5
I crack one bleary eye open as my sluggish brain surfaces from sleep. Lifting my head from the pillow that smells so much like Ellis, I’m tempted to bury my face back in it and drift back to sleep. But as that thought occurs to me, I realise my bed partner is not, in fact, in bed with me. Blinking a few times to focus, I peer over my shoulder and see him standing in front of his mirror, meticulously knotting his tie. I roll over and watch him for a few seconds. There’s a quiet hush in this small, cosy room of his, and as I watch my love smooth his tie down over his chest and reach for his suit jacket, an unfamiliar sense of peace washes over me.
“What time is it?” I finally say, aiming for nonchalance when the reality is that my heart has picked up the pace at the sight of him and the memory of last night. “And why aren’t you still in bed naked?”
He turns towards me, his pretty face breaking into his trademark sunny smile. “It’s six a.m. I need to be downstairs, helping set up the breakfast buffet for the new guests.”
“Ah, Yes. The new guests.” I hum in contemplation. “And what assortment of misfits has your latest idea to save the hotel swept in on the unforgiving winter winds?”
“Well, eight have arrived so far. The Sch?fers—Anselm, Siegbert, and Wilhelmina—from Germany.”
“They’re all called Sch?fer? Are they siblings?”
“Only if they’re very close. There’s only one bed.” He winks and giggles. “They’re ever so nice though. Then we have Mr and Mrs Taylor-Jones, who’re in their fifties. Their children have all grown up and left home, and they’re trying to inject some excitement back into their marriage. There’s also a single elderly gentleman, Mr Clutterbuck. His daughter keeps trying to put him in a home, so he’s hiding out here because, and I quote, this is the last place on this godforsaken earth she’d think to look. ”
“Charming. Make sure you use that in the marketing reviews.”
“He also said that, since it’s a ghost hunt, he might be able to pick up some tips for when he’s dead and decides to haunt his daughter so she can experience what it’s like to be constantly hounded by a shrill spectre.”
I blink slowly. “How do you know all this?”
“Because I’m very good at my job.” He picks up his phone and unplugs it from the charger before slipping it into his pocket. “And then we have Haruto Borjesson, who is adorable. He’s a baby Instagram influencer and goes by the handle CosmoHaru7. He’s got pastel pink hair and is so cute, like he’s eaten rainbows for breakfast.”
“You two should get along famously, then.”
“He’s like a real-life chibi.”
I frown. “What’s a chibi?”
“Never mind.” He chuckles. “You’ll meet him later at the welcome meet and mingle.”
“Do I have to? I have a lot of paperwork to get through. Can’t I just–”
He leans down beside the bed and kisses my lips tenderly. “No, you can’t. You’re not just going to hide away. Come and meet the others, it’ll be good for you.”
“So’s a colonic, but you don’t see me rushing to sign up for–”
“Stop making excuses,” he says, his voice soft and amused. He kisses me again, and I forget what I was saying. “Come and meet everyone. It’s as much your hotel as your grandfather’s.”
“And that’s why we put you in charge.” I huff. “You like the weirdos and oddballs this place seems to attract.”
“So do you.” He pinches my chin affectionately. “You just don’t want to admit it.”
I huff again.
“So who’ve we got other than the German throuple, the middle-aged thrill-seekers trying to save their marriage, the OAP escapee, and the Insta baby?”
“Just one more so far. Her name is Amelia Spendle, she’s lovely and a little shy. She only started her transition a year ago, and this is the first trip she’s taken on her own. I get the feeling she’s a little nervous. I’m going to introduce her to Haruto. I think they could be friends. Oh, you know what we should do? We should get little trans pins—no, all the LGBTQ+ pins—so the staff can wear them, and everyone will know this is a safe space for them. Oh! Oh!” His eyes widen in excitement. “We should do an event for Pride month! I need my notebook.”
I watch in amusement as he pats his tight pants pockets like he might magically find one in there.
