Same Time Next Year Read online

  SAME TIME NEXT YEAR

  The woman in room 512 got to the hotel first.

  Elizabeth was behind the front desk, and at first, she didn’t know who the new guest was. She’d been at the Piedmont for less than six months, and hadn’t seen Mrs. 512 before.

  She’d heard rumors, though. A lot of them, lately. Those who had been working here longer said Mrs. 512 had been coming to the Piedmont for seven or eight years. Always on the same night. Always to the same room.

  As had he. Mister 510.

  Elizabeth rolled her eyes. Privately, of course. The Piedmont had too much class for anything else, and Mrs. Dugan the front desk manager was always getting on her for inappropriate behavior. But really, who did they think they were kidding? Every year like clockwork, two separate reservations, two different names, always the same two rooms with a connecting door between. And just look at the woman’s hand. If that thin white line at the base of the third finger wasn’t from a missing wedding band, Elizabeth was a mongoose.

  Still, she managed a stiff smile, folding her hands on the counter while making sure her own thick gold band was prominently displayed. “Good afternoon. May I help you?”

  “I’d like to check in, please.” Mrs. 512 was gorgeous, with high cheekbones, big, green eyes, and perfect skin. Nice voice, too. Deep and sultry. And not only was she beautiful, she was rich. That was a BMW she’d driven up in, and the shoes on her feet were Manolo Blahniks. Elizabeth had seen shoes like those before, but never in real life. “Regina White. Room 512.”

  “Of course.” Elizabeth turned to the computer, wondering what Ms. White would do if Elizabeth told her that there’d been a mix-up and 512 was unavailable. Pitch a fit, most likely. She looked like the kind of woman who was used to getting her way. Women like her always were.

  And she’d probably complain, and then Mrs. Dugan would be upset, and it was best not to upset Mrs. Dugan. Elizabeth needed this job. She and Jim had just gotten married, and things were tight. She couldn’t afford to get fired. Better just to do her job and tell Jim about the people in 510 and 512 later.

  “There you are.” She pushed the keycard to room 512 across the counter.

  Ms. White picked it up, her long, red nails bright against the black granite counter. “Thank you.” She smiled, anticipation already shimmering in her eyes.

  Elizabeth watched resentfully as Regina White wheeled her overnight bag toward the elevator, her high heels clicking on the marble floor of the lobby. And then the elevator doors closed, and she went up.

  It wasn’t but a half hour later that Mr. 510 arrived.

  And Elizabeth, who had a brand-new husband at home, blushed when he leaned on the counter and smiled at her. “I’d like to check in, please. Room 510. Tyler Harrison.”

  She smiled back. Couldn’t help it. “Of course.”

  He was too old for her, in his mid-thirties at least, but very good-looking. Rumpled brown hair, bright blue eyes, dimples when he smiled. Tall and lean in a navy business suit with a white shirt, open collar, and a tie that was as loose as it could get without being undone.

  “Here you go.” She slid the keycard across the counter to him, her own nails short and serviceable. Natural.

  “Thank you.” He gave her another dazzling smile before picking up his briefcase and heading for the elevator.

  “And they’re off,” a voice murmured next to Elizabeth’s ear. She jumped. And turned, to look into Mrs. Dugan’s eyes.

  “Romantic, isn’t it?” the older woman added, watching Mr. 510 waiting for the elevator. His stance was impatient, a finger tapping the seam of his blue slacks and his eyes on the decreasing numbers above the door. 4. 3. 2...

  Elizabeth stared at her. How was this situation romantic? “They’re married!”

  Mrs. Dugan nodded. “I know.”

  “And they’re here every year! That’s what you said, right? Same date, same rooms. Adjoining.”

  “They met here. Must be almost ten years ago now. At a seminar or conference or something. Those were the rooms they stayed in then. I guess the connecting door got opened at some point.”

  Mrs. Dugan giggled. Elizabeth stared.

