Like a Hurricane

by Roxanne St Claire

  The image of her gorgeous legs hanging from the ceiling flashed in his mind. “Oh, I’ve seen some incredible sights already.”

  She stared up at him, those blue-green eyes questioning and daring and laughing all at the same time. Time stopped. Atoms froze. A weird tingling sensation went zinging through his gut. The gut that he always trusted. The gut that he knew would tell him the instant he finally met…

  The one.

  Quinn McGrath never ignored his gut.

  “But maybe you could show me the beach,” he said softly, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. “Are you free for dinner?”

  Then she treated him to a sly smile that did really dangerous things to his heart and the other part that hadn’t yet settled down. Before she could answer, the elevator clunked and the doors rumbled closed behind her.

  “My bag!” She spun around and made a quick pass at the doors, but they closed too fast. “Oh—” She swallowed what was surely another creative curse, then hit the wood with one ineffective punch before turning to him. “You didn’t happen to leave the stairwell door open, did you?”

  He shook his head. “Don’t tell me. The key is in your bag.”

  Her shoulders slumped a little. “All right. I won’t tell you the key is in my bag.”

  “Isn’t there another way down?”

  “Can you scale the balconies of a three-story building?”

  Actually, he could, but the possibility of being stuck with a barefoot contessa on the abandoned floor of a hotel seemed far more enticing.

  “Won’t anyone come looking for you?” he asked.

  She sighed. “There aren’t many people working tonight. But we can hope someone will catch the elevator and send it back.”

  “But how will anyone know we’re up here?”

  “Do you have a cell phone?” she asked, hope brightening her face.

  He pictured it resting on the passenger seat of his rental car. “Sorry, I don’t.”

  “Then come here.” His heart tightened at the invitation, which he accepted by stepping next to her, teased by a whiff of her rose-scented fragrance. “We’re stuck with the low-tech method,” she said. “The sound might carry down the elevator shaft.”

  With balled fists, she raised her hands to the wooden elevator doors and shot him a long and meaningful glance. “What are you waiting for? Let’s bang.”

  He almost choked. “Precisely what I had in mind.”

  Two

  “Help! We’re stuck!”

  Nicole Whitaker rammed her entire body weight against the wooden doors with way more force than required. Not only was the body-slam their only chance of being heard—it had worked about three weeks ago when she was stuck on the first floor—but the movement had the added benefit of relieving some of the tension that had coiled her entire being into a knot of raw desire. The sheer presence of the man wound her so tight that any second she could just snap. One more sexy smile and quick one-liner and she might literally come undone. Right into his solid mass of heart-stopping male muscle.

  “Help!” She shouldered the door and the pencil tumbled out of her hair.

  At his laugh, she froze, mid-slam. “Do you think this is funny?”

  She tried to glare at him, if only to hide the fact that she wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. How mortifying that this guest—one that somehow had gotten by her that day—would think her resort was a dump.

  “I can’t help it.” He shrugged, his bottomless brown eyes sparkling. “You’re really amusing.”

  Amusing. Oh yeah. A veritable comedy act swinging half-naked from the ceiling. The thought of how far up her skirt had risen coiled her up inside again. What a way to greet a guest.

  Thank God she’d cancelled the meeting that the bank was forcing her to have with some real estate mogul from New York. That’s all the great-and-powerful Quinn McGrath of Jorgensen Development Corporation would need to see. The elevator dead as a doornail and one of her two—no, make that three—paying guests walking around calling the place awful and dilapidated.

  And just how did this guy manage to register and not send Sally Chambers flying into Nicole’s office with a report that a six-foot-two god had checked in for a night?

  She bit her lip and rested her head against the warm wood of the door, trying to regain the equilibrium that vanished every time she looked at him. She couldn’t let him know she was the owner of the dump. It was just too embarrassing.

