Remember When 3: The Finale Part 8

We made our way through the lobby, and I swear, every eye in the place turned our way. Trip pasted his movie-star-smile onto his face and ignored all of them, save for the concierge behind the desk who welcomed him by name. "Mr. Wiley. Welcome back. We were all very sorry to hear about your father. How did everything go back home?"

Trip had turned into him by this time, so he was able to answer appropriately, "Thank you, Jim. Everything went very well. Of course we're all saddened by the loss of a good man, and I'm sure the TRU won't be the same without him. But I see everything's in order here?"

Jim puffed up a bit with pride as he answered, "Of course, Mr. Wiley. Miss Wilmington is making sure of that."

When Mr. Wilmington's health had finally taken its ultimate turn for the worse, Claudia had stepped into his vacated role as Chairman of the Board. I thought it was more of a figurehead-type position-you know, keeping with the family name and all-but apparently, she was actively running the show. Good for her.

Trip introduced me to Jim, then checked me in under the name Mrs. Martin Bishop. Still with the freaking Redford characters. He smiled cheerfully at his name choice, but he wasn't very happy about having to kiss me goodbye. He pulled me behind a potted tree and planted his lips on mine. What started out as a simple goodbye kiss quickly picked up a bit of steam. I hoped none of the tourists in the lobby could see us, or worse, pull out their cameras and start snapping photos.

We were both a bit jetlagged from the flight, so while half of me wanted nothing more than to drag him upstairs with me, the other half just wanted to crash for the next twelve hours.

But there we were, right there in the lobby, our goodbye kiss turning heated.

Screw sleep. Some things were more important. I needed this man between my thighs more than sleep. More than food. More than air.

He slipped an arm around my waist and we followed the bellboy to the elevators along with the baggage cart that held all my stuff. Once the doors closed, Trip didn't waste any time. He slid a hand right down my spine, teasing his fingers under the waistband at the back of my jeans. I stood perfectly still, even though I wanted to slap his hand away. I could've killed him for playing games with the bellboy right there in the cramped elevator. Either that, or jumped his bones. I wasn't sure which. In any case, the ride to the penthouse took forever.

We were shown to our room, and Trip promptly tipped the bellboy. As soon as he was out the door, we started tearing at each other, our clothes strewn all over the floor. Trip shoved me onto the bed and pounced on top of me, kissing his way along every inch of my body.

"No way, pal. It's my turn," I teased, as I rolled him to his back and straddled him, kissing his neck and running my hands along his smooth, hard chest.

The light from outside had started to dim, and I was reminded of a dream I once had, during a time when the mere thought of having this gorgeous man back in my life was an abstract idea at best. And yet, there he was, right there, his hands clasped behind his head, his eyes closed, a contented smile pasted to his beautiful face, lying right there underneath my naked body, the reality far better than any dream could ever be.

I kissed him, brus.h.i.+ng my mouth along those full, sensual lips of his, savoring the taste of him, the feel of his heart rus.h.i.+ng under my palms. A possessiveness overtook me as I pushed back against his torso, trying to brand myself into his skin. I had waited for this, longer than any woman should have been asked to wait. And now, he was mine.

I earned him.

Trip wasn't feeling very patient at that moment either. He released his hands from behind his head and grasped my hips, pulling me toward him and spearing himself into my body. I gasped as I rocked against him, feeling the fullness of his hardened length plunging inside of me, claiming me as his own.

He was smiling as he had his way with me, his free hands running over every inch of exposed skin within his reach, his hips thrusting to meet my movements, again and again and again, eventually causing the both of us to explode, leaving us sated and out of breath.

What is it about a hotel room that turns people into s.e.x-crazed lunatics?

We settled into the heavenly mattress, our limbs tangled together under the bedsheets as I ran my hand along the soft skin on the inside of his arm.

He was staring at me, his face half-buried in the pillow. "I can't believe you're really going to stay here. Isn't there anything I can say to change your mind?"

My chest was still heaving as I tried to catch my breath. I nuzzled into his neck, s.h.i.+vering at the brush of stubble that tickled my lips. The truth was, all I really wanted was to curl up in that man's bed and stay there forever.

I slowly pushed myself up and straddled his lap, peering down at him while he offered me his most lethally persuasive glare with those potent blue eyes of his-eyes that I was virtually powerless to deny.

I s.h.i.+fted my attention to take in the room we had all but ignored in our frantic dance to make it to the bed.

My jaw dropped.

The room was ginormous. That bedroom alone was probably two times larger than my entire apartment in the city, and decorated a hundred times better. The Wilmingtons' Beverly Hills hotel was way more relaxed and inviting than their ber-hip Times Square property. Less mod; more island. Rustic wood furnis.h.i.+ngs contrasted against pale cream walls with the perfect kisses of Wilmington Blue in the patterned fabric of the upholstered furniture, pillows, and curtains. Along one wall, floor to ceiling windows showcased the Los Angeles skyline at night, a breathtaking array of bright lights in darkened skysc.r.a.pers against an almost amethyst sky.

