His Final Seduction

by Lori Wilde

  “Pick me up at eight,” she said. “And take a razor to your chin. I’m not a fan of stubble burn.”

  “Anyone ever tell you that you’re bossy as hell?”

  “All the time.” She batted her lashes.

  “Yeah, well, this dog doesn’t jump when you snap your fingers. Sorry, I’m otherwise occupied. I can’t make the date.”

  She didn’t appear the least bit perturbed. “You’re standing me up?”

  “I am.”

  “I can see why you’re not married.”

  “How do you know I’m not married?”

  “For one thing, no ring. For another thing, I asked the bus driver.”

  “You asked about me?”

  “Of course. If we’re going to be dating, I have to know you’re not married. I don’t date married men. I got burned once, never again.”

  “We’re not dating.”

  She simply smiled at him and stepped up to the registration desk as the clerk called, “Next in line.”

  “We’re not,” he repeated.

  “Uh-huh,” she said mildly.

  God, but the woman was irritating. He wasn’t going to stand here and argue with her. He already had an assigned bungalow. He didn’t have to wait in line. Shouldering his bag, he stalked off and he could swear he heard her giggling behind him.

  Irritated, he headed for the back exit, wondering what it was about the woman that had gotten under his skin. He didn’t like feeling this way. Emotions were messy, troublesome things. He preferred to keep himself above the fray. And now this woman had him squelching emotional impulses right and left.

  He let himself into the bungalow decorated to replicate a 1940s era movie set and dumped his bag on the metal table. The table had a green Formica top that reminded him of the one that used to sit in his grandmother’s kitchen. Then he took his gun from the holster strapped to his leg and laid it beside the camera bag. He made a quick call to check in with the Lockhart Agency. After that, he moved toward the bathroom. He liked cool showers after a long flight.

  But he never made it to the shower. As he passed through the bedroom, he noticed the blinds were open. He moved across the black-and-white tiled floor to draw them closed. Always the watcher, he peeked outside first.

  In the bungalow across the way, the blinds were open, as well. The distance between the two dwellings wasn’t more than three feet and he could see right inside the other bedroom.

  What he saw froze him to the spot with his hand wrapped around the swivel rod of the blinds. His cock hardened, rising up to strain against the zipper of his jeans.

  In the bedroom next door, Avery Bodel was stripping off her clothes right in front of the open window. Her back was to him as she pulled her shirt over her head and gracefully tossed it to the floor. Her hands went to the clasp of her bra, and she slowly undid each eye hook. He could see the ink art on her lower back, a simple dark blue design of tangled vines.

  Watching her, his throat convulsed. She slipped off the bra and turned slightly, giving him a side view of her perfect breasts. Not too big, not too small, just the right size. She unsnapped her jeans and shimmied them off, leaving her standing there in nothing but a spectacular red satin thong. His cock throbbed painfully.

  He should snap the blinds closed or step away from the window, but he couldn’t make himself move. Nothing could wrench his gaze away from the glory of her feminine curves.

  She reached up to pull her hair into a ponytail and secure it high on her head with a band. Her complexion was flawless, but he found himself grinning when he spied the cute little dimple in the center of her right butt cheek.

  Jake gulped. Turn away. Turn away.

  But he did not. Could not.

  She lifted one long, lean leg up to the corner of the bed, then leaned over to peel off her sock, then repeated the action with her other leg.

  His breath was coming in hot, raspy gasps. All the muscles in his body tensed. A groan slipped from his lips and his fingers tightened as he imagined sinking them into the sweet flesh of her rounded bottom and holding on for dear life as he pumped into her.

  With her back still to him, she hooked her index finger through the tiny little scrap that constituted her panties and slowly inched the material down, wriggling her hips seductively.

  His erection was blinding hard. He couldn’t even think, much less breathe. Sweat beaded his forehead from the desire boiling his blood.

  Then she turned, head down as she kicked off her panties, giving him a full and unobstructed view of her. Those perfect breasts sported pert pink nipples. A golden ring glinted at her navel. That sweet patch of hair just above her sex told him she was a natural blonde through and through.

