Page 18 of Royal Pain
We exit the car and Zan gets my overnight case, rolling it behind him. When I press the up button the elevator door immediately pulls back. The clacking of wheels rolling over the entry and the beating of my thirsty heart is all I hear. Zan inserts the card for the Penthouse floor, returning it to his pocket and slipping his arms around my waist. He leans his forehead against mine and the tips of our noses touch. It’s a tenderness that belies the sexual heat permeating the small space we occupy.
“You’re beautiful, Belinda. Not only physically, but in here,” he says, laying a hand on my heart.
“We’ve hardly had the time to begin knowing each other, but I see the good man in you.”
He kisses me chastely then pivots the conversation.
“Would you like to meet the bad boy?”
The elevator door slides open, but Zan waits for my answer before we walk out.
“Hell yes,” I say.
I walk out of the tiny elevator into a spectacular suite. It’s all sleek surfaces and grey and black tones. Lights are set low.
“I’m a music lover. Especially the sixties,” he says, nodding in recognition of the song playing.
The smooth sounds of Frankie Valli singing classic Motown fills the space. The scent in the room is something rich and dark, a bit mysterious. He takes my hand and twirls me. I start dancing, slow and sensually. When I crook a finger, calling him, a smile lifts the corners of his mouth.
“You’ve got a great ass.”
“You haven’t seen it yet,” I tease.
“I’ve been looking at it for days.”
“Is that right?” I chuckle.
“That dress. Don’t ever wear it for any other man. In fact, pretend you just bought it for me.” Behind the laugh lies the truth.
“I don’t have to pretend.”
He smiles. “I’ll bring your case.”
Taking my hand, he leads me into the bedroom and places the carryon on a table. The first thing I notice about the room is the all-white bedding. It’s been turned down. Luxurious pillows are propped against a dove grey tufted headboard. A grey and black fur throw lies at the edge of the bed. I want to lay naked on it with Zan in my arms.
A beautiful compact arrangement of white baby roses sits on the bedside table in an ebony-colored vase. He moves closer and takes me in his arms. The kisses start on my neck, at the spot right under the ear.
“Umm,” I moan softly, encouraging whatever he has to offer.
“You smell so good.”
With one hand he slowly unbuttons the two tiny mother of pearl buttons around my neck. I hadn’t thought of it when I got dressed, and a lesser man would have found the task daunting. Not Zan. It’s as if he once had a job at the button factory. Smooth and easy.
His eyes don’t stray from mine as the fabric slides from my shoulders. Now he gazes down. I watch the muscles in his jaw flex when he settles on my breasts.
“Beautiful Belinda.”
Going braless was my only option, but judging by his reaction it was the right one. My breasts may be my best asset.
He lifts the soft blue shirt over his head and sends it sailing across the room.Is this man real?Bronzed skin, six-pack abs and arms made for holding a woman. My fingers trace the hills and valleys, pecs and torso. He pulls my body in, rubbing my nipples against his. But when I touch his back I feel the deep scars running from waist to shoulder blades. It’s startling.
“I was whipped. Can you get past the feel? I won’t hold it against you if it’s something you’d rather avoid.”
That about breaks my heart. I turn his back to me and see the horror up close. Old, deep, scar tissue. I kiss each one. Tenderly.
Zan slowly turns back and takes me in his embrace. “You’re a beautiful soul.”
He slips the dress down. It puddles on the floor, and I step out in a thong and high heels.
