Curves He Wrote: A Steamy Standalone Instalove Romance Read online

  But in a single moment I have a new problem, and one I can’t deal with so easily or even with words.

  I take a sideways glance through my shades at her profile, instantly feeling the front of my pants stiffen as my manhood springs to life.

  Not something that happens to me as a general rule. Especially when I’m out and about.

  The second clerk knowing my situation with the room fiasco ushers her further down the counter.

  Taking away what I like doesn’t make me happy.

  I hear myself growl, making the clerk I’m dealing with start to sweat bullets but I’m feeling defensive now.

  Protective.

  I take a full look around, at her directly and then behind us. Double-checking there’s no one else trying to muscle in on her.

  No husband or boyfriend.

  No dad around.

  The thought makes me wince, but no. I know what I want when I see it.

  She must be half my age. Maybe more…

  Who isn’t half my age when you get to my age though?

  Traveling alone and has a room booked from what I overhear. Spells adult to me, you need a credit card and I.D to book a room…

  Okay, Sherlock. How about solving the mystery of your own room first?

  The hotel clerk is being apologetic. Changing his tactics to diffuse this before it explodes, there’s really nothing he can do, he explains. His hands are tied.

  “We can try another hotel for you Mister… uh, Smith?” he suggests, offering to call the local five star and book me a suite. The slight curling of his lip lets me know he doesn’t think I can afford a five star hotel let alone the room I already booked and paid for.

  Between listening to his crap and feeling the rising hormones in my system, plus watching his coworker slide closer to her than I’d like, I feel myself starting to unravel in more ways than one.

  Fishing for my own I.D and lowering my glasses to the end of my nose, I lean over with both hands clenched into fists on the counter. Spelling out how it’s gonna be.

  The second clerk’s rushing over just in time to hear my ultimatum, my promise to join them together as one with some violence, but I can’t stay mad.

  Not once I see how upset the girl is.

  She’s had some bad news by the looks, and I watch her for a moment before I see it.

  That moment when I get recognized, even when I’m wearing some sort of disguise.

  It’s a relief in a way, at least now I have an in with her. A reason to talk to her. A reason to get closer to her.

  Maybe even a reason to touch her.

  The thought makes my breath shiver and I let out another low sound. The new and pleasing hardness in my pants thumping in time with my heart that is hammering against my ribs.

  The clerks have done their homework, both exchanging my I.D while they have their own aha! moment. It really is him, oh shit. Etc. etc.

  That face people make when they realize just who it is they’re talking to.

  But my hotel room suddenly doesn’t matter. Neither does the convention or the stupid refund.

  It’s only her I’m interested in now.

  I hold a hand up to hush the clerks when they start to speak, all my attention on her now.

  But it all falls to pieces. Goes horribly wrong.

  Not like it should in any story I’d write.

  She tucks away the note she’s opened and picking up her heavy case, she turns on her heel without a second glance in my direction.

  She’s leaving.

  In two seconds I’ve torn off my glasses and hat, smoothed my hair out, and am in the process of ripping off my long coat when I remember it’s the only thing between my hard on and the rest of the world.

  But at least she can see who I am now.

  Who I really am.

  It’s a cheap and long shot, but I can’t just let her walk away from me, not like this.

  I don’t even know her name.

  “Oh, Mr. Cartwright!” The clerk calls out from behind me, and I turn as I’m following her just long enough to see him waving my wallet and I.D in the air.

  Long enough and loud enough for the whole foyer to hear him, and I’m suddenly looking a lot more like myself than when I walked in.

  Shit.

  In seconds there’s a swarm of fans, all jostling to talk, take a selfie, but most annoying of all, stop me from following the only thing that remotely interests me anymore.

  It’s almost a half-hour before security can get enough space between me and those adoring fans before they get what they all want and I make my way back to the counter.

  It’s bad timing sure, but this whole weekend is about the fans and to listen and talk to up and coming writers, it’s why I’m here.

  At least, it’s why I thought I was here. Until I laid eyes on her.

  I collect my wallet and giving the clerk the closest thing to a death stare as he promises he should be able to find me a room, maybe.

  I ask him where the nearest hotel is.

  “Somewhere that young lady might have gone,” I suggest, motioning to the space where she stood not too long ago.

  Before I had my chance to meet her ruined by this schmuck.

  He names a few hotels after thinking nervously and I lean over the counter again, his nose an inch from mine.

  “Then get me a car and a way out of here, then tell whoever’s organizing this shit show that if I don’t come back it’s your own doing. Your fault, got that?” I ask him, narrowing my eyes and fighting the urge to feel the back of his skull with my fist.

  He gulps hard, and reaching for the hotel phone he arranges a courtesy car to meet me out back in a few minutes to take me to another hotel.

  “Better be the right one,” I snarl as he hangs up, and he looks puzzled. But I don’t have to explain myself to him.

  I’d love to stay mad, to blame someone. But there’s no time for that.

  I’ve had a taste of something I need more of already. Just being away from her for this long is torture enough.

  Not knowing where she even is or if she’s okay?

