Hot Ticket (14 page)

“My mama taught me right,” Tierney purred in a Southern accent. Turning onto her side so she was facing him, her fingers began eagerly tugging on the zipper of his jeans.

“Patience,” David chided. Helping her, he slipped off his jeans and kicked them away, but not before extracting a condom from the back pocket. Finally free of his pants, he took Tierney in his arms, holding her tightly. She could feel him straining against her even as her own hips rocked involuntarily against his. The movement seemed to inflame him.

“I want you,” he growled in her ear.

The mere words possessed the power to make Tierney melt.

“Say it again,” she commanded dreamily.

David parted her lips with his tongue, kissing her just long enough for her to get a taste of him, cinnamon sweet. “I” . . . he kissed her neck . . . “want” . . . he flicked a hot tongue against her lobe . . . “you.”

“So take me,” she dared.

David smiled, rolling away from her for just a moment to take care of protection. When he was done, he pulled her on to him so Tierney was straddling his hips. His hands reached up to caress her breasts, pleasure again cascading through her as desire reignited.
Time once again to tumble over the precipice,
Tierney thought to herself feverishly. But this time would be even better. This time she’d take David with her.

She lifted up and put him inside her, squeezing tightly. David gave a long, slow moan of appreciation as his hands reached up to gently hold her by her hips. Tierney leaned forward to brush her lips against his, her hands braced on his shoulders as she began moving slowly up and down atop him. If another year was going to crawl by until she had David Hewson in bed again, she wanted to savor it. She moved slowly, deliberately, increasing the tempo in small, almost infinitesimal increments. David didn’t seem to mind: his face was relaxed and happy. And the faster she moved, the happier he looked.

Tierney was close to coming now. Her eyes met David’s, and for a split second she felt herself immobilized by the intensity of his gaze. It struck her how they never turned out the lights when they made love, nor did they close their eyes. They would fall into each other’s reflection, speaking their own silent language that said,
This is ours, and no one can touch it. This is ours, and I cherish it.
Not once in their years of trysting had one of them ever looked away.

Breathing hard, Tierney sat up, and locking her hands in his, began moving atop him with abandon. She loved the amazement that flashed in his eyes as he blinked, stunned.

“Jesus . . .” he panted. “Tierney . . .”

The way he said her name, so desperate yet so fierce, sent a surge of power through her body. She wanted to ride him so hard he’d forgot his own damn name or where he even was. Wild now with abandon, she began pumping her hips. David’s hands broke
contact with hers as he reached up to pull her face down to his, kissing her roughly on the mouth. Tierney groaned, her body spasming with delight as his tongue swirled around hers. Time contracted; there was room for only this, their secret pleasure. She let go again, body soaring just as David reared up and with one final, joyous gasp, shuddered to a climax right after her. Only then, when both were sated, did they finally close their eyes.

Saturday, 6
A
.
M
.

“See you next year,” Tierney whispered, planting a kiss on David’s cheek as he slept. Six was her usual time for slipping out of his room and back into her real life. She’d already showered and dressed. Now she just needed to creep down to the employees’ lounge to put on her street clothes and head back home to sleep a bit more. Not a bad way to start her weekend.

David mumbled something—“Good-bye, sex kitten”?—and turned over on his side. His breathing was slow and relaxed. Watching the steady rise and fall of his shoulders, Tierney found herself unexpectedly moved. She reached out to run her palm over the smooth, bare skin of his back, vowing to remember the feel of it so she could conjure it at will anytime she wanted over the ensuing twelve months. David seemed oblivious.

Though the heavy curtains in the room remained drawn, cracks of light still managed to filter through. Tierney could tell by the bright silver shafts scoring the carpet that it was still snowing. Light had a whole different intensity when it snowed;
it seemed denser, more concentrated. She wondered how much snow had fallen.

Reluctant, Tierney finally took her leave and stole out of David’s room. Up and down the hallway, half-eaten trays of food sat on the floor outside closed doors, waiting to be removed. She passed countless
DO NOT DISTURB
signs as she headed for the elevator. She wondered if the rock star up on thirty-seven eventually accepted the deep-fried Snickers bar as a viable alternative to suicide. She made a mental note to ask Aggie when she returned to work on Monday.

