Chapter 17
Sleepless in Muskoka
Scene 1
"That went well." Mickey slammed a palm against the polished brass elevator doors.
Rachel's heart squeezed in sympathy. She tentatively laid a consoling hand on his strong back. "Garth will come around. He's desperately in love. Eventually he'll listen to reason. It's obvious to the rest of us that Tiffany will create chaos on any film set until she dries out."
He turned to face her. "As it stands, he's hell-bent on finding out the hard way," he predicted with a sorrowful droop to his fine mouth. A gaggle of chattering guests exited the ballroom and approached the elevator. The party seemed to be breaking up. "Let's discuss this in private." Stiff with repressed agitation, Mickey stalked along the corridor to his room a few doors past the elevator.
Rachel hesitated for a fraction of a second to sweep the area for staff witnesses before throwing caution to the wind. Mickey needed comforting, and she was on it like a hot dog on a grill. Sssssst. Sizzle, sizzle.
Mickey slid his key card into the slot and held the door for her to enter. The evening chambermaid had drawn the curtains and turned down the summer weight duvet on the king-sized bed. Soft pools of light from the lamps on the night tables illuminated the stage for a romantic tryst. But Mickey threw his jacket over a chair, sat on the end of the bed and slumped forward, dark head bowed over knees.
Rachel kicked off the instruments of torture, perched beside him and sidled close until their shoulders brushed. "If it's the right decision, why are you upset?"
He paused, as if debating internally whether to confide in her, a relative stranger. She draped a consoling arm across his shoulders, and he leaned in, sighed.
In a voice rough with emotion, he finally replied, "In my opinion, Tiffany's only hope is to find the courage to face her demons and save herself. Garth believes he can rescue her, like some medieval knight in shining armor. Too bad my decision apparently cost me a friend."
From her observation that weekend, Mickey had a long term relationship with the Armstrong men solid enough to weather a tiff about Tiff. There had to be more explanation for his distress. "Meanwhile..." she encouraged.
"Meanwhile I don't have the star power signed to be able to afford the lease on an office suite for my own agency. The deadline is Monday."
"So the downside is that you can't launch your agency yet? Isn't Hollywood awash in talented starlets? There'll be other actors and other vacant offices for rent."
He stared at the carpet, unconvinced that his agency had a future.
She recalled the harsh words exchanged at the elevator. "You're worried about your friendship with Garth," she intuited. "He's been your friend forever and is clearly a super intelligent guy. Due to all the messy wedding drama he's not thinking straight. He'll figure out what's best for Tiffany."
At that Mickey rallied, straightened, and hugged her close. "You're absolutely right. Pheromones addled his brain, that's all," he said into her hair. "I'm being an idiot." He attempted a chuckle.
"He'll come to his senses and realize your intent is to protect Tiffany's career. I believe you made the right choice."
Rachel was a practical girl. She of all people understood a decision, either way, had consequences for the other party. Selling photos to the media was right for her career but would've resulted in hurting Halden and his family. Not selling them derailed her chance for a Hollywood career. That being said, ethically she'd made the correct decision and could sleep at night. Ditto for Mickey.
However she had no intention of letting him sleep just yet. Mickey needed a distraction from his problems, and she needed, well... Mickey. Tomorrow she'd return to scrubbing floors. Tomorrow he'd fly home to Tinseltown.
Tonight was theirs.
Her bare feet sank into the thick wool carpet as she padded over to the door to securely lock it. "Earlier you promised that my wish is your command for the rest of the evening. This is the rest of the evening."
His lips quirked. "And what is your command, milady?"
It'd been a tough day, for both of them. The hormone buzz from dancing close combined with the stresses of the day begged for release. And she had one sure-fire stress-busting activity in mind. Heat suffused her cheeks. Never in the years of cleaning rooms had she been tempted to so much as nudge a toe against the line separating the staff from the wealthy guests.
Until now.
In the staff dining room they'd call her nuts to risk her job, heartache, everything for one night of love-making with this handsome Hollywood agent so out of her league.
She didn't care. She had a heart filled to bursting with stardust passion for Mickey.
One night.
Rachel wedged her legs between his spread knees and began to unbutton his formal striped vest. "You. Me." She angled her head at the vast bed. "In there."
Mickey dark eyes lit up. "I thought you'd never ask." He stood. His arms circled her ribcage, coaxed her pelvis to contact his. A bulge confirmed his interest.
"Normally I'm not this bold," she admitted. "But time isn't my ally." Her shift began at eight a.m., leaving only nine hours to spend with Mickey. Precious hours that had to sustain her for the rest of her life. When the panels of the vest swung apart, she tackled the shirt buttons.
Mickey slid his hands down her hips and around to grip her butt. He leaned in to press urgent lips on hers. His rapid breaths cooled her cheeks as he murmured, "I intend to demonstrate how I feel about you. It'll take hours." He dropped feathery kisses along her chin and down the side of her neck. He thumbed a nipple through chiffon fabric, sending a delicious tingle to her center.
"Promises." She laughed, familiar with men's exaggerated assurances of sexual prowess. She held no expectations, merely coveted the intimacy of being together, of pleasing him.
