3
E llis takes my hand and leads me up the main staircase, but before we reach the floor my grandfather’s rooms are on, we see him heading down the corridor towards us.
Seems Wally was right. My grandfather is roaming the corridors of the hotel wearing an argyle sweater vest over a neatly pressed checked shirt. He’s also wearing a pair of carpet slippers and beige socks held up by sock suspenders. And—I sigh—a pair of baggy white Y-front underpants.
“Grandfather, haven’t we talked about you wearing pants while there are guests in the hotel?”
“Oh, Morgan, you’re back.” He shuffles towards us clutching a letter in his hand. Then he pauses and looks down as if checking that he is indeed wearing them. “And what do you mean? I am wearing pants.”
“Not underpants. Pants… trousers ,” I correct myself. All those years spent in the States and I suppose I just got out of the habit of using the Britishisms I learned as a very young child.
“And I told you they chafe.” Grandfather scowls, and I’m not sure this is a battle I’m going to win, but if we want to attract and keep new guests in the hotel, we really are going to have to come to some sort of compromise. “Anyway, that’s not important right now. This—” He waves the piece of paper in agitation under my nose. “This… this…”
I can see he’s clearly having trouble articulating and is working himself up into a full head of steam.
“What is it, Cedric?” Ellis says softly.
My grandfather thrusts the letter at me, and I barely have time to glance at it before he’s talking at me, his words tumbling over themselves.
“There’s an investor wants to buy the place lock, stock, and barrel. Says he wants the land. Plans to tear the place down and build a golf course. A bloody golf course!”
“It’s fine, Grandfather,” I say, ignoring the jetlag headache I have brewing. “Just because this investor is interested doesn’t mean he’s going to get what he wants. Just say no.”
“It’s not that easy.” The anger drains from his eyes, replaced by worry. “I did say no, several times. But the bank’s put the interest rates up and added new charges. They say the house and land will be put up for auction if we can’t get the payments under control. Then this tosspot will be able to snap it up and our home, our history , will be demolished to make way for an eighteen-hole playground for overpaid idiots.”
“That’s not going to happen, Cedric, we promise,” Ellis soothes him. “We’re all going to do everything we can to save this place. It’s our home too, and we love it. They’ll tear it down over our dead bodies.”
“Well, it definitely will be over Bertie and the others’ dead bodies. What will they do, haunt the fairway?”
“It won’t come to that.” Ellis takes Grandfather’s arm and tucks it through his. “Let Morgan take a look over the letters once he’s rested.”
“But–”
“Ellis is right.” I resist giving my eyes an exhausted rub. “I’ve already hired new lawyers, and they’re going over everything as we speak. Plus, both my brother and I are investing. We’ll get the finances back under control, I promise. It just takes time, and I’ll take care of it, but you know what would make things easier?”
“What?”
“Wearing pants.” I shake my head when he frowns. “Trousers, I mean. Look, I don’t have a problem with you wandering around your own apartments in your underwear if that makes you happy, but it’s not very professional to be doing it in front of the guests.”
Grandfather scowls. “But I don’t like them.”
“The guests?” Ellis tilts his head and studies him fondly. My belly gives a slow roll; he’s so adorable, like a puppy. How is it that he’s adorable and also sexy as hell? It’s a combination I’d never thought I’d be attracted to before I met Ellis.
“My trousers. I told you they’re uncomfortable.”
“All of them?” I ask.
“Yes, even the ones Ellis got me with an elastic waistband. The waist isn’t the problem, it’s my balls. I’m no spring chicken, you know. Everything heads south for the winter at my age. They’re like two pendulums on a grandfather clock, closer to my knees than my–”
“Charming,” I mutter sourly.
“You know what, Cedric?” Ellis beams at him. “I’ve an idea. Why don’t we go and visit Essie and Martha?”
“I suppose so,” he agrees gruffly. “I did say I’d play bridge with them this afternoon.”
“Excellent.” Ellis pats Grandfather’s gnarled hand hooked in the crease of his elbow and then turns those pretty blue eyes of his on me. “Morgan, why don’t you go and unpack? John the Maid put your bags back in the room you were in before.”
I’m not sure what I was expecting, really. To be honest, I hadn’t given much thought to the sleeping arrangements, but I can’t help the small pang of disappointment that Ellis and I won’t be sharing a room. Which is ridiculous considering we’ve only known each other for a little over a month and slept together just a couple of times.
Ellis lifts his free wrist and glances at his watch. “I’m going to need to start greeting the new guests soon.” His gaze shifts back to me once more, and he gives me one of his sunny smiles. “I’ll catch up with you a little later?”
I nod, fighting the urge to drag him flush against my body and take his mouth.
“I’m cold,” my grandfather grumbles, pulling me from my thoughts.
