Читать книгу It Started With One Night - Miranda Lee - Страница 10

THE Regency Hotel—recently renamed the Regency Royale by Max—was situated towards the northern end of the city centre, not far from Circular Quay. Touted as one of Sydney’s plushest hotels, it had a décor to suit its name. Guests could be forgiven for thinking they’d stepped back in time once they entered the reception area of the Regency, with its wood-panelled walls, velvet-covered couches and huge crystal chandeliers.

The arcade which connected the entrance of the hotel to the lobby proper was just as lavish, also resonant of England in past times, with its intricately tiled floor and stained-glass ceiling. The boutiques and bars which lined the arcade reflected a similar sense of period style and grace.

Max had once told Tara that was why he’d bought the Regency. Because of its period look.

The Royale chain specialised in hotels which weren’t modern-looking in design or décor. Because modern, Max told her, always eventually dated. History and grandeur were what he looked for in a hotel.

Tara had to agree that this made sound business sense. Of all the hotels in Sydney, the Regency Royale stood out for its style and good, old-fashioned service. But it was the look of the place which captivated guests. The day she came here for her interview at Whitmore Opals eighteen months ago, she’d spent a good while walking around the place, both amazed and admiring.

Today, however, as Max ushered her along the arcade past her place of employment, her focus was on anything but the hotel. Her thoughts were entirely on the man whose hand was clamped firmly around her elbow, and on the state of almost desperate desire he’d reduced her to.

Never, in the twelve months they’d been seeing each other, had she experienced anything quite like this. She’d always been happy for Max to make love to her. But never had she wanted him this badly.

‘Afternoon, Mr Richmond,’ a security guard greeted as he walked towards them.

‘Afternoon, Jack,’ Max replied, and actually stopped to talk to the man whilst Tara clenched her teeth in her jaw.

It was probably only a minute before they moved on but it felt like an eternity.

‘Glad to see you again, Mr Richmond,’ another employee chirped after a few more metres.

‘Same here, Warren.’

This time Max didn’t stop, thank goodness. Tara smothered a sigh of relief, even happier when Max bypassed the reception desk and headed straight for the lifts. Not that he needed to book in, for heaven’s sake. But Max was a hands-on hotel owner who liked to be kept informed over the ins and outs of everything. He usually stopped by Reception for a brief chat on arrival.

In the past, Tara hadn’t minded his stopping to talk to his employees. She’d always admired the way Max knew every employee by their first name, from the valet-parking attendants to the managers.

Today, however, she was extremely irritated by the delays. Which wasn’t like her at all.

The alcove which housed the lifts was not empty. A man in his forties, and presumably his wife, were standing there, waiting for a lift. They didn’t look like tourists. Or members of Sydney’s élite. Their clothes and faces betrayed them as working-class Australians, perhaps staying here in Sydney’s flashest hotel for some special event, or occasion.

‘I will never stay in this hotel again,’ the man grumbled. ‘I’d go somewhere right now if it didn’t mean losing my deposit. I couldn’t believe that girl, insisting that I hadn’t booked a harbour-view room. As if I would bring you here for our silver anniversary and not get the very best room I could afford.’

‘It doesn’t matter, Tom,’ the wife placated. ‘I’m sure all the rooms here are lovely.’

‘That’s not the point. It’s the principle of the thing. And that girl behind the desk was quite rude, I thought.’

‘Not really,’ the woman said with a nervous glance towards Max and Tara. ‘It was just a mix-up. These things happen. Let’s try not to let it spoil our night.’

Tara smothered a groan when she felt Max’s fingertips tighten around her elbow. She knew, as she glanced up at his tightly drawn face, that he was going to do something about this situation.

‘Excuse me, sir,’ he said, just as the lift doors opened. ‘But I couldn’t help overhearing. I’m Max Richmond, the owner of this hotel. If you’ll allow me, I’d like to accompany you back to Reception, where I will sort this out to your satisfaction.’

‘Max,’ Tara whispered urgently.

