Her Valentine Fantasy Read online

  “Done.” Because, of course, she needed to share every delicious detail with her best friend.

  She wheeled her case down to the front desk to check out, and found herself instead asking for a late checkout.

  “How late?” the desk clerk asked, scanning her computer screen.

  “Four?”

  She knew she was pushing it, but she also knew that it was probably pretty quiet now that the conference attendees had left the hotel.

  “Sure.” The woman nodded. “No problem, Ms. Lafayette.”

  “Thank you so much.” She dashed back up to return her suitcase to her room and returned to the lobby with a couple of minutes to spare. She stepped out onto the sidewalk in front of the hotel glad the rain was still holding off. The gray skies were lightening and she thought there might even be a glimpse or two of sunshine if they were lucky.

  An already familiar figure turned the corner and headed her way. She took a moment to study Sam as he strode toward her on long legs. He was a head-turner that was for sure, as she discovered when a woman gaped at him even as she was holding another guy’s hand.

  He didn’t even notice. He glanced up, saw her and waved.

  She felt like the luckiest woman in Washington State. No, make that the world.

  Like her, he wore jeans and boots. On top he wore a dark blue shirt and a beaten-up leather jacket. His hair was still damp so he must have raced through a shower. In fact, she realized, he must live really close to here to get home, shower and change and return to the hotel on foot.

  He smiled, a slow, sexy smile when he drew closer to her. She felt every cell in her body respond. “You ready for Sam’s Special Seattle Tour?”

  “Yes. I am.”

  “Excellent.” He held out his hand and she put hers into it. So easily, as though they were a holding-hands couple instead of two people who had just met.

  There wasn’t any awkwardness, either, where he walked too fast or swung his arm in some strange tribal rhythm that she couldn’t catch onto. They fell into step as easily as if they’d been taking Saturday-morning walks together for years.

  He headed her down the hill in the direction of the water. “First stop,” he said, “will be for a cup of real coffee. At the world’s first, and original, Starbucks.”

  It’ll be full of tourists, she thought, but then of course that’s what he assumed she was.

  She joined the other tourists, pulled out her smartphone and took a photo. Then, knowing Morgan would want to see him, and knowing she wanted to show him off, she got Sam to pose in front of the Starbucks.

  They went in. Stood in the inevitable line and she ordered the same tall skinny latte she always ordered in coffee shops and he had a grande dark roast coffee.

  “Now, we walk over to Pike Place Market,” he said, sounding very much like a tour guide. “This market opened in 1907 and is one of the oldest continually operating markets in the country. It takes up more than nine acres.”

  “Wow. I didn’t know it was so old.”

  “Neither did I.” At her questioning look he said, “I looked it up on Google when I got home. Didn’t have a lot of time, so don’t ask me anything. If I don’t tell you, I don’t know.”

  He was so adorable. “Okay. No questions…1907. Wow. That’s old.”

  As they walked, he said, “And that body of water, as I’m sure you know, is Elliott Bay.”

  “And how old is that?”

  He pushed her with his hip. “Smart-ass.”

  She couldn’t believe how much fun she was having. And the truth was, even though she lived here, she rarely came to the market. She always seemed to be so busy and it was easier to stop at a big grocer than to brave crowds and find parking and go from stall to stall. But all she had to do was breathe in to realize how much she was missing.

  The veggies were so fresh, the cheeses so varied, there was every kind of fish and bakery product and soup and spice you could imagine. And every item added its own note to the complex aroma.

  Naturally, the place was packed to bursting with shoppers, browsers, tourists and a few lost-looking souls she suspected were homeless.

  “I’d love to take you out for brunch, but we only have a few hours. I suggest big sandwiches. We can eat them outside.”

  She realized she was starving and readily agreed.

  As they walked past a cheese display, a voice called out, “Sam, my man.”

  Sam walked over and shook hands with the guy behind the cheese counter. They had a short, animated discussion and next thing she knew, he was coming back with two chunks of cheese on squares of waxed paper. “It’s new in,” he explained when he rejoined her. “Locally made. A soft goat cheese.”

