“Ah …” Meghan had to think quick. “I was on my way out of the Essex a little while ago and saw you. I knew you wouldn’t have called me at the office unless it was important, so when I got home, I thought I’d try to reach you there. Have I interrupted something?” she asked politely, humoring the girl.
“Actually, I, …” Daphne paused. Apparently deciding the information she’d wanted two months ago was still important enough to preempt whatever she was doing at the moment, she continued, “I called to see if you’d enjoyed the party at the Clarensons’. They’re such lovely people and always make their guests feel so comfortable.”
“Yes, they are,” agreed Meghan, frowning disjointedly. “I had a lovely time.”
“I suppose that handsome young man you were with had something to do with that as well,” Daphne mentioned none too discreetly.
A sly, knowing smile curved Meghan’s lips. “Tim? Oh, yes, he’s a doll. A really nice person,” she said with enthusiasm.
“Have you known him long?” Daphne asked.
“No, not really, but I wish I had time to get to know him better. I’m just so busy, I never seem to find time for dating. And men like Tim don’t come along every day,” Meghan responded with just the right amount of wistfulness. “I saw for myself that that isn’t the case for you though. I saw you hugging that enormous man in the lobby of the Essex a little while ago. He was nothing to spit at,” Meghan said teasingly, but in fact she was very truthful.
“Oh, him. You’re right. He isn’t anything to ignore, but he’s very picky. He’s nice, don’t get me wrong, but he doesn’t … play around much, if you know what I mean. He likes to joke around, but he’s real serious about his publishing company and keeps his private life … private.”
“He’s antisocial?” concluded Meghan, her mind suspicious.
“Not at all,” rushed Daphne, unaware that her brain was being picked almost clean. “It’s just that he doesn’t run with our crowd even though he’s been invited often enough. When he’s not behind his desk, he’s into horses and cows and sports and staying healthy. Things like that,” she explained, as if “things like that” were terribly low class interests. “But basically, he’s a really nice guy.”
The self-satisfied grin and devilish glint in Meghan’s eyes would have terrified the calmest soul. “He certainly was handsome,” she reiterated.
“Oh, yes, he is that, but so was that Tim you were with at the Clarensons’. What was his last name again? I’ve forgotten.” Daphne was nothing if not obvious.
Tim Brogan wasn’t a particularly close friend of Meghan’s; she hardly knew him. How would she know whether Daphne wasn’t just exactly the type of woman he was looking for? It wouldn’t be like feeding him to the wolves; he could always say no for himself.
“Brogan,” Meghan stated quickly, before she changed her mind. After all, she sort of owed Daphne one. “Tim Brogan. He’s in real estate development and making a killing at it, from all accounts.”
“How interesting,” Daphne cooed. Meghan could almost see the saliva dripping from Daphne’s fangs and suddenly felt sorry for poor Tim.
“Thank you for calling, Daphne. I’ve enjoyed talking to you, but I have to run,” Meghan said, unable to resist the temptation to scatter Daphne’s thoughts once more.
“It was my pleasure, Meghan. We’ll talk again soon,” replied Daphne, none the worse for wear.
Meghan could only shake her head disbelievingly as she hung up the phone. Then she settled her attention firmly on the task at hand. Reassured that her good judgment was intact, she set out to complete phase one.
Two
MICHAEL WAS NEARLY finished with his drink, which was now more melted ice than scotch. Why he was still sitting there sipping warm scotch-flavored water, he didn’t know. He was so tired that he was contemplating taking a cab up to his room. At least the movie was over. He heaved a long sigh of relief.
Or was it? There she was again, coming from the direction of the lobby this time. Whoa! The film had been tampered with. It was her vamp scene—hair down, no glasses, sexy clothes, the seductive sway in excellent form.
His lips parted in a silent gasp. He took in her every nuance as she came to a standstill at his elbow. So beautiful, so real looking.
“Is that offer for a drink still good?” she asked in a low, soft, sultry voice.