‘You go on, darling,’ he said. ‘I’ll be up as quick as I can. Slip into something more comfortable,’ he murmured as he pecked her on the cheek.

Tara stared after him as he led the awestruck couple away, struggling to contain her bitter disappointment and understand that of course, he couldn’t have done anything else. Not her Max. Hadn’t she tried to tell her mother what a good man he was?

But did he have to be good right at this moment? She would have much preferred him to be bad. Very bad.

Again, Tara was amazed by the intensity of her craving, her sudden wish for Max to make love to her not quite so tenderly as he usually did. Maybe Max had been right after all. Maybe she had dressed as she had today to tease and arouse him. Yet her clothes weren’t all that different from what she usually wore. This change seemed to be coming from inside her.

Now that she came to think of it, she felt more aware of her body than usual today. Her breasts. Her nipples. Her belly. She craved to have them stroked, and licked, and kissed. She craved…oh, she wasn’t sure what she craved. She just craved.

Agitated, Tara fished her keycard out of her bag and hurried into the lift before anyone else could come along. She wanted to be alone with her frustrations, and her bewilderment.

But she wasn’t alone in the lift. She had company. Herself, in the reflection she made in the mirrored section of the walls. Was that her, the creature looking back at her with dilated green eyes and flushed cheeks?

Yes. That was her. Tara, the suddenly sex-mad tart.

Shaking her head at herself, Tara dropped her gaze to the floor for the ride up, determined not to look up into those knowing mirrors till the lift doors opened.

The mirrors were actually a new addition, Max having had the lifts recently renovated in keeping with the rest of the hotel. The floor she was staring down at was now covered in thick red carpet which ran up the walls to waist height, at which point the mirrors took over.

Tara knew without glancing up that the ceiling overhead shone like gold. Probably not in real gold but the effect was the same. Recessed lighting was the only visible concession to the twenty-first century, along with the tiny and very discreet cameras situated in the corners.

Tight security was a must in the Regency Royale, its guest list ranging from pop stars to presidents, with the occasional prince thrown in for good measure. There was even a heliport on top of the building so that these more esteemed guests could arrive and leave with less drama and more safety. Nevertheless, Max only allowed a few helicopter movements each week, partly because of local-authority restrictions but mostly because he couldn’t stand the noise himself. His penthouse apartment occupied the floor just below the heliport.

Everything was deathly quiet, however, when Tara emerged from the lift into the spacious lobby which led to the penthouse door. She used another passkey to let herself inside, where it was almost as quiet, just a small humming sound from the air-conditioning which kept all the rooms at a steady twenty-four degrees Celsius, regardless of the temperature outside.

The perfect temperature for lovers and lovemaking, came the immediate thought. For being naked and walking around naked.

This last thought startled Tara. Because that was one thing she never did. Walked around naked. The idea was theoretically exciting, but the reality made her cringe. She would feel embarrassed, and awkward.

Or would she?

Tara knew she looked good in the buff. Certainly better than most girls, though she couldn’t claim this was due to any hard work on her part. Mother nature had just been kind to her. Tara suspected Max wouldn’t have minded if she’d been a little less shy. He was always asking her to join him in the shower and she always refused.

Maybe this weekend might be a good place to try to overcome that particular hang-up. She doubted she would ever feel as wicked, or as driven, as she did at this moment. She could not wait to get her hands on Max. The thought of washing him all over in the shower was not unattractive, just a bit daunting.

A shudder ran through her. She would think about that later. There were other things she had to do first, such as whip around and turn some lamps on.

Max loved lamp-light, and whilst it was still bright and sunny outside—the sun wouldn’t set for hours—the inside of Max’s penthouse always required some lighting. Mostly this was due to the wraparound terraces and the wide eaves. On top of that, the décor of the penthouse was very much in keeping with the décor of the hotel, which meant it wasn’t madly modern like some penthouses, with great open-plan living areas and huge plate-glass windows.