As soon as the elevator opened and she entered the lobby, she knew something was wrong. Though largely empty of guests at this hour, the place was usually abuzz with employee activity as shifts changed. Instead, the night shift remained at their various posts, grim and unsmiling.

Tierney approached Marius, the dapper, overnight concierge who worked the shift after hers.

“Is something going on?”

Marius snorted, jerking his thumb at the bank of floor-to-ceiling windows behind him. “Put on your glasses, girl. We’re in the middle of a major blizzard.”

Tierney approached the windows. A tempest was taking place outside, as heavy snow mixed with high winds to create a white-out. Her heart sank. Getting home was going to be a major challenge.

“I feel sorry for anyone who needs to get to work today,” she said to Marius, buttoning up her coat.

Marius thrust his head forward. “What are you talking about? The airports are closed. Union Station is closed. The
roads
are closed. The subway isn’t working. We’ve gotten fourteen inches of snow on top of the eight that was already there, and they’re saying we might get fourteen more by the time the weekend is over. You ain’t goin’ nowhere, honey.” He narrowed his eyes. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“I wasn’t feeling too well after my shift, so I went to lie down for a minute before I headed home. I wound up falling asleep.”

“Uh huh.” Tierney could tell from the purse of Marius’s lips that he wasn’t buying a word of it. “Well, Nugent is calling a staff meeting at seven-thirty. I guess we’ll find out what’s going on then.”

Saturday, 7:30
A
.
M
.

By the time the staff meeting commenced, many of the hotel’s guests, as well as its snowbound employees, were having a minor meltdown. Guests milled aimlessly around the lobby like refugees, hounding the poor souls behind the reception desk as if they could somehow wave a magic wand and make the blinding snow disappear. Night shift workers knew their replacements weren’t going to make it in and they were stuck. The staff were trying to remain calm and put a positive face on things, but it was only a matter of time before nerves began fraying on both sides.

“I can’t friggin’ believe this,” Aggie whispered to Tierney as the two took their seats in the smallest of the hotel’s three banquet rooms. “I wake up and it’s the Ice Age. I’m expecting some major deliveries today for the Mykofsky wedding tomorrow. What if they can’t get through?”

“Don’t think about that now,” Tierney advised. Three seats down, one of the overnight housekeeping crew, Graciela, was weeping copiously. Tierney leaned over to her. “Are you okay?”

Graciela looked at her with watery eyes. “It’s my cat, Jingles. Who’s going to feed Jingles if I’m trapped here?”

“Don’t you have a neighbor or someone you can call?” Aggie suggested.

Graciela shook her head. “I don’t know any of my neighbors.” She covered her face with her hands, sobbing. “Jingles,
mi corazon
, Jingles . . .”

Aggie poked Tierney in the ribs. “You never know what’ll happen if people can’t get to the supermarket,” she whispered knowingly. “Let’s just hope no one
eats
Jingles.”

“You’re awful.”

“I can’t help it. My culinary career is flashing before my eyes. Jokes are the only thing that’s keeping
me
from breaking down.”

“Tell me about it.”

“What do you have to be upset about?” Aggie snorted. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t you fresh from a night between the sheets with Le Athlete Extraordinaire?”

“Lower your voice, please,” Tierney hissed, glancing quickly around the rapidly filling banquet room. No one seemed to have heard.

“Well?” Aggie pressed quietly. “How was it?”

Tierney sighed. “Great. Fantastic. Mind-blowing.”

“Yeah, thanks, rub it in. The last time I got any action Elizabeth Taylor was on husband number four.”

“What about that new sous chef you just hired? He’s kind of hot.”

“Who, Isidore?”

Tierney nodded.

“Forget it. Can you imagine calling out ‘Isidore, Isidore’ in a moment of passion? I can’t.”

“It’s not his fault he’s got an unromantic name.”

“I don’t mix business and pleasure.”

“I do.”

“And therein lies the difference between us.”

