Room 1208 (6 page)

“And they all seemed to like it?”

“Absolutely.” Rob scowled. “Until Sean asked us
to wait a few minutes while he showed the DVD to his boss.”

“I thought Sean had the final decision?”

“That’s the impression he gave to Mike. Sean said
that the CEO happened to be in the building that day. He made it sound like
Jason Armitage isn’t there that often. He wanted him to take a look. We assumed
it was just an FYI kind of thing. We waited for about fifteen minutes before
Sean came back. It was then that he asked who’d come up with the idea.”

Maggie frowned. “Did he still look pleased?”

Tim shrugged. “It was hard to tell. He was very
pleasant but adamant that the boss wanted to meet the person or persons who’d
come up with the concept. He couldn’t tell us why. He only said that Mr.
Armitage had some questions for that person.”

Maggie couldn’t hide her unease. “What sort of
questions?”

Rob threw his hands in the air. “It’s a mystery
to me!”

Tim patted Maggie’s hand. “I’m sure it’s nothing drastic,
Maggie.”

“Just the future of our agency,” Rob countered.

“Okay, that was so not reassuring,” Maggie
retorted.

Rob heaved a sigh. “Sorry. It’s just the not
knowing what the hell is going on that has me nervous.” He threw his arm over
her shoulder, pulling her in close for a quick hug before releasing her. “None
of us would be here right now if it wasn’t for you, Maggie. We’re counting on
you now to get this account in the bag. I know you can do it.”

Maggie wasn’t so sure, but she put a serene mask
on her face if for no other reason than to calm Rob down. “What time are we
meeting with him?”

“They want us back at the office at ten o’clock
tomorrow. In the meantime, get a good night’s sleep and plan to meet us in the
lobby by nine. We’ll have one final pow-wow before heading over.”

It was well past midnight by the time the limo
pulled up in front of a hotel in what Tim told her was the Flatiron District.
She’d never been to New York before. In fact, today was only the second time in
her life that she’d flown on an airplane. It’d been a much better experience
than the first time. She kept that awful memory in its own compartment under
lock and key.

She’d been so absorbed in her conversation with
Tim and Rob that she hadn’t paid much attention to the passing scenery. Although
she’d been to Chicago a couple of times, she’d always lived in a small town. It
was amazing how much vehicle and pedestrian traffic there was still on the
streets so late at night. Before they entered the hotel she paused a moment to
take a deep breath. The air had a sour smell to it, like rotting vegetables.
She wrinkled her nose. She’d take the pure Iowa air over this any day.

After instructing her to pick up her room key at
the front desk, Tim and Rob headed for the elevators. A young woman, about
Maggie’s age, stood behind the counter. As Maggie approached, the woman gave
her a huge, genuine smile. “Oh, wow, I just love your dress! Is that vintage?”

Maggie smiled back. “Thank you, yes it is.”

“That peach looks great with your hair color.”

The dress was a sleeveless A-line in a light
peach with a blossom pattern. A wide black waistband matched the trim around
the scooped neck collar. There was some stretch in the material that had made
it comfortable on the flight. Maggie ran one hand along the skirt. “Thanks! And
I was told New Yorkers were rude,” she joked.

“Well, there are rude people wherever you go, sad
to say. I think it’s the fast-pace here. Everyone’s in a hurry. People can mistake
our abruptness for rudeness. I’m Pamela, by the way. Welcome to New York.
Checking in?”

Maggie confirmed her last name and pulled out her
credit card. Pamela shook her head. “All charges have been taken care of.”  She
slid a key envelope across the counter. “You’re in room twelve oh eight. The
elevators are next to the gift shop on your left.”

Maggie frowned. “I’m sorry, which room did you
say I’m in?”

“Twelve oh eight. It’s a very nice corner room.
I’m sure you’ll like it. But please don’t hesitate to call me if you have any
issues. Coffee will be available in the lobby beginning at five a.m. Have a
lovely night!”

It had to be pure coincidence, Maggie thought as
she walked dazedly towards the elevators, nothing more. Or maybe Sean Bannister
had requested that room intentionally, a positive sign that they were going to
get the Jagz account. Or maybe it was just a joke.

Maybe she was reading too much into things. As
she stepped into the elevator she straightened her shoulders, shoving her chaotic
thoughts aside. It’d been a very long day; she just wanted to take a shower and
go straight to bed. Tomorrow—it was already tomorrow!—was going to be
challenging.

