Just for Fun (6 page)

She was impressed with the I-save-lives thing, she could admit. It was sexy, in fact. But Jonathan Britton might feel differently. Either way, it was safer to keep Doug in the hotel room waiting for her. Which would make her stick to business only with Jonathan and Todd and would ensure the only orgasms she had were with a hot paramedic who barely knew what she did for a living.

“Besides,” he said. “I’m Julia Roberts.”

“You’re…” She didn’t know what to say to that. “Do you have medication for these delusions?”

He looked up and grinned. “You haven’t read Lori Foster and you haven’t seen
Pretty Woman
? What kind of American woman are you?”

She frowned. “Of course I’ve seen
Pretty Woman
.”

“Then you understand. I’m Julia Roberts and you’re Richard Gere. If you want me to have special clothes, all I need is a credit card and for you to tell the bitchy saleswomen to be nice to me.”

Morgan looked at his T-shirt and then his lips. The lips she
really
liked and needed this weekend. He was just a big kid. But he held the record for the hottest, fastest orgasm of her life.

She sighed and opened the book again. “I’d have to worry about you spilling blue Gatorade on the suits.”

The Britton Hotel, the original, was in downtown Chicago. Jonathan Britton didn’t just own it. He lived in it. His home took up the entire top floor of the hotel. The luxury suites were the floor just below.

The moment Dooley stepped into the lobby he was assaulted by memories.

His dad’s hotels would have rivaled Britton’s any day.

Douglas Miller, Dooley’s dad, had inherited the hotels along with his partner, Phillip Wyatt. Their grandfathers had been best friends and had built their first hotel in Omaha. The hotels had been the Wyatt-Morris hotels—Wyatt from Phillip’s family and Morris from Douglas’s maternal grandfather. By the time Douglas and Phillip took over they had over sixty hotels across the United States, including one in Hawaii.

Dooley had enjoyed every minute of his childhood in posh hotels with room service and valets and maids. Right alongside Phillip’s kids. He’d seen the kitchens, the laundry rooms, the security offices and the storage closets. He’d hung out with the groundskeepers and the delivery guys and the bell hops. He knew the ins and outs of how a hotel ran day to day and he knew how the overall, big business side ran.

In fact, he knew more about that than he wanted to.

“Isn’t this gorgeous?” Morgan whispered as bellmen materialized, took their bags and seemingly disappeared.

It was gorgeous. The hotel was incredible, in fact.

It was precisely the type of place he’d been avoiding for the past eleven years.

“Look at the chandelier,” she breathed. “And the flower vases are Waterford crystal.”

Yup, probably.

Of course, the plastic thirty-two-ounce cup he had from the Omaha Stormchasers game held flowers just as effectively. Not that he’d ever put flowers in it. It also held iced tea and soda effectively, which was a lot more useful in his opinion.

“All of the lobby furniture is custom made in London by—”

“I like couches you can put your feet up on,” Dooley interrupted as he took her elbow and steered her toward the front desk.

The hotel was beautiful and if someone was impressed by glamour and expense, then this place would do it. Morgan clearly was. Which disappointed him. Which was stupid. Of course she would look at and admire the décor. She was the manager of the most high-class hotel in Omaha. She worked for Jonathan Britton, for God’s sake. Obviously she liked fancy, expensive and extravagant.

He was so not the guy for her.

All the more reason to be sure this was temporary.

“Ms. James?” A young woman stepped from behind the check-in counter and met them halfway across the lobby.

“Yes.”

“We’ve been anticipating your arrival. Welcome to the Britton Chicago.” The woman’s smile was wide and bright and it was clear she’d been assigned as Morgan’s personal greeter. She handed Morgan a key card and a bouquet of flowers. “We’re so happy to have you here.”

Morgan smiled at the woman. “Thank you for the warm greeting.”

Dooley had to admit he was impressed. Especially when the woman turned to him and handed him a sparkly gold gift bag. “Mr. Miller, welcome to the Britton Chicago. I’m Beth. Please let me know if there’s anything you need during your stay.”

“Thanks, Beth, I’ll do that.”

