Mania (Fever Dreams Collection #1)

4. Mr. Ambrose

Chapter 4

Mr. Ambrose

The smoke curls around my fingers, the untouched ash from my cigarette threatening to fall to the cement of the balcony floor. I lean forward to stub it in the ashtray, the ash falling with the movement anyway. Settling back in the wicker chair, I watch the sky turn from blue to orange then red as the sun sets over the forest.

Earlier this morning?

In the graveyard?

Her questions have been replaying in my head for the past hour. I have no recollection. As far as I know, I was in my office all morning.

Time.

It’s slipping through my fingers.

My grasp waning and loosening on the reigns of time with every year lost.

How did she end up here?

With her ripped jeans shorts and mismatched tattoos asking for a job.

She doesn’t belong here.

I should tell her to leave. I should make her pack her bags and have her check out immediately.

But then I recall the look in her brown eyes when I sat facing her in the lobby.

She tried to hide it. But I knew that look all too well.

A lost soul. Eager to find its place.

It moved me. Something inside of me stirred. A dormant longing I hadn’t experienced in years. She reminded me of myself a long, long time ago.

And so I offered her a job.

My chest twinges with regret.

“Beautiful evening we’re having aren’t we, Mr. Ambrose?”

The voice pulls me out of my thoughts.

“If you don’t mind the heat,” I respond to the teenager standing on the balcony next to mine. He is bare-chested, only wearing swim trunks with a towel wrapped around his neck. Leaning his hands against the guardrail, his attention is somewhere in the distance.

Then he smiles, blue eyes sparkling as he looks over to me. “Perfect time for a swim then,” he says.

I muffle a small sigh and smile. The conversation is always the same.

The pool has been closed for years.

“Perfect time for a swim,” I repeat.

He gives me a small salute and walks back inside.

The grandfather clock rings at the stroke of midnight as I stroll through the lobby, my hands clasped behind my back.

My gaze lands on Miss Fortune, waiting next to the reception desk. She’s changed from ripped jeans shorts to something a little more put together: a flared black skirt—much too short— and a t-shirt, her brown hair combed into one thick braid over her right shoulder.

“Mr. Ambrose,” she squeaks when she notices me.

“Miss Fortune,” I reply, stepping up to the reception desk.

Her brown eyes flicker with unease, dancing over the hotel lobby, wringing her hands nervously. “I didn’t realize you’d be the one training me …”

I eye her warily. “Who else were you expecting?”

Her laugh is full of nerves. “I — just not you, I guess.” She shrugs and looks away. “Is what I’m wearing okay?” She looks down at her clothes, smoothing her hands over her skirt. “You didn’t mention if there was a dress code.”

I grant myself the indulgence of studying her a little while longer.

Thick thighs disappearing under her skirt, wide hips, soft stomach, the black cotton of her shirt straining over the fullness of her breasts.

When I reach her inquiring gaze, I clear my throat and nod.

“It will do,” I respond coldly. Taking a step back, I sweep my hand toward one of the corridors. “We can start with a tour of the hotel so you can familiarize yourself with the establishment.”

She smiles widely and nods, seemingly eager to please, and my heart speeds up. I pretend she does not affect me as I lead her away from the reception area.

I could walk these halls with my eyes closed, recall every groove in the stairs, every creak the floorboard makes just by memory. I know the hotel as intimately as I would a lover. I know every sound it makes, what satiates it, what it dislikes.

I can no longer remember anything before it .

Maybe time never existed before this.

Maybe my time at the hotel reaches as far as the beginning of the universe—always expanding, pulsing with life …

It sure feels that way sometimes.

I show Miss Fortune all the areas she’s allowed access to as a part of the staff—recreation room, kitchen, laundry room—making our way all the way up to the sixth floor.

Noticing a sign for a pool on the rooftop, she turns to me with her eyebrows half-raised. “I didn’t know there was a pool.”

“It’s closed. It has been for years. No one is allowed up there anymore.”

“How come?”

Uninterested in answering her question, I start back for the elevators.

“Wait,” she presses.

Then something unbelievable happens.

Her fingers wrap around my wrist, and I’m nearly brought to my knees, her skin so soft I almost choke on the air in my lungs.

My eyes widen as I slowly turn my head to peer down at where our two bodies connect. “How can you …”

She sucks in a sharp breath at the expression on my face, letting go of my wrist and takes a step back.

