaving a sigh, she tossed the notepad on
the coffee table and gulped down the rest of the wine before lying down and
closing her eyes.

Rachel
.

He’d said nothing more, just that name, before
sliding off of her and sinking into a deep, sated sleep.

She’d lain there, numb with shock and
devastation—a devastation that, upon later reflection, had been staggering in
its power and finality. Because in those brief moments between their last
coupling and his speaking that name she’d decided to tell him everything. All
of her instincts had convinced her that those few glorious hours they’d shared
had been magical and unique. There’d been more between them than just the lust
and mystery and heat of a one night stand, something more than two strangers
simply using each other to get off.

He’d wanted to know her name. He’d insinuated
that he wanted to see her again, regardless of where they both lived. When she
closed her eyes she still saw the intensity of his gaze, felt the possessive
strength of his arms around her, his gentle, tender caresses that were all the
more sweetly profound given that strength.

Rachel
. One word, one name, had shattered
her blossoming dream. He’d said he wasn’t married, that he wasn’t seeing
anyone. And she’d believed him. Yet there was no wedding ring on his finger, no
differentiation of color or imprint on the skin to indicate he wore one. Fresh
doubt had assailed her as she’d watched him sleep.

Whoever Rachel was, he loved her. There’d been no
mistaking the depth of emotion in his voice, the veneration, the…guilt. Jealously,
bitterness and a reciprocal guilt had clawed at Maggie, bringing tears to her
eyes. She’d moved carefully off the bed, afraid to wake him, afraid to see the
acknowledgement of betrayal in his eyes.

She’d dressed quickly without taking time to
shower. After gathering her things and doing one final sweep of the room, she’d
quietly unlocked the door and closed it softly behind her. She’d barely kept
her tears at bay during the five hour drive back to Des Moines, only yielding
to them once she was back in her own home where she could sit on her shower
floor under a hot spray of water, head bent over knees that were clutched
tightly to her chest, until the water ran cold.