The room
was
lovely. A large corner room
with a king size bed, the décor sage green with gold details. After switching
on the bedside light, she went to the window and pulled back the curtain. Her
view was the office building next door, several of the floors still ablaze with
lights. She stood there for a moment, watching a janitorial crew as they
emptied trash cans and vacuumed around desks and cubicles.

A knock sounded on the door.

She spun around, heart in her throat, every
thought and emotion harkening back to the last time she’d been in a hotel room,
the last time someone had knocked on her door. What if…? No, the idea that
first struck her was absolutely ludicrous. Impossible! Maybe it was
housekeeping, checking to see if she wanted her bed turned down. At one o’clock
in the morning?

She looked through the peephole and took a sharp,
painful breath. This was a crazy dream; this couldn’t possibly be real…

He knocked again, louder.

With nerveless fingers, she slowly unlocked and
opened the door.

“Hello….Joan.”

She was unable to speak, unable to breathe,
entrapped by his piercing blue glare. Blackness crept into her peripheral
vision as though she had blinders on. She swayed in her heels as her knees gave
out on her. She pitched forward, dimly aware of him speaking, but his voice was
drowned out by the thundering heartbeat in her ears. The last thing she
remembered was being caught up in his strong arms, held close to his rock-solid
chest before everything faded to black.

Rough-soft fingertips
lightly brushing across her forehead and along her temple drew her slowly back
into awareness. She opened her eyes, blinking groggily as his face gradually
came into focus. His expression was stern with worry as he gazed down at her.
“Welcome back,” he said in a gravelly voice.

She swallowed, her voice sounding just as raspy
when she was finally able to form a coherent sentence. “This isn’t a dream?”

His fingers grazed along her cheek as a corner of
his mouth quirked in a helpless smile. “No, it’s not a dream. How do you feel?
Would you like some water?”

She nodded.

She watched him as he walked towards the
bathroom. He was dressed casually in a long-sleeved burgundy shirt over dark
blue jeans, the expensive kind. As he moved away she realized that she was
lying on the bed. He’d removed her shoes. She scooted upright and leaned
against the headboard. The neckline of her dress sagged, revealing her
cleavage. Blushing, she tugged the fabric up.

“I had to unzip your dress,” he said, coming back
from the bathroom with a plastic cup in his hand. “You were struggling to
breathe.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed at her hip and
offered the cup. She was shaking so badly she had to use both hands to raise it
to her lips. Her eyes stayed locked with his as she took a few small sips of
water before handing the cup back to him.

He set it on the nightstand. For a long moment he
said nothing, only observed her through half-hooded eyes, his demeanor seemingly
calm. Finally, he said, “It’s a good thing I decided to see you tonight instead
of in my office in the morning. I didn’t realize my showing up here would be so
shocking to you.”

She brought her hand to her throat. “You’re…
you’re Jason Armitage.”

“Yes. I thought you knew.”

She frowned. “How could I have known that?”

“My first reaction when I saw your television ad
was that it’d all been a set up. That you knew who I was six months ago and you
were using our night together to gain some kind of leverage over me.” He raised
his hand at her gasp of denial. “Asinine, I know. I realized as soon as you
opened the door that you’d never expected to see me again.”

“I had a strange feeling when I saw the room
number,” she whispered. “But I just couldn’t believe that it was anything but
coincidence. What are the chances?”

“Three hundred million to one would be a guess.”
His eyes gleamed with a peculiar light. “Of all the gin joints in all the towns
in all the world…”

She hesitated. “You’re not angry with me, then?”

“No.”

“I’ve never fainted before. How long was I out?”

“Just five minutes or so. How do you feel now?”

“A little woozy.” She clenched and unclenched her
hands, trying to still their trembling. “I still feel like I’m in some kind of
crazy dream. It’s really you sitting there…”

He clasped her bare leg as though he couldn’t
hold back from touching her any longer. His palm skidded upwards to the hem of
her skirt where it lay just above her knee. Her shivering intensified, an
aching burn of need instantly firing up her bloodstream.

“
Maggie
.”

Her breath hitched at the sound of him speaking
her name for the first time, the mix of wonder and craving in his voice pouring
like warm honey over her skin. She blinked rapidly as he held her captive with
his piercing gaze. It was impossible to conceal her longing from him, a feeling
he clearly shared, though he held himself in check.

“Is it short for Margaret?”

“N-no. It’s just Maggie. Maggie Rose Edwards.”