I looked down at Trip. "I'm in L.A.," I said in awe.

He grinned cautiously and nodded.

I glanced back up, scanned the room again, then collapsed on top of him. "Holy s.h.i.+t! I'm in L.A. I'm really here."

Trip's arms wrapped around me, his hands gently stroking up and down my back. His voice rumbled through his chest. "You're where you're supposed to be, Lay."

I buried my face in his chest and fought the wave of disbelief was.h.i.+ng over me. "A week ago, I was Layla Warren, self-employed writer, living in her childhood bedroom in Norman, New Jersey. You were nothing more than a late-night fantasy, and a crazy day was a visit from Lisa and the kids."

I rested my chin on his chest and looked up at him. "Now I'm in the penthouse suite of the Beverly Hills TRU. Naked, mind you, in one of the most comfortable beds I've ever felt, with one of the biggest movie stars the world has ever seen."

I hesitated, mentally reminding myself of my new pledge to verbally vomit, then went for it. "Also one of the world's biggest playboys."

His mouth opened, then closed. I squeezed my eyes shut and burrowed into him, wis.h.i.+ng I could ignore the insecurity I had thus far managed to keep at bay.

It was impossible to avoid the numerous reports about the many, many women who had been "guests" at his home over the years. Not to mention an ex-fiancee who had actually lived there. I could only a.s.sume that Trip had seen more action in that house than Hef did in the Playboy Mansion.

Okay, maybe not more than Hef.

It had better not be more than Hef.

His arms tightened, and he whispered against my hair. "You know they meant nothing to me. You know I've spent the last fifteen years pining away for some infuriating chick I met back in high school."

I smiled slightly. "But you were engaged. To a freaking Victoria's Secret Angel, Trip. She had to mean something."

He pressed soft kisses along my hair and jaw. "She was just a placeholder until you were finally able to figure out how awesome I was."

I sputtered out a laugh, then slapped his chest. He grabbed my arm and slid his hand to my cheek, tilting my face to look at him. "She wasn't you, Lay. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

I stared into his blue eyes, taking in the devotion br.i.m.m.i.n.g from their depths. I swallowed past the lump in my throat and nodded.

He brushed a soft kiss against my lips, but I soon pulled away. "Give me a few days, okay? Let's catch our breath. You've just come back from your father's funeral. I'm twenty-five-hundred miles away from the only home I've ever known, with a man I never thought I'd ever see again. I just need a minute to wrap my head around all of this. A few days, and then I'll gladly stay with you."

He nodded, giving me a deep, toe-curling kiss to let me know he understood, no hard feelings. Then he s.h.i.+fted my body off of him and got out of the bed.

"Hey! That didn't mean you had to leave now!"

A grin spread across his lips. "Yes, it does. Otherwise certain body parts are going to get way too happy to have a naked you against them, and then it will start all over again, and the next thing you know, it's morning." He gestured below his waist to my favorite body part. Sure enough, it was waking up and taking notice.

I brazenly watched him pull on his jeans and yank his T-s.h.i.+rt over his head, shamelessly ogling what was finally mine to ogle. He smirked, then stalked to the bed and flattened me with another searing kiss.

I gasped for breath as he pulled away and said, "See you tomorrow, babe. This is good. Now I have time to make sure there are no lingering thongs under my mattress."

I shrieked and grabbed one of the dozens of pillows from behind my head, launching it at his retreating form.

"Kidding! You know I'm only kidding." He flashed a huge smile, kissed the air between us, and ducked out the door.

I fell to the bed, the giggles escaping despite my efforts. About thirty seconds after he left, I pa.s.sed out and slept forever.

The next day Trip had some errands to run, but he set a time to come get me later in the evening. My room was a beautiful suite that took over the entire top floor of the hotel. I thought it was a bit excessive, but I decided to shake off my misgivings and just enjoy it. How often would I ever get a chance to stay in a room like that? I didn't date too many heirs to hotel fortunes.

I took a look out the front windows and checked out the view of Beverly Hills' main drag. It was lively and bustling; not quite at New York City levels, but busy nonetheless. It was strange to be in such a populated city and hardly see any pedestrians. The opposite windows looked out over the pool in back. It was a known social gathering place for the young and beautiful set of Los Angeles; the place to see and be seen. And my G.o.d. Even the tourists were beautiful.

I threw on a bathing suit and decided to check out the action poolside. When I headed outside, a young man came up to me and introduced himself as Philippe. He explained that he was my personal cabana boy for the day, which almost made me crack up laughing. A personal cabana boy? What exactly was I supposed to do with him?

