Holding My Breath Read online

  HOLDING MY BREATH

  A. M. Hartnett

  Copyright

  Mischief

  An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers

  77–85 Fulham Palace Road,

  Hammersmith, London W6 8JB

  www.mischiefbooks.com

  An eBook Original 2014

  Copyright © A. M. Hartnett 2014

  A. M. Hartnett asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

  Ebook Edition © 2014 ISBN: 9780007587841

  Version: 2014–08–21

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  More from Mischief

  About Mischief

  About the Publisher

  Prologue

  Molly leaned forward and watched the man’s entrance into reception. She could see the lobby from her office and the atmosphere seemed to alter as he entered. She likened it to the uncanny charge that made the hairs on your arms stand up when a storm lost its patience and was ready to unleash. She’d been watching him for about three months, and she felt it every time.

  He came in the same as always, a Ken doll fresh from his plastic cage, but not quite. No, the clean-shaven face and brown hair slicked down, the expensive suit and occasional glitter of that $3,000-dollar watch peeking from the French cuffs weren’t real.

  What made him real were his hands. Save for the manicure, he didn’t have Armani hands. His were scarred, knuckles and joints knotted, and there was a squiggling line leading from the flesh of his thumb to his wrist.

  He never tried to hide them. Nor did he now as he leaned against the front desk and folded one hand over the other. Molly had never given them more than a discreet look when she was the one to greet him, though some nights she longed to reach out and turn them over, to run her fingers over those scars, trace the lines on his palms and follow that bluish vein from his index finger to where it disappeared under those cuffs.

  ‘Good evening,’ she heard the clerk, Nick, greet him.

  ‘You too,’ the man said. ‘Can you please call up to room 435 and let them know their guest is waiting in the bar?’

  ‘Certainly, sir.’

  He could have used the courtesy phone in the seating nook alongside the front desk, but she didn’t think he’d trade this part of the routine. It was a part of the image he had created. Using the courtesy phone to call a room direct was too subtle. Announcing his arrival at the desk was sordid and suited his image.

  His swagger was pure confidence as he headed to the bar, or maybe it was arrogance. He slid the green and red tartan scarf from his neck and draped it over the coat he carried across his arm. Once in the bar, he went straight to his usual table where he could see the entrance and placed coat and scarf over the edge of a chair, then took the same seat as always.

  Here, again, another snapshot: one arm hitched over the back of his seat, long legs stretched out under the table. The waitress quickly appeared to take his order and returned with something dark. There he waited, large hand turning the tumbler round and round. He didn’t drink. He never drank. Like everything else, the drink was for show, something to show off those enigmatic hands.

  He incited hunger from the moment his companion got off the elevator. Molly had seen it happen at least three dozen times. She imagined that the short walk across the lobby to the bar would seem like miles to the woman he had come here to meet. The urge to be near him was always written all over them, and the more Molly watched, the more she understood it.

  The elevator chimed, and she watched the drama unfold.

  He never changed, but the women did. Most fell into the range of middle age, though some were younger than she was, while others had silver hair. A few dripped with diamonds and had faces pulled tight as a drum, but most came off as powerhouses in their own right. After working in hotels for the past decade and a half, Molly had grown accustomed to learning everything she needed to know about people, based on their wardrobes, demeanours and the credit cards they used.

  She’d developed an odd admiration for the women who sat with the man in the bar. They believed they deserved the best, and, if she read the man right, he was the best.

  The woman who slid into the seat opposite the man had checked in wearing a power suit. She had changed into a little maroon dress. While she hadn’t shed her powerhouse outer shell entirely, the bangles on her wrists and the hoop earrings made her appear flirty.

  Molly often wondered if these women dressed for him or for themselves. She leaned towards the latter. Who was he to impress when he was a thing to be bought? They were there to pamper themselves. He, like the in-room massage, was a part of the experience.

  Another guest approached the reception desk to check in. He was tall and broad and obscured her view of the lounge. When the man and the woman strode arm in arm past the reception desk Molly stifled a growl from the back of her throat. She’d seen the to and fro of sexual negotiations enough that she didn’t need to look, but she still wanted to watch it unfold this last time.

  No matter, she thought. You’ll be seeing him soon enough.

  The checking-in guest moved on, and Molly rose from her desk. She peeked around the corner in time to see the couple step into the elevator. As the doors closed, the man lifted the woman’s hand to his lips, and then he leaned in.

  Molly stood on the threshold between her office and the reception desk. ‘Nick, would you mind coming in here for a moment?’

  He nodded and spoke to the other clerk, then straightened his tie as he headed towards her. She blocked his way when he reached her door, and when he looked at her she lowered her voice.

  ‘You might want to bring that little green notebook you keep under the keyboard,’ she murmured, and tried not to smile at the flash of panic on his face. ‘Come on, Nick. There aren’t many tricks I miss in this place.’

