by Cara Summers
CHAPTER SEVEN
KISS ME. The words had slipped out before she could prevent them. She hadn’t meant to say them. But touching him, feeling the strength of his desire fill her hand had changed the fantasy into a desire so sharp she couldn’t resist.
She hadn’t even had time to blink before his mouth had crushed down on hers. The memory of their last kiss shattered as new sensations streamed through her. She welcomed the heat, the urgent demand, and wanted more.
The feelings racing through her were as exciting as the first time one of her theories had proven to be true in the lab. There was that breathless rush of pleasure, then the exhilaration that came with knowing that the results were just the beginning. That they could be taken to the next step and the next.
Touch me, she wanted to cry out. Please touch me.
And then he did. His hands were hard—and rough. One had clamped like a vise on the back of her neck. The other was running down her in a smooth, possessive stroke until it reached the top of her thigh. When he scraped his teeth over her bottom lip, a bolt of pleasure shot through her. She could feel everything—the soft give of the cushioned leather at her back, the hard line of his body pressing against her, and the beating of her own heart—so fast, so hard, she was sure it was going to pound its way right out of her chest.
And all the while, something inside her was beginning to boil like hot molten rock at the earth’s center.
More. She arched toward him, and suddenly his hand was just where she wanted it to be. Right at the center of her heat.
“Excuse me.”
The two words didn’t register at first. All she was aware of was Lucas’s abrupt withdrawal. First, he pulled his mouth from hers and then his hand. But he kept one arm around her as he turned.
“What is it?” Lucas’s voice sounded like a snarl, and the perky little waitress took a quick step back from the table. At least he could talk. Mac’s lips felt as if they were vibrating. She wondered if she could ever use them for forming words again.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said with a faltering attempt at a smile. “But my manager sent me over. There’s a call for you at the main desk. He thought it might be important.”
Mac could almost feel Lucas put a clamp on his anger. His voice was much milder when he said, “We’ll take the bill.”
“Thanks.” She beamed a smile at him, then waited until he signed it and handed it back to her.
Mac didn’t look at Lucas until the waitress left. He was studying her, and there was nothing on his face that gave away what he was thinking.
“You’re trouble,” he said.
She could have said the same about him and meant it. She didn’t kid herself for one minute that she’d been successful at sustaining her fantasy for even a second after Lucas had begun to kiss her. One taste and Sally might just as well have been vaporized. She was the one who’d been kissing Lucas, wanting Lucas. And she hadn’t wanted to stop.
He slid out of the booth and held out his hand. “We’re getting out of here before we’re arrested.”
“I think I’m glad I’m with the owner of the hotel,” Mac said as she grabbed the bag that contained his present, then tucked her free hand in his.
Lucas’s lips twitched. “I’m glad I am the owner of the hotel.”
They were both laughing as they walked out of the lounge.
THE LOBBY WAS CROWDED. Some people were clustered in groups, others wove their way toward the bank of elevators or up a curving sweep of stairs to the second level. The sun streamed down on them from a skylight as they circled a fountain in the open atrium.
At any other time, Lucas might have taken a moment to just mingle and observe how smoothly the staff was running the place, but two things were on his mind—the woman beside him and the phone call waiting for him at the desk. No one knew he was here at the hotel. Even if Tracker had guessed, he would have called him on his cell phone. After he solved that problem, he would have to figure out what he was going to do about the doc.
If he could just predict what she might do or suggest next, he might be able to get a handle on that. Clearly, his first priority was to get her back upstairs to their suite before she got them both arrested.
“Lucas Wainright,” he said to the well-groomed young man at the reception desk. “I was told there was a call for me.”
“Yes, sir. Just one minute, Mr. Wainright.”
While he waited, he glanced over to where Mac was leafing through one of the brochures stacked on a nearby table. She’d kicked off one of her high-heeled sandals, and he found himself wanting to slip her out of the other one.
Odd, but he’d never been particularly attracted to women who dressed in clothes that screamed casually available sex. He preferred his dates to wear elegant but conservative styles.
The outfit Mac was wearing was even more eye-catching than it had been in the dimness of the lounge. As he watched, the gaze of more than one passerby locked on her. One man stumbled, nearly falling into the man ahead of him. Another lurched into the woman at his side. Yet the doc seemed totally unaware that she was causing traffic mishaps.
Instead, she was totally engrossed in the brochure. Clearly, he was looking at Dr. Lloyd. His eyes narrowed. But there was a Sally lurking inside her. And he was beginning to think he was fascinated by them both.
He planned to have both of them in his bed tonight.
He let his gaze wander down the length of her legs. She’d taken off both sandals now, and she was rubbing the back of one foot against the calf of her leg. Evidently, the doc wasn’t in the habit of wearing hooker shoes.
Very soon, he intended to have her out of the rest of her hooker outfit too. The tank top would go first. First one strap, then the other. And then he would slide the fabric down slowly until he could cup her breasts in his hands. Then he would—
“Sir, I have your call ready.”
Turning, Lucas picked up the receiver. “Wainright here.”
“Are you enjoying your vacation?”
Lucas recognized Vincent Falcone’s voice immediately. “Very much. Are you enjoying the wine country?”
