Schuyler was bored and a little pissed, a potentially dangerous combination. Was it just three months ago, armed with her brand-spanking-new college degree, that she had thought her new marketing and business development job requiring her to travel a couple of times a month was glamorous and exciting? In reality, it was a lot of work schlepping materials to luxury conference resorts with little hope of actually getting to enjoy the amenities. She assembled the booth, set up materials, made sure everything was in place, and then spent most of her conference time smiling, answering questions, and being pleasant to a lot of strangers, not to mention the all-important task of making sure there were enough coffee, sodas, and bottled water available to hydrate a small country. The sales reps thought it was hilarious to call her their booth babe. Ha-fucking-ha.
She was a smart girl, the youngest in the department at 23, and on her way up the ladder if she could just get her foot on the first rung. And now the latest conference was over, but she was stuck here because their booth's custom shipping box had been stolen, and she had to wait for a replacement, which would take until Monday. A perfectly good weekend wasted. She looked out the window of her room at the nearly deserted pool area and remembered walking through the quiet, empty lobby. Perfect. With the conference over, the place was emptying out. Nothing like a solitary weekend in a strange place with no car (thanks, guys, for taking the rental and leaving her with hotel transportation to get back to the airport).
"Screw it," Sky said out loud. "I'm smart. I'm confident. I'm cool. I can do this." She turned from the window and walked over to the dresser, unbuttoning and removing her black silk blouse as she went. She unzipped her cherry red pencil skirt and skimmed it down over her thighs, stepping out of it and leaving it puddled on the floor next to the leopard-print peep toe high heels she'd kicked off earlier. Nude thigh high stockings soon joined the pile of discarded clothes, and she was left in her black lace bra and matching thong. She was a sucker for girly things and spent way too much of her hard-earned salary on clothes, shoes, and lingerie. If it weren't for her addiction to Manolo Blahnik, Betsey Johnson, and Stella McCartney, she'd have her own condo instead of sharing an apartment with a party girl whose primary ambition in life was apparently starring in a Girls Gone Wild video.
She stuck her tongue out at her reflection and practiced a smile that didn't quite reach the gray-green of her eyes before pulling her bathing suit out of the drawer. The suit was somewhat conservative; after all, she was here on business; and on the off chance that she got to use the pool, she couldn't show up in a tiny silver thong bikini that turned transparent when wet. She undid the front clasp of her bra and slid it off, feeling the cool air of the room whisper over her sensitive beigy-pink nipples like a soft kiss. Her panties followed, and she peered over her firm, flat tummy to give her pussy a quick look and rub to make sure there were no stray hairs from her shaving expedition that morning. Smooth, soft and bald as a baby's butt, she decided, just the way she liked it.
She stepped into the lime green boy short bottoms that hugged her hips and accentuated her—even if she said so herself—naturally curvy ass and long legs while managing to be unadventurous enough that she wouldn't get in trouble. She put on the matching top, tied it securely, and then concentrated on getting her 34Cs in the cups with no spill over or side boob showing. Sky checked her appearance in the mirror, noticing the pink diamond in her belly button ring wink in the light and wondering what the guys at work would think if they knew she was wearing a small fortune in satin, lace, and body jewelry under her office attire every day. She pulled her long sable hair into a ponytail, slid her feet with their French manicured pink toenails into flip flops, and tied a sarong-style cover up around her hips. Grabbing her book and sliding her key card between its pages, she left the room.
The pool was empty, as were most of the loungers surrounding it. Sky exchanged smiles with a woman who looked up briefly from her magazine, and then scoped out a conveniently located chair. She grabbed a towel as she passed the stand and then tossed her things on the chair as she continued to the bar.
The place was deserted except for a man on his cell phone at the far end of the bar, which Sky figured was par for the course since it was 2 o'clock on an off-season Friday afternoon. The bartender asked her what she'd have, and she briefly considered her usual rum and pineapple juice before answering, "What the hell; give me a Long Island iced tea."
What might have been a discreet chuckle came from the man at the end of the bar, and she turned to look at him. He didn't smile, but his eyes were clearly amused; and he raised an eyebrow at her while he talked on the phone. Sky figured two could play this game, so she took one long sip of her drink, then two, and raised her delicately arched eyebrow back at him before turning back to the bartender, chatting as she continued to sip her drink, feeling the heat of the alcohol as it coursed through her, knowing she was drinking it too fast and not caring. She'd drink the next one slower.
Two guys about her age came in loudly, laughing and commenting on the woman Sky had seen by the pool on her way in. "Great fun bags on that babe, huh Charlie?" one of them said.
