Indigo Nights: A Sexy, Contemporary Romance (10 page)

She laughed and I couldn’t help but grin in response, it was such a relaxed sound. “Like what?”

“We’re both in Chicago. We like having sex with each other—Do I need to go on?”

“I’m not sure that’s the basis of excellent dinner conversation.”

“Look, I’m not proposing marriage. Just dinner.” I loosened my tie.

“That’s what Haven said.”

Who the fuck was Haven? “Who?”

“My sister-in-law.”

She had a brother. Interesting. Apart from her name, it was the first bit of personal information she’d given me. “She told you I wasn’t proposing marriage?”

“She told me to have some fun, and that I didn’t have to marry you.”

“I like her; she gives excellent advice. Usually I save marriage for the second date. So dinner. Where are you staying?”

“The Langham. But no, reason one trumps them all. I have to prep.” Her words were clipped, decided.

“Prep for what?” I asked.

“I have a thing tomorrow. A TV thing.”

“Are you trying to be deliberately mysterious? Because, let me tell you, it’s working.” I couldn’t remember the last time I had so much fun just talking. If she wouldn’t have dinner with me, perhaps she would stay on the phone and just swap stories.

Beth

I stood in front of the window watching the river and clutching the phone to my ear. Maybe I should agree to dinner with Dylan. As he said, he wasn’t proposing marriage.

“I’m not trying to be mysterious. It’s nothing, just something silly.”

Truth was, I was a little embarrassed about the TV thing. I was almost certain nothing would come of it so I didn’t want to make a big deal of it, then look like an idiot when I flew home with my tail between my legs. I didn’t want to feel the disappointment or the shame because I knew the cure for both was booze. I’d avoided those feelings for a long time, so I wasn’t sure how I’d cope with them sober. Problem was, I was already invested, so if it didn’t work out, I was going to have to work through that. My baking was important to me. It didn’t deserve the association that it had with my sobriety. It meant more to me than that.

“Tell me.” Dylan wasn’t giving up very easily—and I was quite enjoying his persistence.

“I’m just going to WCIL studios tomorrow to film a trial segment for their Saturday morning show. I’m sure it will be a disaster, but I just don’t want to make it worse by not preparing. Does that make sense?”

Dylan took a deep breath. “Yeah, of course. You’re going to try out for a presenting job?”

“Oh God no, nothing like that. As you know, I like cake.”

“I had noticed that.”

“I also really like to bake.” It wasn’t a secret but I hadn’t mentioned the YouTube thing to anyone outside my London family. Dylan was so interested it seemed silly not to tell him. “I just put up a couple of videos of me baking on YouTube and WCIL called me about doing something similar on the Saturday breakfast show.” I fell back onto the bed. “I just want to give it my best shot.”

“I get that. So, you like to bake?”

“I love to bake—and eat what I bake, and I love other people eating my creations.” I grinned up at the ceiling.

“Maybe, you’ll bake for me one day. I should let you go. You have a busy day tomorrow.”

As much as I wanted to prepare for tomorrow, I also wanted to continue talking to Dylan. But he wasn’t looking for a friend; he was looking for a hookup.

“Okay. You must be tired from your flight.”

“Have sweet, sweet dreams. And good luck, I hope it works out for you tomorrow.”

He ended our call and I gazed up at the ceiling. I guess that was how this went—If I wasn’t agreeing to meet up with him, then there was no point in just chatting. Problem was, I wanted to hook up with him again. I wanted a little orgasmic fun. He was a sure thing who could make me come. Perhaps I’d suggest a hookup tomorrow night, after going to the
A Chicago Saturday’s
studio. I was going to stop by an AA meeting straight after—I wanted to make sure I was keeping my sobriety as my priority, however exciting or disappointing my day had been. The orgasm thing was becoming a little addictive. I jumped off the bed, feeling like a woman with a plan.

In the bathroom I examined the array of bath products, and chose a lavender oil that promised relaxation. I was pretty sure Mr. 8A would be more effective, but as I’d turned that down, a bath would have to do. I sprinkled the contents of the bottle into the bath and stepped in.

I grabbed a clip and put up my hair, and slid into the bath, feeling the oil-soft water against my skin. Delicious.

I ran through the recipe for tomorrow’s show. I was going to do Muffin for Two that Haven and Ash always swore cured their hangovers. Feeling smug about not having hangovers when your girlfriends were suffering was one of the best things about being sober.

Someone knocked on my door and I sat up straight in the water. Shit. I’d not ordered room service. Who could it be?

I climbed out of the bath and pulled on a robe. There was another knock. “Coming,” I replied.

I opened the door to a man with a trolley covered in plates. He clearly had the wrong room.

“Room service.” He grinned at me.

I smiled back. “I didn’t order room service.”

Ignoring me, he pushed the trolley into my room, nearly knocking me over in the process. Perhaps he hadn’t heard me.

He worked quickly, unloading six silver-dome-covered plates onto the small dining table in the corner of the room.