  She raised her head, stared right into his bedroom window and slyly winked just before she reached out and shuttered the blinds.

  4

  Initially, withholding affection heightens longing

  —Make Love Like a Courtesan

  VENICE WAS an architectural symphony. A simmering fantasy of mist and sunshine. A meandering labyrinth of pathways, bridges and canals. A sweet poem of complex dreams.

  Jorgie had often daydreamed of visiting the most romantic city on earth. She’d visualized herself strolling the cobblestone streets, gliding the waterways in a graceful gondola, shopping in the popular Rialto district. She imagined she would stop to watch artisans expertly practice the art of blowing glass or mask-making. She’d thirsted to drink Bellinis at a sidewalk café. And she’d thought about kissing Brian on the Bridge of Sighs.Well, so much for that last part. But she didn’t need a man to enjoy Venice. She was young and alive and even though she was scared, she felt a perfect thrill she’d never felt before. It was a delicious combination of curiosity, optimism, hope and excitement. She was on her own in a foreign country and it felt good. Avery had been right. She did need to go it alone for once in her life.

  The group arrived via vaporetto, a water taxi sardined with Eros guests, and by the time they reached the resort, Jorgie was already in love. How had she managed to live twenty-five years without visiting this special place?

  The guests were met at the lavish resort—a restored Venetian palace once occupied by royalty—by Eros employees costumed in period clothing from the Italian Renaissance. She found herself searching for Quint in the crowd, but she didn’t see him. The bite of disappointment was unexpected. She didn’t recall seeing him on the vaporetto, either.

  She checked in and turned to go to her room when she spied Quint and her heart went all wonky again.

  He was dressed like an eighteenth-century nobleman, in rich fabrics and lush colors of the time. He seemed taller than he’d been on the plane, his eyes sharper, his presence wholly regal. His personality filled the room. His jovial laugh, as he said something to the dozen or so women who collected around him, slid slickly off the thick stone walls.

  Here he was, Casanova in the flesh. He glanced over the heads of the other women, caught her gaze and offered a lopsided smile meant only for her.

  The other women gaped at him with dumbstruck expressions on their faces, as if the heavens had opened up and he’d come tripping down the stairs just for them. They hung on to his every word. Groupies.

  Who knew he had groupies?

  Although she longed to join the flock, something inside of Jorgie would not let her puddle at his feet. Yes, he was good-looking. Yes, his smile stirred her soul. Yes, she’d had a crush on him when she was thirteen. Yes, she wanted to kiss him so badly she couldn’t breathe, but she sure as heck was not going to let him know that. And be like all the others? No way. She had her pride.

  She turned, headed toward the exit.

  “Jorgie,” he called.

  Well, she couldn’t very well ignore him now, could she? That would be rude. She stopped, turned back. “Quint, oh, hi, I didn’t see you there,” she lied nonchalantly.

  “Excuse me, ladies.” He threw a smile and a wink to the women. Jorgie thought they were going to melt on
the spot. “I need to speak to an old friend.”

  He covered the distance between them, linked his arm through hers and pulled her into the corridor. “Thanks, shrimp.”

  “Shrimp?” She arched an eyebrow.

  “It’s what Keith and I used to call you.”

  “I can’t believe you remembered that,” she said, feeling way more flattered than she should. He’d called her shrimp as a big brotherly term of affection. That meant he saw her as a little sister or an old friend, not a potential sex partner.

  “Well…” He raked his gaze over her. “I shouldn’t use the nickname on you. It’s shrimp no more. You’re all grown up.”

  “So what were you thanking me for?” she asked, glossing right over that comment.

  He punched the button for the elevator. “Rescuing me from my adoring public.”

  Jorgie snorted. “Hey, you can’t handle the adoration, don’t dress up like Casanova.”

  “You have no idea what a huge burden it is,” he teased, and struck a preening pose. “Being such a sexy beast.”