“Huh. It must be downstairs. I’ll make a note on my phone.” He pulls it back out of his pocket and taps away at the screen. “Right, all done. I need to head downstairs before Aggie gets… well, Aggie.” Giving me one last kiss, he checks his watch. “Why don’t you go back to sleep for a while?”
“No,” I sigh. “I’m up now. I need a shower.”
“You can use our bathroom,” he offers. “It’s three doors down on the left. You can use any of the bottles labelled Ellis. Not that you’ll be using Rosie’s Soap and Glory shower crème. Well, unless you want to. It does smell really nice but may be a bit feminine for you. Wally also shares our bathroom, but try not use his toiletries by mistake, please. He says he’s on a tight budget right now.”
I shake my head. “I’ll just head back down to my room and shower there. Hopefully, there are no guests around this early to witness me wandering around in your bathrobe. That is, if you don’t mind me borrowing it again. I don’t have any clothes here. In fact, I’m not even sure where my clothes are.”
“Oh, yes, I’d forgotten about that.” Ellis’s mouth twists thoughtfully. “We really should find Artie and get him to put it all back. I can’t imagine it’s doing that hundred-year-old bed any good to be upside down on its canopy, and it’s not like John the Maid can put it back.”
“I suppose.”
“What did you do to upset him?” Ellis asks. “I have to admit this is creative, even for him. Plus, he usually only moves furniture around, he doesn’t steal and hide personal belongings.”
“Well, I sincerely hope he puts it back. Otherwise, I’m going to have to rip down the drapes to make myself a loincloth, and I doubt the guests would like to see me swinging through the corridors like Tarzan.”
His lips twitch. “Oh, I don’t know. Stranger things have happened.”
“I can actually believe that.” I snort. “Anyway, you’d better go. I’ll be down if I find some clothes.”
“If you don’t, call me, and I’ll find something for you to wear. There’s plenty of stuff in the attics–”
“No.”
“Most of it is true vintage.”
“No.”
“People pay a lot of money for that.”
“I am not going commando in my ancestor’s cast-offs,” I say flatly.
He smiles again. “Just call me if there’s a problem.”
“I can’t,” I say, my tone sullen. “He took my phone too.”
“Oof, you really did upset him, didn’t you? Seriously, what happened?”
I wasn’t about to explain to Ellis that I’d told Artie we might not be able to save the hotel. Ellis was working so hard to keep this place going and bring in new business. To be honest, I shouldn’t have said anything to Artie, but I had been tired and my brain-to-mouth filter was obviously as jet-lagged as the rest of me.
Instead, I go with a partial truth rather than an outright lie. “I don’t think he’s adjusting well to the fact that I’m an adult now.”
“Aww, poor thing.”
“Poor thing?” I say incredulously. “He left me stark naked!”
“Be grateful he didn’t take the towel too,” Ellis replies. “Right. I really do have to go now. I’ll see if I can find Artie anywhere and tell him to bring you back your luggage and your phone.”
Dropping another last kiss on my lips, he heads to the door and opens it, peering first at the floor outside his room and then down the corridor.
“Oh.”
“Oh, what?” I ask.
“John the Maid has put carpet cleaner down. This stuff needs to sit on the carpet for an hour before he can come back and vacuum it up. You probably don’t want to be walking down the corridor in bare feet in case it irritates your skin. Best borrow my slippers too.”
My eyes shift over to the fluffy unicorns eyeing me, with mocking smiles and sparkly rainbow hair, that are thrown haphazardly on the floor.
“Absolutely not.”
“Morgan, do not walk down the carpet runner in bare feet. Aggie accidentally walked over that carpet cleaner the last time John the Maid used it in her room and her toes were swollen for a month. They looked like little pink cocktail sausages.”
“Thank you for that visual.” I grimace. “What’s that stuff made of? Surely he shouldn’t be using it in the hotel if it’s dangerous.”
