Jill Shalvis - Room Service

“Ridiculous,” she muttered, ruthlessly draining the tub before she could relive dessert, before she could picture how he’d looked at her as he’d fed her, how his eyes had flared when she’d licked her lips.

She was here to get him on the show! No more sex on the brain!

She had to figure out how to reach him, how to prove that her show would be different from whatever he was thinking it would be. Drying off, she climbed into the glorious bed, sliding against the silk sheets and thick comforter, her body still humming with lingering pleasure from the bath. It took a long time before sleep finally claimed her.

The next morning, after a night of Jacob-filled dreams, she sat up and laughed at herself. “No more,” she said out loud. He was her job’s salvation, which was far more important than a quick toss in the sack. Repeating it to herself like a mantra, she got dressed and called Liza.

“’Lo,” came a very grumpy, sleepy voice.

“I need caffeine,” Em said. “You with me?”

“I need someone to turn off the jackhammer inside my head,” Liza groaned.

“Meet me downstairs. I have the next best thing.”

“What’s that, a lobotomy?”

“Aspirin.”

“SO YOU DIDN’T TELL HIM you wanted him for the show.” Liza shook her head at Em and downed the aspirin.

They sat in a corner of the lobby, watching the world go by on the other side of the hotel windows, where pedestrians and cars whipped busily past them with the rushed sense of urgency characteristic of Manhattan.

“I tried to bring it up,” Em said. “But he wasn’t interested.”

But Nathan was plenty interested, as proved by the ring of her cell phone. After looking at the ID, Em rolled her eyes at Liza, and answered.

“Sign the chef yet?” he asked.

“Working on it.” She wondered if not mentioning that she was close only in her dreams was playing the “Hollywood game” the way he wanted her to.

Whether Nathan caught on, or if he was just worried, he paused. Then said, “Remember, Em. Do whatever you have to do to get him. Hell, use your feminine wiles.”

Em looked at Liza in disbelief as she shook her head. “You did not just say use my feminine wiles.”

“Why not? By all accounts, he’s not bad to look at. You’re single. Sleeping with him wouldn’t be a hardship.”

No, sleeping with Jacob wouldn’t be a hardship. Too bad she’d be doing it for reasons entirely separate from the show. “Goodbye, Nathan.”

“You’re thinking about it,” he said.

She growled.

He laughed. “Seriously, stay tough. Remember the hair-in-the-food trick.”

Em hung up on him. She sighed and looked at Liza. “Here’s the problem.”

“You mean besides Nathan being a complete ass?”

“Yeah. I don’t think Jacob’s all that interested in his career at all, other than he enjoys what he does.”

“Wait a minute.” Liza narrowed her eyes. “Since when are you on a first-name basis with the chef?”

“Since that’s his name.”

Liza let it go, which meant her head still hurt, because it was unlike her to let anything go. “Are you sure he’s not interested?”

Interested in the show? Or Em herself? “He runs the show here. He likes that. I don’t see him happily letting a show run him.”

Liza carefully rubbed her temples, her beauty looking a little strained this morning. “This aspirin needs to hurry up and kick in. Look, Em, just put it out there on the table for him, see what happens.”

“I know.”

“Today.”

“I will. Eric,” she said in surprise when he walked by.

He stopped, then with his eyes locked on Liza, came up to them. “Hey.”

“What’s up?” Em asked. “Want to have a seat? We’re coming up with my plan of attack for approaching Jacob.”

“I know an approach,” Liza said as Eric sat. “Offer to have a wild fling with him. He wouldn’t turn you down. No man who finds a woman attractive would turn her down.” After having carefully avoided looking at Eric, she purposely turned her head to him. “Right, Eric?”

He cleared his throat. “Maybe he’d have his reasons.”

“What reason could possibly be more important than making that woman feel good?” Liza pressed. “Than helping her out in her time of need?”

He glared at her. “Look, I didn’t turn you down to insult you.”

Liza snorted.

“Okay.” Em stood up. “I’m going to leave you two alone-”

“Don’t go,” Liza said, snagging Em’s wrist without taking her eyes off Eric.

“All I’m saying is that there are reasons,” Eric said to Liza.

“Name one.”

Em tried to pull free.

“I said don’t go!” Liza snapped.

“Okay, that’s it.” Em gently but firmly extricated herself. “You two need to work this out, preferably by yourselves, without killing each other. Personally, I think you should work it out upstairs, maybe even in bed…”

Eric made some sort of strangled sound.

Liza just lifted a shoulder. “Can’t. Eric has an aversion to getting in my bed these days.”

Em put a hand on her friend’s tense shoulder. “Stop torturing him.”

“Tell him the same thing.”

Eric shook his head.

Em kissed his cheek, then Liza’s. “Be kind,” she whispered to Liza, and walked off.

Caffeine, she decided. Now. A few other people were moving around, sitting on the black sofas talking, taking in the incredible artwork on display. She stopped in front of a large painting near the elevators, done in the bold strokes and colors of an early art deco piece. It was of a woman, nude, her hands outstretched, a look of ecstasy on her face as a man and another woman, also nude, attended to her. From their positions, one could assume the man took pleasure at a breast, the woman between her legs.

It should have been lewd, should have made the heat rise to Em’s face, but instead she couldn’t tear her eyes off the thing, not off the bright colors, or the boldly painted, beautiful bodies. In fact, she found herself just standing there, surrounded by the tranquility around her, absorbing it, breathing it in, trying to find her own center, her own sense of self, which was all tied into her job, into getting Chef Jacob Hill. She had to do this. “ I have to do this. ”

“Really?” It was the same low, husky voice as last night.

Jacob had come up to her side to look at the picture, too. “Which woman did you want to be?”

Just his proximity made everything within her react, tighten in anticipation, leap to attention. A little shocked at the effect he had on her, she turned her head and looked into his caramel eyes.

Yum , thought her body.

Watch out , thought her remaining working brain cells, and there weren’t many.

He looked great, more than great, more like gorgeous in his work trousers, wool and gray and fitted to that long hard body, and a black dress shirt. His short, short hair seemed glossy beneath the lights. The scent of him alone should have been bottled and marketed as an aphrodisiac.

He arched a brow, waiting for an answer to his question, amusement swimming in his gaze. That look released something inside her.

She thought maybe it was the last of her resistance. “I didn’t mean…” Damn it, she felt herself blush as she gestured to the painting. “I didn’t mean I have to do that. ”

“No?” Tipping his head back, he looked at the two women in the picture again. “Now that’s just a damn shame.”

To: Pastry Chef Ed Mohr

From: Sous-Chef Jacob Hill

Tonight send a basket with fresh makings for Bouche S’mores to room 1212, with my compliments.

JACOB WATCHED EM SHIFT her weight from foot to foot as she glanced again at the bold art deco painting of the threesome. It made him want to smile. God, he loved to ruffle her feathers.