  Jorgie rolled her eyes. “Poor you.”

  “You’re pitiless.”

  “I don’t have much tolerance for nonsense—”

  He nodded. “You’re good for me,” he said. “I need someone to call my bluff. I gotta admit, playing Casanova messes with your head.”

  “Don’t blame Casanova. You were like that in high school and I have a feeling you’ve been like that ever since.”

  He looked into her eyes. “What can I say? There’s nothing that makes life worth living like having a beautiful woman at your side. What room are you in?” he asked as the elevator opened and he got on with her.

  She should have told him it was none of his business, but damn if that endearing grin of his didn’t slip past her defenses. “214.”

  “The blue room.” He punched the elevator button for the second floor. “Lady Pompadour stayed there. Did you know she and Casanova were lovers?”

  “Good for them.”

  “You’re really hard to impress, you know that?”

  “It’s all the number crunching. Tends to give one a ‘bottom line’ approach to life.”

  Quint stepped back and stared boldly at her bottom.

  “Mason,” she said sharply, using his last name to indicate she was displeased with his frisky behavior, but a small part of her was thrilled. It was the same part of her that had been secretly relieved when Brian had left.

  “Gerard.” The elevator settled on the second floor with a ping and they got off together.

  “You’re mocking me.”

  He lowered his eyelids and slanted a sexy look her way. “It’s hard not to. You look so serious.”

  “Here we are,” she said. “214. You’ve escorted me to my room, you can go now.” She slashed her key card through the computerized reader installed in the door handle and kneed the door open.

  “Wait.” He touched her forearm.

  Instantly, the hairs on her arms lifted. He said nothing for a moment. His gaze hooked on her. She forced herself to hold his stare. “Yes?” she whispered.

  “Sit with me at dinner.”

  “Why?”

  “Fend off the she-wolves.”

  “Don’t give me that. You love the she-wolves.”

  “Okay, here’s the deal. You remind me of home. I don’t see my folks much. Gordy’s married with kids. I just wanted someone to talk to about old times.” He sounded so sincere.

  But Jorgie didn’t trust it. She narrowed her eyes. “This isn’t some Casanova ploy to get me into bed, is it?”

  “I’m shocked that you would suggest such a thing.” He feigned innocence. “Is it working?”

  Yes. “No.”

  “Come on,” he cajoled, his gaze caressing her face. “For old times’ sake?”

  A shiver of awareness tripped down Jorgie’s spine, dueling madly with the part of her that wanted to invite him to join her in bed. She knew he was a playboy. It was clear he’d been well cast as Casanova, but she couldn’t stop the gut-level reaction that whispered “Go for it” into her ear.

  The problem was that pesky high school crush. If he was just a good-looking guy interested in a good time, she might be willing go for it. He could very easily be her first casual fling. But there was that nagging infatuation that had had her doodling in her notebook, Mrs. Jorgie Mason, when she was thirteen.

  She had two fears about that. One, what if she did have a fling with Quint and it turned out to be lousy? The sweet fantasy of him would be lost to her forever. Then there was the very real possibility that sex with him would be dynamic, unlike anything she’d ever experienced, and she’d fall in love with him all over again, while he blithely went on his merry way. She wasn’t in any emotional condition to deal with that.

  “Pretty please?” He flashed her one of his trademark smiles and for a fraction of a second that devilish come-play-with-me grin had her on the edge of throwing caution to the wind. Then she thought about how he’d given her that same smile when he was sixteen just before he pulled a prank on her.

  Still…he was right. They would both be eating dinner in the main dining hall with the tour group. Why not sit at his table? He had once been her brother’s best friend. It would be rude, wouldn’t it, to deny his request? Plus, they’d be in a public place. What could happen? Maybe he could even teach her a few tricks about how to have an affair while keeping her heart out of the fray of emotional involvement.

  “All right,” she conceded, wondering what she was thinking. The cold shoulder she’d given him on the plane was really the only way to deal with a footloose guy like Quint, especially when she was feeling so vulnerable.