“What a pretty name.” His fingers drew slow
whorls on her skin. “How old are you, Maggie Rose Edwards?”

“Thirty.”

Relief flickered in his eyes. “I thought you were
much younger. You have such beautiful, soft skin. And the way you were that
night…so sweet, so innocent.”

To hide her sudden tension she quickly asked,
“How old are
you
?”

“Thirty seven. It feels bizarre that we’re just
now exchanging vital statistics after we’ve already shared the deepest
intimacies doesn’t it?” He grinned. “My full name is Jason Christopher Armitage.
My friends call me Jace for short.”

Her heartbeat kicked up a notch at the way his
grin transformed his expression; it made him look much younger than thirty
seven. She could almost see him as he might have looked as a mischievous little
boy. She smiled, feeling less on edge. “I like that name. And Christopher is
one of my favorite saints.”

“Mine too. The protector of those on long
journeys.” His grin faded. “You and I have been on a long journey these last
six months, haven’t we.” Before she could respond, he tightened his hold on her
leg. “Why did you leave before I woke up, Maggie? As soon as you opened that
door tonight I knew I wasn’t the only one who’d felt the special connection we
had.”

She shook her head mutely, her heart soaring at
the vocal confirmation that she wasn’t alone in her feelings about that night.
Just as quickly, her heart plummeted. Didn’t he remember speaking that name?

“I’ve been in hell since that night. I didn’t use
a condom that last time.”

“You remember that? I thought you were asleep.”

“At first I thought it’d been a dream. But I
remember coming inside of you, how amazing you felt around me.” He slid his
hand up and over her dress to rest on her lower belly. “I’d been tested only a
few weeks before that night. I’m clean. But were there any, uh, consequences?”

She dropped her hand over his, interlocking their
fingers. “No.” His curious expression of worry and yearning matched the emotions
she’d endured during those weeks after their passionate night. She’d started
taking birth control pills three months before that night and knew it was
almost impossible that she’d conceived—the timing hadn’t been right, anyway—
but she’d still felt a profound disappointment that she hadn’t, in spite of
everything her rational mind had tried to tell her.

He suddenly dropped his head to her stomach,
resting his cheek on their clasped hands. Without conscious thought, she
brought her free hand to his head, sifting her fingers through the soft strands
of his hair. He gave a deep sigh, tension visibly easing from his body as he
relaxed more fully against her. He placed his other hand on her hip, his thumb
rubbing slow circles over her hipbone. His voice was so soft she had to tilt
her head closer to hear him ask, “Do you like children, Maggie?”

“Yes, I do. I’d like to have some of my own one
day.”

He angled his head slightly to press a tender
kiss on her hand but kept his face concealed from her. Her heart dropped like a
boulder in her chest when she heard his faint whisper. “I had a child.”

Had
; all of the heartbreak in the world
spoken in that one small word.

The room seemed to go still around them. Maggie
could scarcely breathe, shocked and deeply stirred by his confession. In
sharing something so intimate, so tragic with her, he confirmed just how close
they’d bonded during those brief hours together six months before.

She stayed quiet, finding it impossible to find
the right words to say to him at that moment. And she sensed there was more he
wanted to share. She waited, continuing to slowly stroke his hair.

“Her name was Gina. She was six years old
when…she died.”

Maggie didn’t even try to hold back her tears.
There was so much agony and love in his voice. A father’s love. Something she
would never know. “How…how did she die?”

He was quiet for so long she thought he wasn’t
going to answer. But she sensed that this was something he
wanted
to
tell her. She wondered if he’d ever shared this much with anyone before her.
“It was a car accident. Four years ago. It was February. My wife was taking Gina
home from a ballet lesson. They hit a patch of black ice and slammed into a
tree. I was told they both died instantly.” A hint of cynicism entered his
voice. “As if that was supposed to comfort me somehow.”

She placed her palm on the nape of his neck. When
it seemed that he wasn’t going to say anything further she murmured, “Rachel
was your wife.”

He lifted his head, looked at her with confusion,
eyes red with unshed tears. “How do you know her name?”

Her breath hitched on the sob she couldn’t hold
back any longer. “Y-you spoke it. That night. After the last time we made…the
last time. You were crying. You said her name just before you fell back to
sleep.”

His face paled as he tracked the tears rolling
down her face. He sat up quickly, grabbed her by the shoulders and hauled her
into his chest. He wrapped one arm around her waist; the other pressed her head
against his throat. She felt him swallow. His breathing hitched. “So that’s why
you left without a word, without even a note.”

