TRAVEL ROMANCE SERIES: #1 GENEVA | BÉBÉ

16. Casablanca الدَّار الْبَيْضَاء

Le Grand GM Hotel Casablanca

Veronica fell on her made bed, still holding her clutch bag. She'd just gotten back from a club beside the crew hotel, the effects of the alcopop wading in her system. As she turned her head, she checked to see the time on the bedside clock. 12:45 am.

The dread of waking up at six in the morning made her groan even louder. She and Drew had partied too much that plans to have breakfast at the local souk with a few colleagues seemed so tempting to cancel. She was afraid sleeping through the wake-up call at 2 pm the following day was the only plan.

Suddenly, her phone vibrated from inside her bag.

Wolff - GVA is calling...

She was perfectly content with Eric's attention and her beautiful new life in Dubai. Until Wolff showed up in Capetown.

Her sleepless nights began since then, her mind swimming into different pools of what ifs. The idea of leading a flirtatious friendship with Eric was all she wanted. But because of the pressure she'd had since her multiple dates with Wolff, including the shark-filled morning, her body shifted. The scenario of getting to know Wolff a little better was posing more of a danger right now, because she was well aware of the sexual effect he was putting on her.

"Hi," her alcohol-inspired tone answered him. If she knew he was going to call, she wouldn't have had that third bottle of alcopop.

"Hello," he said, his voice the deepest so far, she'd like that depth to reverberate within her thighs.

"Where are you?" he asked.

"I'm back in my room. Me and Drew just got back from the club," she said, deliberately making it sound like she was only in Dubai.

She didn't want to disclose her exact location, especially after what he did the last time.

"Did you enjoy tonight?"

"Yeah, it took away all the stress."

Not work-related, but the stress since she met him and Eric.

"That's good. Are you relaxed now?"

"I am," she breathed, crawling under the thick white sheets, the alcohol floating in her head, giving her a wonderful high. "What are you doing now?" she asked.

"Just in my room, scribbling a poem." His voice was so clear. It was as if he was just next to her. 

"Can you read it to me?" she breathed. 

"I'd like to, but it's unfinished, and it's in French."

She hadn't told him yet she was fluent. "I don't mind. I'd like to hear it."

"Alright. Here goes nothing:

Dans une mer de pensées flottant / Dans les rues pavées, les foules passent / Je suis captif..."

At the level of his sexy voice, she could come any minute now.

"Ne t'arrête pas," she breathed, almost begging him not to stop as she reached into her underwear.

"Wait, did you just say something in French?" he cut the poem short, clearly surprised.

She bit her lip and froze. The mix of exhaustion and alcohol wasn't making her brain cells work well.

"Please, keep going," she whispered. Then she pressed the mute button, no longer able to control her desires.

"Un coup, un éblouissement, des sens cliquetis / Une secousse, un virage, un saut, un mépris..."