I sigh. “That’s because it’s February and you’re wandering around a draughty three-hundred-year-old manor house, half dressed.”
“You’re very judgemental.” He sniffs and leans in to whisper to Ellis. “Gets that from his mother.”
Ellis chuckles and sends me a wink. “I’ll see you later.”
I turn and watch them wander down the corridor. Ellis looks sexy as hell in his suit, from his curly blonde hair to the delicious curve of his ass. However, next to him, hunched over and shuffling along in his carpet slippers, I notice the back of Grandfather’s underpants sag.
Has he lost weight?
I make a mental note to check in with Aggie and see if he’s been eating properly. My head gives another muted throb, and I raise my hand to my face but stop at the last minute when I realise the letter is still in my hand.
Folding it up, I tuck it into the inner pocket of my suit jacket to read later, I head towards my room—or rather, room 419. I don’t have a room , I remind myself. Technically, I don’t live here. I’d agreed to help save the hotel and spend some time with my grandfather, but I’m still not certain I can uproot my entire life and move here permanently.
Despite my promises to Ellis, the quirky hotel staff, and the residents both regular and noncorporeal, I still have commitments. This past week has been hell with back-to-back meetings and zigzagging across multiple states to troubleshoot problems with various hotels. Warren offered to take over and give me some time to figure things out, but I can’t dump everything on him. Besides, it’s harder to let go than I thought it would be.
And despite all of that, I found my mind constantly drawn back to Ellis. I missed him, his infectious enthusiasm for everything, his laugh, that sunny smile of his. The taste of him, the feel of his body beneath mine, the breathy sighs and moans he made when I was buried deep inside him. But most of all, I missed the way he wrapped himself around me in sleep, clinging to me and calming something deep inside me that I didn’t even realise was unsteady.
When I wasn’t spending time mooning over him like a lovesick idiot, I kept churning over the heavy responsibility of trying to save my biological family’s legacy. I’ve been trying to go through all the financials, but it’s all a mess. Years and years of mismanagement and generally ignoring key repairs and maintenance, plus declining bookings, means it’s going to take nothing less than a miracle to save this place, even with me and my brother investing.
Reaching my room, I realise I don’t have a key. I almost turn around to head downstairs, but Ellis did say John the Maid had brought my bags up, which means it’s probably unlocked.
With a twist of the handle, the door opens easily. Once I step into the room, I find the room key on top of the dresser alongside a neat sign that welcomes me to my room and hopes I have a “frightfully good stay.” I roll my eyes a little at that but can’t help the small smile that tugs at the corner of my mouth. They really are determined to lean into the whole haunted hotel theme.
Next to the welcome sign is a small cellophane bag tied with curling gift ribbon in black, gold, and teal, the hotel’s signature colours. Inside it are what looks to be three or four handmade chocolate truffles with the initials AD piped in thin, elegant swirls of white chocolate, and I know that Aggie made these.
There’s also a pretty little house plant rather than the freshly cut flowers that grace all of my and Warren’s hotels. I have to hand it to Ellis and the others. Even with the hotel in a state of disrepair and on a shoestring budget, they manage to make the place look and feel warm and inviting.
My gaze falls on the lock once more. It needs to be upgraded to a keycard system, something modern and secure. The place could also use an elevator for better accessibility, not to mention a hundred other repairs and improvements, and all that wouldn’t even begin to tackle the problem of getting new guests through the doors.
Or keeping them, thanks to my deceased ancestors and their merry band of disembodied misfits.
I rake my hands through my hair as my head gives a violent throb. My neck’s aching and my shoulders feel tight. Slipping off my jacket, I hook it over the back of a nearby chair, then remove my shoes and place them neatly by the door. After I draw the curtains, I finally pull back the bedcovers and slide onto the comfortable mattress.
I’ll just close my eyes for a minute and wait for this headache to pass , I think to myself…
* * *
I’m groggy and disorientated as I awake abruptly.
For a moment, I’m not sure what disturbed my sleep. The room is dark, but I can feel a weight on the bed by my legs. Reaching over, I switch the lamp on, flooding the room with a soft glow. My heart jolts when I find a small boy sitting cross-legged on the bed, studying me.
I blink, trying to focus. “Artie?” My brain is still half asleep, although the worst of the headache is gone, so I suppose that’s a blessing. “Do you watch all the hotel guests while they sleep?” I ask the ten-year-old boy.
“Sometimes.” He shrugs. “Sometimes, some of them like to wrestle under the blankets and make strange noises.”
“Oh god.” I wince. “Maybe you should stay out of the bedrooms.”
“It gets boring around ’ere. I ain’t had no one to play with for years.”
I swallow down a pang of sadness. Over the years, I’d convinced myself this small boy had been no more than a childhood imaginary friend. It was only when I’d returned to my early childhood home that I’d discovered he was very much real.
