Page 22 of Scrooged for the Holidays
“What the flying fuck was that?” I don’t get emotional like this over the past. Hell, I don’t think about the past. I only think of the future, of where I’m heading. The promotion I want, making more money, buying a big home just outside the city with clean and modern lines. Nothing like this cozy inn with cluttered decor and warm tones.
I clear my throat and mutter my mantra as I look through the documents Avery sent me and the notes I made at Holly’s restaurant earlier. I open a new Word document and write up my thoughts to Mr. Cross for a later email. I won’t be able to send anything till I have reception or Wi-Fi, but at least it will be ready when I do.
My fingers fly across the keys, and I’m feeling settled now that I’m doing work. Assessing evaluations, crunching numbers, taking control of situations—it’s what I do best. It’s my happy place, and I get lost in the rhythm of it. At least an hour passes before my hunger grows unbearable.
The clock on the side table says it’s just after eleven. I’m sure everyone staying here is in their rooms by now. When I checked in, Sophia said the inn locks up after ten pm and a front desk worker would be in tomorrow morning.
My thoughts stray to Kai and his comment about living here. He said he was closing the bar for the night, so I’m sure he’s somewhere in one of these rooms. Not that it matters, since nothing is happening between us.
Maybe his relationship with that man at the bar isn’t as open as he led me to believe. I should probably be grateful he didn’t kiss me after all.
My stomach growls, and I grip my belly. I didn’t eat a lot today, but I can’t remember the last time I’ve felt this hungry. Another growl followed by a tug in my center makes me stand from the bed. I put away my work, and as if an invisible forceguides me, I slip on a pair of white slippers that the inn provided near the door. They feel like fluffy clouds on my feet, and I see angel wings are stitched into the top of the puffy fabric. The more I look at it, the more I wonder if it’s their logo. This is called Elysian Pines Inn, after all.
God, it’s so freaking kitschy. If Mr. Cross ends up deciding to buy buildings in the area when I show him what I’ve stumbled upon, that will be the first thing that goes. Much like Garland, the businesses we lease to and have investments in are high end. If they have Christmas decor, it’s tasteful and new. Not dated or tacky.
I grab the key to my room and slip it into my pajama pocket, my stomach still rumbling as I step into the hall. Hopefully, my feet take me to a kitchen with granola bars or something. Once I’m sated, I can go to sleep.
If I’m lucky, maybe when I wake up tomorrow, I’ll be able to leave and get reception. But the snow outside is intense. I had to brush several inches from my SUV in order to drive the short distance here. Much to my distaste, I think I’m stuck in Elysian Pines for a while.
The hallway is quiet as I walk toward the steps. I’m on the second floor of the two-story inn. There aren’t many rooms, and to be honest, I’m still shocked they had availability for me to stay here. It leads me to believe that this very well could be a place Northlight could take over, especially if they aren’t earning the kind of money a place like this could.
I wonder if I can get a meeting with the inn’s owner while I’m here. Maybe he’d be willing to sell outright. Most people will if you offer them the right amount of cash. I stow that idea away for tomorrow, trailing my fingers along the eggshell-colored wall. I stop at the top of the stairs when my fingers hit a wooden frame.
The picture is of three men standing in front of the inn, wrapped in coats and scarves. I recognize the one on the leftimmediately. It’s Kai. He looks the same as he did in the bar: long hair, kind smile, and soulful brown eyes.
My eyes skip the man in the middle to the one on the other side, as if I’m drawn to look at him. It’s the man from the bar, the one who Kai is with. I didn’t get a chance to stare at him like I did Kai, and at least with a picture, I won’t come off creepy studying him now.
His silver hair is faded on the sides with longer dark hair on top that’s well styled. His sharp jaw and high cheekbones are mostly clean-shaven except for a bit of stubble that’s so light I hardly see it. His near-black eyes are narrowed and sharp, his dark-pink lips in a harsh line.
He’s the opposite of Kai, dark and brooding. There’s an intensity to him that pulls me in and makes my stomach erupt with butterflies. I lift my hand up before I know what I’m doing and run my finger down his sharp jaw.
It’s like I can feel the stubble, and I suck in a breath. Something inside me wants to keep looking into his eyes, to see what I find in their dark depths, but before I can dive off the deep end, my gaze pulls to the man in the middle. The shiver that had worked its way up my spine sputters to life again, and my body turns hot.
“The man from the restaurant,” I say. I drop my hands to my side and gawk at him. His eyes are as intense as the other two, but instead of being consuming in a way that makes me want to dive in, I get the sudden urge to drop to my knees and bow in front of him, to worship him like a king.
My cheeks blush, and the zap I felt when our arms brushed earlier zings through me, white-hot heat pooling with hunger deep in my core. Am I seriously getting aroused by looking at a photo?
I step back and pull my focus away from the framed image, yet the three men are imprinted in my brain. I blink several times, but I can still see them.
My hand touches the railing for the stairs, and I let the cool wood ground me as I take my first step down.
Elysian Pines must be close to Garland if I saw that man at the restaurant and he’s in the photo here. I remember Kai’s words about his friend owning the inn, and I wonder if that’s Mr. Hottie with the green eyes or Mr. Broody. Or maybe they all live here? I have no idea, and it’s not like it’s any of my business.
My slippered feet land on the bottom floor, the wood color a warm honey. Most of the lights are off save the front area by where I checked in, but nobody’s stirring. The air is warm, yet I find my nipples taut and hard beneath the fabric of my pajamas.
I cross my arms over my chest and look around. I think about turning right, wondering if the kitchen is that way, when a noise stops me. My breath catches, and I stand on my tippy-toes, craning toward the noise, as if that will help improve my hearing.
“Beg him for it.”
My mouth drops open, and my nipples tighten to the point they’ve formed painful peaks. I shift on my feet, my shirt dragging across the aroused skin almost painfully. I stare at the front of the lobby, toward where the male voice came from, and for a brief moment, I think I imagined it. Then I hear what sounds like a smack followed by a moan.
I bite my lower lip and take a light step toward the sounds, even if my brain says I should go back to my room. Another moan resounds, this time louder. There’s a door slightly ajar behind the desk with a gold plate attached to the front that reads, “Employees Only.” Through the open space, I can see it’s darker inside the room, but a small light glows, probably a desk lamp or something.
“I haven’t heard him beg yet, Remi. Have you?” a silken voice asks, the same voice that told someone to beg.
A deep rumbling laughter fills the thick air around me. “That’s because his mouth is full of my fat cock.”
My heart pounds in my chest at the growly British accent, one I’ve heard before. The one who was just called Remi. I didn’t think I’d recognize someone from a voice alone, but there’s no doubt in my mind that’s the man from the restaurant and the photo.