Her sobs grew louder. “You sounded so g-guilty. I
thought you’d lied to me. I t-thought you’d cheated on your wife or girlfriend.
I felt sick thinking I’d been part of that.”

He rubbed his hand up and down her back, bringing
her closer still. “Oh, sweetheart. I’m so sorry you thought that.
Shh
.
Don’t cry.”

But she’d reached her limit. The shock of seeing
him again tipped the scales on the teetering see-saw of emotions she’d fought
to keep in balance for the last six months. Underlying that was the adrenaline
rush of work over the past week, the long hours and sleepless nights. All of
that combined with learning of his tragic personal loss had simply become too
much to bear.

With effortless strength he lifted her from the
bed and carried her over to an armchair in the corner. He sat down, cradling
her in his arms, her legs draped across his knees, her head tucked into his
shoulder. His chest vibrated with soft, indistinguishable words of comfort as
he gently rocked back and forth.

She’d never been held this way by a man. Never.
With the help of Dr. Moira she thought she’d dealt with every emotion, every
repercussion that stemmed from that devastating hole in her life. Apparently
not. His embrace opened wounds that were still too fresh. She held his shirt in
clutching hands, clinging to the reassuring male strength that was a
heart-wrenching reminder of all that she’d missed as a little girl and a young
woman.

But she wasn’t going to mull in self-pity. She’d
been there and done that. Two years of intensive therapy had taught her to live
in the present, to celebrate each day for the blessing that it was. And what a
wonderful gift it was to be held in the arms of a man whom she never thought
she would see again.

As her sobs gradually diminished she became aware
of his words. His voice shook as if he were struggling to hold back his own
tears. “Hush, Maggie.
Hush now
. You have nothing to worry about. I’m
here.” He kissed her temple. “I’m here.”

She lifted one hand to his face, pressed her palm
to his cheek. She took several deep breaths, her body still trembling with
residual sobs. Her thumb brushed along the ridge of his cheekbone. She drew
back, resting her head in the curve of his upper arm and shoulder as she raised
her damp eyes to his. “Thank you,” she said softly, pouring all of her gratitude
and…love into those two simple words.

She loved him.

She wondered if she’d fallen in love with him at
first sight and had only been burying that powerful emotion for the last six
months. Because there wasn’t any lightning bolt or clap of thunder in her head,
no sudden, sharp recognition. It was as if she’d merely unbolted a door that
had hidden what she’d known all along.

She grabbed his shirt collar, tugged his face
down to hers. Her lips parted in a happy little sigh before she pressed her
mouth to his. She felt him smile against her mouth as his hand came up to
cradle her head, his fingers sifting into her coiled hair.

It was a tender kiss, close-mouthed, almost
chaste. Lips pressing against each other, drawing back, shared smiles before
touching again. She breathed in his scent, citrus and cedar and warm, vigorous
man. She took a teasing tug at the comma of hair at the nape of his neck before
tunneling her fingers into his hair, hair that was a little longer and thicker
than when she’d seen him last. He made a sound of contentment against her
mouth.

She could have kissed him like this forever.

Until her stomach growled with a loud and
demanding noise that seemed to reverberate throughout the room.

He pulled back, eyes glowing with teasing amusement.
“Is there a tiger in the room?”

She laughed and blushed.

“God, I’ve missed that blush of yours.” He
trailed his fingertips across her cheek.

Her stomach growled again.

He sat upright, bringing her with him. “When did
you last eat?”

She had to think for a moment. “Not since
breakfast. I was too nervous to eat much today. We were all so anxious to hear
if we’d landed the account.”

He scooted off the chair with her still in his
arms. He paused, staring at her quietly for a moment as if unwilling to let her
go. He finally released her legs, holding her in a loose embrace until she was
steady on her feet. “This is a good thing, actually,” he said gruffly. “As much
as I want to toss you onto that bed and bury myself inside of you, we have a
lot to talk about.” He gave her a light smack on her butt. “Go change into
something comfortable. We’re going to get something to eat.”

She glanced at the bedside clock. “At two o’clock
in the morning?”

“Sugar, this is New York. The night is only just
beginning.”

He held her hand as they
walked along the still busy sidewalks. She could not stop looking up at his
smiling profile every few seconds.
Jason. Jason. Jace
. He was really
here, holding her hand, here in the heart of Manhattan on a balmy summer night.