Page 4 of Resisting Mr Black
The deafening sound of a bass beat over the top of a throaty, car engine shatters the peace of the hotel grounds.
The front doors are open, providing a view of the sun-baked gravel driveway and the car careering towards us. The noise intensifies as it gets closer and I grip the corner of the desk as panic slices through me. For a second I fear the car’s not going to stop and will tear straight through the front of the building, but at the very last minute it swings into a space right outside, sending gravel spraying everywhere. The roar of the engine quits and a few seconds later the ear-splitting thud of the bass is silenced.
“Someone needs to learn how to drive,” Lucy moans, sounding as unimpressed as I feel. “Prick.”
I silently agree. The driver is obscured by one of the tall twisted box topiary trees placed either side of the doors. I can no longer see the car either, but I know it’s asports car by the roar of the engine and speed at which it hurtled down the drive. It’s matte gunmetal grey, and everything about it suggests it’s a male driver.
“Whoever it is needs to move their bloody car, because in exactly”—I twist my wrist and glance at my watch—" three minutes, the bride and groom will be having their photos taken out the front. Haven’t they seen the “No Parking” signs?”
We’re both staring at the door, waiting for the driver to walk in, and my patience is dissolving swiftly with each second that passes. My fingers drum against the wooden desk. After the day I’ve had whoever it is better watch out because I’m in no mood for messing about. They’ve got exactly five seconds otherwise I’m going out there.
The slam of a car door echoes through the entrance hall followed by the crunch of gravel. The tall, broad figure of a man appears. It’s darker in the entrance hall and the bright sunlight beating down outside casts him in shadow and it’s difficult to make out his features clearly.
His wide shoulders nearly fill the width of one of the doors and his head stops only a few inches short of the top frame. His broad upper body gives way to a slender waist and long legs that seem to go on forever. Even from this distance he screams powerful and intimidating, and there’s an air of foreboding to him. My thoughts about giving him a piece of my mind are swiftly disappearing. He’s six foot two at the very least.
“Who the fuck is that?” Lucy says under her breath.
I’m about to say I have no fucking clue when he starts to move in our direction with slow, confident strides and a swagger that suggests he’s aware he’s being ogled and is not in the least bit fazed. The soles of his black suede boat shoes hit the tiled floor, sending the sound of his footsteps reverberating across the entrance hall and causing my heart to skip a beat. My mouth dries as my eyes travel up long muscular limbs encased in deep grey tapered chinos. A black cotton polo shirt clings to a ripped upper body and tanned biceps. I shift from foot to foot uncomfortably. I know I’m acting way out of character. I’m staring at him like some love-struck teenager and I should have averted my eyes about thirty seconds ago, but I can’t help myself. His smart-casual look does nothing to play down his sizzling physique. Part of me doesn’t want to look any further because if his face is as hot as his body, I’m in trouble.
Maybe he’s not that good-looking,I tell myself.
Maybe he’s got a physique like Adonis because God let him down when he dished out good looks.
Maybe… if I just take a little peek…
I’m so fucking wrong I want to cry out that it’s not fair.
Black facial hair adorns a square jaw. It’s longer than stubble, but it’s not long enough for a beard and does nothing to detract from his fine features. My top teeth snag on my bottom lip as I can’t help wondering what it would feel like against my cheek and there’s a horrid churny feeling in my stomach at the thought of getting that close to him. Thick, glossy black hair is styled shorter on the sides and swept back longer on top and it’s just the right length to run your fingers through.
He’s so good-looking it hurts and the staccato beat of my heart tells me I’m in trouble.
Disappointingly, his eyes are obscured by black Ray-Bans, meaning he can see me gawping at him but I have no way of knowing where he’s looking.
I’m brought back down to earth with a painful bump, as Lucy grips my hand digging her fingernails into my knuckles. It seems that I’m not the only one the handsome stranger has cast his spell on.
My heart continues an erratic rhythm and I focus on my breathing as he stops a few steps short of the desk and tilts his head upwards at the ceiling as if inspecting the place. He reaches up and pulls the sunglasses off his face. For a few seconds, he surveys the entrance hall then a pair of chocolate brown eyes stare straight at me.
As he shows no signs of looking away, my chest tightens, and I feel like he’s reaching into my rib cage and squeezing my heart. I’m overcome by a lustful hungry feeling as I stare back, pinned by his eyes. Dark pools with unknown depths. Captivating and dangerous. Dampness clings to the palm of my hand pressed against the top of the desk as heat prickles my body, causing me to flush from head to toe. My heart is hammering so hard I’m pretty sure he can hear it, and I know I should be looking away because I’m making an idiot of myself. But guests who look as good as himdon’t grace us with their presence very often. And besides, he doesn’t seem to be making any move to look away from me either.
The guy folds up his sunglasses and slides them into the back pocket of his chinos, all without taking his eyes off me.
“Good afternoon, sir. Welcome to Gladstone Country Manor. Would you like to check in?” Lucy whimpers.
The interruption breaks the moment and the guy pulls his eyes from mine to look at Lucy and I take the opportunity to steady my breathing.
Get a grip.
I glance at his car, parked where it shouldn’t be, and straighten up. I’m here to do a job. He needs to move his car. Pronto. Even if he is delicious.
A small frown dances across the man’s dark brow for a second as if perplexed by the question. “No, thank you.”
Deep, velvet tones slide across my skin and have me wondering what my name might sound like coming from those perfect lips.
Get a fucking grip.
I clear my throat. “I’m afraid I need to ask you to move your car, sir.” My tone is bordering on brusque and I overemphasise the word “sir.” I’m overcompensating for my physical reaction, but I can’t help it.
A smile twitches at the corner of his lovely mouth. He seems amused and I’m instantly annoyed by his reaction. This throws me once more. I don’t know how to act around the guy.