Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of a wine glass on the table to his right, and he got an idea. Was it close enough for him to reach? Stretching his fingers, he felt around the table top without moving his hand too far, not wanting to appear obvious.
At last, the cool feel of crystal met his fingertips. Carefully he inched the glass closer to the edge, gave it a quick flick and raised his arm as if he intended to return her caress.
"Oh! Oh, no!” Heather jumped back. The dull ping of crystal hitting the carpet echoed in room.
They looked down and saw red wine dripping down her left leg to her foot and into her pointy-toed shoe.
"Heather. I'm sorry.” He reached down and picked up the glass. “At least it didn't break, or you'd be taking it out of my paycheck,” he said as he set it back on the table with care.
She gave him a tight smile as she shook her foot. “Yes, well accidents happen."
"I'll run and get something to clean up this mess."
"Don't bother. This carpet is going anyway,” she said, waving her hands.
Damn. So much for a quick escape. At least she wasn't fawning all over him anymore. In fact, she looked like she was trying hard not to be miffed. That was all right by Alex. Maybe if he succeeded in irritating her a little each day, her infatuation would wane.
"Yew, this is feeling kind of sticky. I think I better go and change,” she said, shaking her foot again.
"Right. I should get going, anyway. I have some phone calls to make.” He grabbed his coat and slipped it on before she could suggest something crazy like he stay and help bathe her foot.
He snatched up his phone and notebook and headed for the door. With a quick wave and a goodnight, he left Heather fuming and dripping in wine.
* * * *
"I'm telling you, Rory, you have to help me out again,” Heather said with more desperation in her voice than she normally allowed, even in desperate situations. She drummed her polished fingernails on the top of a stack of plastic totes containing her precious Elvis collection. The small, third-floor bedroom overflowed with the containers she'd packed with meticulous care.
"How? How else am I supposed to help you, Sugar?” his smooth, comforting voice asked from the other end of the line.
"You're a theater person. Use your imagination. Where have you been anyway? I've been trying to call you for two days."
A huge sigh reverberated through the phone line. “Busy. I work for a living, you know. Now, tell me exactly what it was you need my help for."
"I caught Alex and Casey getting friendly."
"Friendly? What do you mean by friendly?"
"He was nuzzling her ear, whispering, all the things he should be doing with me. Even across the room I could see the desire in his eyes. Dammit. The only time he even comes close to me is if he needs my approval for something. Otherwise, it's like I don't exist."
"Heather. You hired the man to do a major remodel and add on to your house, not romp with you under the sheets. I'd say if he's not paying any attention to you, it's a good sign."
"How can ignoring me be a good sign? I write the checks,” she said in a huff. Whose side was Rory on, anyway? “He should be focused on making me happy. Giving me what I want."
"He is focused on making you happy, and on doing a good job. Be thankful. He could be a schmuck and not give a damn and leave you in a nightmarish mess."
"All right.” Heather plopped down on one small corner of the bed that wasn't covered with large portraits of the Gridmore family, and noticed her husband staring up at her. She groaned and wished the portraits were back on the walls of the entrance foyer, but Casey and her crew were now in the process of painting the dark paneling. “So he's a good kind of focused. But I want him to focus on me, too. I could have gotten any architect from Omaha to do this job, but there was a reason I wanted Alex Roy."
"And that reason is? You never did tell me.” A long pause stretched between them. “Heather?"
"He's ... cute."
"Cute? You commissioned an expensive architect from Denver, who specializes in magnificent, one-of-a-kind timber frame homes, just because he's cute?"
"Yes. And he's sexy, hot, and young."
"Well, stupid me. I should have known. Must be nice to have money to burn. You should try struggling from paycheck to paycheck like the rest of us poor saps."
"This isn't about money, Rory, and you know it. I've been lonely since Hecky died. And I'm tired of being alone in this big ghostly house. I want a companion."
"I told you a long time ago that you should get a pet. Dogs are great. I have a friend of a friend who knows the guy who runs Missouri River Kennels. We could drive out. I'm sure we'd find—"
"I'm not looking for that kind of companionship, Rory. I want—No. Make that need. I need a man."
"How can you be lonely for a man when you're always entertaining? There are always men around doing something or other at your house."
"The staff—the chef, the gardener, security, caterers, florists. Staff doesn't count."
"What about the clubs you belong to?"
"You know our Elvis antiquities club only meets once a month, and we don't get many new male members who are young, handsome, and eligible."
"Well, you've got a lifetime membership to the country club. Go golfing. That's a great way to meet men."
"I don't like to golf,” she whined. “Hector loved it and during the summer he lived on the course. I have no desire to take a backseat to a set of golf clubs again. Besides, so many of the men there are old. I'm ready for a man who can satisfy me for hours, not minutes."
