Page 33 of Serenity
Shifting my weight was followed by shifting the untamed hair of my bob behind my ear.
“No, where would I locate that?”
In the direction of the front lobby near the welcome desk, the usher’s hand aimed. Naturally, my eyes followed.
“If you approach the front counter and give them your name, they will provide you with your name tag.”
Okay. Fine.
Redirected from my first task, I headed in the direction of the front of the hotel. A small line had formed, causing me to take my place at the very end. As I waited for the souls before me to advance, I scanned the hotel lobby, eyeing the furnishings of the space. I’d heard a wealth of praise about Gray’s elaborate lodgings, but today was my first time experiencing a fraction of what the hype was about.
Our line moved as a guest, ahead of everyone, stalked away from the front counter. With six souls still ahead of me, my position hadn’t changed by much.
As I waited, my eyes probed the frame of the honey-dipped man ambling down the hall and away from the reception area. He moved toward a corridor painted black with ornate gold fixtures. In stark contrast to the other parts of the hotel lined with elaborate gray wallpaper, the hall was as peculiar as the man walking down it.
His frame felt familiar.
His gait.
The whisper of his scent.
The sea of waves in his hair.
That beard…
Duke.
Two weeks since our last encounter at Sugar Honey Iced Tea left me wondering if I’d run into him at the conference. Two weeks too long, I’d begun aching for his company. After noting his absence, despite his company’s presence, I relinquished the faint hope. It wasn’t uncommon for a CEO to skip the investment conference in favor of a day on the golf course or whatever it was that they did in their free time.
Dressed in basketball shorts and a white tank top that stretched across an unhumbled back, it was difficult to tell who the man was. Taut caramel muscles tore through the measly shirt, leaving little to the imagination. Easily, he could have been a mere stranger resembling the man I knew. My exposure to Duke Stepford only went as far as business attire—well, that and the few instances I’d seen him naked. The familiar man inching away from my line of vision was dressed in lounge-in-bed-all-day attire.
Momentarily, frozen, I mourned the loss of the obscure presence. Paired with a loss of momentum, the glacial sensation crept through me, unwelcomed, not unlike the day I’d met Duke. Not unlike our second encounter either.
Too nervous to mistakenly address a stranger as a familiar, I refrained from calling his name. Instead, my Tom Ford heels adopted a mind of their own and directed my body to follow.
The abandonment of my place in line awarded me notes of patchouli, toasted vanilla, aftershave, and some type of oil. The mixture created a festive reunion in my nostrils. A masculine concoction. It fueled my desperation and unfounded elation for the man I’d been lusting after for the last seven months. Paused at the elevator, he pressed the button leading up. As it opened, he entered without a glimpse over his shoulder.
Faultlessly and hastily, my Tom Ford heels continued to lead me. I prayed the destination wouldn’t result in my looking silly. With quickened steps, I made my way onto the elevator just before the caged door attempted to close.
Gray Hotel’s opulence again boasted its magnificence inside the small enclosure. While gray in color, ornate gold covered every decorative inch of the Victorian-era-style lift, from the elevator dial to the numbered floor panel and even the legs of the black leather lounger positioned against the main wall. Antique luxury met contemporary, shaking hands for a vibe. The only evidence of modernity emanated from the swipe pad for guests or residents and the watchful eye in the sky.
Surveil or not, it didn’t stop me from locating the soul who’d earned my predilection.
It’s him.
My heart rejoiced at the confirmation, proceeding to drum up an afrobeat. It was senseless and relentless. I was hopeless. This burning fire between us was beyond ridiculous.
When I entered, Duke’s attention was dipped toward his phone. Sixteen days had passed since seeing him. Sixteen days too long. The sight before me lacked nothing but disappointment.
His arms were muscled, bearing the singular mark of the brand of his fraternity. That confirmed it. He was the masked man. There was no way it was a coincidence. The hint of a powerful tool dangled between widened, bowed legs, justifying the reason for his stance. On his feet, he wore red and green Gucci slides and white crew socks. The fuck boy hoe fit sported by a real man caused damage to the seat of my thong.
Wildly, my imagination roamed. I imagined grabbing his phone, holding his gaze hostage, sliding the phone away, and sliding my tongue in his mouth. Missing a man I didn’t know was wholly inexplicable.
Inexplicable and unprecedented.
So was the peaceful symphony of my heart’s steady drum remixed by heavy bass. It muffled the jazzy tunes playing over a speaker hidden somewhere in the elevator.
He looked up.