Drawn to You Page 9

  After a couple of minutes of working, I look up to see Landon looking at me. Our eyes meet and my stomach twists. I look away quickly, concentrating on the screen of my computer.

  “If you need anything, a drink, food…” He interrupts the nervous silence, “there’s a button right there.” He points to a yellow button on the arm of my seat. “If you’d like to lie down, there’s a bedroom through the doors at the back.” I look from the direction of the doors back to him, my mind already full of images of the bed that’s in there and the things we could do on it.

  “You’re the one who looks in need of a bed,” I say lightly, doing my best to disguise my carnal thoughts.

  “Yes, but I have no intention of going in there without you.” His eyes cut a sensual path from my face down my body, “and if I get you in there, neither of us will be getting any sleep.”

  Oh boy! My thighs clench and I tear my eyes away from him, fixing them on my screen, and forcing my mind to thoughts of the article. I can feel his eyes on me, but he doesn’t make any move towards me.

  “I have some questions,” I say, breaking the silence.

  “Shoot.”

  I ask him about his reasons for acquiring the Gold Dust and his inspiration for the refurbishment. He answers my questions, displaying a love for the hospitality industry he was born into and the hotel brand he successfully expanded in such a short time.

  “I’ve learned to see past appearances, to look at something and see its potential. I could see the possibilities in the Gold Dust even at the height of its mismanagement, when the standards kept falling, and I know exactly how to ensure it reaches its full potential.”

  “Why are you keeping the old name?” I ask. “Why not Swanson Court San Francisco? Wouldn’t that be more decisive in announcing that the hotel is entering a new era in its management?”

  “It was an agreement I made with the Sinclair family.”

  I ask some more questions, and after I’m done, he calls the stewardess and orders two glasses of orange juice, then goes back to reading whatever he has on his tablet.

  I must have fallen asleep after drinking my juice. When I wake up my head is resting on Landon’s shoulder and I’m curled against his side. I straighten, blinking the sleep away from my eyes.

  “I fell asleep,” I say unnecessarily, embarrassed and sure that I look disheveled.

  “So you did.” Landon’s voice is strangely gentle. “I hope you enjoyed using me as a pillow.”

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

  He shrugs. “I didn’t mind. I think we’ve established that my body is here for you anytime you want it.”

  I ignore his teasing grin as color floods my face. “Are we almost there?” I ask, eager to change the subject before I make a fool of myself and jump on the part of his body I really want.

  “We’re about to land.” He leans over me to fasten my seatbelt before he does his.

  It’s still dark when we land in San Francisco. A car comes to take us from the airport to the hotel where we’re staying. I’ve never been to the city, so even though I’m tired, I keep my eyes out of the windows taking in the sights.

  It’s early hours of the morning, but at the hotel, an eight-story establishment with turn of the century architecture, slightly set back from the street, with a black awning over the entrance with the name of the hotel, Rosemont Royal, written in flowing script, there’s a crisp looking man in a suit waiting to greet us. “Good Morning Mr. Court,” he says cheerfully, “Welcome back to San Francisco. How was your flight?”

  Landon’s voice is brisk. “Good Ralph, Thanks.”

  The man turns to me. “Welcome to the Rosemont Royal, Miss Foster. I’m Ralph Groff, the manager. Should you need anything during your stay, I am entirely at your service.”

  I nod my thanks, admiring the lobby with its thick carpeting, richly ornamented walls and columns, and plush waiting areas. “Your suite has been prepared,” Ralph is saying, leading us to a private elevator, while a few steps behind us, a bellboy wheels the cart containing our luggage away from the lobby.

  Ralph follows us up to the top floor, all the way to a spacious suite which reminds me of Landon’s apartment at the Swanson Court in New York. The entrance foyer has a gleaming black and white diamond marble tile finish, dark colored walls and an elaborately framed mirror over a carved side table. The living room is large and richly furnished with thick carpets, heavy curtains, and elegant furniture. There’s a grand piano at one corner, and through an archway, a formal dining room boasting about ten seats, and a sparkling crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

  “I imagine that you’re tired from your journey,” Ralph continues in his courteous voice, “but if there’s anything you would like, we’ll send a chef up.”