"Oh, the perils of our sweet, deprived Heather,” he said with enough dramatics to rival the screeching of fingernails on a chalkboard.
"Stop. This is serious. What am I supposed to do? With the house under construction, it'll be weeks before I can host any kind of party again. How am I supposed to meet anyone else?"
"Take a trip? Go to Mexico, the Bahamas, take a singles cruise. It'd be good for you to get away for a while. You can avoid stumbling around in the remodeling mess, too."
"And leave my priceless collection here alone, unprotected with so many strangers working on the house coming and going? I can't do that."
"Well—"
"Besides, the Elvis jumpsuit I acquired should be here next week. I have to be here when it arrives."
"That's right. You'll call me immediately when it comes, won't you? I'm anxious to see it."
"If you help me, I'll let you be the first. I'll even let you touch it, with gloves on, of course. If you help me."
"That's blackmail."
"Personally, I think that word is a bit extreme in this case, but call it what you will, as long as you agree to come to my aid."
"It's blackmail in my book,” he said, blowing off her lame threat.
"Rory, please. It's been two years since Hecky passed away. I need to move on."
"Heather, you're a beautiful ... amazing woman. I've never known you to have trouble finding a good-looking man."
"Good-looking, no. Eligible? That's the challenging part. You date. You know how hard it is to find someone who doesn't either have kids, survives life on anti-depressants, has a criminal record, or is about to kick-the-bucket."
"All right,” he said, resignation in his voice. “I know it's tough."
"So, you will help me?"
"If I don't, you'll probably also petition to have me kicked out of the Elvis club."
"Now there's an idea."
"Some friend you are,” he quipped. “What did you have in mind to drive lover boy into your arms?"
"I want you to haunt my house."
"What? You can't be serious?"
"Very serious. You know I've always suspected there's a ghost in the house. Unfortunately, the spirit is too unpredictable and rarely makes it's presence known."
"And this involves me how?"
"Since we can't depend on the real ghost, I want you to create one."
>
"And just exactly how do you propose I do that?"
"You're the one with the imagination. Remember?"
"No way. I'm not brainstorming this alone. You're the one with the interest in the metaphysical. You will help."
"Oh, all right."
"Good. And have your checkbook handy."
"My checkbook? What do you need that for?"
"Sugar, nothing in life is free."
Chapter Fourteen
Casey changed her mind.
Calling Alex was a rotten idea.
Showing up at his hotel room was ever so much better.
She double checked her trench coat, making sure the collar adequately covered what wasn't underneath. Her mouth hitched up into a saucy smile. Alex was going to be surprised.
And if he wasn't? She couldn't go there. If she did, she'd chicken out and leave without so much as a hello. But the solidness of his hotel room door, staring her down and daring her to knock, made a cache of butterflies flutter in her stomach.
Who was she to think she could waltz into the Embassy Suites, up to Alex's room on the eighth floor, and seduce him into a night of wild, passionate, mind-altering sex?
Don't regret the chance you didn't take.
No. No way was Casey going to regret anything as far as Alex was concerned.
She, Casey Burrows, was going for it. She'd talked herself into this, driven herself halfway across Omaha dressed in the hottest lingerie, heels, and her long black trench coat to cover her secret plans. Turning back now wasn't allowed. Especially, after she'd endured the pain of waxing in places that rarely saw the rays of the sun. Walking across the hotel lobby, knowing she wore only a few pieces of strategically placed satin under her coat had been nerve wracking, and yet one of the most exciting things she'd ever done.
Casey took a deep breath and knocked. Seconds ticked by and Alex failed to answer.
Great. Just what she needed—to be left standing out in the hall feeling more and more like an idiot with every passing moment.
"Maybe he's in the shower,” she said under her breath. A delicious vision of Alex standing buck-naked, his body glistening with droplets of water, filled her mind. Hmm. Wasn't this the second time she'd had the fantasy of Alex wearing only water?
Time to stop fantasizing and start living in the real world. Squaring her shoulders, she knocked, harder this time. The click of the lock sent her nerves into a frenzy, but it was too late to bolt and run.
The door opened and Casey was greeted by a fully-clothed Alex, his cell phone at his ear. So much for the water fantasy. But the evening was young, and Alex looked as rugged and as handsome as ever with his shirt sleeves rolled up and his faded blue jeans slung low on his hips.
A hint of surprise touched his eyes, but then he smiled and waved her into the room. Closing the door, he held up a finger to indicate he'd only be a few minutes, then disappeared into the adjoining bedroom.
Damn. Talk about rotten timing. “Stop it. No negative thoughts. Stay positive,” she mumbled.
Seconds ticked by into minutes. Restless, Casey started to remove her coat, but caught herself. Shedding her coat now would ruin the whole surprise. Of course, she could strip and lounge in a chair, her feet up, wearing nothing but a tie like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. An act like that took guts, though, and Casey was shaking in her black stilettos. Besides, she didn't have a tie.
