“Can I get another martini?” Jensen asked the bartender.

She pushed her empty glass forward and munched on her one remaining olive. There was something about hotel bars that gave her the willies. The people there were always different than people in any other bar. They seemed somehow sadder, like whatever they were doing at that particular hotel, they were not there to celebrate. It was like a gathering of lost souls, a fleeting moment of time on their path to god knows where.

Jensen was stopping through on business. She had had an important meeting with a client earlier that day that had been a fairly big success for her. The client had been impressed and she knew enough to know that the news would find its way back to her boss even before she returned to the office on Monday. Looking around the bar, she was the only one in even a remotely good mood. Strangers sat in silence speckled throughout the low-ceilinged room, wafts of smoke gathered in clouds and rose over the heads of the few smokers. It was a dim bar, the wood was mahogany and the lights were turned low. It had an atmosphere, that was for sure. She just wasn’t certain what the atmosphere was.

There was a lone woman poring over her cosmopolitan, presumably not her first. She never looked up or around. She just stared into her drink. Jensen found herself wondering what the story was with that one. There was always a story. At the counter was an old man. He was smoking a cigar and reading a newspaper while sipping on a brandy. He saw her looking at him and raised his glass in salute. Jensen tilted her head to him and went back to her book. It wasn’t a particularly fascinating book, but seemed to occasionally keep her from staring at her fellow patrons.

She scanned the words on the page but they didn’t register. She thought about the bar and she realized it reminded her of something. A song. Bed of Roses, she thought. The Bon Jovi song. It played in her head. She watched the piano player across the room and heard the words to the song: Sitting here wasted and wounded at this old piano…She wondered if the piano man was wasted and wounded. She wondered if he, too, had a story. He seemed only to want to play sad songs. But Jensen realized that is probably what piano players do. It is their lot. Hotel bar hangover, she thought. More words to the song. She wondered if she would have one of those in the morning. It sounded worse somehow than a normal hangover. It sounded disdainful. Again she wondered what it was about hotel bars.

The bartender brought her martini. It had an extra olive this time. That made her smile. She liked the olives. She took the toothpick and sucked one of the olives into her mouth. It was firm yet mushy and tasted of gin and vermouth.

The piano player stopped playing and walked over to the bar. Jensen looked back down at her book and took a sip of her drink. Her mind wandered and she began to hum the tune that repeated itself over and over in her head.

“Bed of Roses, eh?” a voice said in a smooth English accent.

Jensen looked up and blushed self-consciously.

“Sorry,” she told him. “I didn’t even realize that was out loud. It’s stuck in my head.”

The piano player smiled at her. He was very handsome, she thought. His hair was dark and scruffy, his eyes brown and thoughtful. He reminded her a lot of a British author she had read but couldn’t quite place.

“Happens to me all the time,” he confessed. “It being a hotel bar and all that.”

He winked at her and Jensen laughed.

“Paul,” he said, holding out his hand to her, but it came out pole.

“Jensen,” she returned, shaking his hand and smiling.

His grip was firm, but not overly so, and he held on to her hand for what felt like an eternity. They looked at each other, their eyes locked as though enrapt in some silent conversation.

“How long are you staying at the hotel?” Paul asked her, breaking the silence.

Jensen shook her head almost imperceptibly, clearing the fog that had settled over her mind as they had stared at each other.

“Just for tonight,” she replied. “I leave in the morning.”

“A travesty,” he said. “I will not see you here again. You seem to somehow bring a little life to this sad old bar.”

He reached out then to touch her face. Jensen closed her eyes as she felt his hand on her skin. He stroked her gently, rubbing his thumb down her cheek and jaw line.

“So soft,” he whispered.

Paul leaned down and kissed her cheek, so softly she barely felt his lips at all. Then he whispered in her ear:

“Wait for me here for just a moment. I have one thing to do and I can be all yours for the evening. Please, darling?”

Jensen nodded. She didn’t feel able to speak. His breath in her ear, his words had her in a sort of fog. Her body was responding to him, she shivered a little, her skin alive and tingling. He walked away from her, to go do whatever it was he was going to do. She turned back to her drink, her long forgotten martini. It wasn’t even halfway finished.