  “I think it’s romantic,” the older woman said. “Every year they come back here, and spend one night in the rooms they had then. And open the connecting door. And then they return home, to their everyday lives, and wait a year for the next time.” She shook her head, noting Elizabeth’s mulish pout. “When you get older, you’ll understand.”

  Elizabeth shrugged. And watched Mr. 510 get into the elevator. Just before the doors closed, she saw him slip his wedding band off his finger and stick it in his pants pocket.

  Gina’s heart was already thudding by the time she inserted the key card in the lock of room 512. The light turned green and she pushed the door open, wheeling her overnight bag inside and looking around.

  It looked just like it had last year. And the year before.

  Perfect.

  It was always such a downer when something changed. The first time they painted the walls a different color and put up different artwork, it had taken all of... oh, three minutes at least, to get in the mood once Ty arrived.

  Grinning, the first thing she did was unlock the connecting door on her side. The other side was still locked, so she knew Ty hadn’t gotten here yet. She hadn’t expected him to. He’d be here in the next half hour, she’d bet. She waited all year for this, and he did too; neither of them wanted to waste a moment. He’d probably leave work early today, as she had.

  There was time to take a bath, so she did. Dumping a ton of bath salts in the water and slathering herself with body oil once she got out. Flavored as well as scented, because she knew Ty, and Ty liked to take his time. He liked to kiss her. All over.

  Then she got dressed in the outfit she’d stopped to buy on the way here, because she hadn’t wanted to keep it in her lingerie drawer at home for even a day. Bright red lace, to match her mani/pedi. She hadn’t worn red lingerie for him before; it was usually black or white. Green once, to match her eyes. Teal another time.

  The red might not go too well with her hair, she admitted, as she inspected herself in the mirror inside the bathroom door. It set off her pale skin rather well, though. And she didn’t look too bad for being several years past thirty. Her figure was still slim, even after two kids. Her breasts would never be small and firm again, but she didn’t think Ty minded. And they filled the bra cups nicely. Bigger bra cups than she’d needed the first time she’d come here. Although the red really did clash horribly with her hair...

  Then again, only Ty would ever see her. And not for long; he’d have her out of the skimpy pieces a few minutes after he arrived. Sometimes she wondered why she bothered getting dressed up for him at all, when he rarely paused to appreciate her effort before stripping her naked. But it was part of the game. Even if she really just wanted to meet him at the door in her skin.

  Maybe she’d do that next year. It’d make for an interesting change.

  Gina smiled as she curled up in the middle of the bed, remembering. They’d met here at the Piedmont eight years ago. Attending the same small business seminar. Had noticed each other right away—how could she not notice Ty?—and had connected over drinks in the bar later. Had gone up in the elevator together at the end of the night, and realized they were on the same floor. On the same side. In adjoining rooms. With a connecting door.

  She had tried to resist, she really had. She’d had a boyfriend, Ty a business he wanted to grow. Neither of them wanted it to happen, or so they said. But when the knock came on the door a little after midnight, she’d still been awake, listening to the sounds from the next room, and it hadn’t occurred to her not to open the door to him. She
’d wanted him, in a way she’d wanted no one or nothing in her life before, and God help her, she still did.

  Someone was at the door again now. Ty must have arrived while she’d been reliving the past, too caught up in the memories to notice the sounds from next door. She heard the deadbolt slide back, and the regular lock disengage. The doorknob twisted, and the door opened. And Ty stood in the opening.

  Gina scrambled to her feet, facing him.

  Damn, she looked good.

  Ty had perfect recall when it came to the way Gina had looked eight years ago, when he first laid eyes on her. Those bright green eyes and white skin and that long tangle of red-gold curls down her back, and that killer body in the short skirt and tight top she’d had on, with those long, long legs he could just imagine wrapped around his waist.

  He’d been pretty one-track minded back then. Not that he didn’t imagine those legs wrapped around his waist still.

