Surreal Desire

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I drove past the bar that had provided such wonderful distraction and relaxation two days ago as I headed back to the hotel. I almost stopped, and now, waiting for the elevator to come, I wish I had. Today was horribly long. The business meetings I had to sit through were some of the most boring, long, and horrid of my entire career. If I had stopped at the bar, at least I could have had a couple of beers before coming back here to watch tv. The doors in front of me finally open and I step inside, punching my floor. I hear someone yell to hold the doors and automatically punch the button to do so. My eyes widen as he walks onto the lift.

"Thanks," he says, a bit breathless.

"No problem," I murmur, causing him to look up.

"Veronica ... Ronnie, right?"

"You remember?"

"It was just two days ago," he said, grinning.

I smile. "Right. Hi, Jim."

"Hey," he says. "You're here on business, aren't you?"

I glance down at my pinstriped skirt set and barely resist the urge to giggle. "Whatever gave me away?"

"Well," he says, not missing a beat, "the briefcase is a dead giveaway, though the outfit doesn't hurt."

I smile. "I came to negotiate a deal for my boss. He's in advertising ... it's been a really boring trip."

"All of it?"

I grin. "Well, there was this bar I went to a couple of days ago that provided a nice break from the boredom."

The elevator dings, alerting me to the fact that we've reached my floor and I watch as the doors open. "This is me."

He holds the doors open as I start to walk out, and I hold his eyes as I walk by. God, he really is handsome. He licks his lips and suddenly asks, "Do you have plans for dinner?"

I blink. "Um ... I had thought about ordering a pizza."

"What kind?"

"Supreme with extra sauce and cheese. Possibly some hot wings."

"And beer?"

"Of course! It should be illegal for adults to eat pizza without beer."

His free hand closes around my wrist and I allow him to pull me back into the elevator. "We'll order from my room."

"Will we?"

"Yep," he says confidently. "And we'll watch a movie, or possibly listen to some music. I'll let you pick."

I can't help it. I giggle. "So sure I'll say yes?"

"No wedding ring," he says, brushing his hand across the ring finger of my left hand. "Boyfriend?"

"Not at the moment," I answer.

"Girlfriend?"

"Nah. She and I broke up last week."

He laughs then and says, "We're ordering the hot wings, too."

"Okay," I say as the elevator starts to move once more.

How in the hell did I end up here? It feels like a dream, and I can barely refrain myself from reaching over and pinching my arm. I close my eyes briefly and take a deep breath, and suddenly realize that I don't care. I don't care how I ended up lucking in to seeing James Marsters perform a random set of new music at a bar I happened into. I don't care how, two days later, I managed to end up in the hotel elevator with him, and have somehow -- somehow -- ended up with an invitation to his room for dinner. I just really don't care. And if it is a dream ... I damn sure don't want to wake up. This kind of stuff has never happened to me before. Why should I run the risk of fucking it up by analyzing it? I do believe that I would much rather just sit back and enjoy it. It is with that attitude in mind that I smile and follow him off the lift.

He smiles at me as he slips the keycard into the lock. "Not to sound cliche, but how was your day?"

I shrug as we walk into his room. "Well, I sat in the same chair for five hours, trying not to fall asleep, while a room full of people I barely know talked about quarterly profit returns and the benefits of doing business with my boss. All in all? It was really boring. How 'bout you? Good day, bad day?"

Closing and locking the door, he says, "I read scripts most of the day ... then I had an over-the-phone meeting with my manager."

"So, a pretty good day, then?"

"Yeah, I'd say that. A couple of the scripts sucked though."

"I would imagine," I ponder aloud, "that scripts are like people, in a way. I mean, you know how you form opinions of a person right away, no matter how hard you try to stay open-minded? It seems to me that a script would be like that: if you don't like the first line or two, you automatically set yourself up to not like the rest."

He blinks at me, then asks with a smile, "You a closet actress?"

I grin. "No, but I do like to read. And sometimes. . ."

"Sometimes a book isn't worth reading past the first few sentences," he finishes.

"Exactly."

It's only then that I look around his room. I feel my eyes widen and there's nothing I can do to stop it. "Wow."

"What?"

I look around, blatantly staring; this is not a room . . . it's a suite. And a nice one at that. "Your room is so much more decadent than mine."

"One of the perks," he says softly.

"It's nice. I'll have to wrangle my boss into reserving one like it for me the next time he forces one of these trips on me."

James lets out a bark of laughter then. "Have a seat somewhere and I'll get us some drinks. Beer? Soda? I think there's even wine if you'd like some."

I sit down on the sofa and tell him I'd like a coke. I figure that, if we really do end up with pizza and beer, the beer will be more than enough to relax me. If I start early . . . no, I so do not want to get drunk. I'll be enough of an embarrassment, I'm sure of it, without the assistance of alcohol.