  Oh, God, what a day. A day? What a year. Life had spun completely out of control well over fourteen months earlier when Hurricane Dante spent six destructive hours as a guest on St. Joseph’s Island. The storm’s category-three winds weren’t deadly, but just potent enough to rip the charm right out of Mar Brisas. Eighty-mile-an-hour winds, and one grossly worded insurance policy had left the resort her great-grandfather had designed and built on its last gasping breath after a glorious sixty-year life.

  “Surely someone will come up here tonight,” he said as he gave the door far too light a tap and tilted his head toward the other end of the hall. A gorgeous, sexy, come-hither tilt. “The workers left their stuff out.”

  “Uh, I don’t think so.” Workers? Hah. He was looking at the workers. With only a tiny percentage of the insurance money ever paid after the storm, the task of repairing Mar Brisas fell on the owner’s proud, but poor, shoulders. So poor, in fact, that she’d agreed to meet with a potential buyer. But so proud that she’d chickened out before he could show up. “Trust me, Mac, not a lot of people frequent the third floor. We could be here awhile.”

  A curious frown deepened a crease between his eyebrows. “How did you know my name?”

  His name? “Mac?” She rolled her eyes. “That’s what I call everybody who meets my backside first.”

  He laughed again. A low, erotic sound that plucked at her heart and sent electrical charges darting into her stomach. His laugh was almost as smooth as his voice, which was like buttah.

  “You’re not still thinking about that, are you?” he asked. “Forget about it. I have.”

  Liar. “I’ll be thinking about you for the rest of my life.”

  “Wow.” He grinned at her. “I’m flattered.”

  “Don’t be. It’ll only happen when I play one of those ‘reveal-your-most-embarrassing-moments’ party games.”

  He leaned his shoulder against the door, his arms crossed. He was definitely not banging, but his wide, muscular chest and the few dark hairs that sneaked out of his unbuttoned collar distracted her so much she didn’t complain.

  “So what are your other embarrassing moments?”

  She heard the question, but only listened to the cadence of his mesmerizing voice.

  Watching and listening to this guy was a heady experience. She was definitely light-headed. “Tell me yours first.”

  He leaned closer. “It’ll cost you.”

  She sucked in a little breath at his proximity, catching a whiff of peppermint and maybe the very first drops of heated male sweat that dampened the strands of black hair that fell on his forehead. That reminded her of the nasty no air-conditioning comment.

  “I’ve paid my dues,” she managed to respond. “You’ve seen my underwear.”

  “Not really.”

  She arched a skeptical eyebrow.

  “Just one little tiny scrap of lace,” he admitted.

  She felt the blood rush to her cheeks. Mac wasn’t going to cut her an inch of slack.

  He moved closer, invading the last vestige of her personal space. He wasn’t smiling, but his dark-chocolate eyes burned as his gaze traveled over her, lingering on her revealing tank top before returning to her eyes. He parted his lips and she caught a momentary glimpse of his tongue.

  Light-headed intensified to bona fide dizziness.

  “Blue is definitely your color.”

  He had to have heard the little sound that tumbled from her mouth. Because he lowered his face even closer to hers, eliminating all the space and all the ai
r. “Lingerie that matches your eyes. You could start a whole new fashion trend.”

  She tried to smile, but her lips trembled. He was close enough to kiss. Her heart thumped, blood rushing melodiously through her ears. Kiss, kiss, kiss it sang to her.

  “Kiss.”

  Before she realized what she’d said, he did.

  His mouth came down on hers gently at first, but the instant their lips met, he increased the pressure. He put his hands on her hips and turned her body toward him. Deepening the kiss, he pulled her into him, pressing her into his rock-hard chest and rock-hard…

  She broke the contact, but he kept a firm grip on her hips, then nuzzled his mouth at her ear.

  “You said ‘kiss.’” His breath skimmed the hairs on the back of her neck.

  She shivered. “I said miss.” She gently pushed at the impressive shoulders to look at him. “I meant…maybe someone will miss you and call the front desk—”

  He shook his head. “I’m here all alone.”

