Room Service

  Room Service

  www.escapepublishing.com.au

  Room Service

  Vanessa Stark

  Natasha Raven has a secret. Although she is the bestselling author of erotic fiction, she has never penned a sex scene. Her sister, Liza, was responsible for the sizzle in Natasha’s books – until she passed away only months ago. Now Natasha must write the scenes herself. Trouble is, she hasn't a clue what to write and being a virgin doesn't help. When she is invited to speak at a conference workshop titled 'From Your Sheets to the Page,' Natasha panics. But a suggestive wink from a young hotel staffer named Jace gives her an idea. If she can muster the confidence to have a one night stand with Jace, she just may be able to endure the workshop without feeling a total fraud. But will she go through with it? And is Jace all that he seems?

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to RWA Australia for my first (amazing) conference in 2012 – after which I wrote this story and earned my first sale. And thank you to Kate Cuthbert for saying ‘Yes!’

  To my wonderful family and friends for all your love and support.

  Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Also Available From Escape Publishing…

  About the Author

  1

  Natasha Raven sucked in a deep breath through clenched teeth.

  Here goes.

  As the hotel doors parted, Natasha’s reflection disappeared along with the polished glass. Though she hadn’t slept a wink in twenty-four hours, somehow her long, curly hair had remained lush and frizz-free, her smart grey suit unwrinkled. Still, Natasha’s stomach contorted into knots as her stilettos clicked and clacked against the glossy cream tiles of the hotel foyer.

  Cool, conditioned air tickled the sweat-dampened strands of Natasha’s hair, bringing forth a groan of relief in her throat. Okay. So there were some benefits to being inside. Peering over one shoulder, she watched as the glass doors came together, shutting out the heat-shimmering streets and the noisy city traffic.

  Locking me in…

  ‘May I take your luggage to your room, Miss Raven?’

  Natasha jumped. Standing before her was a male hotel staffer with an odd, half-suppressed grin upon his lips, as though he was in on some kind of private joke.

  Maybe he knows a fake artist when he sees one.

  She cleared her throat and forced her brows into a frown, hoping to wipe the grin from his shapely lips, but instead it earned her a fully blown smile and a soft shake of his head.

  Her heart stuttered. Perhaps he really did know her secret? But if so, how?

  No. Get a hold of yourself. He’s a stranger. A stranger who likes to grin a lot. That. Is. All.

  Beneath his dark fringe flashed the most vivid blue eyes Natasha had ever seen. Eyes that blatantly roved from her face right down to her nine-inch heels and back up again, causing her pulse to jump in a most erratic manner. Natasha had to fight the urge to run a hand through her hair and wipe the shine from her brow, because there was no way she was going to show an inch of weakness in front of some random, cocky guy. She hadn’t spent the past month chanting confidence-building affirmations and practicing breathing exercises to crumble only a minute after arriving.

  ‘Your luggage, Miss Raven?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Thank you…’ her eyes skimmed over his name badge, pinned to the crisp white shirt that stretched to cover his broad, muscled chest, ‘…err…J-Jace.’

  ‘My pleasure,’ he said in a low voice, his eyes never leaving hers.

  Natasha’s heart, already racing from the endless cups of coffee she had downed on the red-eye flight, kicked up another gear. Was this guy actually flirting with her? He looked around twenty-five years old — at least ten years younger…

  Get a grip and focus. He probably does this to all the guests.

  Jace cleared his throat, his eyes now on Natasha’s luggage. ‘Are you going to let go of that?’

  With a rush of heat to her cheeks, Natasha loosened the tight grip from the handle of her heavy suitcase and let it drop to the floor with a thud.

  ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled, immediately running her fingers through her hair and wiping the back of her hand across her brow.

  Damn.

  Jace tossed the luggage beneath one arm as though it were a mere matchbox.

  ‘I’ll see you later, Miss Raven,’ he called over his shoulder, grinning.

  What on earth just happened? What was that?

  In a sleep-deprived daze, Natasha watched Jace walk away.

  Hmmm… nice arse.