He could only nod dumbly. She circled behind him and took the seat near his left arm. She gracefully crossed her long legs, her skirt rising up temptingly. There was a small inviting smile on her lips and an age-old glint in her eyes.
Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he’d fallen asleep in a cocktail lounge, but all he could do was pray that the barmaid didn’t wake him up.
Michael had heard of sexual fantasies such as this. Dreams that seemed so real, you woke up sweating and breathless and exhausted. He wasn’t complaining. This one had far more electricity and excitement in it than the one he had as a teenager, in which a half-naked woman rode across his grandfather’s range on an Appaloosa horse. He supposed it was his turn to say something. Without a script, he improvised with the first thing that came to mind.
“You … are … stunning,” he said, his drawl thick, his gaze caressing every inch of her.
“As are you,” she said softly, sincerely.
“No more questions?” he asked.
“You know what they say about all work and no play making Jill a dull girl,” she returned, intimating that it was definitely time to play.
“Your name’s Jill?” He seized the information hopefully.
“Jill will do if you need a name.” She smiled and watched him through the thick fringe of her lashes.
“Jill,” he repeated, rolling the name around in his mouth. New subtitle: The Red-Headed Woman Named Jill. “I like it,” he said aloud, too tired and stunned to question her response.
“You don’t look well. Are you going to be able to get to your room?” she asked solicitously, knowing the time was now or never. He would slip into a coma, or she would lose her nerve soon. If she was going to get impregnated, she needed to get things rolling.
She had never seen a man look so devastatingly handsome and virile and so vulnerable at the same time. Spending one night with him would be like taking candy from a baby—and she loved babies.
Michael’s thoughts were on a parallel course to the same destination. He was enjoying the smooth cleverness of his sophisticated fantasy. The playwright was very good.
“Actually, I was thinking of calling a cab,” he said truthfully. “But if I could impose on your kindness for a little help, I could probably use some of the fresh air between here and the elevators.”
“It’s no imposition. Besides, I owe you one for answering all those ridiculous questions.”
Skillful, yet subtle. Michael mentally applauded her.
And this is how I’m going to repay him, Meghan thought, her reserve faltering for a second.
“Are you ready?” she asked, as he just slouched there gazing at her, naked desire in his eyes.
“What about your drink?” he asked.
Glad he wasn’t completely in a stupor, Meghan flashed him a breathtaking smile. She promised herself that if he stayed awake long enough to service her, he wouldn’t regret it. In return, she would give him all the pleasure she possibly could. The idea was titillating. This mammoth man was physically very exciting. Her fingers were itching to touch him. Meghan guessed he would be as hard as a rock, as strong as a bear, and as warm as the Texas sun. The squirming knot low in her abdomen and the ticklish, tingling sensations running up and down her body as he studied each facet of her was, she knew, her own nervousness in this situation.
“Some other time,” she told him, dismissing the drink and standing.
He rose slowly to his full, towering height. He didn’t move for several seconds as his head adjusted to the altitude. Then he turned and motioned for her to precede him. As she came alongside him, he placed a
big, warm hand flat on the small of her naked back.
Once again, they were both shocked—she from the sparks that warmed her skin and tripped her heartbeat into overdrive, he from the fact that she was not only braless and shirtless from behind, but that she was also very warm and soft for a mirage.
He made a mental note to instruct his secretary to book all his future visits to New York at the Essex—they served great scotch.
The trip to his room was uneventful. Michael didn’t take his eyes off her for fear that she’d disappear and he’d find he really was walking down the hallway alone.
He unlocked the door to his suite and stood aside for her to enter. She hesitated briefly, then walked into the room. He put the key on the table in the foyer and followed her into the sitting room. He shrugged out of his jacket and laid it over the back of a chair. Loosening his tie, he turned to her. Incredibly beautiful and provocative, she stood tall and confident in the center of the room.
Neither Michael nor his apparition had spoken since they’d left the lounge, but the air was thick with messages. Somewhere along the way, Michael had taken on the uneasy feeling that this was not the dream he thought it was. Oh, she was enchanting, for sure, and he hadn’t imagined the seduction in her eyes, either. But Michael was not an idiot, nor was he out of his mind with fatigue. Tired and suffering from jet lag, yes, but not yet unconscious. Something was definitely happening here.