  “No nothing, thank you,” I say, enjoying the solicitous service.

  Ralph nods. “If you’ll excuse me, I believe your luggage has arrived.” He disappears through a door leading out of the living room.

  “Service elevator and fire escape are through that door,” Landon explains. He’s watching me with a small frown. “Do you like it?” he asks.

  For a second, I wonder if he’s serious. “I think it’s gorgeous,” I tell him.

  He smiles. “There’s a library too. I’m sure you’ll find a poetry book or two.”

  “Thanks.” I return his smile. “So, I take it you’ve stayed here before.”

  “Whenever I’m in the city, yes.” He turns away from me and walks to the edge of the living room, opening the double doors that lead out to the terrace, and letting in a cool breeze that ruffles his hair. He looks perfect, standing there, like a gorgeous actor in an old Hollywood movie.

  I join him at the terrace, enjoying the view of the bay and the fascinating lights on the Bay Bridge, which I’ve read about, but never seen outside of pictures. “It’s a lovely view,” I comment.

  He turns around, facing me. “Yes it is,” he says slowly, making me think he’s talking about me. He moves towards me, only stopping when he’s almost touching me, and runs a finger lightly over my cheek. His eyes are burning with a familiar intensity, and I know that if I close the distance between us, I’ll feel his erection, hard against my thigh. Sweet tension takes hold of my belly, as I wait for him to do something, kiss me maybe, and complete the magic of our surroundings with his expert touch.

  “I’m sure they’re done unpacking,” I hear him say. “Let me show you to your room.”

  My room? I try to hide my confusion. The last thing I want is to be shown to my room, except if he’s going to join me there. I look at him from beneath my lashes, wondering what he’s planning.

  Ralph is nowhere to be seen as Landon leads me through the living room, along a short hallway, to a door that opens into a beautiful bedroom. There’s a perfectly made four-poster bed dominating the room, with curtains that match those hanging from the windows. A lounge chair rests at the foot of the bed with a long cylindrical cushion. Beside the window, there’s a desk with an impressionist landscape hanging above it. There’s also a dressing table with a large mirror, a hanging bookshelf filled with books, and a door that probably leads to the bathroom and dressing room.

  “Wow,” I say softly, stepping past Landon into the room. I walk to the bed, running my fingers over the soft sheets, before turning around to face him. He’s still at the door, leaning on the doorframe and watching me.

  “Aren’t you going to come in?” I ask, cocking my head to the side and giving him an inviting look.

  He straightens and walks into the room, right to where I’m standing, and with his hand around my waist, places a soft kiss on my lips. I can feel the steely control beneath his kiss, almost as if he’s determined not to let it get any further.

  I have no idea why.

  “You must be tired,” he says softly, leaving me puzzled. “And you have a lot of work to do tomorrow. I’ll see you in the morning Rachel, goodnight.”

  With that, he walks out of the r
oom, unbuttoning his cuff as he leaves. I stand there watching him, aroused and confused, wondering if there’s something I’m not getting.

  I WAKE up slightly disoriented, wondering where I am. The memories of the trip and Landon’s uncharacteristic behavior last night flood in all at once, and I get up, still wondering what the hell happened. I thought the whole point of being here together was to have sex… again and again according to him. Yet last night, even though it had been obvious that he was at least as aroused as I was, he had held back. Why?

  I could have seduced him, tried at least to shatter that steely control. But I’d held back, mainly because it seemed unnecessary to make it so obvious how much I wanted him. I’m paying for that now, my whole body highly strung, wanting a release it had been expecting last night.

