He stopped but didn’t remove his hand. “Your ballet teacher,” he prompted.
“She thought I had potential. She took me under her wing. For years after, she let me attend lessons for free. Since I couldn’t—Beau, this is worse. Either do it or don’t.”
He smiled and narrowed his eyes on her. He traced his finger along the outside of her and slipped it inside again.
“She gave me free lessons because I couldn’t,” her voice pitched, “afford them.”
“A ballerina,” he said reverentially. “So she loves to dance.”
“She loves to dance.” Lola nodded and cocked her head. “I think I heard something.”
“Impossible,” Beau said. “I just called downstairs.”
There was a knock at the door. “Guess they don’t have a lot of orders this time of night,” she said.
“Ignore it. They’ll wait.”
She laughed lightly. “You practically threatened their lives if they didn’t bring you your breakfast.”
He sighed. “Then I guess we’ll have to pick this up later.” He got up and pulled on his boxer briefs. Lola unpeeled her stockings, found a robe in the bathroom, slipped into it and went out just as Beau was signing the receipt.
He shut the door and turned. “My robe on you,” he said, shaking his head slowly, “an image that’ll soothe me on my deathbed.”
“I was indecent.”
He wrapped his arms around her waist. “You were very indecent. But seeing you dressed just makes me want to undress you.” He backed her up against the wall and nibbled her neck.
“The food,” she said breathily but laughing.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Beau,” she whined.
“Ah, fuck. Fine.” He released her but not before kissing her once on the lips. “First, we refuel.”
12
Beau moved breakfast plates from the food cart to the hotel room’s dining table while Lola watched. He distributed silverware and poured them each orange juice. Seated with a napkin on his lap, he drizzled syrup onto his French toast. He cut four bite-sized squares with his fork and knife before looking up at Lola. “Lose your appetite?”
“No.”
Earlier, on her way to the bathroom to change into a robe, she’d paused at the closet. Beau’s suit had been hung. It’d been done haphazardly, but it was on a hanger nonetheless. There’d barely even been a moment to do it. She’d been faced away from him when he’d taken it off—had he hung it then? It was turning out that the bedroom was the only place Beau could get dirty.
Lola tended toward tidy, but not at that level. She hadn’t forgotten Beau’s description of his daily routine and as he took a bite of his portioned food, she envisioned him eating that way every morning, alone in a spotless kitchen.
She picked up her French toast, loaded the plate with bacon and fruit and stuck a fork between her teeth. With her other hand, she put the syrup under her arm, picked up a bowl of powdered sugar, turned and walked away.
“Where are you going?” he called after her.
“Eating in bed,” she said between her teeth.
He followed her. “You’ll make a mess.”
She put everything down on the white comforter.
“You already got syrup on my robe,” he said, pointing at the sleeve.
“So what? Don’t you get maid service?”
“Well, yes. We aren’t finished with the bed, though.”
She forked an entire half of toast and tore off a bite with her teeth. “So we get a little sticky,” she said, chewing. “A little sugary. That so bad?”
He raised both eyebrows at her.
“You ever heard of breakfast in bed?” she asked.
“I don’t think this is what’s meant by it.”
She waved her hand. “Sure it is.”
Lola didn’t eat breakfast anywhere other than her kitchen, but Beau needed his boundaries pushed a little. She’d crawled on the floor for him—he could handle some unscheduled fun. She took a
nother bite as they stared each other down. When he still hadn’t moved, she hopped up on the mattress.
“Lola, what—? Watch the syrup.”
“Does this bother you?” she asked, jumping once. The syrup tipped over.
He lunged forward and caught it before more than a few drops escaped. “I just don’t understand why—”
She grabbed the syrup from his hands and stuck a finger in it. She glossed some over her lips. “Ready for me?” she asked.
“What—”
She threw her arms around his neck. He caught her just as her legs went around his waist. She kissed him hard on the mouth, spreading syrup all over him.
“What’s gotten into you?” he asked.
He’d gotten into her. She wasn’t just testing him—she was actually giddy, experiencing a second wind for the night. She licked the sauce from his upper lip. “Hmm. Interesting. There’s syrup all over your face, my face, your robe, the bed. And yet, we’re still standing.”
“Well, I’m standing,” he said, grinning. “You’re just wrapped around me being silly.”
She nodded. “Is silly okay?”
“Silly is okay.”
“So then come have breakfast in bed with me.”
“If you insist, though I don’t really see the point.”
“There’s no point. This isn’t a negotiation or a board meeting where there needs to be an explanation for everything. There’s absolutely no fucking point at all, and that is the point.”
He shook his head. “Fine. We’ll eat in bed, but you’ll have to get down.”
“Take me with you.” She twisted to set the syrup back on the bed. “You might need extra hands.”
He laughed but adjusted her ass and walked them to the table. She took both glasses of orange juice while he supported her with one hand and carried his plate in the other.
When he lowered her onto the bed with one arm, the powdered sugar teetered. They looked at each other and smiled.
“I feel like a child,” Beau said once they were seated and eating. “Even more like a child than when I was a child.”
She smiled with her mouth shut as she chewed. “Me too,” she said when she’d swallowed.
He took a bite and glanced up. “Why are you looking at me that way?” His legs were crossed in front of him. His forehead wrinkled.