I smile when he sits down next to me and hands me my soda. The thought crosses my mind fleetingly that 'Oh my God, I'm in James Marsters' hotel room,' but I push it aside as I wonder for a second if this is the point when things will get awkward. But then he smiles back, and lo and behold . . . conversation starts. Real conversation, too. You know, the 'so tell me about yourself' kind of stuff.

We did order pizza. And hotwings. And drank beer. At some point, I took off my shoes. We never got around to watching that movie, but James did put on some music, though I can't for the life of me remember when. We've completely lost ourselves in talking. Our lives, current events, the roles he's played, my job; we've discussed what feels like every thing. He's been holding my hand for an hour, his thumb lazily tracing along the lines of my palm as we talk. I can't help but notice how close we're sitting now. Much closer than we started out. There's just one problem. It's late now, nearing midnight, and I've got an early day. I curse the fact that I'm not here on vacation for about the millionth time in my head, but I know there's no avoiding it: I've really got to go back to my room sometime soon so I can get some sleep. Apparently, he's thinking something along those lines as well.

"You have to work tomorrow," he says suddenly, quietly. It's not a question.

I nod slowly. "Yeah."

"When do you leave town, Ronnie?"

Swallowing the last of the beer in my hand, I meet his eyes. "I check out Saturday morning."

"So just one more night, after tonight."

"Yeah."

And then, I think, it's back to real life and away from this . . . dream-like experience I'm currently living. I'm no where near surprised that the very thought of leaving depresses me a little; my time here has been incredible, despite the boring work I've been forced to sit through. He stands then and holds out his hand. I let him pull me off the sofa and slip back into my heels, placing my hands on his shoulders for support as I do. "Tonight was fun," I say, my voice rather soft.

He licks his lips. "Yes, it was. Conversation, actual conversation, is sometimes very hard to come by in my line of work. And. . ."

I tilt my head to the side as his voice trails off. "And?"

His hands run down my arms then, and I shiver. "And, if I'm honest, I'll admit to being very attracted to you."

I blink, not quite knowing what to say. I mean, really, what do you say to that? I've never been good at accepting compliments, ever. They make me uncomfortable in a way I can't explain. And having someone say they're attracted to you? That is one hell of a compliment, even if they're not specific as to why they find you attractive. So, instead of saying anything, I lick my lips and press them gently to his. Briefly. Oh, so very briefly. And then I pull back. "Have dinner with me again tomorrow night?"

He nods without hesitation. "Here. Seven thirty."

"I'll bring dessert."

I know, know, that if I don't leave right now I will make a total fool of myself. "I had a really good time tonight, Jim. Sleep well, and I'll see you tomorrow."

He says my name as I turn and walk towards the door, but I can't look back. I can't. I'll stay if I see the slightest hint of desire in his eyes, if he'll have me, and I don't want to be one of those girls. But then he's there, behind me, my name on his lips, and I'm turning. His eyes, God, he has beautiful eyes. I swallow hard. I could get lost in those eyes.

"Ronnie."

"James, I . . ."

And he's kissing me, really kissing me. His hands are around my waist, holding me to him, and I put my arms around his neck automatically. His tongue teases my lips, prompting me to open up to him. His arms tighten around me as I do, as I slip my own tongue out to meet his, and I know then that it's not just his eyes that I could lose myself in. His lips are moving against mine, with mine, and I know it's me I hear moaning softly. I don't know how or when my back ended up against the door, but he's pressing me against it, against him, and I just can't make myself care about how I got into the position.

We're both breathless when we finally break the kiss, and he pulls me to him. I can feel his arousal, can feel my own tingling along my skin, and I don't trust myself to speak just yet. If I did, I'm very afraid I'd ask him which way the bedroom was. I rest my head on his shoulder and breathe deeply, willing myself to calm down.

"As much as I'd like to know what you've got on under this prim little business suit, you were leaving for a reason . . . right?"

I sigh softly. "I don't want to make this too easy for you."

"But you will admit there is something to, um, make easy?"

I smile at that, at the slight uncertainty in his voice. "Just looking at the practical side of things, if I was to stay, we'd likely be up for at least another couple of hours. Combine that with the beer and my natural need for a lot of sleep, and well, I'd be shit tomorrow."

"Today."

"Whatever."

His hand lifts my face to his, and he kisses me again softly. "Seven thirty?"

"You like chocolate?" I murmur against his lips.

"Uh huh."

I run my tongue along his lips teasingly. "Good."

The kiss that follows almost makes me reconsider our new agreement that nothing can happen tonight, but the beep of his watch signaling that it is now one am snaps me out of my lust induced daze. I pull out of the kiss and hold his gaze. "Promise you're not going to leave sometime today . . . because if I walk out of this room and find out later that you've gone and disappeared on me, I swear I'll spend the rest of my life wondering about 'what could have been'."

He grins. "I'm not going anywhere."

And with that, he walks me to the door and we say goodnight. Later, in my own bed, I can't help but smile. He's a really great kisser.

tbc

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