Jill Shalvis - Room Service

Em put her hands over her ears. “Not listening-”

Liza pulled Em’s hands down. “I’ll never forget how you helped me through this,” she said fiercely. “I want you to be just as happy as I am.”

“What I need is not to be picturing you and Eric using one of those blank tapes.”

“Well, maybe we won’t, maybe we’ll just go through the Kama Sutra-”

Luckily Em’s cell phone rang, cutting off that thought. It was Nathan.

“You’ve been seen with the chef,” he said without preamble.

“What? How did you-”

“I know all. Now reel him in.”

Em grated her teeth. “Nathan, you know I don’t work that way.”

“Are you or are you not sleeping with him?”

Em’s heart clutched. “Whatever I’m doing on my off-hours has nothing to do with work.”

“Perfect, you are.”

“You’re not listening-”

“Just keep at it, Em. This is going to be great.” Click .

Em stared at her cell phone, dread and regret nearly overwhelming her.

Liza was watching her. “Forget him,” she said. “He’s an ass.”

It helped to remember that but didn’t make her feel any better to know that anyone on the outside looking in might assume the same thing as Nathan. That she’d slept with Jacob to convince him to take the job.

What if Jacob thought it?

No. No, he wouldn’t. Couldn’t. But still, the worry nagged at her. “I’m not going to do this the way Nathan would,” she said out loud.

“Of course you’re not,” Liza said loyally. “You’re not going to hurt Jacob. But, honey…is he going to hurt you?”

“No.” Her eyes burned. “Maybe.”

“Oh, Em-”

“Really. I’m okay.” She managed a smile. “I’ll see you in the morning. We fly home tomorrow.”

“Yes, but-”

“Go. I’m fine.” She waited until Liza had left to let her smile fall away. She wandered toward-where else?-Amuse Bouche. Nathan’s words still echoed in her ears but she could care less.

She just wanted to see Jacob. It was late, far past the dinner hour, but the place was still buzzing, filled with groups of people.

No one, she saw, was eating alone.

Well, she’d start a new trend. She was seated at a lovely table, and as she settled in didn’t catch a glimpse of the man she’d been with a dizzying amount of times in three short days.

Did that make him her lover?

No, she told herself. A lover implied some sort of relationship, loose as it might be. Lover implied emotions were involved.

Jacob Hill didn’t want any of that. Jacob Hill wanted his freedom, he wanted no ties, he wanted-

“Look at you.” In the flesh, he suddenly stood by her table in his chef’s gear, looking so official, so authoritative, so…outrageously sexy. “Sitting here in my restaurant,” he said, “looking like the best thing I’ve seen all night.”

She didn’t want to be moved, but damn it, she felt a helpless smile break through.

“Hungry?”

Uh-huh. For you . “A little.”

He flashed a grin that was so naughty she felt her nipples go hard. “Well, I do aim to please,” he said. “What can I get you? Something sweet? Something hot?”

“We are talking about your food, right?”

He waggled his brows. “Maybe.” Then without asking, he pulled out the chair next to her and sat.

“Don’t you have stuff to cook?” Maybe other women to drive insane with longing?

“We’re winding down. It’s late.” He touched her, running a finger down one cheek. “And you’re unhappy.”

Turning her head away, she busied herself with the menu. Why had she come? To torture herself? Because if so, she was doing a good job.

“Em.”

“You know what?” she said, shutting the menu again. “I’m tired. I should just order room service.” She reached for her purse but before she could stand, he snagged her wrist.

Not looking at him, she fiddled with the strap.

“Em.”

With a sigh she glanced at him, then was sorry. He was no longer smiling, instead his expression had filled with things that made her want to melt into a pool of longing. “Don’t,” she whispered, closing her eyes.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t look at me like that, like you want to hold me, like I mean something to you, like what has happened between us means something to you, because we both know that none of that is true. When I go home tomorrow, you’ll go on as if nothing happened. And me, I’ll-” She bit off the words, refusing to expose herself to him again, emotionally or otherwise. “Please. Just let me go.”

He looked at her for a long moment, then slowly loosened her fingers. “I’m sorry.”

Well, so was she. Sorrier than he could ever know. Letting out a frustrated breath, she stood up. She met his gaze for one long, helpless moment, during which she would have sworn time stood still, would have sworn that he wanted to tell her he felt everything she did.

Because she wanted him as a chef in her show, yes, but she also wanted him as a man. And not just in her bed. She wanted him to be hers. She wanted him to understand that love could happen, that it could even happen in a blink of an eye.

Or on an elevator.

It could happen in a year, a month, a few days, it didn’t matter. She wanted him to know that when it was real, it was meant to be sought and kept.

Not tossed away.

But most of all she wanted him to understand that what they had, what they could have had, was as real as it gets.

In the end, she didn’t say any of that. She just walked away.

And he let her.

THIRTY MINUTES LATER Em was in her room, in the white, fluffy, luxurious robe after a long, scalding shower, waiting for room service to bring the French fries she’d ordered, contemplating how stupid men were.

Because Jacob should be up here. Sighing, she brushed through her newly washed hair. He should be in bed with her right now.

But he hadn’t turned out to be much of a mind reader, and she was a grown-up. If she’d wanted him so badly tonight, she should have saved her little goodbye drama until morning.

Someone knocked at the door.

Tightening her robe, she put her eye to the peephole, then her body went as still as her heart went wild, leaping inside her chest, banging against her ribs.

Jacob stood there, still in his chef’s uniform.

Em pulled back. What was he doing?

“Open up, Em.”

Open up. Hadn’t she done that? Hadn’t she opened up her heart and soul? What more could she give him?

“Em.”

She put her hand on the knob, drew a deep breath, then opened the door. “What are you-”

“You called for room service.” He gestured to a covered tray at his side, then pushed it past her and into the room.

“But…” She stared at him as he shut the door and lifted the plate covers.

“Crisp pan-seared salmon,” he said. “And from Pru I’ve brought a very nice 2001 Robert Stemmler pinot noir.”

She couldn’t help it, she laughed.

He raised his face in surprise. “What?”

“I ordered French fries.” The ultimate comfort food.

He made a soft sound of disapproval as he looked over the meticulously arranged tray, and she laughed again. “You are such a food snob.”

“I am not.”

Oh, yes, he was, and he had no idea. Nor did he have any idea how absolutely, stunningly adorable he was. She had a feeling he’d never been considered adorable before.

“Will there be anything else?” he asked.

You on a plate. “No,” she whispered, then remembered her little chat with herself. Be honest. Be open. “Yes.”

“No or yes?”

“Yes.”