Sipping on her martini, Jensen surveyed the room again. It was getting a bit more crowded now, but the people were all the same. Travel-weary salesmen were in abundance. She laughed to herself as she realized the stereotype that lay out before her. Short sleeved dress shirts with striped ties, moustaches straight from the 80’s, thinning hair, and Sansabelt slacks. She had seen a lot of movies where traveling salesmen were portrayed in this light and she had found in her own travels that this was one stereotype that was completely accurate.

The martini was finished and the olives gone. Jensen looked at her watch, wondering what Paul was doing and if he would in fact be back as he promised. The way he whispered to me, she thought, he has to come back. Her skin grew warm and her face pink just thinking about it.

“You blush gorgeously, love,” said a voice beside her.

“Paul,” she smiled. “You’re back.”

“As promised. Shall we?”

He held out his arm to her. She took his arm and they strolled out of the bar. In the lobby, they waited for an elevator. The tension between them grew palpable. Jensen could think of nothing but getting to her room with him. She wanted him. And no elevator had ever taken longer to arrive.

With a ding, the elevator doors opened and they stepped inside. Jensen pushed the button for the eleventh floor and then jabbed at the close door button. She didn’t want anyone else trying to catch the same elevator. The doors closed quickly and they started to ascend. She leaned back against the wall and looked at Paul. She couldn’t get over how handsome he was and how sexy it was that he was British. He noticed her studying him. He grinned at her, a sheepish sideways grin that made her want him all the more. He moved to pin her against the wall. He tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear as he leaned into her.

“Like what you see?” he teased.

“Oh, yes,” Jensen replied. “Very much.”

With that, his mouth seized hers in a glorious first kiss. His lips were demanding but pliant. She returned the kiss with equal ardor and felt her knees growing weak. She was nearly sure this was the best kiss of her life. He held her face in his hands as he kissed her, gentle and soothing.

The elevator reached their floor and the doors dinged open. Paul pulled back from Jensen and looked into her eyes. They were stormy with pent up passion and his expression matched hers. He took her hand and they got off the elevator. Stopping in front of the door to her room, Jensen rifled through her purse for the key. She plucked it out and opened the door. She was about to flip the light switch but gasped when she saw the candlelight flickering around the room. There was champagne in a bucket of ice on the night table, what seemed like a hundred white candles all about the room, and rose petals scattered all over the bed. Bed of Roses, she thought. She spun to face Paul, hardly able to comprehend that he had done all of this for her, a virtual stranger.

He smiled tenderly at her. Jensen was in awe of this amazing gesture and had no idea what to say.

“I…” she started.

There were no words to finish the thought. She had none. He reached out and pulled her to him, his arms settling around her back. He buried his face in her neck, kissing and nuzzling her. Jensen laughed because it tickled. He nuzzled even more. She ran her fingers through his shaggy hair and held him as he held her.

“Thank you,” was all she said.

He hugged her tightly for a moment then pulled back. He bent down to kiss her, their lips meeting in a burst of passion. The world disappeared around them and time seemed to stop. The kiss was earth shattering, bruising and tender all at the same time. His tongue penetrated her mouth, exploring every inch of it, his breath hot on hers. They clung to each other as though they were in danger of being snatched from this moment any second. They clung to each other with a need neither of them had ever experienced.

Jensen’s mind was running a million miles an hour. She had just met this man. They had conversed so briefly. It was utterly confusing how they had ended up here, in her room, as she felt all of these things she could not properly identify. She couldn’t understand what was happening. She wasn’t sure she wanted to. It was magical, that kiss, the feeling growing inside of her.

Magic, she thought as the kiss continued. And the rest of her thoughts floated away on a sea of ecstasy.

Paul lifted his head and tried to catch his breath.

“If I am not mistaken, you will in fact be the end of me,” he said to Jensen, looking deeply into her eyes and rumpling her hair.

Jensen felt as though she had just been pulled out of the most wonderful dream, the kind of dream that you are sad to wake up from.

