What She Needs - Lacey Alexander [27]
She couldn’t deny having enjoyed last night—although enjoyed was a mild way to put it. She’d never had sex like that before, sex so utterly steamy and mind-numbing. And what she’d admitted afterward was true—the stark intimacy had made her comfortable with him. And he was undeniably a sex god in the flesh—the most gorgeous man to ever look her way. So . . . maybe the whole reason she’d begun entertaining the notion of going through with the fantasies was simply . . . because she wanted to be with him again. And that had seemed like the only way.
Well, if that was the case, all the more reason to write that note and put an end to this once and for all. She couldn’t have sex with God knew how many people just because she might have gotten a little attached to Brent Powers last night. The very idea sounded insanely . . . destructive. And this just proved her point anyway—she wasn’t cut out for casual sex; she couldn’t take it casually.
So even if she might risk losing out on some perfect beach fantasy with her perfect, hunky fantasy guy—too bad. No more sex for her at the Hotel Erotique.
She’d just reopened her book, finally ready to resume being normal Jenna, when her waiter returned, colorful umbrella drink in hand.
“Here you go,” he said with a grin.
Before she could take it from him, a large drop of moisture dripped from the glass to plop wetly on the exposed ridge of her breast, making her flinch from the cold.
“Oops, sorry.”
“No biggie,” she assured Ryan, taking the drink from him. “I was kind of hot anyway.”
“You can say that again,” he replied with another sexy wink. “Anything else you need? Just say the word and I’m your guy.”
She swallowed. At the compliment and that word again—need. It was everywhere lately, it seemed. Was there anything else she needed?
A strange, reckless part of her was almost tempted to ask him if he ever took part in guests’ fantasies—but then she came back to her senses, despite the wetness now also surging between her thighs. “I’m good for now, thanks,” she finally replied.
And as he walked away, she promised herself she’d stay good. She really didn’t need anything here, no matter what Brent Powers said.
After a light lunch on the beach—courtesy of cute jock waiter Ryan—Jenna made her way back to her lavish room ahead of her self-imposed one o’clock deadline. She spent the walk back composing her note to Brent in her head and keeping an eye out for any random sexual activity she might spot from the path along the way. She saw nothing, but as usual, her chest still tightened and something in her sizzled when she wondered what sorts of naughty activities might be taking place all around her.
She dug her room key from her straw beach bag, thinking: All right, get in the room, find some paper, write the letter, then head back to the beach—dropping the note at the front desk on the way, with strict instructions that it must be delivered to Brent Powers immediately.
Then she pushed through the door and—oh, hell. Damn it. He’d already been here. Or someone had anyway—and not just the maid. A pink envelope sat atop the freshly made bed, and next to it rested a small pink shopping bag with pink tissue paper billowing up from inside.
Of course, she could just ignore that and write her letter as planned.
But curiosity quickly got the best of her. If the letter and bag contained information about the first fantasy he’d designed for her, how could she not at least look? Because how often did she end up at a sex resort, of all places? Even if she wasn’t into it, it still drew her attention in that morbid fashion, like a wreck on the highway: She expected to be horrified by what she saw, but still she had to peek. And unlike a wreck on the highway, this would actually serve a purpose, surely shoring up her decision not to ride the Hotel Erotique