The California Club Part 29

'I'll wait here.' Elliot turns away and stares intently at the c.o.c.ktail menu.

As soon as we're out of his earshot Joel whoops, 'It's gonna be a cinch!'

'What is?'

'Having him fall in love with you,' Joel taunts.

'Don't say that!'

'He's halfway there already.'

'I know he loves me as a friend but-'

'Trust me. We can do this,' Joel a.s.serts.

'Okay,' I blink.

Right now I'd believe anything he says I feel utterly in his power and if that hot shower happens to come complete with him as a human loofah I won't be complaining.

'After you.' Joel motions me into the crowded lift then, just as the doors squeeze closed, he booms, 'Can I have my fleece back now please?' over-enunciating to be certain everyone hears his request.

I look at him. Surely he can't mean now now.

He makes a 'gimme' motion with his fingers.

If he thinks he can humiliate me by making me reveal my glittering torso in a lift populated by conservatively dressed sixty-somethings, he's right. But I do it anyway. I feel he's earned a thrill at my expense.

'That was priceless!' Joel wipes a tear from his eye as we career down the corridor to his room.

I'm laughing too but more from nerves than the image of the neck-cricking double-takes I prompted it's been a long time since I was alone with a man of such blatant s.e.xuality.

The room is chintzy-grand with two heavy king beds, a pair of winged armchairs and a cherry wood table set with a bottle of Merlot and a fancy cheese and fruit platter.

'Help yourself!' Joel says, knowing I'm so hungry I could eat one of the scatter cushions.

'You've got a balcony!' I say, sending splinters of water biscuit into the carpet.

I step out, only to recoil instantly from the cold. I'd forgotten we were experiencing the Ice Age.

'You must be frozen to the core.' Joel captures me and vigorously rubs my arms. 'Don't worry, we have ways of making you warm!'

My eyes stray to the nearest bed. What is it about this man that has me wanting to get wanton? One slight innuendo and I'm wondering what the possibilities might have been if Elliot wasn't waiting downstairs. Elliot. I feel a shimmy of disloyalty but then remind myself that I'm a free agent. He's never exhibited any carnal interest in me, unlike Joel.

'Ready for that shower?'

I nod.

He leads me to the bathroom and pushes open the door. I step inside then turn to face him, my hand is on the handle but I'm reluctant to close the door in his face. He holds my gaze, looking intrigued rather than wolfish, then smiles, 'Well, much as I'd love to stay and watch ...' and retreats into the room.

As I turn the lock I struggle to suppress a whimper of l.u.s.t, settling instead for a flamenco clatter of heels on the tiled floor. He's so s.e.xy! I try and shake the feeling from my limbs for fear of becoming possessed and concentrate instead on the way the tiny hexagon tiles on the walls create a lovely whitewashed honeycomb effect. Better yet, the gla.s.s shelf above the sink is crammed with 'we-can-rebuild-you' mini beauty products.

I grab the bottles of juniper shampoo and matching body lotion and stick my head around the door. 'Is it okay if I use these?'

Joel looks up from unsheathing a black evening suit and grins: 'Knock yourself out!'

I dip back into the bathroom and set the shower running. This is such a bonus. If I had gone with Elliot I'd probably be cowering behind a canvas sheet having the contents of a watering-can emptied over me. I reach around to undo my dress but even backed up into the mirror I can't judge hooks and eyes. Frustration! I twist and arch and even try pulling the skirt part up over my head but then realize the potential horror of getting it stuck above my waist like a giant version of those neck cones people put on dogs to stop them biting themselves. There's only one thing for it call in the experts.

'Um, Joel?'

He looks bemused to still find me dressed.

'Sorry to bother you but could you just help me get this off?' I fl.u.s.ter.

'My pleasure,' he says, striding over and deftly addressing the various zips and poppers. This is not a man who ever struggles with a bra strap, I'm sure.

He catches me looking at him in the bathroom mirror and I blush as I feel the steamy air meet my bare back.

'Okay, that's great. Thanks. I'll be really quick.'

'No rush,' he smiles, waiting for me to resume eye contact with him.

I manage it for just a second before busying myself with the vital task of moving the towels from the rack to the toilet seat and setting them in a symmetrical stack.

'You have fun!' He exits, closing the door behind him.

It's been a while since a man undressed me so I take a moment to lean against the cool gla.s.s of the door. I feel all swimmy and succ.u.mbable, if there is such a word ... Suddenly I leap back as a loud rap jolts my ear.

'Lara?'

I gulp. It's him again. This is more than I can stand. I think it's best if we just get this frisson over and done with before I explode. I prise open the door and give him my most seductive look.

'I found this in the wardrobe.' He hands me a white floor-length bathrobe.

'Oh! Fantastic! Thank you!'

He doesn't want me naked after all. I bury my face in the robe to mask my disappointment.

He smiles into my peeping eyes. 'See you in a while.'

Finally I step into the shower, hoping to wash away the jumpy never-been-kissed imbecile that's taken over my body and liberate Lara the Femme Fatale.

I emerge fifteen minutes later a good deal calmer, buried under acres of robe and wafting juniper from every pore.