  “See you at eight.” He winked and strolled out the door.

  Jorgie stared after him, awash in the wake of his sexy aura. What in the devil had she just opened herself up for? She’d gotten what she’d come on this trip for. A date with a sexy man to help her forget about what had happened with Brian. But she hadn’t expected that man to be the same guy who’d once dominated her girlhood fantasies. A guy who made her feel both shivery and sweaty at the same time.

  He’s not really interested in you, she reminded herself. It’s just the challenge. As long as you don’t get caught up in his charm, you’ll be fine. This is your chance for a true, nostrings sexual adventure. Grab it with both hands and hang on for dear life.

  AN HOUR LATER, Quint was sitting in a plush leather chair in an equally plush office that made him antsy. He’d been summoned here by Taylor Milton herself, who’d just flown in on her private jet, and he couldn’t help wondering what he’d done wrong.

  Taylor was thirty-four and looked exactly like what she was, an airline heiress. Five foot six, redheaded and sharp-eyed, a lithe package of ballerina grace and bulldog tenacity that had shot her to the top of an industry that had fallen on hard times. She’d taken her father’s plain vanilla commuter airline and turned it into the only adult-oriented airline/destination resort in the world. Quint had also noticed she was fair, but demanding. She wanted what she wanted when she wanted it. Nor was she a woman easily swayed by an easy grin. On that score, she reminded him of Jorgie.As he sat there, his anxiety growing, his boss, Dougal Lockhart, walked through the door.

  Uh-oh. The shit must have hit the fan if they were tag-teaming him. Quickly, he ran through his mind, trying to think how his behavior might have caused this meeting. The morality clause he’d signed for Eros forbade him from having sex with the guests, but it didn’t say a word about fellow employees. On his last tour here, he and Gwen, the woman who’d played the part of his Casanova conquest, had had a very good time together. Was that what this was about? He was enjoying his work too much?

  Dougal stalked over and perched on the corner of Taylor’s desk.

  “What’s up?” Quint asked, flashing his ready smile to abate his anxiety.

  “Taylor’s received another threatening letter,” Dougal began. “And we’ve determined it was w
ritten on a computer at this resort. Unfortunately, it was from a computer in the Internet café, so anyone could have sent it.”

  “There’s a log-in record,” Quint pointed out.

  “Yes, but if the person leaves without signing out anyone can take their place and still be logged in under their name,” Taylor explained. “In fact, we suspect the perpetrator haunted the Internet café just waiting for someone who forgot to log out.”

  Quint was getting the feeling someone had sent the e-mail under his name. He wracked his brain trying to think of the last time he’d used the Internet café. “So who did you trace it back to?”

  “Gwen Kemp,” Dougal said.

  “You think Gwen is in on the sabotage?”

  Taylor shifted in her seat, picked up a pencil and drummed it against the top of her desk. “We don’t believe so. Dougal grilled her for over an hour and she does have airtight alibis for most of the sabotage incidents that have occured at the resorts over the course of the last several months.”

  “I’m sensing a ‘but’ here,” Quint said.

  “But,” Dougal supplied, “we can’t take any chances, so Gwen has been suspended until we can determine who sent the e-mail under her address.”

  “You might never find out.”

  “We’ll find out,” Dougal said firmly. “This crap stops now.”

  “I agree. You got a copy of the e-mail?”

  Dougal pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and passed it to Quint. He unfolded it and read the vitriolic message.

  No more pussyfooting around, Princess, this is it. You’re going down in a big way. After I get through with you, you’ll be standing in line for food stamps. You think those air marshals you hired as security for your planes and resorts can protect you? They haven’t done much good so far, have they? I’ll hit when and where you least expect it. Nothing can stop me. Ciao for now.

  “This is personal,” Quint said.Dougal nodded solemnly. “We need to be hypervigilant.”

  “Of course.”

  “There’s also the matter of Gwen’s replacement,” Taylor said. “We don’t have time to hire and train another actress to play the part of your love conquest for the Casanova course.”