  I’m wearing one of the t-shirts I usually sleep in, having had no reason to bust out my sexy lingerie last night. I walk over to the windows, admiring the San Francisco skyline and trying to pick out some of the more popular buildings. My phone rings and I hurry back to the bed to pick it up. It’s Laurie.

  “I just wanted to make sure you arrived safe and sound, and he hasn’t kidnapped you and taken you to his lair.” She says the last word with a theatrical evil voice.

  “Nothing like that,” I tell her. “We’re at the Rosemont Royal in San Fran. You won’t believe how lavish it is.”

  “I can imagine.” She sighs. “I miss you though. There’s nobody to complain about my addiction to reality TV.”

  “I’ll be back before you know it.”

  “Make sure you enjoy yourself. Brett and I are taking advantage of your absence.”

  “TMI, Laurie.”

  “What? We have no secrets between us. So what happened with Landon?”

  “Nothing, actually. We arrived, then went to bed… separately.”

  “Really?” she sounds doubtful. “That’s boring. I thought he was going to make you come until you begged him to stop.”

  I sigh. “I tell you too much.”

  “I don’t mind.” There’s a short pause at her end. “I have to go now… meeting.”

  “Talk later.”

  “Yes… and make sure you have something to talk about.”

  After the call, I check the time on the phone. It’s already past eight in the morning, far later than I usually wake up. I hurriedly take a shower in the oriental themed bathroom and dress in a pair of cream pants, a blue cotton shirt, and a jacket. I brush my hair and let it hang loose, applying nude lip-gloss and one coat of mascara before leaving my room.

  From the living room, the doors to the balcony are open. I find Landon already dressed in one of his exquisitely tailored shirts, a dark gray one, with a black silk tie and dark trousers encasing his long legs. He’s sitting in the sun at a low, wrought iron table surrounded by four cushioned chairs. His hair is combed back and gleaming golden as he sips from a glass of orange juice, a newspaper spread out on his lap. For a long moment, all I can do is stare at him, my stomach twisting with yearning.

  I tear my eyes away from his perfection, transferring my gaze to the view behind him, which is almost as breathtaking as he is.

  He notices me standing at the doors. “Good morning,” he says pleasantly, his eyes following me as I join him at the table. “Did you have a good night?”

  I’m not going to tell him that I spent the whole night wanting him. “Perfect,” I reply, giving him a bright smile.

  He smiles back. “Juice?”

  I nod and he pours me a glass of the cool fresh drink. As I savor it, a uniformed waiter wheels in a breakfast tray and starts to set the table. “I asked for toast and fried eggs, with some coffee,” Landon informs me. “If you would prefer something else, you can let the cook know.”

  “This is fine.” I watch, entranced despite my annoyance with him, as he butters a piece of toast, his fingers moving deftly. How does someone make something as simple as buttering a toast look so sexy?

  He hands me the buttered toast and starts on another one. “Tony is arriving this morning. He’s going to be staying a floor below for a few days before he returns to New York.”

  “Okay.”

  “We’ll leave for the Gold Dust after breakfast,” Landon continues. “You’ve discussed your itinerary with him?”

  “Yes. I meet with the hotel manager today, tomorrow the designers, and the photographers after that.”

  “Good. I’ll be busy all day. I’m meeting with the whole refurbishment team, then the project managers to iron out a few issues before the project closeout.”

  Is that his way of telling me that he won’t have any time for me? I eat my breakfast, wondering if now that I’m available, no longer presenting a challenge, he’s lost interest in me. I sneak a glance at him and he’s watching me. He doesn’t look like someone who has lost interest. No, I’m not getting that vibe.

  We finish breakfast, and as the waiter clears the plates, Landon glances at his phone. “Tony’s here,” he tells me. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes.” I get up, intending to go to my room to pick up my bag, but when he gets up too, he’s standing in my way. He lifts a finger to my mouth and wipes a speck of butter from the corner of my lip, where the napkin must have missed. Then he lifts the finger to his lips and licks it, making me go weak at the knees.