Her two former boyfriends zipped around the bases in no time flat before sliding home. In fifteen minutes they were done, her own occasional orgasm a lovely but rare bonus. On the nights she slept over at their apartments, one always fell asleep immediately. The other propped himself up on pillows and watched Saturday Night Live or his favorite late night talk shows. She may as well have been invisible. She'd dated each man for several months before breaking up, vaguely dissatisfied, irrationally wanting to be important to a man. And yet who was she?
A nobody.
Mickey pulled the zipper down the back of her dress. The fabric slid down her body, exposing her oh-so-small breasts to the conditioned air. She shivered. Her nipples budded.
Go big or go home.
Rachel slipped off her panties, squeezed her eyes tight, and boldly offered Mickey a frontal view of her nude body in the flattering glow of bedside lamps.
Noisy breathing signaled activity. She opened one eye to see if he'd reached for the TV remote.
"You are so beautiful. Give me a second." Without taking his eyes off her, Mickey slung his belt onto the deep armchair, followed by his vest, shirt, trousers and socks. "I'll be right there. Don't move."
Clad only in boxers, Mickey hastened over to a leather carry-on bag perched on a luggage stand and rummaged in it for condoms.
A bundle of nerves, Rachel folded her discarded clothing and piled on top her master key card and the French lace wedding favor bag filled with mints that had fallen out of the bodice.
She tugged smooth the thin duvet and was nervously fluffing a down pillow when Mickey threw a handful of condoms packages on the night table, wrapped muscled forearms around her waist and nuzzled the back of her neck. "You do that like a pro."
Little did he know!
She swiveled in the circle of his arms and flattened callused palms on firm pecs. Dark hair tickled her fingers. His heart thumped madly under warm skin. "Mick, I'm nervous. "I've never done anything like this before."
He put a slight distance between them to stare into her eyes with consternation. "You're a virgin?"
She snorted. "Oh, no. That's not what I meant to say." She struggled for the right words, finally blurting the truth. "I've never had a one-night stand in a hotel room."
"The way I see it, one night won't be enough. Unfortunately I have a plane to catch tomorrow afternoon." His mouth twisted in a rueful grimace.
The verbal acknowledgment of his departure arrowed her heart. I'm wasting precious minutes. She thrust her hands against tight six pack abs and toppled them both on to the bed. "Show me how a Hollywood agent from Wisconsin makes love."
"Are you sure?" he mumbled against her lips.
In answer, she slid one hand inside his boxer shorts. Eros, God of Love! Warmth pooled in tingling girl parts at the substantial proof he wanted her. "Yeah, I'm sure."
Outside thunder rumbled far down Lake Muskoka.
Mickey flipped her on her back, nudged one thigh between hers. Resting on one forearm, he explored her body with gentle sweeps of a free hand. Softly, slowly, as if caressing a precious object and not her skinny frame, his lips and fingers stroked her skin for endless minutes. Sensitivity built, every drifting movement over nerve endings contributing to the urgency pooling in her breasts and groin.
Her fingers reached for his throbbing member, so granite hard. So ready for her. She attempted to shift to accommodate him.
He pressed her back into the soft bedding. "Not yet." Pinning her arms to the bed, he lowered his mouth to her inner folds.
Oh my gods! She'd read about men who did the woman first but believed it never happened in real life. Then her mind blanked at the delicate touch of a firm, wet tongue on her engorged nub. His tongue lapped and her back involuntarily arched.
Can this be happening to me?
Then he thrust his firm, thick tongue straight down the tunnel of love, sliding, retreating, licking the swollen nub, squeezing her butt with strong fingers to align her pelvis for better access. Her breasts pointed to the heavens. Her hands flattened the pristine duvet.
Every flick of his tongue ramped up the sensations in her wiring. Never, ever had she been so... so charged. This desperate for penetration. For release.
She writhed on the king bed. Her boneless limbs flung spread-eagled, fingers scrunching the eight hundred thread duvet cover into a thousand wrinkles. Nothing existed but the exquisite tingles firing her crotch.
"Mickey, I want you. Now."
He ignored her entreaties, his busy tongue fondling the C spot, circling the nub with agonizingly deliberate movements, taking his time. His finger found the G spot she'd only ever read about. Gods almighty, this guy'd mastered the entire alphabet.
The exquisite pressure built Mount Vesuvius high.
Thunder rolled in from the lake, drowning her mewling cries. "I'm gonna burst into a million pieces. Get inside me," she begged.
He came up for breath, then dove back inside, thrusting, licking, sucking, purposely driving her utterly insane with need.
One final expert manipulation of tongue and finger ignited a release that convulsed her entire body in wave after wave of brilliant, sustained sensation. A stupendous crack of lightning swallowed her scream.
Mickey repositioned to hold her tight while her entire being shuddered, trembled with aftershocks. During the crashing thunder that followed the lightning strike, she imagined she heard Mickey whisper he loved her. Nah, her mind must be playing tricks.
Her blown mind.
After an eternity, strength ebbed into flaccid limbs. "It's your turn, Mick."
He smoothed strands of hair from her forehead and kissed her cheek. "You're not ready, sweetheart. We have all night."
In that instant Rachel tumbled helplessly, hopelessly in love.