  She popped the portion in her mouth and moaned with pleasure. “That is good.”

  He chewed slowly, seeming to take the entire cheese tasting a lot more seriously than she did. Finally, he nodded slowly. “You’re right,” he said. “It is good.”

  “You know the cheese guy?”

  “Sure. The food business is a small world.”

  Turned out he also knew a few of the other merchants and exchanged greetings or a quick wave with several of them.

  “Do you want to pick a sandwich or do you want the sandwich of the day? Which is usually spectacular.”

  “Sandwich of the day.”

  He nodded. “Want a soda or something?”

  She held up her half-finished latte. He’d tossed his empty cup almost as soon as they’d reached the market.

  “Let me buy the sandwiches,” she said, moving forward, but he waved her away.

  “My city, my treat.”

  He seemed to get through the throng of people at the deli mighty quick, she would almost have guessed there was some favoritism involved. Soon, he had a brown paper sack and once more took her free hand and led her out.

  It seemed almost quiet once they were back on the street. They found a bench and she was glad of her jacket as they sat, soon joined by a seagull who paced up and down three feet in front of them, never taking its black beady eyes off that bag.

  The sandwich was, of course, spectacular. With prosciutto and blackened red peppers and some kind of delicious cheese and tomatoes and what she guessed was aioli all on dense Italian bread. Each sandwich was also enough for four people.

  She munched happily, watching as Sam demolished his sandwich with strong, white teeth. He managed to eat neatly but so fast that she had barely managed one bite by the time he was halfway through his sandwich.

  The seagull looked concerned.

  She gazed across the gray waters and said, “Tell me your story.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Jessica loved the fantasy of sex with a stranger, was secretly thrilled that she’d actually fulfilled her secret dream, but now they were two real people out together in the daylight. She liked him, not only as a hot, exciting man in her bed, but she enjoyed being with him. She didn’t want him to be a stranger anymore. She found herself wanting to know all about him.

  Well, she knew he was good with people, an excellent waiter, could interpret body language and was great in bed. Oh, and that he’d once faked an orgasm and didn’t like stupid women. She wanted the rest of his background to wrap around those few facts.

  “My story,” he said in a soft voice as though trying to decide where to begin. “Let’s see. My dad worked for Boeing as an airline mechanic. My mom stayed home with my sister and me. Annie was older and bossed me around. She grew up to be a lawyer, no surprise. She was the brainy one. I was the athlete.”

  She could picture him, too. She bet he’d been the star quarterback, with all the girls after him. The kind of boy who never would have looked at her twice back in high school. Then he burst her stereotype by saying something that surprised her.

  “My grandmother lived with us. She was Polish—loved to cook. I’d hang around in the kitchen with her while she told stories. She taught me to cook and to love food.”

  “That’s prett
y unusual. Here I was thinking of you as the star quarterback.”

  He half grinned. “I was that, too.” He thought for a moment. “I went to college, mostly to please my folks, but I’d been waiting tables since high school. I liked the freedom it gave me. But I already told you that.”

  “Will you always be a waiter, do you think?” She hoped she didn’t sound judgmental and already wished she could swallow the words along with the blackened red pepper and aioli.

  “I think that whatever you choose to do you should be the best at it. Who cares if it’s menial work or brain surgery? The secret of happiness is making the most of every minute.” Then he scrunched up the bag loudly. “Sorry, that was my rant. It pisses me off when people look down on people who serve them.”

  “I wasn’t—“

  “I know.” But it seemed that he didn’t want to share anything more.

  He turned to her. “How about you? Your life story?”

  She was still scrambling from feeling as though she’d inadvertently insulted him. She, who always tipped twenty percent because she appreciated how hard servers worked.

  “My life story. Let’s see.” She put down the half of the sandwich she’d barely made a dent in and offered him the other half, which he took and bit into with as much relish as he had the first time. Incredible.