  That’s not a feeling I’m accustomed to and not one I want to carry for much longer if I can help it.

  “Who is she?” I ask the clerk, making him look double-puzzled as I continue to study the air in the space she was standing in as I wait for my car.

  “The girl?” he asks nervously, gasping when I growl again and shake my head.

  “Yes, the girl,” I bark.

  “Uh… Lucy Scarborough?” Pipes in the second clerk meekly. “She was booked in with a friend, but there was a change of plans,” he offers.

  “A friend?” I ask him menacingly, feeling myself looming up over them both again.

  “A… A woman. An older woman…” he stammers. “She hooked up with some guy instead, was supposed to be spending the weekend with the girl. I think,” he adds.

  Not much gets past hotel staff. Even in a place like this.

  The phone rings, announcing the car is here, letting them both off the hook. For now.

  It’s a nice car, prompt and discreet, out the back as promised.

  Security ushers me inside and in moments I’m on the streets, eyeballing the sidewalk for Lucy.

  At least I have a name for this feeling now.

  My driver seems aware of my predicament and has the look of someone bearing bad news.

  “Sir?” he asks, getting my attention. Every girl has a white T-shirt on and is carrying a suitcase it seems.

  Maybe time to ease up on trying to find Ms. Right in the first five minutes.

  If she was booked to stay at the hotel, she’ll be at the convention…

  That doesn’t help me now though.

  Doesn’t stop this ache in my chest and my pants.

  “Uh… You should know. Every hotel in town is booked. The convention thing? It’s great for local business, but not so great for latecomers,” he points out casually.

  Without wanting a repeat
performance from the hotel, I ask if he has a suggestion.

  “My cousin, he works the desk at the Mercurion, a five star joint. Very classy. I can have him hook you up with a room for the weekend, no problems,” he says, dropping his work voice and sounding more like a Brooklyn hustler than a driver for hire.

  “Swell,” I exclaim. “And all out of the goodness of his heart too, I bet?” I ask, not even trying to hide my sarcasm, but it gets a smile.

  “Hundred bucks,” he says, the smile suddenly dropping into a deadly serious tone.

  “Each,” he adds.

  I like him. I think I might have found my new permanent driver.

  We might have to upgrade the wheels a little, but I have plenty to choose from.

  “Deal,” I murmur, saving my job offer idea for later.

  Once I see a hotel room key with my name on it and feel crisp sheets under my butt after a hot shower, then I’ll be happy.

  “I’m Stefan,” the driver announces, jutting his chin in a formal greeting.

  “Nathan,” I echo back, jerking my head like we’re just passing on the street.

  I let my new friend do what he has to, making some calls and promising his cousin in a low voice fifty bucks for the privilege of letting him help me out.

  Hundred each, huh?

  But I have to smile. Gotta hand it to anyone who can make a hustle work in the world today. It’s a dog-eat-dog world.

  I’m scanning the streets again, and a couple of times I feel my heart leap when I’m sure I see her.

  But it’s not her.

  Wrong top or too skinny.

  Where are you, Lucy Scarborough?

  It’s not long before I feel the car pull up. “Here we are,” Stefan announces, like he’s just delivered the second coming of Christ with one hand.

  “Ask for Marty at reception. He’ll sort you out,” he adds, a knowing look as he bobs his head, waiting in silence for his payment.

  I hand him three bills and thank him under my breath, taking one of his business cards on the way out without him seeing.

  I’ll be calling him when I need him. All things going to plan.

  Marty is there, eager to please until I tell him I’m the guy his cousin just called about.

  “Uhhh…?” he says absently like he’s thinking aloud.

  Sensing a problem, I only shift my brow, not wanting to cause another scene.

  “Yeah, we can squeeze you in, Mr. Uh… Cartwright,” he mumbles, flitting through the bookings ledger, pretending to look for something that doesn’t exist.

  “But?” I ask, waiting for the sucker punch from cousin Stefan’s deal.

  “But you’ll have to double up. Share a room. It’s literally a double suite. Two rooms in one really,” he says flatly, finding the missing something in his ledger as he slams it shut.

  Maybe he found the word courage.

  “Yeah. Take it or leave it,” he sniffs, folding his arms before leaning over to ask me. “How are you with younger women. You okay with that?”

  Chapter Three

  Lucy

  As soon as I realize who it is standing just a few feet away from me, I suddenly don’t feel so good.

  I mean, yay it’s really him but holy shit, look at me.

  Confronted with him in person, even though I can see he’s wearing a simple disguise to shield himself, I can’t help but feel all my own inadequacies as a go-to emotion for some reason.

  I freeze up for a moment, unsure if I can even move let alone speak, then feel myself picking up the note and money, spinning on my heel, and walking away.

  What the actual fuck? What is wrong with me?

  I should be sidling up to him, introducing myself, and getting some of those autographs I promised myself as well as for Lionel the coach driver.

  Nope. My legs are still moving me away from him.

  Before I can force myself to stop, even for a second to try and reconsider my reflexes, I hear someone shout out his name.

  The whole foyer of fans seems to look in his direction all at the same time, past me, and then start to swarm over to him, nearly knocking me down in the process.