  “I’ll wait in the living room,” he says softly, as if he’s oblivious to the effect that simple action has on me.

  I hurry to pick up my bag, legs shaking, heat pooling between my thighs. I don’t understand what’s going on anymore, and if it continues, well, I’m going to have to confront him. I almost do that on the elevator ride to the ground floor, but it only takes a few seconds for us to get to the lobby, where Tony is waiting.

  “Good morning, Mr. Court, Rachel,” he greets cheerfully, shaking my hand.

  I return his smile. “How was your flight?”

  “Smooth.”

  We walk outside to the entrance, where under the awning, a gleaming black car is waiting. Landon is talking on the phone, but he opens the door and waits for me to get in before walking around to the other side.

  The interior of the car is black leather and I sink into the seats, thinking how I could get used to the luxury that’s par for the course with Landon. In the car, I listen with half an ear as Landon and Tony talk about issues concerning materials and delivery delays.

  Unlike the Rosemont Royal, The Gold Dust is set far back from the street. There’s a short drive to the entrance, edged with flowers and with artwork on the lawns. The front of the building looks newly painted, a testament to the refurbishment going on. The sign over the entrance is still covered with some sort of protective sheet. Inside the lobby, the floors are also covered but the walls are bright, with freshly painted moldings and panels. The high ceiling is a dome, decorated with gold leaf.

  “It’s lovely,” I breathe softly.

  “I’m glad you think so,” Landon says from beside me. I wasn’t even aware that he was so close. I look up to see those blue eyes on my face, and my breath catches. “I’ll see you later,” he says, patting my arm, before leaving me to start with his itinerary for the day.

  An arm-pat. Seriously. I came all the way to San Francisco for a pat on the arm.

  I also came to write an article, so I concentrate on that, forcing all thoughts of Landon and his mixed signals from my mind. Tony hands me over to the hotel manager, a passionate looking Frenchman called Claude Devin. “I’m to show you around and tell you everything you need to know,” he tells me in a lilting, sexy accent. “I know everything about this place. I worked here when I was younger, when it was still run by the Sinclairs. Then I went back to France. Mr. Court lured me back with the promise of running the finest hotel in San Francisco, and he was perfectly right.”

  He keeps talking all morning, peppering information about the hotel with gossip from the old era as he shows me around the facilities, from the world class gym, to the spa, the bar, meeting rooms, and t
he restaurants, all to be run by world renowned chefs. There are two ballrooms, conference rooms, a presidential suite that puts the luxurious suite where I’m staying with Landon to shame, along with indoor and outdoor pools.

  “It will be the jewel of San Francisco when it opens,” Claude promises. “Court has kept all that was good about the old hotel and brought in everything no one else could have known it lacked.”

  By lunchtime, Landon is still in his meeting. Claude shows me to one of the furnished offices where I can set up my laptop and start to piece my notes together. I have to send a progress sheet to Mark tomorrow, so I really can’t slack off.

  Claude leaves me to work, going back to his own office, after assuring me that he’ll let Landon know where I am as soon as the meeting is over.

  The sound of the door opening interrupts my work, and I look up to see Landon entering the room. Hours of meetings haven’t done anything to lessen the potency of his attraction.

  “How’re you getting on?” he asks.

  “Okay. Claude was very helpful.”

  “Good.” He nods. “We’ll go out to lunch. Afterward, if you’re done with Claude, you can return to the Rosemont. I’m going to be here for a while.”

  “That’s fine.” I get up, intending to pack up my stuff, but I stop, unable to repress the question that’s been gnawing at me since last night. “Did you change your mind about this trip?” I hold his gaze. “Did you decide that you don’t want to fuck me anymore?”

  His expression doesn’t change, his silence seeming to confirm my fears. He turns back to the door, and I almost think that he’s going to leave. Then as I watch, he turns a button in the door handle, locking the door and turning back to face me.