“Sir, I didn’t order this.”

“Yes, it was ordered,” he replied. Jesus, I’d have to call room service to explain. I didn’t seem to be getting through to him. He handed me a cream envelope, bowed and scurried away, pushing his trolley.

The envelope was addressed to
Miss (I hope) Beth Harrison (in case you’d forgotten your first name isn’t Airport)
. I grinned.

Inside was a card.

My Sweet Beth,

Good luck tomorrow. I hope this provides some inspiration. I hope to see you before you leave.

Dylan James

My heart tightened. I was pretty sure I wasn’t leaving the US without my seventh orgasm courtesy of Dylan James.

I lifted the lid of one of the silver domes and found what I was expecting: the most spectacular cakes in Illinois.

I grabbed my phone.

Beth: Unexpectedly, I have a great deal of cake to eat. Care to help me finish it off tomorrow night?

I’d barely had time to take a breath before a response buzzed into my hand.

Dylan: If you’re free, there’s nothing I’d rather do.

There were a number of things I’d rather do than eat cake when Dylan was in the room. I tapped out a response.

Beth: Perhaps we could do cake AND orgasms? Just a thought.

Dylan: I take it back. That’s what I’d rather do.

Butterflies flitted about in my stomach. He was cute. And so goddamned sexy.

Beth: I’d like to do you, too.

I couldn’t stop the smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

Dylan: Careful, or I might not be able to wait until tomorrow.

I could almost see the stern look on his face.

Beth: Until tomorrow.

Dylan: Sleep well, my sweet.

I fell back onto my bed, grinning. One-night stand sex with Dylan had been amazing. Being able to look forward to amazing sex with him added a whole new level of happiness that buzzed in my fingers and toes.

Who knew casual sex could be this fun?

I was looking forward to seeing him.

Cake and orgasms—life didn’t get much better than that.

I sat in the busy lobby of the television studio, watching people rushing about. TV screens provided a backdrop to the reception desk and created a constant soundtrack to the live chatter and conversation all around me. Lots of women carrying iPads and talking on phones passed left and right, leaving me tired just watching them. I was used to calm, controlled environments. Even when Maggie and Sophia were screaming, it always felt safe. It might have been my second visit here but it didn’t feel any more familiar.

A woman approached me. “Beth Harrison?”

This was it. I took a deep breath and stood. “Yes. Hi.”

“Hey. I’m Amber, Bryan’s assistant.” Bryan was the executive producer of
A Chicago Saturday
and the guy I’d met previously. “I’ll show you to your dressing room and Bryan will come see you in a few minutes. His last meeting is running a bit long.”

“Sure, that would be great.”

Between fantasizing over Mr. Dylan James—he really was quite the distraction—I’d rehearsed and rehearsed. Something I never did for my YouTube videos, but with those, I also had the opportunity to redo the bits that didn’t go so well when no one was watching. I wasn’t going to have the same luxury today.

As we headed down a long, white corridor, Amber leaned into me and handed me her card. “Call me anytime if you need anything. Think of me as your assistant when you’re here.”

“Thank you. But I’m only here for a test. There’s nothing—”

“I’ve seen your YouTube channel. Believe me, if it’s up to us, you’ll be back.”

I smiled. It was a nice thing for her to say, whether or not she meant it.

Amber wasn’t wearing a scrap of makeup but looked beautiful with her shiny chestnut hair and wide mouth. “Listen, you didn’t hear this from me.” She stopped abruptly and herded us both into a room with a couple of chairs and a huge mirror in front of a built-in dressing table. “But Bryan can be a bit of an asshole. Don’t take it personally. And don’t let it put you off. The rest of us are great.” She grinned at me as she headed toward the corner of the room, opening a refrigerator. “There’s water and soft drinks in here, as well as fruit.” She pointed to a basket on the low table in front of the chairs. “I can get you coffee, if you’d prefer.”

“Thanks, I’m fine.”

“Make yourself at home—”

The door opened and Bryan appeared, holding his hands out wide, his head cocked to the side. “She’s here. Our sexy cake maker. You look stunning.”

I glanced at Amber, who raised her eyebrows.

“Thanks so much for inviting me. I’m excited to get started.”

“Great. Well, after you’ve spoken to hair and makeup, Amber can show you the set and make sure you have anything you need. Then we can start to talk about cameras and all that good stuff. I think I said on the phone that I want to make this very intimate, so it looks like your internet stuff with just a touch of gloss.”

I nodded. I wasn’t sure how a TV studio could be intimate, but that bit wasn’t up to me. I needed to let go a little and allow the people around me to do the worrying. Even though I’d been discussing things for weeks, it all seemed so incredible that people were talking about
me
baking, on
television
. “Sounds great. You just tell me what you need.”

“Honey, just be your sexy self.” Bryan’s cell chimed, and he waved. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Okay.” I turned to Amber. “Hair and makeup.”

She shook her head. “Just tweaks, they’ll be in a second. I’ll pop in when they’re done in an hour or so.”