  “What about…back home? Your…wife?” She had to be sure this was safe and legal. Because it felt anything but.

  He shook his head again, his lips curling in a wistful smile. “No wife.”

  It was too good to be true.

  He was too good to be true.

  “What about you?” he asked, his thumbs circling each of her hip bones in a maddening, mesmerizing rhythm.

  Obviously, he was asking if she were attached, married or otherwise unable to continue what they’d just started. With the exception of two feeble attempts in her early twenties, she basically defined unattached. Should she let him know that? Or just back away?

  This was her chance for common sense to outweigh what he was doing to the other five. This was her chance to prove that humans really do reason, when animals only act on instinct. This was her chance to end this insanity. Should she take it?

  Not a chance.

  “No one is missing me,” she told him truthfully.

  “Then please let me kiss you again.” That silken voice caressed her with the same power of his hands. “That elevator door might open any minute and I hate missed opportunities.”

  Her gaze dropped from his eyes, over his classic Roman nose, his handsome, hollow cheeks, pausing at the lips that she’d just tasted.

  She wasn’t going to miss this one. She stood on her toes to meet him and this time, his tongue darted directly into her mouth. And out again. And in. And out.

  His not-so-subtle message turned her legs to water. In fact, her entire lower body had liquefied and she wrapped her arms around his neck to keep from melting onto the ground.

  She refused to think about what she was doing. Kissing a stranger named Mac, locked on the empty third floor of her resort, when she should be downstairs facing the biggest professional and personal dilemma in her twenty-eight years on earth.

  This was sheer madness.

  This was sheer delight.

  He eased her against the elevator door and she could feel the seam of the two wooden panels against her back. In one smooth movement, his hands traveled up her rib cage and rested on the outside of her breasts. Waiting for permission. The woman in her knew exactly how to give the signal. All she had to do was breathe deeply, press her chest closer and he’d accept the invitation to touch her. He wanted her—there was no doubt about his response, against her stomach. And his heart thumped in the same staccato as hers, against her chest.

  She was long past dizzy now and on her way to full-fledged swooning. She couldn’t possibly open her eyes. She couldn’t possibly stop this feeling of falling. Falling into Mac.

  She felt a vibration, heard a groan.

  As the elevator doors clunked, he swooped her away, saving them both from tumbling into the car as it jerked open.

  “Damn.” He nipped her lower lip with his teeth as he tightened his embrace. “We’ve been rescued.”

  Nicole alternately blessed and cursed the ancient Otis. Why did it never work when she wanted it to, and now…

  She forced herself to slide out of his arms and step into the elevator. With a steadying breath, she reached down for her jacket and briefcase. “Going down?” She tried to sound casual, but his eyes twinkled in response.

  She hit Two and the doors rumbled closed. The car lurched. Kind of like her heart did every time she looked at him.

  “I have a better idea.” He leaned very close to her ear, his husky voice vibrating as much as the machinery around them. “Why don’t we bring this sucker to a crashing halt somewhere between the second floor and…heaven?”

  She actually considered it. Then blinked the thought away. “I’m—I’m sorry,” she stuttered. “My brain isn’t working any better than the elevator.”

  He stepped back and gave her a reassuring smile. Then he took her chin in his fingertips and lifted her face to his.

  “Mine stopped functioning with my first glimpse of the lady in blue.”

  The elevator thudded to a halt on the second floor. If she didn’t stop, she was going to do something she might really regret. Never forget, but really regret.

  “This is your floor,” she said as the doors rumbled open.

  “Not exactly.” He traced her chin with his thumb. “I haven’t checked in yet.”

  He hadn’t—? She stiffened and took a step back, closer to the button panel. “Too much of a dump for you?”

  “Well, you gotta admit, it’s third-rate at best.” He winked at her as he hit Close Door. “The help is nice, though.”