  Pleased with the observation, she gave herself a mental nod. That was more like it. Maybe if she pretended well enough she would eventually feel like the sexy hear-me-roar authoress she was supposed to be.

  A gorgeous, blonde, Amazon-princess at reception checked Natasha in and handed over the key-card to her room. Cold sweat trickled down Natasha’s back when she turned from the reception desk to find a small crowd of women approaching her with slow, measured steps as though she were an exotic creature in the wild. She half expected to hear the hushed tones of David Attenborough in the background.

  A strange and pitiful beast… watch as it cloaks itself in another’s skin to be accepted by the herd...

  The women beamed collective, wide, awe-struck smiles. Brightly coloured conference lanyards hung about their necks. They were writers — published and unpublished — their sense of pride clear and almost luminous in their eyes.

  If only I could hold my own head so high.

  ‘Miss Raven!’ A woman wearing a red beret and a blood-red shift dress rushed towards her, her lanyard declaring her Raunchy Writers of Australia Conference Co-ordinator — Sheryl-Ann. The woman extended a hand to Natasha.

  ‘Hello, Sheryl-Ann,’ said Natasha, giving the woman a firm hand-shake and wondering all the while if the woman had noticed how damp Natasha’s hand was.

  ‘Miss Raven, may I call you Natasha?’

  Natasha nodded.

  ‘Let me say how pleased we are to have you as our honorary guest for this year’s conference.’ Sheryl-Ann let out a small squeal and gave Natasha’s forearm a quick squeeze. ‘I’ve read each and every one of your forty-seven books and I am dying for the next one.’ She fanned her face and leaned in to whisper. ‘Nobody writes sex scenes like you. Nobody. God, Gabriel is the hottest character alive.’ A small groan escaped her pouty lips. ‘That scene in the kitchen with the... um…what was it?’ Sheryl-Ann clicked her fingers, the shiny red polish on her nails flashing while she sought the right words.

  Whipped cream… carrot…argh… what was it?

  ‘Zucchini?’ Natasha held her breath.

  Sheryl-Ann furrowed her brows and narrowed her eyes. ‘No. I remember now, it was honey. I don’t recall a zucchini…’ Her green eyes suddenly widened. ‘Is it going to happen in the next book?’

  After half a beat, Natasha winked and shrugged one shoulder. ‘Maybe.’ Her answer seemed to appease Sheryl-Ann for the moment and Natasha finally exhaled.

  Natasha fingered the key-card in her hand and pictured stripping off her stale travel outfit and standing beneath a cold shower. Though the hotel air was borderline icy, she continued to flush with heat as more and more eyes turned to stare.

  ‘Natasha Raven,’ they murmured with reverence, as though she were the Queen of England. It turned her stomach.

  I don’t deserve this.

  ‘Excuse me.’ A young woman of about twenty years shuffled up beside Natasha, her heart-shaped face blushing pink. ‘First timer here.’ The girl raised her fluorescent pink lanyard that re
ad — Budding Erotic Writer.

  ‘Hello… Emily,’ Natasha said politely, after reading the girl’s name. She was about to excuse herself when the girl’s mouth widened into a huge grin.

  ‘I just wanted to tell you that I can’t wait for your work-shop.’ The girl paused to read from a sheet in front of her titled Workshop Schedule. “Get Your Sexy-On: From Your Sheets to the Page.” Her grin widened. ‘It’s booked-out. I was the last one to get a seat.’

  Natasha swallowed thickly, her throat suddenly dry, her pulse booming in her ears.

  ‘I’ll be there too!’ other voices chimed in, as women swarmed around her.

  ‘Thank you all so much for your kind words,’ Natasha said behind a forced smile. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, ladies, I came in on the red-eye and the shuttle bus I took broke down so I was stuck on a highway for two hours. I really need to freshen up in my room.’

  Sheryl-Ann came to the rescue and waved the crowd away with a flick of her hand.

  ‘Your workshop is not until tomorrow morning, so please feel free to relax for the rest of the day, or, if you feel up to it later, you may wish to join us for sunset cocktails at the bar on the second floor.’ A mist of hope swirled in Sheryl-Ann’s eyes.