“He doesn’t use it when there are guests around, but I’m not sure exactly what it is. He makes it up himself. He says it’s really good for getting ingrained dirt out of old, fragile carpets but not so great for human skin.”
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.”
Roger tuts. “My, my, you must’ve really upset him. Should I ask what you did?”
“I didn’t do anything,” I say desperately. “Look, Roger. Ellis has gone to a lot of trouble to get new guests in. I can’t let anyone see me roaming the hallways like a pastel wildebeest.”
“The question is, why are you roaming the corridors in that rather fetching robe? Whose bed have you just crawled out of?”
I glower at him. “Like you don’t know.”
“True.” He takes a drag of his cigarette and waves his hand. “There’s not much that goes on in this hotel I don’t know about. Would you like to know about the kinky Germans in room 309? It’s positively salacious.”
“No, I want you to let them have their privacy and help me find some clothes,” I grate out between clenched teeth.
“You’re even grumpier in the mornings. You should pop downstairs and have some coffee. Aggie’s just brewed a fresh pot.”
“I’d love to, but you know what I’d love even more?”
Roger stares at me.
“Clothes.”
He huffs out a loud breath and rolls his eyes. “Good grief, you fleshies are so touchy about casual nudity.”
“I’m not nude. I just want some damn clothes,” I point out in exasperation.
“Fine.” Roger dissolves into a strange noncorporeal form that looks a bit like fog. It swirls down the corridor, then rematerialises into Roger’s form twenty paces from me. He cocks his hand on his hip and stares at me expectantly. “Well, are you coming or not?”
With a cautious glance behind me to make sure no one can see, I hurry after him. He leads me into a disused section of the fourth floor, then up a winding servants’ staircase to a large storage room.
It’s freezing in here. I can feel my balls shrivelling up and trying to climb back inside my body. My breath is expelled as a fine mist, and I shudder hard.
“There’s no heating up here,” Roger says as he skips lightly across the room, shimmying between boxes, trunks, and bits of old furniture. “And even if there was, they probably couldn’t afford to heat it. No one ever comes up here anymore.”
“Then why are we here?”
“This!” He points to an old steamer trunk that wouldn’t have looked out of place being loaded onto the Titanic.
I stare first at the trunk and then at Roger. “Do I even want to know what’s in there?”
He gives me a saucy wink and I sigh. The heavy scent of mothballs smacks me in the face as I open the lid and peer at the contents before raising my gaze to his.
“Seriously?”
“It’s this”—he waves a hand in front of me—“or that.” He points to the trunk.
I sigh again.
A few minutes later, I’m staring down at myself in absolute horror. I’m wearing a pink, ladies blouse from the eighties made from some sort of slippery satin material that makes my skin cringe. It’s got long sleeves and a ribbon that’s tied in a limp bow attached to the collar.
Over the top of the god-awful blouse is a tan, knee-length, belted suede coat with an enormous, and I mean enormous , collar of matching golden fur that resembles a lion’s mane. I feel like I should be in an old episode of Starsky & Hutch .
And if all of that isn’t traumatic enough, I’m wearing wide bell-bottoms made from patches of denim in various shades of blue, which really sets off the bright blue plastic eyes of the unicorns poking out from underneath.
“I want to die.”
“Don’t be so dramatic.” Roger huffs. “Being dead isn’t nearly as bad as those trousers.”
“I can’t go around dressed like this. I’m one bushy moustache and a bad accent away from a seventies porno.”
He bounces on the spot and claps his hands in delight. “Oh, Morgan, you’re too much fun.”
“Roger! Will you be serious?” I hiss. “I cannot wander the hotel looking like a pimp and smelling like I’ve been mummified.”
“Relax, darling.” He waves his hand. “No one will see you. All you need to do is sneak down to the hotel reception and grab the key to your room.”
“Why can’t you do that?” I ask. “You can literally disappear and reappear anywhere you want. Why can’t you get me the key?”
