Page 21 of The Legend of Lovers Hollow

I rub my face, feeling the beginnings of my beard scrape against my palm. “This place gives me a headache.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s just the jet lag.” He grins. “Wear the slippers,” he calls over his shoulder as he steps into the corridor. The door swings closed behind him, leaving me in the silence and solitude of his room.

I roll onto my back, but as I wince at the stiffness in my muscles, my body floods with heat at the thought of why I’m aching. For a moment, I close my eyes and enjoy a literal blow-by-blow mental recounting of the sounds Ellis made while I tasted him.

My cock hardens, and I resist the urge to reach down and give myself a firm stroke. Getting myself off in Ellis’s bed, when I have no clothes and the bathroom is three rooms down a corridor I currently have to treat as if the floor is lava, is not a good idea.

Blowing out a slow breath and forcing the film reel of sexy images of Ellis to the back of my mind. I fixate on the ceiling, willing my dick to go down before I have to try and squeeze myself back into a pale lilac bathrobe that’s several sizes too small for me.

My gaze snags on the brown circles and stains on the ceiling, and I frown. Is there a leak in the roof?

What am I saying? Of course there’s a leak in the roof. This place is riddled with leaks. It needs so much restoration that the only things still holding it upright are the ghosts. If they all disappeared, it would probably collapse in on itself like a dry husk.

Ellis really shouldn’t be sleeping in this room though. What if he gets sick? What if there’s black mould in the walls? I’ll need to check Rosie and Wally’s rooms too. I know Wally is new, but it would be just like Rosie and Ellis to neglect their own needs for their beloved hotel. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to move them to better rooms until the staff floor can be repaired and renovated. After all, it’s not like the hotel guest areas are at full capacity.

Jesus, Ellis is so pleased that eight guests checked in for his ghost-hunting weekend, but it’s going to take a helluva lot more than that to save this place.

It’s going to take a miracle.

Throwing back the bedding, I swing my legs over the side of the bed and reach for the robe. I pull it on, crossing it over my front and tying the belt tightly. Oh my god, it did not seem this short last night. I tug at the hem, hoping it might stretch to cover the bare expanse of my thighs. Last time I was wearing a towel wrapped around my waist with the robe over the top, I recall. Glancing around the floor, I spot the towel and pick it up, only to grimace at the crusty mess of lube and dried cum.

Yeah, I definitely won’t be wearing that.

Okay, the robe it is. I’ll just have to remember not to bend over. I eye the unicorn slippers for several seconds, then sigh and pick them up. Slipping them on my feet one by one, I studiously avoid my reflection in the mirror. I feel ridiculous enough without having the vision emblazoned on my brain for posterity.

They’re a little tight but not too uncomfortable. However, when I cross the room towards the door, a tinkling sound rings out in the still room. Looking down, I give my foot a little jiggle. The tinkling happens again. There must be little bells inside the unicorn horns.

Great. Just great.

With a loud sigh, I roll my eyes and head to the door. When I open it, it’s to find a strange-looking powdery flotsam spread out across the carpet runner in the corridor. Wrinkling my nose at the thought of having that—whatever it is—squashed between my toes, I silently admit that Ellis was right. I do need the slippers.

I step gingerly out of the room and make sure the door is closed behind me, frowning when I realise there’s no outside lock, just a little bolt on the inside. I clutch the edges of Ellis’s robe at my chest and groin and start off down the corridor, hoping to avoid any unfortunate mishaps in the miserable event that I happen to run into another living soul… or a dead one. Either way, if anyone witnessed me dressed like this, I would be mortified.

I glance behind me and hurry down the narrow space, mentally crossing my fingers that there isn’t anyone else up here at this time of the morning. I only need to make it down one flight of stairs to the next floor and along two corridors, then I’m in the clear. As far as I’m aware, Rosie and Ellis are booking the new guests into rooms on the lower guest floors, which means my luck may hold out. I dash around the corner and skid to a stop.

John the Maid pauses mid-step on the stairs, a vacuum cleaner in one hand, a duster in his other, and his ever-present frilly white apron over his black pants and shirt.

His eyes widen and his brows rise as his gaze travels down my body to the fluffy unicorn slippers and then back up to my face.

We stare at each other in silence for several moments, which feels like an eternity. Given no other choice, I muster what little dignity I have left and straighten up, lifting my chin.

I head down the stairs, edging past him with a nod of my head. “Morning,” I say, still clutching the front of the robe closed over my hairy chest and my groin.

“Morning,” he answers as I pass him.

His eyes burn a hole in the back of my head but I ignore it, instead regally descending the stairs like a debutante, accompanied by the unicorns’ merry tinkling.

Once I reach the foot of the stairs and am out of his view, I run the length of the corridors, still awkwardly gripping the robe closed until I can reach my room. There, I grasp the handle and crash into the door.

“What?” I try the handle again and again. “No, no, no,” I chant as I jiggle the handle uselessly. It’s locked.

“What on earth are you doing?” A familiar voice says behind me. I can hear the delight in it. Groaning, I turn around to see Roger leaning casually against the opposite wall and smoking a cigarette.

“Roger!” I suck in a breath at the sight of my great-aunt’s sidekick. “I don’t suppose you can unlock the room? Or get me a key? Or Artie?”

“Artie?” Roger pushes away from the wall and sashays towards me, his hips wiggling in his signature tiny tennis shorts. “What has that little scamp done now?”

“Turned my room upside down, stolen all my clothes, and probably locked me out of my room.”