James: A College Girl Romance (9 page)

I felt around in my waistband for the folded piece of paper. Last night, I had tried writing down some of the words I had seen etched on his skin. I closed my fingers around the sheet of paper, and when I took out my phone and charger, James pointed to a USB port beneath the center console.

I plugged in the phone and waited a few minutes before unfolding the paper. James looked over at me as I began entering words into the search bar, but he didn’t ask. I was ninety-nine percent sure the script I had seen was Latin.

Patris est filius
—He is his father’s son.

Palmam qui meruit ferat
—Let him who has earned it bear the reward.

Pecuniate obediunt omnia
—All things obey money.

There were more; I just hadn’t been able to remember them all. Part of me wanted to tell him to pull over and take off his shirt so I could study the writing inked all over him. Well, it was partly scholarly interest. I
did
want to know what else he had scrawled all over his torso and arms.

The other reason was simple—I wanted to see him again. Sure, I had seen shirtless guys before, but generally not ones who looked like him. The guys I had run cross country with back in high school had been kind of scrawny; the guys in my residence hall who had thought they were ripped had just looked beefy to me.

James McDevitt looked like a man. A man who knew how to handle himself—judging from the way he had taken down the bouncer at
Fantasy Land
. Even I had to admit that it had been hot.

Still, basic physical attraction to him or any other guy did not mean I was in a hurry to fuck him. Now that he had, in no uncertain terms, told me that he wasn’t letting me out of our deal if I just went through with it and had sex with him, it reaffirmed my original plan, which was to grit my teeth and play his game until the end of summer.

I had lasted through high school, three years of college, and two years of minimum-wage work without giving it up to the weirdoes and stalkers I attracted. Which meant I could easily make it through another summer without sex. Piece of cake. After that, James McDevitt could chalk me up as his one failure, the one conquest who had been able to resist his charms.

I looked over at him again and then at the dash, suppressing a scream when I saw the rate of speed at which we were traveling. Before I could ask him if he was insane, the number began to fall. The car slowed further, and soon we were crossing over a toll bridge—to San Francisco. I had been to the city exactly two times since I had come from Southern California for school. Neither time had ended well.

By the time he pulled up in front of a hotel with perfect views of the San Francisco Bay, I scrambled to unplug my phone and shoved it and the charger into my purse. James parked in the valet alcove, and a valet immediately opened my door. Suddenly remembering my outfit, I felt a pang of self-consciousness. Of course. The one time I got to go inside a fancy hotel, I just so happened to be dressed like a prostitute—and not a high-class one at that.

James, on the other hand, looked like he belonged here. This was his world; it was easy to tell. He tipped the valet, who couldn’t stop himself from grinning, which only made me wonder how much James had given him. A second later, James took my arm and began propelling me toward the door, which the doorman opened for us.

“It’s good to see you again, Mr. McDevitt.”

I blinked and looked back at James as he tipped the doorman.

“It’s good to be back, Sam.”

I stopped walking and gawked as soon as we got inside. The lobby was modern and gorgeous. Neutral tones, stone floors, natural wood, and what looked like limestone brick. Again, I felt insanely out of place. The man behind the check-in desk smiled at James, and I stood there awkwardly until James pointed toward a sitting area with multiple sofas and expansive upholstered chairs.

I didn’t hesitate. I walked quickly until I reached one of the chairs. Then I sat and tried to remain as inconspicuous as possible, apart from nervously tapping my foot on the floor and wishing I had been wearing something else. When someone’s hands came down on my shoulders, I stifled a yelp. James walked around to the front of my chair and offered his hand.

Walking toward the elevator, I tried not to have flashbacks to
Pretty Woman
. Julia Roberts had probably starred in that movie when she had been my age. The hooker with a heart of gold and the billionaire business tycoon—only I was assuming James McDevitt wasn’t a
billionaire
. Rich, yes. But a billionaire? I looked down. I definitely had the hooker attire down. Without meaning to, I laughed, and James looked down at me as we stepped into the elevator.

“What?” he smiled.

I shook my head.

“Nothing.”

The elevator door closed, and as soon as he pressed the button for the top floor, he turned his attention back to me.

“Tell me,” he said quietly.

“No.”

“No?”

Before I could jump away from him, he grabbed me around the waist and dragged me against him. I squeaked and then went still as his hand slid up my bare thigh. Then he pinched my leg just above the knee, causing me to scream before I buckled into a fit of laughter.

“You’re ticklish,” he said in an overly pleased tone.

His hands moved up my sides, squeezing my ribs. I was laughing uncontrollably when the elevator door pinged, and I looked up in horror as a middle-aged couple stepped onto the elevator with us. I straightened up and then turned and gave James a scathing look.

As soon as the couple got off on the next floor, I moved across the elevator and watched James until the elevator doors slid open again. He led me down the hall and opened the door to the room, which I immediately realized wasn’t a room at all. It was an enormous suite with amazing views of the bay, including a bridge across the water. I didn’t know which one; I just knew it wasn’t the Golden Gate.

The suite, like the lobby, was impeccably decorated in neutral tones—and had a two-person soaking tub overlooking the view. The only time I had ever seen places like this one was in magazines at the dentist’s office.

Momentarily forgetting everything else, I walked across the space and opened a door that led out to a large corner terrace, complete with a loveseat and comfortable chairs. For a moment, I breathed in the salty air. Not a trace of cow shit, which was a smell I had gotten used to in the past four years at an ag school.

