“Will you show me your room now?” I ask him quickly.

His smile widens, predictably. I smile back at him.

“Forward and impatient,” he notes.

“I have a schedule to keep to,” I joke, in a rather business-like manner.

He chuckles, and then reveals, “Ah, but I plan on keeping you occupied for a long time.”

Hmm, he wants to occupy me? I smile again. “I’m sure I can fit you in,” I say, and then I blanch and pull a face. Eww, that didn’t sound right!

He laughs at my freudian slip, then he too finishes his drink, looking at me hungrily. “Shall we?”

I nod, my tummy filling with nerves again. I want to roll my eyes at myself — seriously, Gem, nerves? Why, I wonder. Perhaps it’s because tonight, in a new place, under the guise of being strangers, things feel different — it feels like our first time all over again. I stand and brush past him as I leave the bar. I walk ahead of him through the crowd, and despite the number of people around me, he’s the only one I concentrate one. I can feel him several steps behind me, and I know his eyes are on my back.

In the lobby he follows me towards the elevator, but just before I reach it I turn away and make for the stairwell instead. Behind me he chuckles, and I take my short head start into the stairwell to increase the distance between us by hurrying up the first flight of stairs. Then I slow down, letting him make up the distance, and relishing in the feeling of him approaching me. I don’t look around, and no words pass between us. Everything is unspoken. The electricity between us is palpable.

At the top of the stairs we step out into the top floor landing. I let him overtake me so that he can open the door to his room. His hands work quickly to pull out his keycard. I wrap my arms around his stomach and tuck my chin onto his shoulder.

I whisper into his ear, “Hurry, stranger.”

He smiles, and then I hear the satisfying peep as the keycard is accepted and the door is unlocked. He opens it and walks inside, holding it open for me to follow him. I walk into the stunning suite, ignoring my own clothes and bags strewn everywhere. I turn to face my one-night-stand and less than a second later, he’s on me. Who’s impatient now, I smile against his mouth. His lips crush mine, and once again I can taste the whiskey on his tongue. It’s a delicious, heady kiss.

“Aren’t you going to show me around?” I say breathlessly, pulling away from him, teasing him further.

“I suspect it’s the same as the suite you’re sharing with your boyfriend,” he replies, eagerly leaning in to kiss me once more.

Oh, I love it when I’ve got him this riled up! He can’t keep his hands off of me, I note happily. They’re tangled in my long, brown hair, before they trail gently over my face, to my neck, slowly along shoulders, and then down the sides of my body, caressing as they go.

Readily we begin moving to the bedroom, me pulling him, him pushing me. When the bed is flush against my legs, I let my body fall effortlessly onto the soft mattress, and he is quick to follow me down. Together we shuffle up the bed, both of us becoming more and more impatient. I can feel it from him as much as I can feel it in myself. My head finally reaches the pillow and then his lips find mine once more. His tongue invades my mouth, brushing against my own; it’s a kiss infused with carnal longing. As if to confirm this, one of his hands runs greedily up my thigh, forcing my dress to rise, and with my legs free from their containment, I am able to wrap them around his back as he pushes his crotch firmly against mine. I can feel him hard against me, provoking me in just the right place. Ah, yes! More of that, my mind pleads.

“Pick a number between one and ten,” he murmurs.

“One,” I whisper back.

“Higher,” he requests.

“Two,” I grin.

“Higher,” he demands with a sexy smile.

I roll my eyes playfully. “Six?” Is that permissible, I wonder.

His smile widens. “Six it is,” he says, kissing me again with no further explanation.

“Six what?”

“Orgasms,” he mumbles into my mouth.

“I, uh, change my answer to ten,” I tell him, giggling.

“Ten it is.”

Ten? Yeah right, my mind scoffs… Yes, please, my body screams.

“I hope your boyfriend won’t mind if I keep you all night,” he says, before sucking on my bottom lip.

Oh, jeez, he’s going to overthrow me soon. “Speaking of my boyfriend,” I say, my breathing rapid, “this is starting to remind me of something he and I did last weekend.” I ponder last Saturday night with glee.

My words make him chuckle. “Is it now?”

“Yes,” I smile. “But then he had a surgery, and we agreed that this weekend we’d relax…”

His laughter increases as he says, “Well, it’s a good thing I’m not him then, isn’t it?”

There’s no use in arguing with him, I know it. Before I can even think to begin protesting, I give up. I smile back at him and we resume our make out session as he continues to press his hard member against my aroused sex. Ah, sweet friction! He’s never made me come with my clothes on before, has he?

You don’t know him, Gem, remember? But this game of ours is getting too hard to play. Much too hard — just like him. He rubs against me again and I can’t keep from moaning.

“I want you naked,” I demand.

He smiles against my cheek, and then devours my neck with kisses, his pelvis still working against mine, ignoring my request completely. Not that I care, I note, pushed right to the verge. My arms are wrapped around his neck, my fingers digging into his scalp.

“Oh, Logan!” I whimper…and I freeze. A long, silent moment passes. “Fuck it!” I exclaim. Suddenly I’m cooled right down. I lost the damn bet. Shit!

Logan laughs happily. “I knew you’d break character first,” he celebrates. “I’ve just won a hundred euros,” he beams at me.

Whose idea was it to wager a ridiculous one hundred euros? Oh, yes, it was mine! I nod reluctantly. But I’m petulant, and a bad loser, as I say, “Your tactics were un-sportsmanly. All that crotch-rubbing, and orgasm talk…how’s a girl supposed to compete with that?”

“Me un-sportsmanly?” he says incredulously, leaning up on his hands and staring down at me with wide eyes. He looks utterly adorable. “What about you bad-mouthing my girlfriend?” he asks and I start to giggle. “You knew that bitch comment would throw me.”

“All is fair in love and war,” I finally concede. “Good game, baby,” I congratulate him.

“It really was,” he says, lying on me again, his hand sliding up and down my thigh once more. “So, do you always French kiss strangers, Gemima?” he grins, teasing me.

“‘I like cops’, Logan?” I tease back.

He chuckles, enjoying our banter. “I doubt such words were uttered in Tender Is The Night,” he rightly muses.

Mentioning my favourite novel by my favourite author, F. Scott. Fitzgerald, distracts me from our little bet and reminds gratefully of why Logan brought me here, to the Hotel Beaux Rêves — the supposed scene of inspiration for the book. Oh, he’s so thoughtful, so generous, so romantic! This weekend is going to be amazing, I just know it.

A dorky smile spreads across my face. “The Fitzgerald Bar is amazing!” I squeal, wiggling excitedly underneath him.

“I thought you might like it,” he looks rather pleased with himself — rightly so. Then he quips, “Fitzgerald had a bar named for him, but you got a whole hotel.”

“Hotel Forty-Nine,” I sigh happily. It’s only been a few hours since that revelation totally stunned me. Perhaps the hotel in Tokyo, which Logan named in my honour, will be the destination of our next trip away together? I look up at him, adoring him entirely. “Thank you, Logan,” I say for the millionth time tonight. “This evening has been a whirlwind. Completely surreal, completely perfect,” I tell him.