  Natasha forced another smile, which could not have been more difficult than if she’d chiselled it out of rock with a toothpick.

  ‘Sounds great.’

  ‘Wonderful,’ said Sheryl-Ann. A dark shadow seemed to pass over her features, dimming her green eyes and stripping the radiant smile from her lips. ‘You know, your books helped me through my divorce.’ She sighed and shrugged. ‘I just wanted you to know.’

  Natasha’s heart stumbled on its beat and for the first time since she entered the hotel she forgot about her own troubles. ‘I’m so sorry. I mean, I’m glad my books helped. But I’m truly sorry to hear about your divorce. It must have been difficult.’

  Sheryl-Ann’s lips curved up into a naughty grin. ‘I’m fine now and hey, I have Gabriel and his wicked ways to keep me warm at night.’ She winked. ‘Here, I almost forgot.’ She looped a lanyard over Natasha’s neck that read: Natasha Raven — Best-selling Erotic Author, twelve-time winner of The Sexiest-Sex-Scene Award.

  For a moment Natasha had felt the stirrings of pride deep in her belly. Gabriel, the tortured divorcee, was her baby — by far the favourite of her many characters. But Sheryl-Ann wasn’t talking about Gabriel by day — the man who ran the animal shelter — she was talking about Gabriel by night. It was the sex scenes she loved. Just like all of the other readers. Whenever Natasha read reviews on Amazon or Goodreads, they were entirely focussed on the raunchy scenes. Nobody ever mentioned Gabriel’s missing big toe or the baby koala he’d saved from the razor jaws of a dingo.

  Natasha wanted to tear the lanyard from her neck and demand one that read, ‘Natasha Raven — Thirty-five–year-old erotic romance writer who has never written a single sex scene in her life. Oh, and she has never had sex, either! Yes. Natasha Raven is a VIRGIN.’

  My sister’s name should be on the lanyard, not mine. Liza is the one who writes…no, who wrote the sex scenes in those books...

  Natasha’s chest constricted at the memory of her sister’s death, at the hand of cancer, last year. Tears bit at the back of her eyes, but she blinked them away and smiled at the many women she passed on the way to the elevator. She needed the comfort of four walls and a door she could lock herself behind - somewhere to hide all of the shame and sadness that gnawed away at her heart.

  Once inside room 1127, Natasha’s pulse slowed slightly, and a sigh of relief escaped her lips.

  The room proved as stylish as the website had promised, with a sleek black bed, soft cream carpet and cream walls, all enlivened with splashes of red throughout — red throw cushions, shiny red bar fridge, and even a red waste paper basket. The balcony offered uninterrupted views of the Pacific Ocean.

  After a long, cold shower, she slid on one of the satin robes supplied by the hotel and stood out on the tiled balcony, allowing the breeze to dry her dark red hair. The ocean rose and fell beneath her gaze, the gentle movement gradually lulling her heart into a more relaxed beat. Liza had loved the ocean.

  I miss the fun we had writing together, Liza. I miss the nights we stayed up late plotting wild stories. I miss your wicked sense of humour and your honking laugh.

  Tears pooled in Natasha’s eyes.

  I miss you, Liza. I miss you so much it hurts. And I don’t think I can do all of this without you. I don’t think I can look these people in the eye and lie. I can’t do it. I won’t to it.

  But her sister did not speak back and never would. Only the ocean spoke in its secret way, urging, tugging, pulling, and drawing Natasha in to its endless depths.

  Try, it sang, like a siren, pick up a pen and try…

  Natasha left the balcony and sat at the small desk in the corner of her room, which gave her a clear view of the ocean. She left the sliding doors open so that the salty sea air might stimulate her senses and keep her awake.

  Let it be my muse, she thought poetically, before coiling her long, partly damp hair into a knot at the nape of her neck, and picking up a sleek red hotel pen and funky notepaper in the shape of the hotel itself.

  If I can just write one sexy scene for my work in progress, my first sex scene, then I will not be a fraud at tomorrow’s workshop.