  Chapter One

  She had just cracked the top on a bottle of water from the minibar when the workstation phone in room 720 lit up and chimed. She took a swig from the bottle, placed it on the credenza that housed the minibar, then strode to the phone.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Miss Tallery?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Your guest has arrived,’ Nick said. ‘He’s waiting in the bar.’

  ‘Would you please ask him to come up?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  Molly supposed she could have arranged for him to come to her office, but she wanted as much discretion as she coul
d. It wouldn’t do to have a male prostitute sitting in her office. Someone might recognise him. Someone might think he was actually in the hotel’s employ.

  There had always been the option of doing the cowardly thing by having a front-desk clerk tell the man he wasn’t welcome on the property again, but she couldn’t do that even to Nick, who would have been the best candidate for the job.

  What if he caused a scene? She didn’t think he would, though. He thought far too much of his appearance. It was better to meet him on his territory and explain it herself.

  A quick look in the mirror satisfied her. When she’d left her office shortly after five, she’d gone to a nearby café for supper and changed from her uniform to a sweater-dress, then left it on to keep him at ease. With crimson lipstick refreshed and glossy brown-black hair neatly combed, she looked like she was ready for date night.

  Molly didn’t want to intimidate; she wanted to reason. When he walked through that door, she wanted him to think she was just another client eager for his special skill set.

  She quickly rolled her tongue in her mouth to work up some of the saliva she had lost between answering the phone and now, then pressed her ear to the door and listened.

  Through the rush of blood in her ears, she heard it: the faint chime of the elevator car reaching its destination, and then his footfall, growing louder.

  It seemed to take for ever. She knew it was his and not some other guest’s. The thump-thump-thump matched the rhythm of his gait when he strolled across her lobby.

  Molly stepped back and sucked in a deep breath, then ran her sweaty palms over her thighs.

  The sound stopped, but nothing happened. He was there on the other side of the door, but he wasn’t doing anything.

  He’s probably patting down his hair and checking his breath for freshness, she thought, and was tempted to stand on her toes to look through the peephole.

  Finally, he knocked: a slow, rhythmic knock. Even that sounded seductive, and Molly’s breath swept from her body in a gale. She was actually nervous to meet this person who probably made more in a night than she did in a week by selling that gorgeous body.

  Her hand was once again steady as she grasped the door handle. She took another moment to refill her lungs, then opened the door.

  The man’s hand was raised mid-knock, wrist turned and long fingers curled into his palm. He held it there as he met her gaze, then cocked his head.

  ‘Sonia,’ he said, using the name she had given him.

  It wasn’t a question. She knew it by the way her blood sang with the word. This was the first promise.

  The things I’ll do to you, it said.

  Molly held open the door and stepped aside. ‘Come in, please.’

  She might as well have answered the door in nothing but her panties. He gave her one long, sweeping look and stripped her bare.

  As she burned up, the man strode into the room and trailed the whiff of expensive cologne that had been his trademark since he first approached the reception desk. She touched her tongue to the roof of her mouth, and couldn’t tell whether it was the scent or his magnetism that made her mouth water.

  With every step his dominance of the space became more oppressive, and the thought of closing that door, of closing herself in with him, brought back the pounding in her head.

  She stood, frozen, and watched his movements. He draped his coat over the arm of the sofa and reached for the tartan scarf, then turned.

  He was stunning in profile, a marble bust of Apollo given life, but as he glanced back at her and his mouth twisted into a smile he became the rogue.

  ‘Are you expecting someone else?’ he teased. ‘I prefer to work alone, but if you insist …’

  Molly raised her chin and gave him a smile. ‘No, it’s just you and me.’

  He sucked in a sudden sharp breath, then swivelled around. ‘I’ve seen you before. You work here.’

  ‘Yes,’ she admitted, and followed in his wake on wobbly legs. ‘That’s how I got your number.’

  ‘Nick.’ He chuckled and slowly tugged the scarf from around his neck. ‘Am I in trouble? Have I been a bad boy?’

  She gave herself a mental high-five for not reacting to such a baiting question and folded her arms over her chest. ‘You know I’m the front-desk manager here, don’t you?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘And you’ve been operating right under my nose for how long?’

  He gave her a hundred-watt smile that made her wonder how much it cost him. ‘Nick and I’ve worked together. Did you know that he moonlights at a hotel a couple of blocks from here? We’re not in direct competition, you see, so we can scratch each other’s backs from time to time.’

  ‘I know. Nick has no secrets once you put a scare into him, and he has a very large network of … people who do what you do, I’ve discovered.’

  He lowered himself into the armchair and sat in a variation on his trademark pose from the bar, with legs stretched out and forearms propped against the chair’s arms. She wouldn’t call his appearance kingly, not with that rakish grin. He came off more like a usurper who had won his throne through treachery.