The décor was still period, with wallpapered walls and rich carpets on the floors. French doors lead out onto the balconies and heavy silk curtains draped over the windows. The furniture was all antique. Warm woods covered in velvet or brocade in rich colours. It was like an Edwardian English mansion set up in the sky. As big as a mansion too, with formal lounge and dining rooms, four bedrooms, three bathrooms, a study, a library, a billiard room, along with a large kitchen, laundry and utility rooms.

Everything was exquisite and very expensive.

Tara hadn’t realised the size or extravagance of the place on the first night she’d spent with Max. She’d been overwhelmed by the events and the experience, rather than her surroundings. But the following morning, she’d soon been confronted by the extreme wealth of the man who’d just become her first lover. Initially, she’d been dumbstruck, then totally convinced that he would only want a girl like her for a one-night stand.

But Max had reassured her for the rest of that incredible weekend that a casual encounter was not what he wanted from her at all. Tara recalled thinking at the time that she had found nothing casual in letting him take her virginity less than three hours after she’d first set eyes on him. If she hadn’t known she’d fallen instantly and deeply in love with the man, she would have been disgusted with herself.

Naturally, she’d been thrilled that he found her as special as she found him, and here she was, one year later, with her own private key, getting things ready for her man in the way that women in love had done so for centuries. If it fleetingly crossed Tara’s mind that her role in her lover’s life was more like a mistress than a real girlfriend, she dismissed it with the added thought that it wouldn’t always be like this. One day, things would change. Max would have more time for her. Till then, she aimed to enjoy the time with him she did have and that part of him which was solely hers.

At least, she hoped it was solely hers.

Yes, of course it was. Her mother was wrong about that, as she was wrong about Max all round. The man who was at this moment doing nice things for that couple downstairs was not the kind of man to be unfaithful, or a callous user. She really had to stop letting her mother undermine her faith in Max, or spoil what promised to be a very exciting night.

With a defiant toss of her head, Tara turned and hurried down the plushly carpeted corridor which led to Max’s personal quarters, fiercely aware that the last few minutes away from Max’s rousing presence hadn’t dampened her desires in the slightest. In fact, having sex with Max was all she could think about at that moment, which was not her usual priority when Max came home these days. Mostly, she just wanted to spend time with the man she loved. His lovemaking, though wonderful, was more of a bonus than the be-all and end-all.

Today, it was not only top priority, but close to becoming an emergency!

It was Max’s fault, she decided as she swept into the bedroom and starting fumbling with the tiny pearl buttons of her pink shirt. The way he’d looked at her at the airport. The things he’d said about her clothes. That kiss, and then his threat to ravage her on the back seat of the car.

Tara finally stripped off her blouse then kicked off her shoes.

‘My screw-me shoes,’ she said with a wicked little laugh as she bent to pick them up, carrying the shirt and the shoes into the adjoining dressing room, where she’d put her bag earlier on. There, she stripped off her jeans and undies, stuffing them into the bag’s side-pocket for later washing. The shirt she hung up in her section of the walk-in wardrobe. The shoes she put into the special shoe rack before running her eyes along the clothes she kept at Max’s place, looking for something more comfortable to slip into.

Her mother’s kept-woman tag flashed into her mind at the sight of so many designer evening gowns, all paid for by Max, each worn to one of the many swanky dos Max had taken her to during the first few months of their relationship. Dinner parties at the homes of top politicians. Gala openings at the opera house. Art exhibitions. Balls. The races.

You name it, she’d been there on Max’s arm.

Actually, she had objected the first time he’d suggested buying her a designer dress. But he’d swept aside her possibly feeble protest with what had seemed like acceptable reasoning.

He could well afford it, he’d pronounced. But possibly his most persuasive argument of all was that it gave him great pleasure to see his gorgeous girlfriend in clothes befitting her beauty.

How could she possibly say no?

The lingerie, Tara realised as her eyes shifted further along the rack, had been more recent gifts, brought home from Max’s more frequent trips overseas. She had negligee sets from Paris, London, Rome, New York.