  Oh, God. The help is stupid. She stabbed Open Door and glared at him. “Here’s your stop, Mac.” She put her hand on his back, smiled, and gave him a push toward the open door. He stepped into the hall, a look of humor and surprise…and expectation on his face. Did he think she was coming with him? After he lied and called her resort a dump?

  She pressed the Close Door button and for once, her elevator cooperated, leaving the most incredible man she’d ever met and kissed—both in the space of five minutes—looking stunned as the doors closed between them.

  Nicole rushed into the empty lobby and headed for the front desk, which stood unattended because she couldn’t afford a night crew. She yanked open a drawer and rummaged for something she hadn’t needed in a long, long time.

  With a flourish, she slammed the No Vacancy sign on the desk. On her way to her villa, she sent the elevator up to two, but ran like the wind before it could return.

  The last of the glittering moonbeams had faded from the silver waves of the Gulf. In their place, the first few rays of sunlight warmed the lazy surf that lapped in a nonstop rhythm just about fifty feet from Nicole’s patio. She’d passed the entire night curled into one of her rattan chairs, staring at the water and second-guessing her overdramatic exit.

  It certainly wasn’t the first sleepless night she’d spent counting stars and pondering her life. Before the hurricane, she’d often sit outside and think about her parents. About the dark days when she’d arrived in St. Joseph’s Island, eight years old and scared as a lost kitten. When all she had in the whole world were some memories of two wonderful people, and a strange and colorful new “mother” named Freddie.

  But after Hurricane Dante made its unwelcome visit to her world, nearly every night was devoted to the climb out of financial ruin. She’d spent hours just accepting the fact that while the rest of St. Joseph’s Island got an insurance-induced face-lift, Mar Brisas got a Band-Aid.

  Not that she wanted her little Spanish gem to be transformed into one of the palatial towers of stucco and glass that were rising daily along the ten-mile stretch of one of Florida’s prettiest beaches. That was precisely what she did not want. But the fact remained that the Mar Brisas insurance policy had a loophole in it the size of the Gulf of Mexico. She’d ended up with virtually no money to restore the beachfront suites and villas she’d spent her life savings and inheritance to buy five years ago.

  Now it was darn near foreclosure time and the bank was no longer fending off th
e buyers who’d shown interest in her prime real estate.

  But money was the last thing on her mind last night, she admitted as she crossed the sand and headed to her office, dressed once again in her usual jeans and baggy top. Yesterday’s suit had been for a meeting that, thank God, she’d had the good sense to cancel.

  Instead of traipsing around her property with some heartless Donald Trump wanna-be from New Yawk City, she’d found herself in the arms of the most desirable man she’d ever met.

  Who lied about staying there and spoke the truth about the resort. That was why she sent him packing, right?

  Oh, yeah. Right. She’d pushed him out that elevator door for the same reason she’d walked away from any other man who ever appealed to her—not that many had. Oh, maybe a few. There was one in college, and another just before she bought Mar Brisas. Although she’d been intimate with both of them, she hadn’t been close. Close meant permanence. And permanence meant losing. Isn’t that the lesson life taught her twenty years ago when her parents went out to dinner one night and never came home?

  She shook her head and yanked the lobby door. Not now, Nic. She had immediate problems to face. Like Tom Northcott. He’d been patient so far, but he was still a bank vice president and his loyalty was to Marine Federal. He’d be furious when he found out she’d cancelled the meeting he’d arranged with Jorgensen Development’s golden boy.

  She squared her shoulders and purposely passed the offending elevator without so much as a wistful glance. It was probably stuck anyway. Somewhere between the second floor…and heaven.

  Nicole’s sole remaining full-timer was already at her desk. Sally Chambers’ quick smile and dancing green eyes were always a welcome sight, but this morning they seemed a little brighter than normal.

  “Some idiot put a No Vacancy sign on the front desk last night,” Sally said, standing up to follow her boss into the office.

  “Really.” She threw her bag under her desk and gave Sally a non-committal look. “Imagine that.”