  ‘And here I am, ready to “do what I do” for you.’ He drew his hands up in front of him, fingers forming a steeple. ‘If you are interested in a threesome, I’m sure I can arrange for Nick to waive his fee. His shift is done at eleven, isn’t it?’

  ‘I’m not interested in Nick. Even if I was, I’m sure I could get him without you.’

  ‘Ah, so I’m special.’

  He laughed. It was a wonderful, rolling sound, and contagious. The corners of her mouth twitched with wanting to join in.

  She took one end of the sofa for herself. The conversation had rooted her a little. After the waiting and watching, to be at the doors of negotiation made her feel a little more empowered.

  ‘So now you have me, but whether I’m willing to take your money in exchange is something altogether different. I can assure you that barring the more extreme acts I won’t mention, there’s not much I’m willing to say no to.’ He tapped his fingers together and narrowed his eyes in study. ‘I don’t normally ask questions, it’s not good business, but my curiosity is starting to get to me: why am I here?’

  ‘We’re overdue for a chat, aren’t we?’

  ‘I don’t think so, Sonia.’ He paused, and followed his words with a rumbling chuckle. ‘You’re using an alias, aren’t you? Why would that be? You could have taken me to the bar. Instead you’re secreted away with me in the honeymoon suite.’

  She leaned forward. ‘You think I want to fuck you?’

  He looked at her like he knew it gave her a rush to say it, like he knew that, in spite of her business-like tone, she was getting wet just sitting there across from him.

  ‘I think your intentions are honest, that you’re here to tell me to fuck off and never set foot in your lobby again, but … you are thinking about it, aren’t you?’ He leaned forward, forearms across his knees, and clasped his hands together. Long fingers layered over those scarred knuckles, and yet there was something gentle about his hands that made his wolfish grin more bearable. ‘You could never afford me. I ought to know, I got my start working in hotels so I know how much you take home. It would cost you at least a paycheque for two hours. Still, no wedding ring, so you could have disposable income. Besides, if you were married you’d strike me as the type to have an angst-ridden affair over paying for sex. You’re also not thinking of me as your last big hurrah before walking down the aisle: women who are facing the grim prospect of only one cock for the rest of their lives are much more gleeful.

  ‘I think …’ he whispered with such a lovely rasp that it curled Molly’s toes, ‘I think that you’d be after something much more rich. You strike me as the type of woman who saves her pennies, but every so often there’s a little indulgence you can’t resist trying.’

  ‘Do you do this with everyone?’ she asked, choking on a slight hitch in her voice.

  ‘Do w
hat?’

  ‘Try and mindfuck them before you get your cock out?’

  Once more that wonderful laugh exploded in the atmosphere like fireworks. ‘Would you prefer it if I took my cock out while I mindfucked you?’

  ‘I’d prefer to get to the matter at hand.’

  He held his hands out in surrender. ‘Consider me scolded. Now, offer me something from the minibar and tell me you want me to stay the hell out of your hotel so I can give you all the reasons why that’s a bad idea.’

  ‘You don’t have to tell me why it’s a bad idea. Some of our best clients use your services, and if you go, they’ll go – and you can get your own something from the minibar if you want it.’

  She crossed one leg over the other, and a tickle ran through her as his gaze moved along what little thigh she had exposed. She couldn’t keep it hidden this time. She shuddered, and he pinned her back with a look.

  Seeing no point in denying the effect he had on her, she laughed. ‘You are good. I’ve only seen it from afar.’

  ‘It’s all in the details, isn’t it?’ He looked at the bottle she had abandoned, and got to his feet. ‘Everything is made up of little details. Everything. When I first meet a woman, I’m taking in everything about her and trying to work her out. You call it mindfucking, but it’s how I figure out what she wants me to be. I can get a sense of how she sees herself as soon as she comes off the elevator, and I engage her in the bar so I can strip her down before I take her to bed.’

  He grasped her bottle, turned and studied her for a moment before pressing his lips to its mouth. She didn’t think this was intentional, but she couldn’t deny how erotic it was to see him with his head tilted back, eyes half-closed, and his throat pulsing as he drank.

  When he had finished, he licked his lips and returned to the sofa.

  ‘It’s a little bit like going down on a woman,’ he went on. ‘She’ll tell you what she wants, but she won’t use words. She’ll use her body. It’ll be a look, a touch, a sound, or all of the above. She gets hot and starts to fidget, and you know it’s just right there, hidden just beneath the surface: all her secrets and desires. Then, like a veil being lifted, you’ve unlocked her.’ He leaned back and draped his arms over the back of the sofa, his expression smug. ‘It’s a skill not every man possesses, and it can’t be taught. It’s why I’m so good at what I do.’