"Fuck yeah, "Charlie agreed. "The only thing they're missing is my cock between them." They laughed uproariously, and Sky rolled her eyes.
They reached the bar and leered in her direction. The one called Charlie sidled up to her stool and gave her what she assumed was supposed to be a charming smile but was really just creepy. "Hey, baby...Heaven must be missing an angel because you're here with me."
"Really?" she said. "That's what you're going with?" Evidently he was a little slow because he just kept smiling, moving a little further into her personal space. Oh God, she thought, just kill me now. Or better yet, kill Charlie.
Charlie's friend stepped up to take his shot. "If you were a McDonald's burger, you'd be a McGorgeous."
She took another sip of her drink so she wouldn't gag and said, "Wow, that's a true panty dropper."
"What's your name, baby?" Charlie asked.
"C'mon," she said coyly, "If I tell you that, you might have to stop calling me baby, sweetie, and honey." Again, zoom, right over their heads. There was a reason her older brother had started calling her smartass when she was about 13, to which she'd responded, "Yeah, my ass is smarter than your whole body," before running for her life.
"If I don't know your name, how am I gonna moan it later? God he was persistent. Did this crap ever actually work for him?
Her voice positively dripped with sarcasm—not that he'd get it—as Sky answered, "Its Bertha; Bertha Muenster, like the stinky cheese." This time the chuckle from the end of the bar was a bit louder, and when she looked his way, he grinned at her.
"Whaddaya say we get outta here?" Charlie asked, reaching out to drag his finger down her bare arm.
She seriously considered introducing his groin to her knee but instead said, "I like it here, where I can have my drink in peace and quiet. Alone."
"Awwww, baby, you need to loosen up."
Just as she was getting ready to tell him to go to hell, the man from the end of the bar walked over to them, situated himself between her and Charlie and said in a deep voice, "If I said you have a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?" Only she could see the look in his eyes that clearly said he was there to save her. She expected to hear Superman music start playing in the background.
"Yes," she said without hesitation, "Yes, yes, yes. " She thought Charlie and his buddy's eyes would pop out of their heads and barely managed not to laugh out loud. She allowed her rescuer to guide her off the bar stool and paused as he handed her the fresh drink the bartender slid across the bar.
"Have a good one, boys," he said to Charlie and company and then put his hand on the small of Sky's back and gently steered her out of the bar.
Every nerve ending in her body suddenly seemed to be connected to the warm, guiding pressure of his hand, and Sky couldn't remember the last time she'd had such a strong reaction to a man. She peeked up at him from under her eyelashes and gauged him to be a little over six feet tall and in his mid-forties. His eyes were crystal blue and his salt and pepper hair expensively cut. He was wearing red swim trunks and an unbuttoned cotton shirt, and Sky admired his broad shoulders and tan, muscular chest with its sprinkling of gray hair. She wondered if it would be soft or crisp if she touched him, and her fingers curled of their own volition at her side. She had butterflies. Butterflies because of this man beside her, whose name she didn't even know.
Her eyes lifted to his face, and he was watching her look at him. He'd caught her checking him out...could it get any worse? She gave him a weak smile as she blushed and continued sipping her drink. Her smart mouth completely deserted her. "The pool area is really nice here," she said, as he brought them to a stop at her chair and put her drink on the table. She groaned inwardly. No one would believe she'd been captain of the debate team in college, recognized for her quick comebacks and effective arguments. She may as well have said, "I carried a watermelon." Buck up, dumbass, she told herself, and smiled at him. "My hero," she said. "Thank you so much."
He waited for her to sit before taking the chair next to her. "My good deed for the decade," he said wryly. "You don't have to put up with that crap, no matter how beautiful you are."
She felt like Miss Congeniality; he thinks I'm pret-tyyy...he thinks I'm beau-ti-ful.... "Well, you saved me from having to pull out my mace, which would've been a neat trick considering it's in my room."
"Mace and American Express...never leave home without it," he teased, and then held out his hand, "I'm Devlin by the way. Call me Dev."
She put her hand in his, her long fingernails accidentally brushing his palm. "Schuyler," she replied. "Call me Sky."
"Ah, easy to remember since your eyes are the exact color of the sky when a storm is building off the horizon."
It should've been a cheesy line, but Dev said it with complete sincerity as he looked into her eyes. Best. Compliment. Ever.
She laughed to cover his effect on her. "Hopefully the skies will stay clear until I head back to DC on Monday." Smooth, she thought, now he knows you're here for the whole weekend and that you live in DC. Why not just give him your room and cell numbers, too? She took another long sip of liquid courage. She might, she decided, be the tiniest bit drunk.
"Careful with those," he warned. "They'll sneak up on you."