When I walked back inside, I saw a wet bar with a bottle of champagne sitting in a silver ice bucket. Two champagne flutes sat next to it. As if by magic, James appeared from another room. Instead of the jeans and shirt he had been wearing earlier, he was now clad in a suit that had probably cost more than my car. He went to the bar and popped the cork on the champagne like he had performed this ritual thousands of times—which was possible.

“A little early for drinks, isn’t it?” I asked dryly.

“Never too early for champagne.”

I walked over to him as he poured. The bubbles from rose-tinted sparkling liquid overflowed onto the bar as he lifted both flutes and held one out to me. I took mine and smiled awkwardly as he stared down at me.

“To meeting you, Ms. Cassia Flynn, my red-haired beauty.”

I blushed as he clinked my glass with his. I took a tentative sip. Definitely not the cheap sparkling wine I’d had at New Year’s. This was dry, crisp, and tasted almost floral.

“Enjoy the suite. I have you booked for a three o’clock facial and body scrub, followed by a massage. My number is in your phone. Feel free to order lunch. I’ll be back before dinner.”

He was
leaving
? I stared at him blankly. He was leaving me here with nothing but a stripper outfit and my phone? He pointed toward one of the bedrooms.

“I had the concierge leave some items I had ordered for you.”

He ran his thumb along my bottom lip, and I shivered at the sensation. Before I could argue, he turned to leave.

Well, okay then
.

I downed the rest of my expensive champagne, set down the glass, and then pulled off my Mary Janes. Slowly I started walking around the suite. It was unreal. There was a rain shower in a bathroom that was almost the size of the bedroom in my apartment.

When I reached the main bedroom, I found a neatly arranged row of shopping bags. One bag was from a cosmetics company. Another bag was from a lingerie shop I had heard of. It was pretty much synonymous with naughty. I had never been brave enough to walk into the store, much less buy anything from there.

The rest of the bags were from a lot of places I would never step foot into—because I didn’t have that kind of money and wouldn’t any time soon.

Barneys New York
.
Bloomingdales
.
Nordstrom
.
Saks Fifth Avenue
.
La Perla
.

Curious, I walked over and reached in to the last bag. More lingerie. A black corset and matching panties to be specific. Holy shit. I opened the next box and found garters and stockings.

I dropped the items into the bag and walked back into the main room. At the bar, I poured myself another glass of champagne before going back to the bedroom. I now had a complete selection of insanely expensive clothing, including a black cocktail dress—and a pair of high heels that had cost more than my rent. But at least there had been something relatively normal to wear to my spa appointment, including flat shoes.

Spa appointment!
It was surreal. For the past two years, it had been a juggling act just to afford groceries and rent.

I walked out to the main room again and stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows as the fog rolled in. This whole thing was like a fairy tale, with the exception of Prince Charming. James McDevitt was charming—one second. The next second, he was, as he had said, a complete bastard. I still couldn’t figure out what the deal was with bringing me to San Francisco, dumping me at a luxury hotel, and then leaving me here.

I hurried and collected a more appropriate sartorial selection for my trip to the hotel’s swanky spa. Then I put my phone into the docking station next to the bed and turned on some music.

When I turned on the TV, I found a channel with the hotel’s room service menu. As soon as I was settled on the bed, I reached for the phone and dialed the number for room service. I ordered the heirloom tomato and cucumber salad and the grilled cheese with gruyere, fontina, mushroom, and sage.

My lunch alone would cost more than a week’s worth of groceries. This was definitely how the other half lived.

When my cell buzzed from the docking station, I rushed over and looked down at the name. Vicki. My one friend from freshman year who was still in town. Vicki had grown up in a really strict Catholic home, and as soon as both of us had turned twenty-one, she had gone a little nuts, hooking up with random guys she would meet in bars or clubs on a weekly basis. Then she had met Justin … which was why I didn’t get together with her as often now.

Vicki’s boyfriend made James McDevitt look like a choirboy, so to speak. Justin was my height, which made him maybe an inch or two taller than Vicki. Whether because of his height or not, he had a major chip on his shoulder. Actually, to be accurate, he was just a crazy asshole. The night Vicki had first met him, he had been so drunk he could barely stand, and back then, I had hoped it was just a one-night stand. Nope. She had been with him ever since.

The thing I really hated about Justin was how shitty he was to Vicki. He picked on her appearance, her family, anything she said. Basically, he was a bully and a dick, and I couldn’t see why she stayed with him. After he had gotten into a bar fight for the second time—with a guy a foot taller than him—I had stopped going out with them. These days, I only saw her when he wasn’t around, which wasn’t very much.

I let the call go to voicemail and went into the bedroom to change into a more appropriate outfit. Considering James had asked for my measurements, I had expected all the items in the bags to be lingerie. Instead, there was a good mix of clothing—all of it expensive. It was good to be able to change into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt.

By the time I was freshened up and had changed clothes, I heard a knock at the door. My heart stuttered in my chest before I remembered that I had ordered room service. I walked over to open the door and stepped back for the woman holding a tray. She came in and set everything at the table by the window, including a bottle of sparkling water and a bowl of lemon and lime slices. Then she retrieved a glass from the bar.

“Ice?” she asked.

I shook my head.

“No thanks. Do you need me to sign for anything?”

I patted my pockets. I had zero cash on me and felt guilty about not tipping.

“Mr. McDevitt has taken care of everything. Enjoy your stay.”

“Thank you.”

After watching her leave and close the door behind her, I walked over to the table, collected the covered tray and water, and took my lunch outside. The fog had made the air chilly and damp, which was a nice change from the weather inland. San Francisco was about seventy miles or so from school, and the weather here was like another planet.