“Oh, I don’t need a key,” he says with a shrug.
“What?” I say flatly.
“I don’t need a key.”
“Roger.” I clench my jaw so tight I’m afraid I might crack one of my teeth. “Can you unlock my bedroom door?”
He smiles brightly and nods. I can feel my blood pressure rising and my eye begin to twitch. When I finally speak, my voice is tight and controlled. “If you can open my door, why are we up here with me dressed like Harry Styles?”
He gives a loud giggle, then winks yet again and disappears.
Fucking ghosts.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and take several deep breaths, searching for my patience as I resist the urge to punch something—myself mostly, for being too trusting.
Fuck, I really am going to have to sneak downstairs and steal the key to my room. It’s that or hide up here for the rest of my life.
Shaking my head, I retrace my way through the room, hoping I remember the way back. It’s still early and with any luck, none of the guests will be roaming free. Although my luck certainly hasn’t held up so far this morning. In fact, I’m almost certain I’d probably get struck by lightning if I dared to wander outside.
I exit the room and head down the corridor. Several staircases and hallways that look the same later, I wonder if I’m lost, but just when I’m about to lose the will to live, I turn a corner and see the main forked staircase that leads to the lobby.
“Yesss,” I hiss under my breath, and I pump a fist.
Creeping down the first flight, I pause where it curves into the last small set of steps that empty out to the ground level. I pause and listen for any hint of guests and then, when I don’t hear anything, I peep around the corner to make sure no one is in the lobby.
I tentatively descend a few steps until I’m level with a suit of armour, which is usually inhabited by the ghost Ellis calls Brad.
I mean , I mentally correct myself, Sir Devron or something .
As I try to peer around where the armour is mounted on a decorative plinth, I hear a grinding sound as the helmet of the suit slowly turns in my direction. I stare as the visor flicks up with a tinny clack and a pair of ghostly eyes stare back at me.
“Mr Ashton-Drake the Younger? Why art thou dressed as a court jester?” Sir Devron’s voice echoes inside the metal capsule.
I wince. “Please don’t ask.”
“As you wish.” His visor clanks down and his head turns back to face the lobby.
Suddenly, I hear voices behind me. Scrambling down the last few steps, I round the curve of the banister and crouch down between the staircase and a console table containing copies of today’s newspapers.
Ducking out of sight, I wait. Through the banisters, I can just about make out a middle-aged couple bickering as they head down the stairs. To my horror, they turn in my direction, clearly aiming for the dining room.
I stand up and search around frantically, then grab a copy of The Guardian and unfold it, holding it in front of my face.
“Morning,” they both mumble in my direction, then resume their argument.
Breathing out a sigh of relief, I move the paper to cover the side of my face and scurry past the back of them in the direction of the main desk. I’ve almost made it when I hear Ellis’s voice, laced with humour.
“Morgan?” He chokes out a laugh. “What on earth?”
I turn around and find him standing right behind me. The scent of coffee hits me, and I moan, leaning forward and inhaling the fumes from the full mug he’s holding in his hand.
I groan obscenely.
“Morgan?” he says again, handing me his coffee, which I take with a grateful hum. “Why are you dressed like that?”
“Roger,” I say, as if that should explain everything. I gulp down a large mouthful of coffee, thankful it’s not so hot it burns my tongue.
Knowing I need more caffeine for this conversation, I lift the mug to my lips and drink deeply.
“Morgan?” An incredulous voice exclaims loudly. My coffee goes down the wrong pipe and I cough, almost spraying Ellis.
Giving another couple of coughs to clear my windpipe and brace myself for the inevitable mockery to follow, I wipe my mouth and turn to find my brother staring at me, his eyes wide with horror.
Then I watch with a sigh as he literally doubles over, planting his hands on his knees, and laughs like a demented hyena.
“Great,” I mutter. “Perfect timing, as always.”