“I’ll escort you to your room if you’re ready. You’ll be in the North Suite.”

“Wonderful,” Morgan said, but as she turned to follow Beth she stopped.

Dooley followed her gaze to where her attention had been snagged by a well-dressed couple surrounded by suitcases, engaged in a hushed conversation. They looked worried and confused.

“Beth, have those guests been helped?” Morgan asked.

Beth turned to look at the couple as well. She frowned. “I don’t recognize them.”

“Can you check with someone please? We can wait.”

“Of course.” Beth headed for the front desk and soon had another attendant with her. They stopped by the couple but it quickly became clear there was a communication issue. The couple spoke what sounded like French to him and obviously Beth and the young man with her didn’t.

Morgan, on the other hand, didn’t have any trouble understanding the travelers.

Dooley sighed as he watched and listened to her talking with the couple and translating for the Britton Hotel employees.

She spoke a second language. Fluently. Dammit.

He loved bilingual women.

He shifted the flowers she’d handed to him to his other arm and leaned back against the nearest forty-foot high colonnade.

Within minutes Morgan had ascertained that the couple had been dropped off at the wrong hotel by their cab driver.

“Greg, will you please get a guest services manager from the Fairmont on the phone? I’ll arrange for one of the Britton’s cars to take Mr. and Mrs. Benoit to their hotel but I want to be sure someone is waiting to greet them.”

Greg moved off to make the call while Morgan excused herself to the Benoits for a moment.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to ignore you.”

“I’m good,” he said, with a shrug and a smile. “I can speak English so I’m fine on my own.”

“The Fairmont is only a few minutes away. This shouldn’t take long.”

“That’s nice of you. Especially considering they aren’t your guests. Why not just talk them into staying here?”

She grinned. “I thought about it,” she admitted. “But no, they just need a translator. If we’d known they were coming here we would have had someone ready to greet them in French. I’m sure the Fairmont will do the same.”

“I’m impressed.” He was. She was gracious and kind and spoke two languages. As if her breasts weren’t enough to keep him at her heels.

“I traveled around Europe in college,” she said. “I remember the feeling of helplessness that comes when you can’t communicate and how grateful you are when someone takes pity on you and helps out.”

She’d traveled. Great. He loved to travel. He loved women who loved to travel.

Dammit.

“I’m heading to the North Suite? No room number?” he asked.

“Only four suites take up the entire twenty-seventh floor.”

Ah. “Okay, then I’ll take the elevator up and turn north.”

She smiled and rose on tiptoe, planting a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth. “I’ll be up as soon as I can.”

“You want me to wait?”

“No. Go on up. I can send a masseuse up.”

He grinned and leaned in close. “The only person I want touching me is you.”

Her cheeks got a little pink at that.

“Hurry,” he said. He started to lean back, then thought better of it. He put a hand on her low back and nudged her forward at the same time he met her lips with his.

He was tempted to back her up against the colonnade and make her forget the French couple, but he didn’t even open his mouth. He pulled back after only a few seconds.

But he memorized the dazed look on her face. He’d never done that so easily to a woman before.

This had the makings of the best weekend. Ever.

“Ms. James?”

She turned slowly to face Greg and the Benoits. “Yes?” She cleared her throat. “Yes?”

Dooley was feeling darned good about himself at this point.

“The car’s ready.”

“Okay.” She spun back to face Dooley. “I’ll just…”

“Hurry,” he inserted with a grin.

“Right.”

He watched her escort the Benoits out the front door to the car.

Then he headed upstairs.

In the elevator he dug into the gift bag, expecting lotion or coupons. Instead he pulled out a package of beef jerky, a can of Pringles and a bottle of blue Gatorade.

Amazing. He was still shaking his head when he stepped off the elevator. Morgan had something with these little special touches after all. Beth, who had escorted him up, opened the door and crossed to the fridge where she withdrew a bottle of water and filled a glass with ice from the ice bucket.

“Thanks, Beth.”

“My pleasure.” She laid a business card next to his ice water. “Call me if you need anything during your stay. My hours are eight to eight. Nathan will be your evening attendant. You can reach him at the same number from eight p.m. to eight in the morning.”