  It’s too much for me to take in, and I find myself back out on the sidewalk and inside a cab moments later, still trying to piece together what just happened.

  “Where to miss?” The driver asks me, and I shake my head, annoyed at the sound of his voice when I can barely form a thought.

  “Uh… The bus station please,” I clip. Hearing myself sounding calm and collected when inside I feel like a bowl of Jell-O that’s been dropped from the roof.

  “Bus station? You’re here for the convention though, right?” The driver asks, perplexed.

  I look for him in the rearview mirror from the back seat but notice my own puffy, red-lidded eyes first.

  I look like hell.

  “I was here for the convention,” I murmur. “No room at the inn,” I scoff loudly, feeling my lip start to tremble as it dawns on me that this weekend, my whole Nathan Cartwright fantasy is just like the rest of my life, a complete disaster.

  The cab isn’t moving and I should say something but my energy is focused on not crying like a baby right now.

  I hear the driver saying something, but I’m not paying much attention until he asks me a third time.

  “I can try and get you a room somewhere else,” he says loudly like I’m hard of hearing. “My cousin, he works the desk at a nice hotel not far from here… cost you though. Fifty bucks. Each,” he adds, not even being shy about it.

  I feel my head nodding, my body betraying my true feelings or maybe really acting on them.

  In a town of fully booked hotels, it might make more sense to at least try and get a room instead of just leaving, instead of running away.

  Running away never worked in the past and it surely won’t work now.

  I’ll only feel worse if I leave without meeting him, I know I will. Even though I just blew my one big chance back there.

  “Alright,” I sigh, sniffing back my emotions and fishing for my purse.

  Around a half-hour later and a few hundred dollars lighter, I’m running a bath in a suite that feels bigger than our whole apartment.

  The guy at the desk wasn’t kidding. It really is a ‘suite’.

  I wonder what the catch is?

  Too tired to worry about details right now, I busy myself with unpacking after picking the room closest to the bathroom.

  There are two bedrooms, a bathroom and a little kitchen/lounge area with a balcony.

  At two hundred a night, plus the ‘tip’ for the cabbie and his cousin to secure it, I think I did alright.

  I’m a little uneasy about how many times he said ‘two rooms in one’ though.

  What does that really mean?

  Checking there’s a lock on my bedroom door before retiring to the bathroom for a well-earned soak, I decide to start fresh once I’ve had a bath.

  I’m here in town, the book convention is in full swing and now at least I’ve had a practice run at getting up close to Nathan Cartwright.

  Mission accomplished.

  Stage two involves meeting the man again without running away, which I vow to try for again tomorrow maybe.

  For now, I look forward to letting the hot water and bath salts work there magic.

  Wincing as I test the water I’ve run and let steam up half the suite, I realize just how hot it is.

  “A little too hot,” I murmur to myself, pouting because I want to sink straight into a hot bath, but I don’t want to scald myself either.

  I run the tub a little colder but it’s almost too full, then decide I can wait a while for it to cool down.

  I’ll unpack and explore the suite some more, maybe check out the view from the balcony with some mini bar soda and a box of crackers…

  Right after I lay down for just a few minutes… Rest my… eyes.

  The suite’s door is locked so I don’t worry about stretching out on the bed in just my tee s
hirt and panties.

  And somehow, that hardback copy with Nathan’s photo on the back ends up in my hands. I stare into his eyes, wishing a thousand times I could have done things differently today.

  Wishing I had another chance to make a better impression.

  It’s a little while before I feel anywhere near relaxed enough to close my eyes properly and a while longer before I notice my body give a little jerk as I almost fall asleep.

  I’ll get up and check the bathwater soon, I tell myself.

  Any. Minute.

  The events of the day so far spin in my mind until I’m reliving them. Half-awake and half-asleep by the time I think I hear a voice somewhere close, but it’s so mixed up with everything else I don’t take much notice.

  The eyes from the banners at the conference, from the back of his books, and finally from the man himself at the hotel counter today.

  I feel them on me again, running over me, pleasing him as much as me as he makes this low sound.

  It’s like a growl mixed with a groan.

  A wild animal noise.

  An Alpha male staking his claim, announcing his intentions.

  I don’t feel shy or like I want to run in my daydream.

  I feel like I want him to see me. Like I want him to watch me, getting himself as excited as I feel as I squirm a little, pressing my legs together as I picture his hands running over himself long before they even reach me.

  In a perfect world, in my little fantasies about him anyway, he’s turned on by me. Can’t control himself.

  It’s a silly thing to think about, but hey. It’s called fantasy for a reason, right?

  I never used to even have fantasies, not like this. But since I discovered his books. His photo anyway, it’s something that started to happen from that day forward.

  Feeling myself getting hotter and wetter between my legs, I let out a soft little moan, working up to the part where I see Nathan palming the front of himself until he can’t take it anymore.

  Until he has to free his huge dick and start to pleasure himself in front of me, showing me just how hard I make him.

  My heart is beating harder and faster than his hand could ever move over that delicious cock of his, and I feel myself gasping awake, my own hand moving between my legs.