Bedroom Diplomacy(40)
That didn’t mean she wouldn’t mind visiting Washington occasionally, touching base with old friends. And tonight, spending time with a new one, she thought, looking over at Colin, who was gazing out the car window, his hand wrapped around hers.
When Colin made that mile-high club crack in the limo, she had assumed he was joking, that he was only teasing her. She had assumed wrong.
When the jet had reached cruising altitude, the initiation into the “club” began. Since there was only so much they could do under a blanket in their seats, which in itself was probably not lost on the flight attendant, the only place to fool around was the bathroom. And for a guy who swore up and down that he’d never done it on a plane either, he sure was creative in small spaces.
For so long now her entire focus had been on Dylan and being the perfect mom. Somewhere along the way she’d completely forgotten how to have fun. How to be silly. She hadn’t felt this carefree, this excited about life, about what the next day might bring, in ages. She’d forgotten it was even possible to feel this way.
In the limo from the airport to the hotel she called Tricia to check in.
“We’re having a blast,” her friend told her. “Dylan has been a little angel, as usual. He took an hour nap, and now we’re making dinner.”
Rowena almost expected to feel jealous for missing out on the fun, that Dylan didn’t need her as much as she’d thought he did; instead it was a bit of a relief. She could be Dylan’s mommy, yet reclaim her own identity, have a life outside of parenting. Without feeling guilty about it. Much.
They pulled up in front of the Four Seasons Hotel in Georgetown, and when the driver opened the door, a damp, icy wind greeted them, reminding her just how much she preferred the Southern California climate.
The lobby was just as she remembered. Spacious and modern, yet warm and welcoming. While Colin checked them in, she walked over to the fireplace to get warm and couldn’t escape the feeling that, despite being two unattached and consenting adults, they were doing something risqué.
“Ready?” Colin asked, joining her by the fire, holding two card keys. He handed one to her and she slipped it into her purse.
“Ready,” she said, feeling a bit like a princess as they walked to the elevator, his hand resting intimately against the small of her back. He was different in public. Everything in his stance, in the way he moved, demanded attention and respect. A week ago, what she would have pegged as arrogance, pretension and entitlement she now knew was confidence. He couldn’t have been more polite and gracious to the staff, and when the porter met them at the door with their bags, Colin pulled out a leather billfold thick with cash and credit cards and tipped him handsomely.
The suite was ready for their arrival with a fire already blazing in the fireplace and a bottle of champagne chilling beside it—champagne that she couldn’t drink. But upon closer inspection she realized that it was a bottle of nonalcoholic sparkling cider.
“I was thinking we could order room service and eat dinner in tonight,” Colin said, and with a grin added, “Clothes optional, of course.”
“Room service sounds nice.”
“Room service it is.” He shrugged out of his coat, then helped her with hers, draping them both over the back of the sofa. “Are you hungry now?”
“Famished. I was so busy getting ready to leave I skipped lunch.”
“What sounds good?”
“Right now, anything.” She walked over to the desk, where she figured she would find the room service menu. Through the window overlooking Pennsylvania Avenue, she could see that a light snow had begun to fall, making her grateful for their decision to stay indoors.
Cold was bad enough. Snow she could really do without.
After they studied the menu and made their choices—she tried not to look at the jaw-dropping prices—her phone rang. Her first thought was that something was wrong with Dylan, and in her mind she was already formulating the quickest possible way home. But when she saw on the display that it was Cara, she exhaled a quiet breath of pure relief.
“Sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner,” Cara said when Rowena answered. “Your message said you had news.”
“I do. You’ll never guess where I am.”
“I’m guessing not California.”
“D.C.”
“Are you really?” she squealed, sounding so much like the schoolgirl she used to be. It was a comfort to know that not everyone had changed completely.
“We’re staying at the Four Seasons.”
“We? You and Dylan?”
Oops. “Um, no.”
Cara was quiet, then said, “Not you and the senator.”