The valet nods, “Yes, sir.”
Hemi comes to my side and puts his hand at my lower back. “Shall we?” he says with a practiced sweep of his hand.
I narrow my eyes on him. “You’re really good at this,” I observe. “Like, really good at this.”
His expression is nonchalant. “I watch a lot of Bond movies.”
He opens the door for me and I step into a luxurious lobby. The hardwoods are the color of coffee and the furnishings look like a mixture of French and Italian antiques. I could be wrong. What the hell do I know about decorating, other than what I’ve seen on HGTV? Very little. But whatever it is, it’s breathtaking.
Several people nod at us as we make our way through to the elevator. I’m glad I had the time to pull on my shorts over my bottoms, and that the cover up I brought can function as a shirt. It by no means makes me look like I fit in here, but at least I don’t feel like Julia Roberts walking through the Regent Beverly Wilshire.
We take the elevator up to our floor. The doors open with an expensive swoosh and usher us out into an elegant hallway. Hemi turns left, so I follow. He stops four doors down and slides a card into the slot below the knob. A green light appears and is followed by a mechanical click. Hemi pushes the door open and steps back to allow me to enter first.
The room is opulent. That’s the first word that comes to mind. The thick carpet is taupe, a few shades lighter than the walls. There are splashes of color—a chocolate mink throw, pillows of red and furniture of mahogany—but the bed is done in white—white duvet, white pillows, white headboard. All in all, it’s stunning.
“Well,” I say as I perch carefully on the end of the bed, “I don’t guess I need to ask if tattooing pays well.”
Hemi ignores me as he walks straight to the bathroom. “Which side do you sleep on?” he asks when he reappears with an armful of towels and washcloths.
My mind stalls on his question. It’s then that it occurs to me that there’s one bed. One big, beautiful, luxurious bed. And two of us.
“Umm, it doesn’t really matter. I can—”
“It’s not a trick question, Sloane,” he says, softening his words with a small smile. “I just need to know which side to put all this stuff on.”
“This side,” I say patting the bed to my left.
“Those shorts need to come off,” he says casually, giving me a little chill. “Then pull back the covers and lie down,” he orders, depositing his load on the opposite side.
I do as he asks. As I’m stretching out, I feel the need to be accommodating. “Hemi, I can seriously sleep on either side. Really, it won’t bother me if you need to sleep over here.”
“It won’t matter. I don’t sleep in the same bed as anyone else, so I’m not planning on getting much shut-eye.”
“You don’t?”
“No.”
“Ever?”
“No.”
“Wh-why not? I mean…”
He looks up at me and grins as he folds two towels length-wise. “You mean, I’m a guy. I must sleep around. Therefore I should be able to sleep on either side of a bed, next to virtually anybody, right?”
“That’s not what I—”
“Of course it is,” he interrupts. “But you’re wrong. The women that…occupy my space know to be gone before I get out of the bathroom. I’m not really a…breakfast kind of guy.”
“Oh,” I say flatly. I don’t suppose I’m really surprised. He doesn’t seem like the let’s-make-love-and-cuddle type. But, then again, I wouldn’t have imagined he’d be so…cold either. “Have you never… I mean…”
“Not in a long, long time,” he says, arranging the towels under my leg then taking a washcloth in his hand and dousing it with the vinegar he got from the convenience store. He presses the saturated cloth to the angry red streaks and dots on my right thigh. “You’re technically supposed to soak it, but that’ll be hard to do considering where it’s at. Plus, we’d need a lot more vinegar to fill the tub. So this’ll have to do.”
After he presses the compress to my leg, he backs off and crosses to the desk. He returns with a leather-bound book.
“Where did you learn all this?”
Hemi shrugs, his attention on whatever he’s reading rather than me. “I spent a lot of time at the beach as a kid. Picked up a few things here and there.” I don’t know if he’s purposely trying to change the subject or if he’s just not that into it, but either way, he changes it. “You hungry? I say we order some room service for the impaired.”
“I’m not impaired!”
“Oh, sorry. ‘Challenged’,” he says, holding up his fingers in air quotes.
“I’m not challenged either! I can get up and go to dinner just fine. Don’t let me hold you back.”
“You’re not holding me back. I’m stuck in a quiet hotel room with a woman in a bikini. How is this holding me back?”
I can’t help but smile.
“I’m sure it’s hardly what you had in mind for the day.”
“Oh, I can definitely think of worse ways for a day at the beach to turn out.” His grin is lascivious.
I sit upright. “Oh, shit! Were you supposed to work tonight? I didn’t even think about that when I called home. Will you get in trouble?”
“Calm down, calm down,” he says, scooting onto the bed beside me. “I already took care of it.”
“God, I hate to be such a pain in the ass.”
“Wellll, I wasn’t gonna say anything, but…”
I grab a pillow and lob it against his head. Hemi laughs.
********
My belly is full and it’s long past dark outside. After reapplying vinegar compresses to my leg for a while, Hemi made some kind of nasty paste out of baking soda and water and slathered it on there. Even though I can’t really do much with all that goo on my leg, I must admit that the sting does feel better.
Hemi gets up from where he was reclining on the other side of the bed. “Mind if I take a shower? Get all this sand and saltwater off me?”
“No, not at all.”
“You can take one in the morning, but for tonight, you probably ought to stay out of hot, fresh water as much as you can.”
“Okay. I’ll be fine until morning.”
Hemi heads for the bathroom, pushing the door up, but not closing it completely. I’m sure it’s so he can hear me if I need anything. Or to torture me. I can see him doing either one intentionally. He’s a compelling, charismatic bundle of contradictions, I’m learning.