There were blue and white striped tents bordering one side of the property, and Philippe escorted me toward one of them, letting me know that it was reserved exclusively for me during my stay. I peeked inside briefly, took note of the pile of spare towels stacked on the white Adirondack chairs inside, but opted to head out near the pool instead. I needed some color. Not only just because my skin was practically blinding white in February, but because I especially wanted to get some sun-kissed glow before the Academy Awards the following week.

I settled into a poolside lounger, and whipped out my cell phone to call Lisa. She answered with her usual tact. "How's the suns.h.i.+ne, b.i.t.c.h?"

I laughed. "How did you ever leave this place? It's incredible!"

"Well, if you'd ever come out to visit during the four years we lived there, you would have known that already, dipwit."

"You know I don't fly. But after travelling first cla.s.s, my opinion may have changed on the matter."

"Nice, isn't it?"

"Mmm hmm. You know what else is nice?"

"What's that?"

"This fricking hotel! I'm poolside right now on the comfiest lounge chair ever created, a cabana boy at my disposal."

"Mmm. Cabana boy. Is he hot?"

"He's adorable. But he's probably nineteen. Get your head out of the gutter."

"Can't. Pregnant, remember?"

"Obviously. Lord knows you never let anyone forget it."

"Shut up, you t.u.r.d. Oh, hey! Make sure you get their avocado salad. It's delicious."

My jaw gaped open at her unwitting revelation. "Wait. You've eaten here? Here?"

"Uh, no. I just heard that it's really good."

I wasn't buying it for a second. "You traitor! You've been to this hotel before, haven't you?"

Lis finally copped to her crime. "Just once, I swear! Pick had some UCLA event and it was held at the TRU. We had to go."

When I didn't speak, she was forced to fill in the empty s.p.a.ce.

"Trip hadn't even moved out there at the time! This was back in like '92 or '93. I would have told you if we saw him."

Still, I remained silent.

"Fine! I'm a traitorous wh.o.r.e! Happy now?"

That made me laugh. "Very. Now put one of your kids on the phone."

Chapter 13.

THE PERFECT MAN.

At seven o'clock, the front desk rang my room to let me know that Mr. Bishop had arrived. I grabbed my handbag and made my way downstairs. But when the elevator doors opened, Trip wasn't there waiting for me. I took a lap around the lobby, but I still didn't see him. I figured he was using the bathroom or something and took a seat on one of the sofas, figuring he'd find me eventually. But after five whole minutes, he was still nowhere to be found.

I approached the front desk and asked, "I received a call that Mr. Bishop was here?"

The attendant behind the desk offered a knowing smile as he said, "Ah, yes, Mrs. Bishop. He requested that you meet him out front."

I thanked him and headed out the front entryway.

And right there at the curb was my gorgeous boyfriend, wearing cuffed jeans, arms crossed over his chest... and leaning against a red Porsche.

Sixteen Candles! I positively melted. I put my hand over my heart and said, "Jake Ryan! You Jake Ryaned to pick me up tonight!"

The scene would have been perfect if Trip didn't look so annoyed. "Christ! What took you so long? I've only been standing out here like a jacka.s.s, holding this pose for like an hour."

I bounded down the few steps and crossed the sidewalk that separated us, sidling up to his chest and slipping a hand around his neck. His "anger" broke at that, and I watched his lips twitch, trying to contain a smile as I slid my fingers into the back of his hair and said, "Oh my G.o.d please just whisper yeah you for me. I think I'll die."

He lost the battle with his smile as his face cracked into a wide grin. "Yeah, you have way too big a crush on that guy. Yeah, you are really making me jealous right about now."

I pecked him on the cheek and said, "Yeah, you are like the cutest thing ever. Even if you forgot the sweater vest."

"I drew the line at the sweater vest."

"Well, now my night is just completely ruined!" I joked.

He just rolled his eyes and opened the car door for me.

I slipped into the pa.s.senger seat and sank into the soft, white leather as Trip made his way to the driver's side. I ran my hand over the dash, asking, "Is this your car?"

Trip started the engine with a glorious, retro rumble. "Nope. Borrowed it from a friend."

I looked at him questioningly. "You happen to have a friend that just happens to own an antique Porsche?"

"Yep." He buckled his seatbelt and slid on a pair of shades. "It's Paul Newman's."

My mouth gaped open as he put the car in gear and we took off down Wils.h.i.+re Boulevard.

The restaurant Trip chose was not at all what I was expecting. I'd thought we were going to go to some fancy-schmancy eatery where there'd be celebrities at every other table. Where he took me instead was an off-the-beaten-path Mexican place out in Encino. I don't know why I was surprised. It was such a Trip thing to do.