“Right, ladies and gents, listen up.” Tierney directed her attention to the front of the room as the hotel’s weed-thin manager, Willy Nugent, clapped his bony hands loudly to get everyone’s attention. Aggie’s response was predictable: she rolled her eyes and slumped lower in her seat.

“As you know, we are in the midst of a major blizzard, with up to a foot and a half more snow predicted.” Assorted groans filled the room. “We’ve got quite a challenge on our hands: guests whom
we thought would be checking out today are snowbound, and last night, we experienced an influx of new guests as commuters from surrounding buildings, unable to make it home, checked in. In short, the hotel is full.

“We need to concentrate on pulling together to ensure things run as smoothly as possible. To that end, I need everyone here to come forward and sign this sheet of paper indicating your usual position and shift. I’ll come up with a makeshift schedule that I hope won’t be too arduous for anyone. I’ll be sending out periodic memos as the situation unfolds, and I expect all of you to keep
me
abreast of any developing situations with guests requiring special attention. In the meantime, please—all of you—do whatever you can to allay any anxieties our guests might be experiencing. I appreciate your cooperation. Thank you.”

A collective sigh of resignation rose as the Barchester’s staff began shuffling toward the front of the room to sign Nugent’s paper as instructed.

“Well, at least
you’ll
be having fun,” Aggie griped to Tierney.

“What are you talking about?”

“No planes in or out. Your boy’s here for at least another night.”

Tierney paused. She hadn’t thought of that, and now that Aggie brought it up, a small frisson of delight sizzled through her. Time for more fun with David . . . maybe this blizzard wasn’t so awful after all.

Saturday, 9
A
.
M
.

As Tierney suspected, she wound up relieving Marius so he could sleep and take over
her
usual shift from 3
P
.
M
. to 11
P
.
M
. For now, Nugent had decided that an overnight concierge might not be necessary, since there was nowhere for people to go and no way for them to get there even if there was.

Tierney envied Marius his escape from the morning chaos. As more of the hotel’s guests awoke to the news that their plans were now on hold, the lobby took on a hysterical tone. Countless guests asked Tierney to double-check that all planes were indeed grounded, and she had no choice but to comply, even though anyone with an ounce of common sense need only look out the window to understand how serious the situation was. There were rumors floating around that some roofs had collapsed beneath the weight of the snow and that the President was about to declare Chicago a disaster area. If the President wanted to see a disaster, Tierney mused, he should come to the Barchester Hotel.

“Miss?”

Tierney looked up from a crossword puzzle she’d been doing intermittently to see a group of ten women of all shapes and sizes, ranging in age from twenty-five to sixty, ringing the concierge’s desk. The desperation in their eyes was all too familiar.

“Yes?” Tierney replied. If they asked her to call O’Hare she just might scream.

“We have tickets to see
Oprah
on Monday,” said one slight woman with frizzy gray hair who was wringing her hands frantically like some denim-clad Lady MacBeth. “Do you think everything will be up and running by then?”

“It’s really too soon to tell,” Tierney said gently.

The woman’s face fell. “But we have to see Oprah. We came all the way from Idaho.”

“A little snow won’t stop Oprah!” another woman in the group declared. Her companions nodded knowingly.

Tierney managed a sympathetic smile. “Keep checking back with me, and keep an eye on the local weather report,” she urged. Placated but grumbling, the women turned and moved in a pack toward the hotel’s in-house restaurant, The Mayberry. Tierney could picture them drowning their sorrows in blueberry pancakes, speculating that if
Oprah
controlled the weather, this never would have happened.

Sighing, Tierney turned to look out the window. The scene was the same: heavy snow battered the glass, accompanied by a howling wind. It was an awesome display of nature’s might, though anyone daring to venture outside might view it differently. She returned to her crossword puzzle, waiting for the next guest to sidle up to the desk to ask if it was true that there was no way into the city, as well as no way out.

Saturday, 11:02
A
.
M
.

Two hours later, Tierney spotted David emerging from the elevators across the lobby with his teammates. He looked rested and refreshed—not surprising since he’d been able to sleep in. She watched him motion for his friends to go into The Mayberry without him. Then he sauntered toward her, a Cheshire cat grin lighting up his rugged face. Tierney’s toes curled with excitement.