"Sorry about that,” Alex said, startling her. Casey spun around. “No problem."
"You should have taken your coat off, made yourself comfortable."
Casey's breath caught. “Oh. I didn't even think about it.” She shrugged and smiled as innocently as she could manage.
"Can I get you something? I don't have anything fancy, just a few beers in the frig."
"A beer sounds great.” Liquid courage. She could use a twelve pack right about now.
Alex headed for the bar and pulled out two long-necks. Removing the tops, he handed her one.
"Thanks.” She accepted the cold bottle and took a drink. The icy liquid slipped down her throat and soothed like she'd hoped it would. Alex downed a long swallow and Casey watched, mesmerized by the flexing of his neck muscles as he drank. The man had one delicious neck—strong, lean and tan. If she were a vampire, she'd love to sink her teeth into him and show no mercy. Heck, who needed a vampire?
"So, can I take your coat?” He raised a brow in question.
Oh, yeah. Please do, handsome.
"You look uncomfortable,” he prodded, interrupting her secret wish.
"Actually I'm a little chilly,” she fibbed. “My system hasn't adjusted to the cooler fall weather yet. I guess I'm still on Memphis temps,” she said with a hint of suggestion.
A flicker of desire danced in his eyes and she knew he'd caught her double meaning. He took another swallow and leaned against the bar, one booted foot over the other, his arms folded across his wide chest.
"So, what's up?” he asked. He leveled his gaze on her and Casey's hormones sizzled from head to toe.
The man had to ask what was up?
Let the games begin.
"I need ... to talk to you,” she said, a little breathless. Damn. She didn't want to come across as a desperate, panting virgin. She was supposed to be the sexy siren who had it all under control.
"About the job?"
"No. I mean yes. Sort of.” Shit.
"Lose my cell number?"
"No.” Great. Now she was starting to sound like a CD with a major hiccup problem. “What I need to say can't be said over the phone."
"Sounds serious."
Casey took a deep breath, stepped forward, shortening the distance between them, all the while trying really hard to be brave, smart and sexy. “It is."
Alex shot her a half-assed grin. “Did I get fired?” He downed another deep, long swallow of beer and Casey couldn't help wanting to be the bottle.
"No. Nothing like that.” She inched closer. “But my reason for being here does have to do with fire.” She was dying to touch him, explore every sweet inch of his amazing male perfection, but held herself in check, not wanting to rush the night she'd savor forever.
"How so?” he asked huskily. He unfolded his arms and braced them on the bar behind him, causing his collar to widen. Snippets of hair peeked out for her pleasure. Yum.
"I've been hoping we could start a fire ... between us.” She took a quivering breath and held it, bracing herself for his answer.
"Don't you mean stoke the fire between us?” He traced the line of her jaw with the pad of his thumb, sending shock waves of desire racing through her body. “I've been smoldering since the day I stepped off the plane."
"Smoldering?” She reached out to touch him, but he stopped her by sliding his hands down over her arms, forcing them to stay by her sides. Then he cupped her face in his hand and she leaned forward, dying to be closer. Their gazes locked and held. Intense sexual hunger vibrated between them.
"Burning,” he drawled. He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand, letting his fingers brand a blazing trail down the slope of her neck and to the hollow of her throat. Casey's knees weakened.
Pushing aside her collar, he let his hand slide beneath the heavy fabric. His fingers caressed and explored the skin above the swell of her breast. Casey's heart rate bucked into action.
His fingers moved to the right in a stealthy exploration. His eyes hooded with intense desire when he discovered very little in the way of clothing stood between them. A mischievous smile played at his lips, and Casey restrained herself from jumping him right then and there.
Hooking a finger under the strap of her bra, he gave a slight tug. A low moan escaped his throat as he slowly slid the satin between his thumb and forefinger.
Casey's chest rose and fell, matching the rapid rhythm of her heart. Pushing the strap down over her shoulder, he gently kneaded her flesh, his touch electric and dominating as hell.
Oh, yeah, she was definitely in control here. Quite the sexy si
ren she was. Not. More like a woman possessed.
A tug at her waist told her he'd undone her belt, letting her coat part and a whisper of cool air sweep over her skin. But Alex pulled her tight up against him, replacing the cool with his flaming heat. The solidness of one very aroused body part pressed into her thigh.
Sweet, Jesus.
Before Casey could recover from the realization he was happy to see her, he stepped back and brushed the coat off her shoulders. The garment slipped down her arms and fell to the floor in a pool at her feet. His hungry gaze turned all out ravenous and trailed down, then back up, leaving blazing fires at every strategic location on her body.
James, Sherry - [Studs For Hire 02] Page 19