  “My dad’s an engineer. Mom’s a nurse. There are three of us kids and we grew up in a pretty happy family. The folks split when I was in college. They were both so careful only to say nice things about the other, which they must have got from counseling or some self-help book, that none of us ever figured out what happened. Anyhow, I majored in marketing and ended up as an event planner. I love what I do. But it’s pretty demanding, as you can imagine. You have to be organized, persuasive, creative and able to handle a lot of stress.”

  “And do you want to be an event planner forever?”

  Was he being snarky because she’d asked him that question or did he really want to know? She decided to assume he really wanted to know. “I think so. But someday, I’d like to have my own firm. I’ve always thought that when I have kids, it would be nice to work part-time. Maybe have an office at home.”

  He nodded, not seeming to think she was a fifties throwback or anything. “I always liked having my mom and my grandma at home. If you can do it, why wouldn’t you?”

  “Exactly. It’s kind of a five-year plan for me.”

  His lips twitched.

  Oh, God. He’d known her for a day and already he was laughing at her and her five-year plans. “Are you laughing at me?”

  “No. Maybe a little. I think plans are great. But it’s amazing how life always gets in the way of them.”

  She leaned forward until her nose was an inch from his. “I made a plan at New Year’s Eve and I’d say that worked out pretty well.”

  For a moment their gazes locked. “Point taken.”

  She leaned forward a little closer until their lips brushed. Then backed away. “Okay, then.” She took the last sip of her coffee to hide her smile.

  “No visit to Seattle is complete without a trip up our famous Space Needle,” he said, when they’d finished lunch.

  “Sounds like fun.” Sure, she’d been up to the observation deck once, but she hadn’t been with Sam. She suspected this time would be a whole lot more fun.

  They walked to 5 and Pine and waited for the monorail. It was run riding on the train, looking at downtown Seattle whizz by. In less than five minutes they were at the Needle.

  This time, she got pushy and made sure she bought the tickets, including entrance to Chihuly Garden and Glass. While they were waiting for their “launch time” they wandered the Chihuly Garden, not too colorful at this time of year except for the astonishing glass sculptures that bloomed all year-round. They entered the glass house, a domed conservatory and looked up at the red and yellow and orange bursts of color, created by artist Dale Chihuly. She couldn’t help but smile. He said, “I always feel like I’m under water and those are some kind of underwater anemone, or maybe really colorful jellyfish.”

  “Me, I see umbrellas. Crowded together, all keeping the rain off.” She loved the artist’s colorful glass sculptures, so brilliant against the gray light, as iconic as anything else in this wonderful city.

  “It’s time for us to ride up,” she said, checking her watch.

  “We have ten minutes,” he said.

  “Sorry, it’s my job. Being an event planner I get pretty stressed about meeting schedules.”

  He chuckled. “Okay. I’d rather stand around than have you stressed on your day off.” He took her hand once more.

  Soon they were whisked up the Needle to the observation deck.

  He put his arm around her as they strolled, enjoying the 360-degree views. “We’re lucky it’s clear today,” he said “What a great view of Rainier.”

  “You talk about that snowcapped mountain like you two are buddies.”

  He smiled. “We are in a way, though I respect that peak a helluva lot. But you climb Rainier and you’ve done something.”

  “You’ve climbed Mount Rainier?” She’d known he was Mr. Fit Outdoors guy but—wow.

  “Sure. I love the challenge.”

  “I prefer that mode of travel.” She pointed to a ferry chugging its way across Elliott Bay. In the distance she could see the Cascade Mountains and she was reminded once more how much she loved her adopted city.

  “That’s Chicago, that way,” he said, pointing generally southeast. He sighed, pulling her closer. “Sure seems like a long way from here.”

  “I do quite a lot of business here in Seattle,” she said.

  “Good.”

  She wondered if he was serious. Did he really wish she were closer? Or did he like the idea of a weekend fling and then she’d be gone and he could get back to his own life? She really wished she knew.