  He’d gotten hard watching her from across the room, when he should have been listening to ways he could take his small accounting firm to the next level. Instead he’d kept an eye on his watch, counting the minutes until the lecture ended, planning what to say to begin maneuvering this woman he didn’t yet know, but wanted to know much better, into his bed.

  She’d been a knock-out eight years ago, but she was no less of one now. Stunning, wearing that low-cut bra and those barely-there panties. Crimson lace, vivid against all that pale skin. Those mile-long legs, made longer still by four inch heels. And that sheer robe, which exposed more than it concealed.

  He grinned, his body tightening in anticipation. “I like it.”

  She lowered her eyes demurely, long lashes sweeping over her cheeks. “I thought you might.”

  He moved a step closer. “Looks good on you.”

  Understatement of the century. She looked fantastic. Almost as good as she’d look naked. Under him, with her legs wrapped around his waist. And her eyes blurry as he buried himself inside her and brought her to a screaming climax.

  She took a step back. “Champagne?”

  “You ordered some?”

  “And dessert. I made sure we wouldn’t have to open the door again for the rest of the night.”

  He smiled. “Good thinking. And no, I don’t want champagne. I want you. Naked. And wet. And begging.”

  He watched as she sank her teeth into that plump bottom lip while a flush stained her cheeks. As always, it was a turn-on. After eight years of this, you’d think she’d have gotten used to the way he wanted to be inside her the moment he walked through the connecting door, but she always tried to slow things down, to make it seem she wasn’t as eager for him as he was for her.

  As if he couldn’t see right through her. Couldn’t see the way her pulse beat in the hollow at the bottom of her throat. The way her breath came fast and shallow. The way her nipples had tightened against that red lace bra, straining for his touch, his mouth.

  She moaned when he pushed the robe aside to fill his hands with her breasts. He ran his fingers over the tight lace, his thumbs rubbing the fabric covering her nipples, watching as her head fell back and that bright red hair—shorter now than when he first saw her—brushed her shoulder blades.

  “God, I want you. More and more every year.”

  His voice was thick. And he didn’t wait for an answer from her, just lowered his head to feast. Licking her through the lace, suckling, drawing one tight bud into his mouth and using his teeth to make her whimper, shudder, squirm in his arms.

  Her hand brushed against his zipper and it was his turn to groan. He’d been hard when he walked into his own room earlier, and by now he was threatening to bust a seam.

  She smiled, her hand settling, touching him through the fabric, making him suck his breath in sharply, but she didn’t offer to do anything to relieve him. She knew what he liked: knew that he’d push himself as far and as long as he could, touching her, kissing her, tormenting her, his own desire becoming sharper with every minute that passed, until she was a throbbing bundle of need in his arms, begging him to take her. When he finally buried himself inside her, they’d both go up like a house on fire.

  And then he’d start all over again.

  But for now...

  He went down on his knees in front of her, leaning forward. Breathed deeply. He could smell her arousal through the scent of vanilla and gardenia she’d rubbed into her body to keep it soft and silky for him. When he leaned forward and tasted her through the fabric, her fingers laced through his hair and tightened there, and she let out a long, tremulous sigh. He smiled.

  It had been like this the first time, too. She’d seemed so sophisticated, so confident and experienced when she’d flirted with him in the bar downstairs... but later, when he’d gotten her naked, she’d been all sweet compliance and desire and unaffected need.

  And it kept him coming back here year after year, to rediscover her and his feelings for her. He came back to lose himself in the dark sweetness of having her like this, of taking enough from these rare nights of passion to see him through another year of work, of children, of mostly good, usually rushed, rarely life-changing sex at home.

  God, he was good.

  Gina shivered as Ty tugged the snug panties down her legs, baring her cluster of tight red curls to him. To his eyes, his hands, his mouth. His tongue. Her knees buckled as he licked into her, and he laughed softly. “Sit down if you can’t take it.”

  “I can’t. You kill me. Every time...”

  “I know.” He leaned forward. Tasted her again, another slick slide of his tongue. “Me too.”