“May I order up some coffee for you? Or maybe your drink?” he asked politely.
She shook her head slightly, her gaze never leaving his face as he studied her.
His desire for her was not a delusion either. She had the kind of body a man wouldn’t tire of quickly—and he was only human. But every woman he’d ever known had a motive behind her actions. Some were motivated by love, some by money or other favors, some were just manipulative. It was true he’d taken women to bed out of pure mutual lust, but he’d also known them longer than an hour and a half. So what motive drove The Red-Headed Woman Named Jill?
He moved over to the couch and sat down, turning slightly to indicate that he expected her to follow his lead and sit next to him.
“Maybe we’ll just talk awhile,” he suggested in a deep, husky baritone voice.
This time, as she gave the red cloud around her face a short negative shake, she reached both of her hands behind her. He heard the soft whiz of a zipper being pulled before her hands returned to her sides and her skirt slipped from her hips to pool at her feet.
Every nerve in Michael’s body stood on end, his heart raced, and he recognized the familiar throbbing between his legs as he ravished her with his eyes. She was spectacular. A perfect contrast of colors—black on white. The black stockings accentuated the soft curves of her long, lean legs and the lace of the garter belt displayed the smooth, creamy perfection of her skin.
Slowly, her hands went behind her again. The lower bands of the backless blouse fell forward wickedly. It wasn’t until she had reached up behind her neck to loosen the rest of the garment, her hardened nipples pressing against the silky material, that Michael was finally jolted into action.
He sprang from the couch with a grace and speed Meghan hadn’t expected in someone his size. He grabbed her savagely by the forearms and slammed her up against his hard body. Meghan’s head fell back and she looked up into his ferocious face, his eyes a cold steel gray with anger.
“You stupid little fool,” he said through clenched teeth. “How do you know I wasn’t lying downstairs? How do you know insanity doesn’t run wild in my family? How do you know I won’t take all you’re offering and then break your lovely little neck?”
The panic that rose up in Meghan was earthshaking, but growing up in an Irish family full of poker players had proven useful more than once. As he raged at her, thoughts raced through her mind. Did Daphne know her head from a hole in the wall? Surely she must! He’s a good, decent man. I know he is. He’s honorable and trustworthy. I feel it. Besides, a lunatic wouldn’t warn someone of his intentions. Or would he? No. No, he wouldn’t. Not when she was making it so easy for him. Ah, that was it! Meghan’s very logical mind grasped at a calming chord. He is a decent, honorable man—and that’s why he’s warning me. As her mind became as tranquil as her expression, her heart went out to the man who’d won her respect and admiration.
“I’ve always been an excellent judge of character,” she told him softly and honestly.
His eyes narrowed as he looked deeply into hers, trying to fathom her thoughts. Hers weren’t crazy or sinister eyes. They were full of trust and warmth and longing. He had hoped his violent act would scare her, but she never once showed any fear. She was obviously a mature woman in control of herself. And she obviously wanted him.
Michael knew he sure as hell wanted her. He could smell the lavender scent she wore. She was warm and soft, and her body seemed to melt into the contours of his. She was an incredible creature.
To Meghan’s delight, his facial features softened as his morals and suspicions gave way to his overcharged libido.
He released his grip on her arms and placed her palms on his chest. Skillful hands slid up to her shoulders, leaving tingling gooseflesh in their wake. Their gazes never wavered as he moved to release the clasp at her neck. The blouse slid down to the tops of her breasts and stopped where their bodies met. His hands remained at the nape of her neck, his thumbs sliding around her ears to gently caress the hollows of her cheeks.
He lowered his head to rest his lips on hers in a tender, tentative kiss. Her full lips were soft and warm and pliable. Michael felt a sudden surge of adrenaline shoot through his body. He raised his head. Frowning in wonderment, he studied her once again. Had she felt it too? Something magical happened every time he touched her. Was she as affected as he was?
