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ache within me reached a note that sounded to me like a scream. 
    His lips and his tongue became my best friends—and my worst enemies.  They weren’t just edging me toward climax—they were driving me there with each swirl of his tongue, each kiss of his lips.  When the table started to rock beneath us, I reached for his face in an effort to steady it, and met his gaze with my own.  Chance needed no coaxing.  When he kissed me, it was with abandon.
    “You’re close,” he said.  “I can feel it.”
    His hands were once again on my breasts, which felt heavy and swollen with lust.  I was about to tell him that, yes, I was close, when at the end of the hall, the elevator doors slid open—and everything changed.
    An older woman in an elegant yellow evening gown stepped out of the elevator—but then stopped when she saw us entangled in each other’s arms.   Without missing a beat, Chance swept me off the table and lifted up the front of my dress to cover me, but he was too late—from the cold look on the woman’s face, I could tell that she’d seen my bare breasts, and that what she’d seen and what we’d been doing had repelled her.  From this distance, it could have been my mother’s own face gawking at me. 
    The shame and guilt I felt took me out of the moment.
    What am I doing?  What have I done?
    Adrenaline shot through me.  My heart started to quicken.  Perhaps because the woman knew that she had the upper hand, she started to walk toward us with purpose, her head lifted just slightly too high.
    Old money , I thought.  No question.
    But Chance was unfazed by her presence.  He put his arm around my waist and turned me so that we faced her as she came toward us at a firm clip.  I sensed that he did so because he didn’t feel the humiliation I felt.  But how could he?  He didn’t know me or how I’d been raised.  I knew that he was trying to be supportive, and that neither of us should feel any shame for what she saw—but I did.  I was riddled with it.  In that moment, I felt like a slut, the tart my mother had always warned me against becoming, if only because of how her own sister had lived her life.
    “And here I thought I was at The Plaza,” the woman said as she brushed past us.  “Not Times Square.” 
    “Sorry to inconvenience you,” Chance said.
    She gave us a withering look, moved to one of the doors to our right, slipped her keycard through the slot, and opened the door to her suite.  Before stepping inside, she ran her fingers through her stylish, steel-gray bob, and then, keeping her features perfectly neutral, said, “I’m calling security.  So it’s my suggestion that you either get off this floor, get out of this hotel, or get into your own room.  I won’t tolerate your behavior.  Neither will the hotel.” 
    Her gaze hardened when she focused it on me.  “What a proud woman your mother must be,” she said.  “How delighted she must be with how you turned out.  If you were my daughter, I’d disown you.  But maybe your mother already has.”
    And with that, she was gone.
     
     
    *  *  *
     
     
    “I should leave,” I said to Chance when the door clicked shut behind her.  “I can’t afford to lose my job.”
    “Nothing’s going to happen to your job—I promise you that.  My room is just a few more doors down.  Let’s go to it.”
    “No,” I said.  “You don’t understand.”
    “It’s just down here, Abby.  Come with me.  Don’t let her get to you.”
    If she wins, then my mother wins.
    I followed him.
    When we arrived at his suite, he unlocked the door and opened it for me, the motion causing the lights within to light on their own.  When I passed him and entered the suite, I felt his hand run down the curve of my back, which was enough to cause me to shiver because I’d just made a decision that could change the course of whether we went forward with any of this.
    “I think I will have that drink,” I said.  “Something