He said we weren't going back to Vermont until the book was finished, so I unpacked all my things and set them up in the bedroom.
At night, he slept in the second, smaller bedroom, while I sprawled out in the master bedroom of the penthouse like a lazy housecat.
After the time he'd f**ked me with my dress pulled up over my head, he wouldn't touch me. I could tell by the way he looked at my body that he still wanted me, so I practiced being patient, and didn't make any demands.
We worked on the novel for several hours each day, making good progress. This bothered me, because when he didn't need me as his typist anymore, what would happen? I asked him a few times, at first casually and then, after a few days, less casually.
He simply said, "Tori, I'm not thinking about anything beyond the story. You know I like you as more than a typist. We'll take things one day at a time."
One day at a time.
I'd been hired for a two-week contract, and we'd spent five days together in Vermont before coming to Montreal.
By day ten, I stopped being hopeful about us having a future, and resigned myself to enjoying the present.
My requests for sex became almost perfunctory.
He refused, saying he was conserving his creative energy for the writing, and that plenty of people in various fields did the same thing.
"Sounds superstitious to me," I said, trying to play it off with humor, but I was heartbroken that he wouldn't touch me. I even tried picking a fight with him, but he blocked me by becoming The Most Reasonable Man.
"Where would you like to go for dinner, dear?" he'd ask. I'd say something crazy and he'd agree. We had the concierge send out for McDonalds Big Macs one night, and Smith ate his burger and fries with nary a complaint.
I hadn't seen him na**d in far too long, and everything he did turned me on. He'd scratch the bottom of his chin with a single finger, flicking at his light blond stubble as he thought about a plot point in the story, and his sexy lips would twitch with hints of words. I wanted to crush his lips under mine, envelop his sex in mine. He offered only chaste hugs and polite kisses.
On the evening of day ten, I broke out the new sex toys I'd bought at the boutique, and used them on myself. All of them. I thought of Smith as I pleasured myself, but he was on the other side of the wall in his own room, and my orgasms were sudden and empty, like the echo of a slamming door.
On the eleventh day, he stopped dictating mid-sentence.
I thought we were stopping for a food break, and turned on the tea kettle, but Smith put on his shoes.
"Are your feet sore from pacing?" I asked.
He said, "I'm calling it a day. Montreal awaits. Come on, I'll take you on a walking tour."
We'd been out of the hotel room plenty of times, but there's something about a hotel that gives you cabin fever if you spend much time in it beyond sleeping. They'd decorated the place to resemble a stylish condominium, but everything matched too perfectly. The gleaming dining room table bore no scratches from a family dinner, no love scars from a real life.
I ran to the washroom to fix my makeup, and noted the time and weather by a quick visit to the patio. The sun was high overhead, as it was barely past two o'clock, so I put on extra sunscreen and grabbed a big, floppy sunhat.
Smith grinned at me as we stepped into the private elevator. "You look ridiculous," he said.
I pulled the hat down further and peered at him from beneath the ruffled brim. "And you're going to have a red nose if you don't let me put some sunscreen on you."
He took off his sunglasses and fixed me with those deep-as-the-sea blue eyes of his. "Hit me," he said, and he pressed the button to stop the elevator between floors.
I pulled the tube of lotion from my purse and squirted some onto my fingers. My heart was beating faster already, simply at the idea of touching him. He closed his eyes and I rubbed the lotion across his temples and forehead first, taking my time. He had great skin for a fair-faced man who didn't take care of himself beyond water and whatever soap happened to be in the hotel bathroom.
I rubbed the lotion down his cheeks, using both hands to apply and massage both sides of his face evenly. With my fingertip, I applied the lotion near his eyes and then down his nose, stopping to feel the cartilage at the pointed tip. It felt so different from the tip of my own nose, which was soft and squishy by comparison.
The air inside the elevator hung around us, warm and still, as though we were paused in time, encapsulated away from the rest of the world. I heard nothing but the whir of something electrical, and our breathing.
Smith licked his lips, and when my hand passed near his mouth, he caught my wrist in his hand and stuck one of my fingers in his mouth. He sucked my finger as he gazed into my eyes, and I felt like he was consuming me, devouring some intangible part of me, like my soul.