“Mmm,” she mumbled, leaning into Paul’s chest. She buried her head in him and he held her.

He bent down and scooped her up in his arms, carrying her to the bed. He laid her down on the ocean of rose petals. She moved her arms over the silky flowers, letting the sensation of the petals on her skin glide luxuriously through her body.

Paul stood beside the bed and watched her as she relished in the splendor of the scene he had created for her. He thought she was beautiful, a stunning creature of both wit and grace. She was a blessing and a curse, the answer and the question. She was everything.

Jensen opened her eyes to find him watching her. She smiled lazily at him.

“Come here,” she said breathily.

Paul stretched out beside her on the bed. They kissed each other into oblivion lying there amidst the roses. Paul touched her face, her neck. He couldn’t get enough of her skin. She was radiant. The flush of desire had covered her in a gorgeous rosy glow.

Jensen felt his hands on her and wanted more of them. She wanted his hands all over her, her skin ached to be touched, ached to be caressed by those fingers. Her body was alive with wanting and her every cell was alert to his touch. He stroked her face and she could feel it in her toes.

He removed her clothes slowly, agonizingly so. He prolonged the simple task out of sheer pleasure at disrobing her. Also he wanted to run his fingers along her skin as he removed each piece. He took off his own clothes next and they lay naked next to each other.

Paul took her in with his eyes, memorizing every detail, every curve of her body. Jensen ran her fingers down his chest, her nails teasing him and tickling him. She touched him everywhere she could reach, arousing his body even further. The evidence of his desire was right in front of her, his erection large and obvious. Jensen was pleased with herself that he wanted her this much. She could feel her own desires culminating between her legs. She knew when he finally touched her there he would realize what he had done to her, how crazy he had made her for him.

Her body shuddered as his hands meandered over her, exploring and caressing every inch of her skin he could touch. She was so soft, her skin like silk. He worshipped her with his fingers, exalted her with his embrace. Jensen felt so light and so warm under his adoration that she wondered if she weren’t watching this scene from afar. She thought maybe she was floating over the bed, looking on as their love making unfolded. But she could feel him too well for that. Everywhere he touched, her body sang. She ran her hands idly over him while he pleasured her. His muscles jumped reflexively at her touch, showing her how she aroused him. She was proud of her affect on him. She wanted to give him more.

But he wanted to give it all to her, to shower her in rapture. He would not let her up to return the pleasure he was bestowing on her. His fingers were inside of her, sliding in and out of her hot wetness. She writhed and moaned atop the roses and came quickly as his hands proved as adept at playing a woman as they were a piano.

Her breathing was rapid and shallow, her body screaming to have him.

“Paul,” she whispered to him.

He seemed to tremble at the sound of his name on her lips. He poised himself over her, took her mouth with his, and gently slid his hard manhood into her aching sex. Jensen arched her back and pulled him more tightly to her. They moved together in a rhythmic dance. She surrounded and engulfed him and he filled her soul. He was intoxicating, was all she could think. She cried out softly, her entire being flooded with him, with his throbbing member. He was deep inside, thrusting deeper still. His lips on her shoulder, her nails in his back, they brought each other to new heights of rapture.

She could feel the climax building inside her, like a volcano readying for eruption in the bowels of the earth. Paul increased his pace, sensing her closeness. Gentleness was replaced by a desperate need and he took her harder, faster. Jensen closed her eyes and felt the orgasm spread through her entire body, making her cry out and her muscles tighten. Paul was not far behind, thrusting into her one last time before pouring himself into her.
They lay side by side on the bed, both trembling in the afterglow. Jensen wanted to say so many things but found she hadn’t the words to even begin. She wondered if this was one of those life-altering experiences she had heard so often about. One night with this man and she wondered if she could live without him, if she could simply return to her life as it had been. Somehow she didn’t think so.

Paul looked at her, the goddess lying beside him. He knew without doubt his life would never be the same. Something had happened this day and he knew he could never go back. They looked at each other almost shyly, both curious if the other felt even a modicum of the same feelings.