These were all she seemed to wear for him these days, now that she came to think of it. Max hadn’t taken her outside the door of this penthouse for some time. No doubt he wouldn’t this evening either.

‘Good!’ she pronounced aloud with a dizzying rush of excitement, and pulled out a green satin wrap which she knew complemented her fair colouring and green eyes. The matching nightgown she left on the hanger. No point in wearing too much.

Tossing the wrap over her arm, she headed for the bathroom and was about to have a quick shower before Max arrived when she remembered she hadn’t put her pills and her mobile phone on the bedside chest as she usually did. Dashing back to the dressing room, she retrieved the items from her bag and bolted into the bedroom to do just that. Then she stopped to quickly turn the bedclothes back before glancing around to see that everything was ready for a romantic interlude.

Not that Max’s bedroom needed anything to enhance its already romantic décor. Everything about it was rich and sensual. The soft gold carpet was extra thick and the gold-embossed cream wallpaper extra rich, both perfect foils for the dark mahogany wood used in all the elegant furniture. The four-poster bed. The bedside chests. The dressing table and matching stool. The cheval mirror that stood in one corner and the wingbacked chairs that occupied the other corners.

The soft furnishings were rich and sensual-looking as well, all made in a satin-backed brocade which carried a gold fleur-de-lis design over an olive-green background. A huge crystal and brass chandelier hung from the centre of the ceiling, but there were also several dainty crystal wall lights dotted around the room.

Tara loved it when it was dark and all the lights were turned off except those. The room took on a magical glow which was so romantic. Much better than the bedside lamps which she thought threw too much light onto the bed. And them.

Of course, the pièce de résistance in Max’s bedroom was the four-poster bed. Huge, it was, with great carved posts and bedhead. The canopy above was made of the same material as all the other soft furnishings, draped around the edges and trimmed with a gold fringe. There were side-curtains, which theoretically could be drawn to surround the bed, but were always kept pulled back and secured to the bedposts with gold tasselled cords.

Tara ran her fingers idly through one of the tassels and wondered what it would be like to be in bed with Max with the curtains drawn.

‘What are you thinking now?’

‘Oh!’ Tara gasped, whirling to find Max standing in the doorway of the bedroom, staring at her with coldly glittering eyes.

‘I…I didn’t hear you come in,’ she babbled, her heart pounding madly as she tried to cover herself with her hands.

With a sigh Max stalked into the room, his face now showing exasperation. ‘Don’t you think we’ve gone past that, Tara? I mean, I do know what you look like naked. Surely you must know that I’d like it if you walked around in front of me nude,’ he finished as he took off his jacket and threw it onto the nearest chair.

She just stared at him, her heartbeat almost in suspension. But her mind was racing. Yes, yes, it was saying. I’d like to do that, too. Truly. I just can’t seem to find the courage.

‘And there I was,’ he muttered as he yanked his tie off, ‘thinking today that you might have finally decided you wanted more than for me to make love to you under the covers with the lights turned down.

‘It’s all right,’ he added a bit wearily when she remained frozen and tongue-tied. ‘I understand. You’re shy. Though heaven knows why. You have the most beautiful body God ever gave to a woman. And you’re passionate enough, between the sheets.’

Turning away from her, he tossed the tie on top of the jacket then started undoing the buttons on his shirt.

‘Go and put something on,’ he bit out, not looking at her. ‘If you must.’

Tara dashed into the bathroom and shakily pulled on the green wrap, hating herself for feeling relieved. When she finally returned to the bedroom, Max was sitting on the foot of the bed, taking off his shoes and socks. His shirt was hanging open, but he hadn’t taken it off.

Tara’s heart sank. Did he think she was that modest? She loved his chest, with its broad shoulders, wonderfully toned muscles and smattering of curls.

‘Did…did you fix up things for those people?’ she asked somewhat sheepishly.

