Somewhere on St. Thomas: A Somewhere Series Romance by Toby Neal Page B

without missing a beat, he slid the hand up under my skirt and between my legs.
    “I could tell you weren’t wearing panties, you naughty girl. I can’t wait to see this up close. See if the hair is the same color as the hair on your head. It must be so beautiful.”
    My cheeks were flaming. I tugged at his arm in embarrassment, to no avail. I gasped and wriggled, trying to get away and get closer at the same time. He glanced at me and grinned. “I’ve got a little education in store for you. You pushed me too far today.”
    I clamped my legs shut, but too late as he located a spot that made me twitch and gasp.
    “Aha,” he said with satisfaction, as if checking something cooking on the stove for doneness. “You’re going to have to shift gears.” We’d approached a stop sign, and he put in the clutch, but he apparently wasn’t going to remove his hand from where it was working some serious magic.
    “Oh God,” I yelped, writhing, and I worked the shifter as his hand worked me.
    I came for the second time that day, two blocks from the famous downtown San Francisco Fairmont Hotel. I was still flushed and panting with the seismic upheaval to my nervous system, only dimly able to focus, when Rafe pulled up with panache beneath the portico of the venerable hotel.
    It looked like the mission to lose my virginity was finally going to be accomplished.
    I rolled my skirt down, smoothing it toward my knees. I made sure my jean jacket was tightly buttoned. My feeble preparations didn’t help. I was intimidated by the valet in gold-braided uniform who approached the truck and opened my door. I glanced over at Rafe, astonished that we were going to such a classy place.
    He winked as he blew me a kiss from the hand that had just been between my legs.
    I was as shocked by that as by anything that had just occurred between us on the front seat of his rusty old black truck. It felt like everything we’d been doing was stenciled on my face and anyone who looked at me could guess, and my complexion couldn’t have been pinker if I’d been dipped in boiling water.
    I stepped out of the vehicle and stood awkwardly on the sidewalk. Chilly San Francisco wind blew up my skirt and fanned my bare ass. My hair lashed my cheeks. I wrapped my arms around myself for warmth and comfort. I was embarrassed, terrified, and yet determined to get what I’d come for.
    “In for a penny, in for a pound,” I muttered to myself, one of my mom’s favorite sayings. She’d be upset to see me here now, about to do what I’d decided to do after lying to everyone to get here. I thrust the thought of my family firmly out of my mind. Rafe shut the door of the truck firmly and said something to the valet, who got into the vehicle and drove off without batting an eye.
    “Are you sure you can afford this?” I took Rafe’s arm and huddled against him, feeling seriously outclassed as we went into the famous lobby, sparkling with crystal and gleaming with wood and leather.
    “I was going to bring you here for dinner. Now we’ll just go up to the room early.”
    I was struck dumb by the splendor of the Fairmont. Rich carpeting, gold-framed art, refined lighting picked out seating clusters in the grand lobby. I clung to Rafe’s arm as he checked in, cool as creek water. “Reservation for McCallum,” he said. “And guest.”
    “Yes sir, Mr. McCallum.” The voice of the concierge was respectful. That’s how classy this place is , I thought. They don’t even allow the staff to discriminate against drifter sailors checking in with penniless college students.
    We went up in an elevator gleaming with walnut and burnished brass, an attendant in the hotel’s uniform inquiring what floor we were on. I felt awkward shyness settling between us and stepped away from Rafe, losing my courage as I looked up at the changing lights above the door.
    What am I doing? I’d surely regret this, and with Rafe who didn’t fit with my life goals. I had escaped the