“Wanna go play with Cedric’s trains?” he asks hopefully.
“I can’t right now.” I shake my head, and he lets out a huge sigh and rolls his eyes.
“Grown-ups are so boring.” He pauses and stares at me for several long seconds. “Morgan, why did you leave?”
“My dad died,” I say simply.
He nods. “I know. We all said goodbye and watched him go into the light.”
“You did?” I whisper, feeling a sudden burn at the back of my throat at the thought of my dad. I’d only been six years old at the time, but my memories of him are crystal clear.
Artie nods again. “Bertie knew it was comin’. Said he had a dark cloud hanging over him all day. We was all watchin’ out for him when he just… dropped.”
I suck in a sharp breath. “It was an aneurysm in his brain. The doctors said he wouldn’t have felt anything.”
“He didn’t.” Artie shrugs. “One minute he was like the rest of the fleshies, next he was standin’ next to his body lookin’ down. It didn’t hurt ’im, but he was a bit confused. Bertie looked after ’im til they came for ’im. Then he went into the light, said he could see his mum waitin’.” Artie frowns. “I don’t remember my mum much.”
“What do you remember?” I ask curiously.
“She smelled like flowers,” he says quietly. “On ’er cardigan was a brooch shaped like a butterfly. My dad gave it to ’er before he left. When the doodlebugs came and dropped bombs on us, we had to sleep below ground in Camden tube station. The air-raid sirens was going off, and there was so many people down there, all squashed together on the platform and the rails. Even the stairs. We could ’ear the bangs, and the lights would flicker. I was scared, so Mum held me on ’er lap and put her arms around me. A nice old lady next to us gave me some of her chocolate ration.”
“Oh, Artie.” My heart breaks a bit for a scared little boy huddled underground.
“When we came up, our house and most of our street was gone. My dad was fightin’ in France so it was just me and Mum, but we didn’t ’ave nowhere to live no more. She sent me here so I’d be safe, but I got sick.”
And died here. But I don’t voice the thought out loud.
“I don’t suppose you know what happened to your mother, do you?”
Artie shakes his head.
“I could find out for you, if you want?” I offer, wanting to do something for this lonely, sad child I’d befriended and then abandoned.
He shakes his head. “Ain’t no point now. She’s probably up there somewhere wiv your dad.” He points to the ceiling.
I glance over at the old-fashioned clock mounted on the wall and blink. “Is it really ten p.m.?” I say aloud. My stomach growls loudly in response. “I’ve slept most of the day away.”
“Ellis came to see you earlier, but you was still sleepin’.”
Disappointment washes over me. I’ve done nothing but think about him all week, and the first time I’m back in the same building, let alone the same country, I spend five minutes in his company and then crash out and miss dinner.
I bet Aggie made dumplings too.
My stomach gives another wail of protest at the thought of Aggie’s freshly baked dumplings and her thick, rich beef stew.
Fuck.
“He left you that for when you woke up.” Artie lifts his chin and I turn in the direction he’s indicating.
There’s an old hostess trolley which looks as if it belongs in Downton Abbey. The metal frame is a dull gold plating mounted on four castor wheels and sports three shelves. On the top one are two tall glasses set upside down and two jugs, one containing water and one with what looks to be fresh orange juice. There are also two covered plates, one slightly smaller than the other.
I push back the layers of bedding and scramble out of bed towards the trolley, then wheel it closer to my bed. Uncovering the first plate reveals a sinful-looking slab of decadent chocolate cake, and the other holds a thick doorstep of a sandwich with freshly baked bread, cheese, and carved chunks of ham.
My stomach gives another loud growl and my mouth waters. Picking up the plate with the sandwich, I settle myself comfortably back onto the mattress.
“Where’d you go this time?” Artie cocks his head curiously.
I chew a large bite of my sandwich and swallow. “America.”
His eyes widen. “Where the cowboys come from?”
I snort. “Something like that.”
“Why?”
“It’s where I live.” I take another bite of the sandwich and groan. Aggie has put some sort of mustard in it and it’s fucking delicious.
Artie frowns. “I thought you was stayin’ here?”
I slow my chewing, giving myself enough time to formulate my response before I swallow. “I am staying here, but it’s complicated. I also have another life in the US, one with responsibilities that I can’t just disappear from.”
“But this is your home, it’s where you was born,” he argues. “I remember that night, you know.”
“What night? When I was born?”
He nods. “After your mum and dad went to sleep, I snuck into your nursery and peeked in your crib. I couldn’t wait for you to get bigger so I’d have someone to play with. Someone to talk to. You was my best friend, Morgan.”
God, this kid is breaking my heart.
“I’ll always be your friend, Artie, but I’m a grown-up now, and sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s the right thing to do.”