“I’m sorry — I didn’t mean to,” she stutters, confusion painted over her features.

I let the silence coil around us, pressing my lips into a thin line and trying to calm my breathing before I speak again as I hide my shaky hands behind my back. Still waters, but inside I’m reeling with the presence of her touch still pulsing on my skin.

“Now that you are an employee of the Ambrose Hotel, room and board is included and you will need to change rooms,” I finally say. A small Oh escapes her lips. “I’ll wait for you to gather your things and escort you to your new lodgings.”

While I wait outside her room, I resist the urge to bite my nails till they’re bleeding as I fight against an erratic energy thrumming through my veins.

Who is she?

Why her?

I could supplicate over these questions for days and never get an answer. This place has never supplied them. The only thing I know for sure is I can still feel the pads of her fingers pressing against the pulse on my wrist.

When was the last time I’ve been touched?

I can no longer recall.

My attention shifts to the door as she cracks it open, a large suitcase behind her and a duffel bag hanging off her shoulder.

“Allow me,” I say, pushing off the wall. I reach for her bag, if only to confirm the unbelievable. My hand grazes her arm, then her shoulder as I take the bag into my hands, my body breaking out into goosebumps.

Her eyes follows my hands, then up to my consuming gaze.

She smiles. It’s demure, and my heart squeezes in my chest. A dimple appears on her rosy cheek. “Thank you.”

I nod, trying to keep the disbelief off my face. “Your new room is on the fifth floor.”

She stays quiet as I close the metal gates on the elevator, pressing the button for the right floor. The elevator starts with a jolt, beginning our ascent to her new room.

I study her from the corner of my eye and notice the clenching of her jaw, shoulders stiff.

“Do you have a fear of elevators, Miss Fortune?”

Her gaze flies to mine as if caught. Her laugh is still full of nerves. “Not particularly … but this elevator feels like it should have been decommissioned a few decades ago.”

I let out a small chuckle, watching the arrow move toward the number five over the door. “I assure you, the elevator is the least of your worries.”

Her sheepish What does that mean? is drowned out by the sound of the metal gates as I reopen them, and I gladly pretend I didn’t hear her.

How would I even begin to explain any of it?

Maybe earlier today I had half a mind to tell her to leave. Escape while she still can. But now I’m just as hungry as the hotel itself; selfishly wanting to keep her here with me.

To watch her.

To hunger for her.

“Here we are,” I announce, stopping beside Room 562. After unlocking the door, I hand her the keys and duffel bag and wave her in.

Walking in, she surveys the room while dropping her bags near the bed.

“I’ll leave you to get settled then,” I say, still standing in the corridor.

She swivels around to face me. “But my shift ends at six a.m., we should get back to —”

“No need,” I reply quickly, straining to keep my impatience out of my voice. “That will suffice for today. Goodnight, Miss Fortune.”

I don’t give her the time to reply, her eyes wide and seeking as I close the door.

As soon as I’m alone, my head falls forward, and I take in a deep breath, my hand still on the doorknob. My small reprieve is hasty, turning swiftly toward the door right next to hers, my hands clammy. I fumble with the key, hurriedly unlocking the door and quietly stepping inside.

I take a few strides into the room, then turn to the wall facing the bed.

Miss Fortune appears in the large two-way mirror connecting our two rooms.

An odd feeling of relief washes over me as I watch her settle into her new room.

She turns on the fan. Slowly unpacks. Disappears into the bathroom with her toiletries. Reappears. Glances over to the mirror. Turns to face it, smoothing some of her flyaway curls behind her ears.

Stepping back slowly, I sit on the end of the bed not wanting to miss a single thing.

I stop breathing when she pulls her t-shirt over her head, revealing a blue lace bra underneath. I notice a few more tattoos, otherwise hidden beneath her clothes. A snake curling over her ribs and a delicate ornamental design underneath her breasts. I groan out loud and rub my face, my eyes still locked on her. The skirt is next. She shimmies out of it and lets it drop to the floor. She bends over her open suitcase, her black panties riding up her ass as she fishes out an oversized t-shirt.

Swallowing hard, my breathing turns ragged as I palm my hardening cock over my trousers.

I refuse to give in further as I watch her tug the shirt over her head, falling just below her hips, barely covering her panties. I stay watching her room, unable to move, long after she’s turned the lights off and climbed into bed.