Falcone’s laugh sounded relaxed in his ear. “You’ve been keeping tabs on me, I see.”
And you’ve been doing the same with me. Lucas didn’t like it one bit, but he didn’t say the words aloud. He said nothing at all. A long time ago, he’d learned that silence was often more effective than a direct question in getting the information he wanted. While he waited, he let his gaze sweep the lobby. Did Falcone have a tail on him even now? He noted that Mac was chatting with the bellhop who had shown them to their rooms. In a moment, the young man was going to drool all over his uniform.
“You’re much harder to locate than I am,” Falcone said. “I heard a rumor that you were off to the Keys. I thought naturally of the Wainright Casa Marina, but I didn’t really expect my call to strike pay dirt.”
Right. And pigs fly. “It hasn’t. Our business relationship is terminated.”
“That’s why I called. I have something in my possession that will change the picture.”
“You’ll have to be more specific.”
There was a sigh of regret on the other end of the line. “I’m afraid I can’t. Phone calls can be tapped. Let’s just say that fortune has dealt me a few cards I didn’t hold before. One of them might grab your attention.”
Lucas wanted to hang up the phone. But he couldn’t afford to. He knew the kind of ruthlessness that Falcone was capable of. That was why he’d wanted his sister with him and not in some damn spa. “A meeting then?”
“Ah. I thought you’d never ask. Saturday at my vineyard in Napa.”
“Saturday in my offices in D.C.”
Falcone’s laugh lacked both humor and warmth. “My dear Lucas, this time it’s my turn to call the shots. Three o’clock on Saturday at my vineyard. If you’re curious, you’ll come to me. If not, well, that could be very unfortunate.”
Lucas listened to t
he phone go dead in his ear. Hell would freeze over first. There wasn’t anything that the man could possibly offer him to renew their business relationship. Vincent Falcone was a crook. Hell, it had taken him four long years to find a way out of doing business with the man that wouldn’t violate any of the contracts his father had signed.
He’d bided his time, making sure that any joint ventures Wainright had with Falcone’s companies steadily lost money. Then when the man had come to him wanting the capital to invest in Lansing, a biotech company, Lucas had all the ammunition he needed. He’d given the older man Lansing as payment in full to buy him out of Wainright Enterprises.
Lucas reran Falcone’s phone call over in his mind. He couldn’t afford to underestimate him. A quick glance at his watch told him that it had been twenty-four hours since he’d talked to Tracker. Suddenly, he wanted to be very sure that Sophie was in that spa.
Pushing the numbers into his cell phone, he glanced over at Mac and stared. She’d perched herself on the table that held the brochures and crossed her legs. The skirt had inched about as high up her thighs as it could go. Three bellhops were now gathered around her, totally wrapped up in whatever she was saying, and the registration line had doubled.
Tracker wasn’t picking up the call. Lucas disconnected it and punched the numbers in again. He hadn’t taken his eyes off Mac.
“He wrote seventy percent of his works here—A Farewell to Arms, For Whom the Bell Tolls,” she was saying. “Can you tell me how to get to his house?”
She was talking about Ernest Hemingway. Lucas couldn’t prevent a smile.
“Sure thing. I read The Old Man and the Sea,” said the tallest of the three young men.
“I saw the movie once. I think,” said another.
She was dressed like a tart, and she had three kids who were probably still in high school competing to admit they’d read Hemingway.
“My great-grandfather used to box with him on the front lawn.”
“You’re kidding,” Mac said.
“No. There’re pictures of him in the museum. You can see them if you go.”
Clearly, being a descendant of someone who’d actually come into contact with Hemingway was much more impressive than merely reading his books. He might just have to tell her—Sally or the doc or both—that his own grandfather had fished with the novelist.
Lucas disconnected the second call and punched in the numbers again. The only time that Tracker didn’t pick up a call was when he absolutely couldn’t talk. Had he managed to get inside the spa? Each call he made would leave a message on Tracker’s caller ID, and three calls in a row would let Tracker know that it was an emergency.
As the phone rang in his ear, Lucas saw one of his very able managers approaching. Obviously, the man didn’t like that Mac had three of his bellhops enthralled—nor could he be too pleased that she was making a spectacle of herself, having captured the attention of most of the males waiting in the registration line. He’d taken two steps toward Mac, intending to remedy the situation, when Tracker picked up. “What’s up?” he said.
“You’re inside?” Lucas asked.
“Mr. Wainright?” The voice came at his elbow. “Sir, I hate to interrupt you.”
“Hold on, Tracker,” Lucas said as he turned to face the young manager. “What is it?”
“Do you think that Mrs. Wainright would be more comfortable in a chair? I’m having one brought down from the upper lobby.”
A glance at the curving stairs told him that, indeed, a chair was making its way toward them. Lucas met the young man’s eyes. “That’s a very thoughtful idea, and I’m sure Mrs. Wainright will appreciate it. Her feet seem to be bothering her.” Pausing, he glanced at the man’s nametag. “Mr. Waldman, you’re doing a nice job here.”
Waldman nodded at him. “Thank you, sir.”