He looks confused. “So is stayin’ here the right thing to do?”
“I honestly don’t know.” I stare down at my half-eaten sandwich. “Part of me wants to stay here with you and Ellis and the others, but part of me also feels bad that I’m abandoning my job and my company, my mum and my brother.”
“You’ve got a brother?” He looks up hopefully. “Is he a kid?”
I shake my head. “You’d think so sometimes, given his poor impulse control and ridiculous sense of humour. But no, he’s a grown-up like me.” I add under my breath, “Apparently.”
Artie’s mouth screws up into a sulk. “You said you was gonna stay and help save the hotel.”
“And I am, but the hotel might not be saveable, no matter how much we wish differently.”
“You’re a dirty, rotten liar.” Artie scowls. “Go back to America, then. See if I care.”
I open my mouth to speak, but before I can utter a single word, he disappears, not leaving so much as a crease in the quilt.
“Morgan,” I mutter, “you’ve got a helluva way with kids.”
Since I need the fuel, I finish my sandwich and the cake, but I barely taste either after Artie winks out of sight. My stomach churns. Even though he’s technically been around for the past eighty years, he’s still a perpetual child. Maybe I should have lied to him, told him the hotel would be safe. That he wouldn’t lose the only real home he remembers or his mismatched ghostly family.
But the stark truth is that I still don’t know if it can be saved, if I can make my permanent home here, or if things will work out with Ellis. I’m not omniscient and I don’t have a Magic 8 Ball. There’s no telling the future. All I know right now is that I want to try, both with Ellis and with the hotel, but I feel like my past and my future are pulling me in different directions.
Needing to wash the journey and remaining jetlag away, I strip down and get in the shower. Despite the ancient plumbing, there’s at least a decent water pressure.
I probably shouldn’t even be using one of the guest rooms. My family’s old apartments are still upstairs, empty, just the way they were when we left for the US after my dad’s death. I suppose I could stay in there, but the thought of it makes something inside me wither. Plus, my old nursery is not at all suitable for obvious reasons, and I sure as hell can’t sleep in my parents’ room. It would feel… weird.
Shaking my head in annoyance, I shut off the water and step out. I reach for a towel and dry off quickly, then wind it around my hips.
The brief thought of staying in Ellis’s room crosses my mind, but it’s beyond ridiculous. We’re only just starting out, it’s not like I can invite myself to move in with him. That would be a spectacularly bad idea.
I’ve just finished brushing my teeth when I hear a faint knocking sound. Careful to tighten the knot on my towel so I don’t inadvertently flash anyone, I step back into the bedroom and come to an abrupt stop. The furniture is all back to front, switched around, and upside down in some cases.
My mouth falls open as I stare at the heavy wooden-framed four-poster bed that’s now completely upside down. The thick mattress has fallen onto the inside of the canopy, and the sheets and blankets are splayed across the carpet.
“What the hell?”
The knock comes again, and I realise it’s someone at the door. Without thinking about how I’m still only wearing a damp towel wrapped around my hips, I stride across and yank the door open with a scowl.
Ellis is on the other side with his fist still raised and a smile. “You look cross.”
The anger drains as my gaze trails down his body, and I’m honestly not sure if I’m amused or turned on.
He’s wearing an untied lilac-coloured bathrobe, a cropped t-shirt on full display underneath. The shirt’s pale pink with a sparkly rainbow unicorn and the words Happy instead, it hangs open in a deep v that reveals my chest hair.
“Do you want to fuck me or not?” He grins and yanks me towards the door once more. I drag my feet, unsure. Not about fucking him—my cock aches and my blood is on fire for him. But I really don’t want to be caught wandering the hotel in the dead of night in a tiny bathrobe with a massive hard-on.
Glancing around the room, I realise that my luggage, which I didn’t unpack before I took an impromptu nap, is nowhere to be found. I inwardly groan.
Great. I couldn’t even throw some clothes on if I wanted to.
Ellis presses his body up against mine, rising on his toes to whisper in my ear, “Stop thinking so hard, Morgan. I want you in my bed buried deep inside me. I want you to wreck my tight little hole, then fill me up with your cum. Then I want you to finger me, feeling how full I am of you while you suck my cock and make me come down your throat.”
Holy fuck .
My pupils must be like pinpricks now. Every single thought drains from my brain, and I almost look down to make sure I haven’t come already. The thought of playing out his dirty little fantasy has my painfully hard cock throbbing with my heartbeat.
A growl breaks free and I reach down, wrapping my arm around his legs so I can pick him up and throw him over my shoulder.
The sound of his laughter fills all the dark, worried spaces inside me as I wrench open the door and stride down the deserted corridor with him flung over my shoulder like I’m Conan the Barbarian.