‘Naturally,’ he replied without looking up at her. ‘I had them moved into one of the honeymoon suites, on the house. And I told them they could have a free harbour-view room for their anniversary next year.’

‘Oh, Max, that was generous of you. And very smart. That man would have bad-mouthed the hotel for years, you know. To anyone who would listen. Now he’ll say nothing but good things. People love getting something for free. I know I do. I can never resist those buy-one, get one-free promotions.’

‘Really?’ He finally looked up, but his clouded eyes indicated that he was suddenly off in another world. Max did that sometimes. Tara knew better than to ask him what he was thinking about. Whenever she did, he always said ‘nothing important’.

‘So which honeymoon suite are they in?’ she asked instead. The hotel was famous for its four themed honeymoon suites, which Tara knew cost a bomb to stay in. Bookings showed that the Arabian Nights suite was the most popular, followed by the Naughty Nautical suite, the French Bordello suite and, lastly, the Tropical Paradise suite.

‘What? Oh, there was only the one available tonight. The French Bordello. Mr Travis seemed tickled pink. Can’t say the same for Mrs Travis. She seemed a little nervous. Maybe she’s on the shy side. Like you.’

‘I’m not all that shy,’ Tara dared to say at last.

Max darted her a dry look.

‘All right, I am, a bit,’ she went on, swallowing when he stood up and started undoing his trouser belt.

The prospect of watching him strip down to total nakedness before he’d even kissed her was definitely daunting. But at the same time she wanted him to, wanted him to do what she wasn’t bold enough to do, wanted him to force her to stop being so silly.

‘Don’t panic,’ he said drily and, whipping out his belt, deposited it with his other clothes. ‘I won’t take anything more off. I’m going to have a shower, and when I come out I’ll be wearing my bathrobe. Meantime, why don’t you order us something from Room Service? I don’t know about you but I’m starving. I nodded off on the plane so I didn’t get to eat anything. I’ve made us a booking for dinner at eight but that’s hours away.’

‘We’re going out to dinner?’ Tara said, taken aback.

‘I’ve only booked the restaurant here in the hotel. Is that all right with you?’

‘Oh, yes. I love going to dinner with you there. It’s just that…well, the last couple of times you’ve come home, we’ve eaten in.’

‘Yes, I know. And I’m sorry. That was selfish of me. But, as I said earlier, you’re a different girl between the sheets, so I try to keep you there as long as possible.’

She blushed. ‘Don’t make fun of me, Max.’

He groaned and walked round to draw her into his arms. ‘I’m not making fun of you, princess. I would never do that. You’re you and I love you just the way you are.’

‘Kiss me, Max,’ she said quite fiercely.

His eyes searched hers. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea. Not yet.’

‘But I can’t wait any longer!’

‘You can’t wait. Hell, Tara, what is it with you today? Are you punishing me for neglecting you lately?’

‘I just want you to kiss me. No, I need you to kiss me.’

With a groan, he kissed her. Then he kissed her some more, till her knees went to water and she was clinging to him for dear life. When he swept her up and dropped her less than gently onto the bed, Tara made no protest. Neither did she turn her eyes away whilst he started ripping off the rest of his clothes.

She wanted to look. Wanted to see him wanting her.

Her breath caught at the extent of his desire.

He loomed over her, tugging the sash of her robe undone, throwing the sides back to bare her body to his blazing eyes.

For what felt like an eternity, he drank her in, leaving her breathless and blushing. Then, with a few more savage yanks, the satin robe joined his clothes on the floor.

There was no tender foreplay. No gentle kisses all over. Just immediate sex. Rough and raw. Maybe not quite ravagement but close to.

And oh, how she thrilled to the primitive urgency of his passion. And to her own.

She splintered apart in no time, rocked by the force of her orgasm, overwhelmed by the experience, and by a degree of emotional confusion.

As the last spasm died away, a huge wave of exhaustion flooded Tara’s body, her limbs growing as heavy as her eyelids. She could not keep them open. She could not stay awake. With a sigh, she sank into the abyss of sleep.