“Great. Will do. Thanks.” He wondered if everyone got a personal attendant or just the guys who traveled with the rising Britton stars.

As Beth let herself out, he surveyed the room. The suite was amazing. High ceilings, huge windows, plush everything. There was a large living room, a dining area with a table that could seat eight, and a kitchen area with a half stove, full fridge and marble countertops.

In the bedroom there was a king bed in the center of the room, a loveseat and chair with a coffee table near the window, a full armoire and a balcony with two patio chairs and a table.

There were two bathrooms. The smaller one was basic, but then there was the master bath. It was nearly as big as the bedroom. The whirlpool tub was bigger than the bed. One entire wall was made up of mirrors and there was an enormous glass shower stall.

He could happily stay here for a year or two. He didn’t live the high life anymore and most of the time he was fine with that. He insisted on being fine with that—after all, what was the alternative? He had enough money, just not extra money. No one
needed
fifteen-hundred-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets.

But he sure as hell wasn’t going to complain about sleeping on them for a night or two.

He knew money didn’t buy happiness, but it sure made happiness look, feel, taste—and even smell—better.

Returning to the front room, he noticed their luggage had already been delivered. His duffle sat next to Morgan’s suitcase inside the door. Her
gigantic,
expensive suitcase.

“I’m here,” Morgan called from the front room.

Dooley propped his shoulder against the doorjamb of the bedroom. “I guess this place will do.”

She grinned at him as she kicked off her shoes, removed her watch and earrings, and slipped off her jacket. “Nice, right?”

She fit right in here. Everything on her and around her was expensive.

He sighed. “Better than nice.” Good thing this was temporary.

When she turned to him with a sexy little smile though he knew, short-term or not, he was going to enjoy this woman.

“Dinner’s at seven,” she said.

“It’s four thirty now.”

“That gives us two and a half hours,” she said, unnecessarily.

“Yep.” He moved toward her, stopping a few inches away.

She was breathing fast now, her eyes were wide and she was clenching her hands at her sides.

“How are we going to kill that much time?” he asked, his voice husky.

The little hitch in her breathing and the way she pressed her hand to her heart definitely turned him on.

He started to reach for her. But then something stopped him. She was breathing
too
fast. She looked…nervous.

“You okay?” he asked, dipping his knees so he could look into her eyes when she glanced away.

“Of course.”

He took her hand, holding her wrist, her pulse beating under his first finger. It was beating hard. “Morgan, I—”

“God, I want you,” she breathed out, looking up at him. “I do. I feel…” She pressed her free hand against her stomach. “I almost feel sick.”

Both of his eyebrows went up. “Sick?”

“Not
sick
. I mean excited. Jumpy. Itchy all over. I never get like this. It’s not like this is our first time. I mean, obviously we’ve been…intimate before this.”

She was talking way too fast too. Adrenaline was clearly pumping hard and Dooley felt a smile kick up the corner of his mouth. He’d seen this reaction in women before. But never to him. Sam got this reaction all the time. Women practically fell in Sam’s lap, even now that he was married. They stuttered around him, they blushed, they giggled too much and talked too fast.

And now Morgan was doing it. Because of
him
.

An amazing surge of power came with that.

No wonder Sam had been such a ladies’ man. This was fun.

Dooley tugged gently on her wrist, bringing her closer.

“This is so silly. I mean I
want
this, Doug. I do. I meant it in the bar when I said I knew this trip would involve this. Hell, I brought you along because I want you so much. I remember seeing you at the fundraiser. The minute I looked at you I—”

He covered her mouth with his hand. “Easy, Sugar.” He hadn’t used the name since the bar, since learning her real name. But it had the desired effect of stopping her words and making her smile. “I know you want me.” He did. He could read it all over her. He could
feel
it just looking at her. This wasn’t nerves, this was excitement. Intense excitement. Too intense.

“Breathe,” he told her, moving his hand from her mouth.

She did.

“I like NASCAR,” he said, still holding her wrist.

She looked at him, clearly confused, but he needed her to slow down, to relax, to enjoy this.