Apparently she was, he thought with amused pleasure. She had snaked her arms around his neck and was pulling his head forward to meet her lips with his.
They explored each other’s lips slowly, gently, teasingly at first. Michael’s tongue parted her lips to taste the sensitive tissues inside. Meghan opened her mouth eagerly for him, and their kiss deepened.
Breathless and trembling, they pulled apart slightly, the surprise of their discovery evident in their eyes. Michael’s hands now rested on her hips, where he played with the lacy garter belt. He pulled himself from her a little more, but didn’t release her. Her cleverly seductive blouse fell to the floor at last.
He took a step backward to see her better, and Meghan let him drink in his fill. He did so with an unabashed thirst. Her coloring fascinated him. The creaminess of her skin, flushed rosy with excitement, was especially pleasing to him. He grazed the top of one breast with his hand.
“You have so few freckles for a redhead. You must be very careful in the sun,” he commented absently.
“Just lucky,” she murmured, wallowing in the sensations he created as he touched a pink, hard-tipped nipple with his thumb.
“You’re incredibly beautiful,” he said in a low, husky voice.
He kissed her deeply, his hands moving restlessly over her nakedness. She pressed her body into his, as if she couldn’t get close enough to him. Meghan’s head began to spin. She could feel herself trembling as her knees turned to jelly.
It startled her when he swept her effortlessly off her feet and into his arms, cradling her close to his chest.
She giggled.
“You’ll break your back,” she cautioned him. “I’m no munchkin, you know.”
“I did notice that,” he said solemnly, an amused twinkle warming his eyes. “And if I were planning a fifty-mile trek through a jungle to civilization, you’d have to do your own walking. As it is,” he said, lowering her feet gently to the floor beside his bed, “twenty feet to the nearest bed was not too much to handle—it was even enjoyable.”
“And very romantic,” she said, grinning as her fingers finished loosening the knot in his tie.
“Are you a romantic?” he asked, r
ealizing again how little he knew about the beautiful woman. Aside from her luscious body and the fact that she might not have any wire in her bailing machine, he knew nothing.
“Sometimes,” she answered thoughtfully.
“But not always.”
“No. Not always,” she said wistfully, as she started to unbutton his shirt. When the opening was wide enough, she slipped her hands inside and ran her fingers through the lush crop of crisp, black hair.
“Mmm,” she sighed, relishing the feel of him. The hard muscles of his chest quivered under her touch.
He moved around to sit on the bed, turning her with him. He reached out and released one garter, then slid his hand between her legs to release the other. His touch was gentle yet searing, sending wave after wave of burning currents through Meghan’s body, only to be captured and rekindled deep in the core of her womanhood.
He used a soft pressure on the back of her leg to draw her right foot up to rest on his knee. Erotically, he slid his fingers down her leg, removing the stocking as he went. He concentrated on his efforts, memorizing every inch he exposed. While he repeated the ceremony on her left leg, Meghan slipped the catches on the belt and it fell away from her.
There was no amusement in his eyes when he finished and looked up to see her clad only in black string bikini panties. As he stood, he trailed his hands up the entire outside length of her legs until he reached her waist. Their gazes locked hypnotically, both seeing their own desire in the other’s eyes.
Leisurely, he proceeded to undress himself for Meghan. Always a little self-conscious about letting men see her naked, Meghan was vaguely aware of how natural it seemed, how comfortable she felt, letting this man look at her and examining him in return. Maybe it’s because he’s a stranger, she thought, although for some odd reason, he didn’t seem like one. She felt as if everything she’d done or would do tonight was meant to be, as if it had been preordained at her birth that this night would come to be.
The man was unique. He was powerful, yet infinitely gentle; honorable and righteous, but human and vulnerable. She enjoyed looking at him, she thrilled at his touch, she felt … like someone else. No man had ever affected her this way, she had never wanted a man like she wanted him—and she didn’t even know his name.
Divine Design Page 3