  The pen tip hovered on the blank page for two minutes before she tossed it across the room. She wasn’t used to writer’s block. Most of her stories flowed from the pen to page or fingertips to keyboard without any hardship on Natasha’s part. It was only when a sex scene was required that writer’s block suddenly became very real. That was where Liza would step in, with her worldly sexual experiences.

  Dashing across the room, Natasha snatched up the telephone from the bedside table and dialled ‘1’ for room service.

  A drink was what she needed. A flute of bubbly never failed to loosen her writer’s tongue and tickle her muse.

  Minutes later, there was a knock at her door followed by the words, ‘Room service.’

  She opened the door and gazed up into the deep blue eyes of the twenty-something guy, Jace, who had taken her luggage earlier.

  ‘Hello, again,’ Jace said, the hint of a smile upon his lips.

  Natasha was busy studying the way his trousers fit snug around his hips when Jace cleared his throat.

  ‘Oh… I’m sorry.’ She shook her head and stepped back. ‘Please come in.’

  2

  When Jace pushed the cart past Natasha, his firm leg brushed her thigh, sending a small jolt of excitement running up her leg. A light, breezy scent, much like the sea outside, combined with the earthy scent of a rainforest, clung to Jace. He looked like the kind of guy who took a five kilometre hike before breakfast, climbed mountains on his lunchbreak, then squeezed in a quick photo-shoot for some big-time fashion label, before having dinner in a chic, modern restaurant with his hot model girlfriend. What was he doing working in a hotel? Natasha’s curiosity, the writer inside of her, was more than a little piqued.

  ‘Would you like me to un-cork the bottle and pour you a glass, Miss Raven?’

  ‘Yes. Please. And call me Natasha.’ She slowly made her way over to the cart and raised an empty glass. The heavy door closed behind her with a loud thud, sealing them in the room together. Natasha’s hand shook while Jace poured, the sparkling wine fizzing over her fingers and running down the inside of her forearm.

  ‘Oops.’ Natasha put the crystal flute to her lips and sucked up as much of the escaping liquid gold as she could, stopping only when she felt Jace’s eyes watching her. Her own gaze dropped to the floor as warmth crept up her neck and into her cheeks.

  ‘Here, let me get that,’ Jace said, reaching for the glass.

  Warm fingers brushed against her own, sending a shiver through Natasha’s body. When she finally mustered up the courage to meet Jace’s gaze, she found a mischievous spark in his eyes and a suggestive smil
e curving his lips. Natasha’s insides broke out in an unsettling little dance.

  Suddenly the room wasn’t king sized, but a mere closet. And Jace seemed to fill that closet with his intimidating height and his magnificent body. Natasha took a step back and caught her heel on the wheel of the cart, sending her reeling backwards.

  ‘Hey-’

  Jace dropped the glass and swept his arms around Natasha’s waist, catching her just before she hit the desk behind her.

  Time seemed to stand still as they remained frozen in a dancing couple’s pose — she leaning back and clutching at his biceps, he leaning forward and holding her tightly against him.

  Both the hardness and the warmth of Jace’s body sent Natasha’s heart slamming against her ribcage in a frantic rhythm.

  She inhaled a deep, steadying breath through her nose — one of the many calming techniques she’d practised in the past month — but all it did was fill her head with Jace’s intoxicating male scent, causing her heart to work even faster.

  Jace sucked in a sharp breath as his eyes skimmed the valley between Natasha’s breasts and the insides of her pale thighs where the satin robe had parted slightly.

  Natasha cleared her throat and Jace exhaled, slowly, before setting her back onto her feet.

  ‘Thank you.’ Natasha murmured while she adjusted the knot around her robe and secured it tightly around her waist.

  ‘My pleasure,’ Jace said, rubbing the back of his neck and never once breaking his gaze. ‘I’m at your service.’

  Wait a minute… did he just wink when he said that?

  Natasha glanced at the floor and felt her lower stomach flip at the idea of having this beautiful, young man at her service. She could see it now on the bed behind them - he naked and hard all over, while she explored his body and put it to good use. A guy like Jace could teach her many things. If she could just spend a couple of hours in bed with him, she could learn enough to speak at the workshop with some margin of confidence at least.