'It's a shame this isn't a health spa hotel,' I muse, perching on the end of the bed securing my matching towel turban.

'Feel in need of a little pampering, do you?' Joel ladles on the 'poor baby' mockery.

'No, I was just thinking they let you wear toweling robes to dinner in places like that, don't they?'

Joel contemplates me for a moment then says, 'Well, there is one way you could get away with it.'

I look down at my bulky fluffiness. 'Dress it up with diamante?' I suggest, unconvinced.

'No you fool room service!'

My eyes widen with glee. Right now I can't think of anything more fun.

'What about Elliot?' I ask.

'He can eat downstairs with me, like a grown-up.'

'Oh.' My face falls.

'Don't be silly, there's plenty of room at the table, we'll just get them to bring an extra chair. And if we wrap up we can have aperitifs on the balcony.'

'Can we get wine and everything?'

'Sure. I won't tell your parents if you don't,' he teases.

I flump back on the bed, losing my turban in the process.

'Your hair looks good wet,' he says, rescuing the towel then reaching over to tousle my damp locks.

I look at him, wondering what it must be like to have the confidence to touch another person so easily, knowing that they'll love the sensation. So much of my pre-foreplay just goes on in my head.

'Shall I call down to the bar and have them send up Elliot?'

I nod, forced to rein in my imagination yet again, grateful that Joel has handed me the room service menu to focus on.

I study it for some time. 'What are you having?' I sigh finally, unable to make a decision.

'I'm torn between the crispy-skinned salmon and the citrus-roasted chicken.'

'We could get both and have half each,' I venture, playing the Elise couple-order game.

'I like your style!' he cheers, just as there's a knock at the door.

'Just a minute!' Joel calls out. 'Put your heels back on,' he whispers to me.

'What?' I laugh. 'With this?' I'm still in the robe.

'Trust me. It'll just punch up the fact that you're not wearing anything under there.'

My breathing seems to have become exaggerated. Maybe he's on to something. I slip my feet into the shoes and go from snuggly to s.e.xy. Potentially. But then I go and spoil it all by opening the door with a big grin on my face. I'm too happy to be s.e.xy. If Zo could see me now!

'Greetings!' Elliot slurs, pretty happy himself, propped on the doorframe trying to not to spill three margaritas.

'Welcome to our humble home,' I say, relieving him of two gla.s.ses and leading him into the bedroom.

'What's with the shoes?' he frowns.

'Oh!' I quaver, losing my nerve. 'My feet were cold!'

Joel rolls his eyes at me as he hands Elliot the menu. 'We need to make a swift decision before this one gets any more light-headed,' he urges.

Elliot scans the menu. 'How about the pork T-bone with tobacco-fried onions?'

I spare a thought for Zo's hair as Joel says, 'Great. Why don't you two brave the balcony while I place the order and jump in the shower.'

Elliot and I obey, trying not to mist up the view with our breathing. It's still far too cold to be out here but who am I to question my new lord and master.

'This is weird,' Elliot notes as we gaze out over endless elongated Christmas trees. 'I'm used to being at ground level with all the gra.s.s and deer droppings and now I'm up here with the sky and the treetops!' He reaches out his hand and allows a series of slo-mo snowflakes to melt on to his pale caramel skin.

'Beautiful, isn't it?' he sighs.

'Mmmm,' I acquiesce. I always thought Elliot had the most elegant hands I'd seen on a man. I'd watch them flitter across a keyboard and imagine them pattering on my skin. My eyes glide up to his face. Even the distraction of Joel can't lessen the impact. Every time I look at Elliot I want to stroke his tawny hair and softly lean my cheek against his and breathe the same breath.

Feeling my eyes upon him, Elliot lets the collected dribble of water slide from his palm into my drink.

'There you are bet you never had a real snowflake in a c.o.c.ktail before!'

I smile. How can I not love this man?

'The wilderness is growing on you!' I marvel.

'Are you crazy?' he scoffs. 'Do you know how hard it was for me not to strap myself to Joel's TV when I walked past?'

'Are you really hating it that much?'

'It's not so bad now you're here,' Elliot concedes. 'At least I thought ...' he halts mid-sentence.

'Yes?' I query.

'Nothing.'

I wait for him to continue but his mouth is clamped shut.

I shrug and raise my gla.s.s. 'Anyway, cheers!'

'Cheers,' he c.h.i.n.ks. 'To ...' He pauses, eyes prying deep into mine. 'What shall we drink to?'

The question seems particularly loaded. I look at him, wondering if I'm ever going to have the nerve to tell him how I feel. Of course, now isn't the time and 'To us!' isn't going to cut it. Perhaps we should toast Mother Nature for the wonder of Yosemite. Or Helen, for bringing us here. Or Joel for rescuing us from trying to start a campfire with damp twigs.

'To getting drunk!' I suggest uncouthly, knocking back my gla.s.s.

'To getting drunk and the swift return of your suitcase!' he adds, downing his. 'Your feet must be killing you in those.'

I grimace and make a mental note to ask Joel if I can borrow some socks when he gets out of the shower.