  She ran her fingers through his hair, enjoying the feel of the silky strands, still thick and healthy. “I was thinking about this... about you doing this... the whole way here.”

  “And I was thinking about doing it. Since I left home this morning. I sat in the office all day, with a perpetual hard-on.” He chuckled, glancing up at her, a flash of hot blue eyes. “Just like eight years ago. Sitting in that damn conference room downstairs, looking at you, imagining what you’d taste like. What you’d feel like when I got you naked.” He shook his head, laughing. “I couldn’t tell you a word anyone said during that class. Or in the meeting this morning. You were all I could think about. As usual.”

  He leaned forward again. Gasping, Gina fisted her hands in his hair and gave herself over.

  They didn’t leave together in the morning.

  Regina White came down first. She was wearing what she’d worn yesterday, and looked just as prim and proper as when she arrived: her make-up all in place and her hair perfectly styled, with not a wrinkle anywhere. No one who looked at her would have guessed she had just spent the night having non-stop sex with the best-looking man Elizabeth had ever seen.

  She was perfectly gracious when she checked out. Smiled and said all the right things. Yes, her room had been wonderful, thank you so much. She’d been very happy with the amenities and service. Everything had been just perfect.

  Yes, Elizabeth could just imagine.

  The wedding ring was back on Ms. White’s finger, she noticed, when Ms. White opened her wallet and paid her bill with cash. “I’d like to reserve the same room for next year. The same night.”

  “Of course.” Elizabeth made the reservation. And watched Ms. White sashay out to the BMW, pulling her suitcase behind her, without a backward glance.

  Mr. Harrison came down just a few minutes later, and if Ms. White looked polished and put together, he looked rather the worse for wear, with his rumpled hair and wrinkled shirt and general air of exhaustion. He managed another blinding smile at her, though, when he paid his bill. With cash.

  The wedding ring was back on his hand, too.

  “I’d like to reserve room 510 again a year from now, please.”

  “Yes, Mr. Harrison.” Elizabeth made the reservation.

  And then he was gone too, out the door and into the navy blue SUV waiting for him under the portico.

  Gina beat the school bus ho
me, but not her husband. His car was already parked in the driveway when she pulled up in front of the house.

  She found him in the kitchen, his head buried in the refrigerator. No doubt he was looking for a quick pick-me-up. She wouldn’t mind a snack herself, after the night she’d had.

  “Hi, honey.” She parked the rolling suitcase beside the kitchen table. “I’m home.”

  He straightened. Closed the refrigerator door, with its kindergarten drawings and second grade progress reports. “So I see.” His eyes wandered over her, taking in her prim suit, her innocent eyes, her sweet smile. “Good trip?”

  “Wonderful. You?”

  “Couldn’t have been better.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  His smile widened. “I think maybe the new desk clerk got the wrong impression.”

  She grinned back. “She did look disapproving, didn’t she?”

  He leaned back against the counter, the collar of the white shirt unbuttoned and the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. “It’s the names. You should have taken mine when we got married.”

  “I had a business and a reputation up and running in my own name. And I think it’s the wedding rings, anyway. She was staring at mine. Or rather she wasn’t, because it wasn’t there.”

  “Probably thought we were cheating on each other.” He chuckled.

  She laughed, too. “With each other.”

  His eyes were warm. “I love you, Gina.”

  She smiled. Walked over to kiss him. Softly, sweetly. “I love you too, Ty. Always have, always will.”

  His arms came around her, pulled her closer. “It was a good night, wasn’t it?”

  She snuggled in, put her head on his shoulder. “It was fantastic. Just like every year.”

  “But it’s good to be home.”

  She nodded. “Yes, it is.”

  His hands wandered south. “Think we have time for a quickie before the school bus gets here? Been a while since we used the kitchen counter for anything but cooking.”

  Gina smiled against his shirt. “I doubt it. I passed the bus on the next street coming home. In fact...”