“Mrs. Wainright?” Tracker asked in his ear.
“It’s a long story.”
“I’ve got time. My ride into the Serenity Spa won’t be leaving for another hour. I’m being delivered with bottled water and organic produce, and I was in the middle of final negotiations with the driver when you called.”
“Everything went well, I take it?”
Tracker laughed. “Piece of cake. I take it you’re not at Lucas’s Folly?”
That’s debatable, Lucas thought. “No, I’m at the Wainright Casa Marina.” He watched as the man scooped up Mac’s high-heeled sandals, but she insisted on carrying the bag with his present in it herself. Waldman escorted her to the chair, and the bellhops were allowed to remain in attendance.
The only people who might be a tad disappointed were the men who were still waiting to register. Mac’s skirt covered at least two inches more of her leg once she was seated in the chair, and they had to crane their necks to see her.
Waldman deserved a raise.
“You’re at your Key West resort with a Mrs. Wainright. I’m assuming that’s Mac. I’m also assuming that she’s not really Mrs. Wainright because it does take time to get a license and so forth. But there are still a lot of gaps in your story, and I have at least another hour or so.”
“I just got a call from Vincent Falcone.”
Tracker was silent for a moment. “How did he get hold of your cell-phone number?”
“He didn’t. He called me here at the hotel.”
“I didn’t even know you were there. How did he—”
“Exactly. No one could have known I was here unless—”
“He’s having you followed.” Tracker swore softly.
“He could have had Sophie followed too.”
“I didn’t see anyone, and I was looking.” There was a pause. “But then I wasn’t following Sophie. Maybe he believes she’s with you.”
Lucas sighed as he studied Mac. The waitress who’d served them in the lounge had just presented her with a drink. It looked like a Shirley Temple. She didn’t look anything like the kind of woman who would be ordering a Shirley Temple. “He won’t for very long. Right now Mac doesn’t look anything like Sophie. She doesn’t even look like Mac.”
“I’m sensing some more interesting gaps in the story. C’mon, boss. It’s raining here and I’m stuck in the back of a delivery truck. I could use a good story.”
“Falcone wants to meet the day after tomorrow at his place in Napa at 3:00 p.m. His exact words were ‘Fortune has dealt me a few cards I didn’t hold before. One of them might grab your attention.’”
“Cards as in plural.”
“Yeah.” One of the things that Lucas admired most about his friend was the way Tracker’s razor-sharp mind always cut right to the quick. “If—when I find Sophie, you want me to get her out of here?”
Lucas thought for a moment. “No. And I don’t want you to cause any disturbance. I just want you to make sure no one can get to her there.”
“Right. I’ll be able to verify she’s here by morning even if I have to search each one of those damn cabins. I’ll also have a look at their security system.”
“Have fun.”
Tracker laughed. “You too, boss.”
The moment that Lucas disconnected the call, he strode purposefully toward Mac. It was time to salvage his reputation and the reputation of his hotel by escorting “Sally” to his suite. The moment he reached her chair, she jumped up, his present still clutched tightly in her hand.
“Shall we go, Sally?” he asked.
Rising up on tiptoe, she said in a low voice, “I’m not Sally anymore.”
“I was beginning to like that fantasy,” Lucas said, taking her arm and guiding her toward the bank of elevators. “I especially liked the way it was bound to end.”
Mac dug in her heels near the fountain. “My turn isn’t over yet.”
“I think it is.”
She shook her head. “We haven’t made love yet, and that was the deal. And I’ve got an even better fantasy in mind.”
He studied her. Did he want to know? “What is it?”
She tapped
one hand against the bag that contained his present. “It’s right in here. You’re going to love it.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“YOU’RE NOT REALLY GOING to make me wait until Saturday afternoon to see you again.”
Sophie turned in the front seat of the convertible to smile at the man behind the wheel. Sonny Falcone had been surprised and delighted when Susan Walker had called to invite him to lunch. “I’m booked solid with clients until Saturday morning.”
Susan Walker had a business trip that would coincide with a party his family was throwing at their vineyard. That was the story she’d given Sonny in D.C. When he’d invited her to attend the party, she’d agreed. But at some point during the time they’d spent together that afternoon, she’d decided she didn’t want her time in Napa dominated by Sonny.
He’d taken her to a lovely place in the hills where they’d sipped wine on a veranda that offered an even more enchanting view than the one she had from her hotel room. Then they’d had a late lunch at a small inn. He’d been charming, but less than totally attentive to all the lies she was telling him about herself and her business.
He was a very handsome man with the kind of body that had fascinated Italian sculptors for centuries. Perhaps that was why he was so totally self-absorbed.
“It was my good fortune that your plane got in early,” Sonny murmured.
“Mine too.” He’d mentioned that four times now. It wasn’t really his fault that he was…dull.
Taking her hand, he raised it to his lips.
Sophie waited, hopeful.
Nothing happened. His practiced, romantic gesture only confirmed what she’d been gradually discovering all afternoon. However smooth the moves, when this man touched her, she didn’t respond at all.
“I had a really lovely time,” Sonny said. Very gently, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was very soft, very warm—an expert caress of tongue and lips.