  When they walked back to her hotel, she noticed that their hands were gripping tighter, as though they didn’t want to let go.

  She thought about telling him that she lived right here in town, but she knew she’d first of all feel stupid that she hadn’t told him before and, second, she had just enjoyed the most perfect, blissful relationship of her entire romantic life.

  Did she really want to screw it up?

  They stood outside the brass-and-glass doors of the hotel. They turned to each other. He put his hands on her shoulders. “Well—”

  “Would you like to come up?” she asked.

  “You still have your room?”

  She edged closer to him. “I got a late checkout.”

  She heard him breathe in, almost as though he’d won a reprieve. As if he didn’t want this day to end any more than she did. “I only have an hour, but I would love to come up.”

  “Then let’s not waste a second of that hour,” she said.

  They held hands all the way up in the elevator, not saying a word, simply holding on. Her skin felt feverish with the persistent thrum of arousal.

  They held hands down the corridor, and only left off when they reached her room and she had to get her keycard out of her bag.

  She looked at it and thought she’d hang on to it forever as a souvenir of the most amazing night of her life. If she hadn’t made that foolish mistake and slipped her hotel card instead of her credit card.

  * * *

  It was different this time. So different from the fun and purely carnal night they’d shared. It felt as though the day they’d spent together, even the limited amount of their lives that they’d shared, had made a difference. They weren’t one-night lovers anymore.

  They were something more.

  He undressed her slowly, the soft afternoon light coming in from the window. Every touch was a caress. When she looked into his eyes she wondered how she’d fallen so hard, so fast.

  She wanted to ask him if he was feeling it, too, this strong connection, but she didn’t have the words. And even if she could have found them, she didn’t want to risk spo
iling something so special by finding out that she was the only one feeling as though something monumental had happened.

  Instead, she did what she always did. She decided to sift her thoughts, analyze the situation, think things through. She was glad he didn’t know she lived here. She had time, space, she could mull over her feelings, talk them over with Morgan, who was so much more experienced with casual sex than she was.

  And then he kissed her and her brain switched off.

  She couldn’t think anymore. She could only feel. His lips, when he kissed his way down her throat, to the dip in her collarbone, flicking his tongue there. Moving on to her breasts. He kissed her breasts as though they were delicious. Strangely, for a man who ate food and drank coffee so fast, he really took his time in the bedroom. Here, he must realize, he didn’t need to rush.

  Her jeans were so tight she had to help him, wiggling her hips as he pulled. She said, “My friend Morgan told me if I bought these jeans I’d get laid.”

  “Your friend Morgan was right.” He tossed the jeans to the floor and then climbed on the bed to go after her panties. “But then you could wear potato sacks and I’d want to do you.”

  Between kissing and playing, she managed to help him out of his clothes until they were both naked. Her skin seemed so pale next to his, her bones so much smaller.

  The way he touched her, he seemed to feel it, too, as though she were breakable. Fragile.

  She wasn’t though. She felt more powerful than she’d ever felt in her life. She felt as though she could ride him, subdue him, dominate him if she chose. He was hers. Maybe only for another hour, but he was hers absolutely.

  And to prove it, she took him.

  Rolled on top of him, took his rock-hard cock into her body, where already it felt familiar. Then she reached for his hands, those big, brown, mountain-climbing hands and gripped them. Those hands had scaled tough mountains and also scaled her defenses. As she rode him, setting the pace, starting slowly, she thought how much they’d held hands today, and how much she was going to miss the feel of his palm warm against hers.

  She rode and rocked, kissing him deeply, letting her hair fall like a curtain around them until their breathing was labored and she could see his eyes go dark. She knew he was holding back for her, holding on, and she drove herself faster, feeling the pressure build and build until she couldn’t stop the grip of pleasure and the cries that escaped her mouth as her head fell back. Even as her body gripped his, she felt him quake beneath her, plunging up and deep, so deeply inside of her, and then his own cry of completion.