Read Online Holiday Man by Marilyn Brant - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Marilyn Brant
Tags: Romance
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to Holiday Quinn for you. Please enjoy them at your leisure and imagine my hands rubbing them on you. That’s what I’ll be imagining.
Don’t hesitate to call me at the cell number below, or e-mail me, if you’d prefer. I’d be happy to hear from you anytime. I repeat—ANYTIME.
Bram
Hmm, would right now be soon enough? Shannon sat on the bed next to the phone and punched in Bram’s cell number before she could talk herself out of it.
“ Hartwick ,” he answered on the second ring.
“Hi,” she said, feeling dangerously daring as she stretched out on the warm bed that still held his scent. “Guess where I am?”
CHAPTER FOUR
Memorial Day
What color, you ask… You mean you can’t guess?
I’ll leave the visuals to your imagination, Bram, but I WILL tell you their texture. Think soft and satiny from top to bottom, with a hint of roughness around the frilly edges.
Perfect for a summer’s evening and, when uncovered, will prove more unusual than what is expected…
Bram couldn’t resist reading Shannon’s latest message one more time. He laughed and logged off his e-mail for the night before getting ready for bed.
Hmm, bed. Alone.
But he was in Brussels on business and she was in Wisconsin preparing for the upcoming Memorial Day weekend at the inn. And writing, by his account, the sexiest descriptions of cupcakes ever composed online.
Yes, professionally made and creatively frosted, using the smoothest fondant and the most artful designs for her guests. Delicate red-white-and-blue cupcakes…
Not satin panties.
Not sheer lingerie.
Not silky bed sheets.
Oh, how that woman delighted in tormenting him.
They’d played this game for weeks now, starting after Easter with her first phone call from the Astaire Suite. A game of suggestive one-upmanship, which turned out to be more like “one- up woman ship ” because she so often had him bested. He never would’ve guessed someone with such a poised demeanor would become this evocative, this bold. This quickly.
Not that he was complaining.
He just wanted to see where her imaginative mind would take them these days, if ever they were face-to-face again.
He threw his tired body down on the mattress and sank into the pillow. He clicked off the bedside light, flipped the blanket over his legs and squeezed his eyes shut.
Nothing.
Well, nothing but Shannon dancing behind his eyelids in a lacy, flowing teddy—probably forest green—while luring him down the darkened hallways of Holiday Quinn for a flaming quickie against one of the banisters.
He swallowed and felt himself harden. No way would he be able to fall asleep without some help.
He dialed room service and had them send up a cup of decaf with cream and a chocolate croissant. Carbs usually knocked him out fast. But the sweet pastry, like virtually everything else he laid his eyes on, made him think of Shannon.
So he tried some strong bourbon from the mini bar. No such luck.
The late-night TV show in Flemish didn’t help either. Nor did the French one.
He checked the clock and, counting backward seven hours, he decided there remained only one viable option. He punched in a phone number he’d long since memorized.
“Hello, you’ve reached the voicemail of Shannon Quinn. I’m unable to take your call right now, but please leave your name and message, and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. Have a wonderful day.”
“How the hell can I have a wonderful day?” Bram grumbled after waiting for the familiar beep. “I’m bored, horny and on my way to becoming an insomniac. Call me the second you get this and put me out of my misery. Please.” He recited the phone number of his hotel suite and his room number. Then he slammed down the receiver.
Dammit .
This international travel gig had long ago curtailed his social life, but he hadn’t resented it quite so much until recently. Trying to stay in contact with someone when you were seven or eight time zones away…who could
Don’t hesitate to call me at the cell number below, or e-mail me, if you’d prefer. I’d be happy to hear from you anytime. I repeat—ANYTIME.
Bram
Hmm, would right now be soon enough? Shannon sat on the bed next to the phone and punched in Bram’s cell number before she could talk herself out of it.
“ Hartwick ,” he answered on the second ring.
“Hi,” she said, feeling dangerously daring as she stretched out on the warm bed that still held his scent. “Guess where I am?”
CHAPTER FOUR
Memorial Day
What color, you ask… You mean you can’t guess
I’ll leave the visuals to your imagination, Bram, but I WILL tell you their texture. Think soft and satiny from top to bottom, with a hint of roughness around the frilly edges.
Perfect for a summer’s evening and, when uncovered, will prove more unusual than what is expected…
Bram couldn’t resist reading Shannon’s latest message one more time. He laughed and logged off his e-mail for the night before getting ready for bed.
Hmm, bed. Alone.
But he was in Brussels on business and she was in Wisconsin preparing for the upcoming Memorial Day weekend at the inn. And writing, by his account, the sexiest descriptions of cupcakes ever composed online.
Yes, professionally made and creatively frosted, using the smoothest fondant and the most artful designs for her guests. Delicate red-white-and-blue cupcakes…
Not satin panties.
Not sheer lingerie.
Not silky bed sheets.
Oh, how that woman delighted in tormenting him.
They’d played this game for weeks now, starting after Easter with her first phone call from the Astaire Suite. A game of suggestive one-upmanship, which turned out to be more like “one- up woman ship ” because she so often had him bested. He never would’ve guessed someone with such a poised demeanor would become this evocative, this bold. This quickly.
Not that he was complaining.
He just wanted to see where her imaginative mind would take them these days, if ever they were face-to-face again.
He threw his tired body down on the mattress and sank into the pillow. He clicked off the bedside light, flipped the blanket over his legs and squeezed his eyes shut.
Nothing.
Well, nothing but Shannon dancing behind his eyelids in a lacy, flowing teddy—probably forest green—while luring him down the darkened hallways of Holiday Quinn for a flaming quickie against one of the banisters.
He swallowed and felt himself harden. No way would he be able to fall asleep without some help.
He dialed room service and had them send up a cup of decaf with cream and a chocolate croissant. Carbs usually knocked him out fast. But the sweet pastry, like virtually everything else he laid his eyes on, made him think of Shannon.
So he tried some strong bourbon from the mini bar. No such luck.
The late-night TV show in Flemish didn’t help either. Nor did the French one.
He checked the clock and, counting backward seven hours, he decided there remained only one viable option. He punched in a phone number he’d long since memorized.
“Hello, you’ve reached the voicemail of Shannon Quinn. I’m unable to take your call right now, but please leave your name and message, and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. Have a wonderful day.”
“How the hell can I have a wonderful day?” Bram grumbled after waiting for the familiar beep. “I’m bored, horny and on my way to becoming an insomniac. Call me the second you get this and put me out of my misery. Please.” He recited the phone number of his hotel suite and his room number. Then he slammed down the receiver.
Dammit .
This international travel gig had long ago curtailed his social life, but he hadn’t resented it quite so much until recently. Trying to stay in contact with someone when you were seven or eight time zones away…who could
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