Deceit. [COMPLETED.]

Chapter 44

"That Intimate feeling" Part II

We got to the foyer only to be stopped by a rather flamboyant middle-aged receptionist who was stood waving a small brown paper envelope in the air.

'Mr Attwood,' he called out. 'We've found your wallet.'

Apparently it had been brought in only a few minutes ago.

'It was a small boy. He was caught stealing a few streets away and well, it seems your wallet was found in his pocket.'

The receptionist beamed across the widest of smiles as if to suggest that he alone had saved the day but to be quite honest I just didn't care. I had my wallet back and what was more, checking inside, I saw that there was nothing missing.

It brought a whole new meaning to what was about to happen.

Not only would I not have to phone home, something I had been dreading and putting off for as long as possible, but I could now climb the steepest of mountains without the fear of looking down.

We moved to the lift and then on to her door.

You could have cut the atmosphere with a knife.

Max slowly put her key in the lock and then stopped before turning round. She looked intently at me and sent across a small grin.

'Is there something I can do for you Mr Attwood?' she purred.

I stared back with a deadpan expression.

'A night cap perhaps?' she asked.

I rose to the challenge and sent back a slow tantalising smile.

'Now Miss Stamford. I do declare that you, my boss, are trying to invite me, a married man, to share in the delights of what is inside your room.'

Max saw what I was doing and replied with equal bravado.

'Mr Attwood,' she cooed, 'to share would indicate an intention. I am merely enquiring if my colleague standing not more than a few feet away was still thirsty and wished to some how moisten his pallet with something soothing before he retired.'

She leant against the wall with both hands behind her back and a glint held firmly in her eye.

'I have no objection Miss Stamford to moistening my pallet,' I countered. 'Only I am very particular in what way it is moistened.'

This seemed to delight her even more. Her eyes widened.

'Ahh. Then would Mr Attwood care for something hot or cold?'

'Cold,' I said.

'Bitter or sweet.'

'Most definitely sweet.'

She began to unlock her door but hesitated and turned round. 'Sweet I can do,' she said. 'But I can never guarantee that it will be cold.'

With that, she pushed the door open and said, 'After you.'

Each of our rooms had a small lounge with a writing desk set aside from where the beds were located and in the middle was a small coffee table. On hers was a large bottle of champagne on ice with two empty glasses for company.

Max moved off into another room while I served the drinks taking a quick sip of mine before moving across to the writing desk where I saw a radio. I selected a channel that was playing soft music, Mr Pavarotti was singing. When I turned, Max was by the bathroom door wrapped only in a dressing gown. She was bare foot and left nothing to the imagination.