Page 67 of The Haunted Hotel
“How did dinner with your grandfather go?” My voice is low so as not to break the magic of the dimly lit atmosphere.
His mouth quirks at the corner. “Do you know everything that goes on in this hotel?”
I chuckle. “We do like to gossip. It helps pass the time.”
He lets the door close behind him and crosses the room like he has all the time in the world, a confident swagger that warms my blood when paired with the intense way his eyes have locked on mine. Like I’m the only person in the world.
Morgan moves to take a seat and I shuffle over so he can perch on the edge of the chaise at my side.
“We talked about my dad, about…” He stops and gazes out of the window. “We talked about a lot of things. It’s not perfect, but it’s a start.” He draws in a breath and slides his gaze back to me. “I’m going to keep in contact with him when I return to New York. Call each week, maybe sometimes come to visit.”
My stomach clenches at the thought of him leaving, even though he was always intending to. I went into this—whatever it is between us—with no expectations, just a genuine desire to be close to him in whatever way I can while I can. But I can’t denythat I’m beginning to feel things for him I shouldn’t, things that will only end up hurting when he’s gone. I can’t seem to stop though; he’s like a drug that I crave. Not just his touch and his taste, but also the smile that I know he doesn’t give just anyone and his laugh that doesn’t come easily but I somehow always manage to tease out of him.
“It’s cosy in here,” Morgan says as he surveys the room with interest. “Pretty too.”
“We have the old freestanding Calor gas heaters in here.” I point to a couple of them tucked into the corners of the room. “Keeps it just the right level of warm. The blanket is just for comfort. This is one of my absolute favourite places to be, especially during storms. Watching the lightning through the glass ceiling is incredible, and being all snuggled up with a book and a hot drink when it rains is one of the most comforting things in the world to me.”
“I can imagine.” The amusement in his warm, dark eyes makes my stomach go all jittery and my cheeks flush.
Soft music suddenly fills the air around us.
“Where did that come from?” Morgan asks, and I point up to the speakers mounted on the conservatory framework, then glance over to where Bertie and Roger give me a couple of thumbs up before disappearing completely.
“I think Roger and Bertie are matchmaking.” His brow creases at my words and the motion makes me chuckle.
“Bertie and Roger? The ghosts?” I nod, laughing outright at his expression. “Sometimes I can’t tell if you’re pulling my leg or being serious.” He pushes the blanket off me and stands up, holding his hand out.
“What?” My laugh has changed to a wide smile as I swing my feet off the chaise, then take his hand and allow him to pull me to my feet. “What are we doing?”
He entwines our fingers together and slips his other arm around my waist. Slowly, he draws me close and sways to the music, so I grip his bicep with my free hand and follow his lead.
“Dancing,” he murmurs as he gazes down at me.
It’s less dancing and more staring and swaying as we turn in a slow circle, but it’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever experienced in my life.
I’ve had moments on the dance floor with random guys in clubs, which really were nothing more than me in a pair of booty shorts grinding on their crotches and looking for a quick, no-strings hookup. This, though. This is something else entirely.
My heart trembles in a way I’m not prepared for but don’t have the will to fight.
“Ellis,” Morgan whispers.
Unable to stop myself, I rise on my toes and press my lips to his in a soft, slow kiss. We stop swaying to the music, but he keeps holding me, his grip firm but gentle. My mouth parts and lets him in for a slow, sexy glide of tongues. Then my head falls back on a gasp and his soft, warm lips trail over my jaw and down my neck to the open collar of my shirt.
“Ellis,” he whispers again. “I want you so badly. Let me have you. Please,” he begs against my flushed skin.
“Yes,” I breathe. His hand next goes to work on the buttons of my shirt until he can fully push the fabric aside.
Practically holding me upright, his mouth lowers so his tongue can trace my nipple. I stare up at the snow sliding down the glass, but I’m lost to sensation, unable to truly process anything but the hot suction of his mouth as he tugs and suckles first one nipple and then the other.
My skin prickles and I shiver. I’ve never felt taken apart by something so simple yet so intimate. We’ve created a little mini world of our own. Our own personal snow globe.
I wish I could freeze this moment in time and exist in it forever. The thought of him leaving creates a sharp stab of pain that I try to ignore; instead, I focus on the way he tastes and the scent of his skin, imprinting both in my memory.
His hands skim down my back to cup my buttocks, and as he lifts me effortlessly, I wrap my legs around his waist.
My mouth crashes down on his and my equilibrium shifts. He moves us onto the chaise and lays me down next to the discarded blanket, his weight pressing me into the plump cushions. I groan when his deliciously hard cock rubs against mine through the fabric of my trousers.
Sliding my hands underneath his sweater, I skim my fingers up his hot skin, raising the sweater and T-shirt beneath it with my efforts. We break our kiss long enough to pull them over his head, then I toss them to the flagstone floor.