by Jo Leigh
He nodded, remembering again the night she’d offered herself to him. Of course, he hadn’t touched her. It would have been wrong on so many levels, but damn, he’d had a moment there… “It’s okay. I was flattered.”
“Flattered?”
He grinned. “It wasn’t easy to walk away. It was maybe the nicest invitation I’d ever had.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“So why did you? Walk away, I mean.”
“You were a kid.”
“It wasn’t just the job?”
“That was a factor. I won’t lie to you. I’d just started, and I was pretty green. But no. It wasn’t. You’d had a lot of champagne. I couldn’t.”
“I was devastated.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I got over it.”
He frowned. He didn’t like to think about how she’d gone about getting over it. Her sex life had been plastered in papers all over the world. “I’m just sorry I couldn’t have been more of a friend.”
“Whatever we have, Trace, I don’t think you could ever call it friendship.”
“So what’s this?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. And for tonight, I don’t care.”
He took her by the shoulders and pulled her into his arms. The water made it easy to position her just so. Neatly between his legs so he could feel her chest, so she cradled his cock against her stomach. “You’re right,” he said. “No thinking.” Then he kissed her.
She opened her mouth to his questing tongue, then responded almost shyly. This wasn’t the woman who’d taken him on her knees. There was a sweetness and a vulnerability that he’d thought had vanished years ago.
Suddenly the water was too hot, the music too loud. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get out of here.”
She stood. The water cascaded down her body, dripped from her firm nipples and he couldn’t help but lean forward and take the hard nub in his mouth. As his tongue circled the areola, he could feel her get harder, all the little bumps and ridges that surrounded the nipple itself reacted to his caress, and he knew she was getting harder elsewhere. He wanted to taste that, too, but he couldn’t when she was under water.
He let her go, and as he leaned back her fingers stroked the side of his face.
Then she climbed out of the pool, and he followed. There were two large towels, and even though it was chilly now, dripping as they were, she wrapped a towel around him first.
With unexpected tenderness, she dried him, patting and rubbing his back, his chest, then lower.
He felt her shiver and stopped her, folding the towel around her body, hating to hide it but wanting her comfortable and dry.
The music was almost as soft as her skin as he helped her into her dress.
He put on his clothes and as he did, he studied Piper. He faced her profile. Long, lean, perfectly proportioned. She had a small scar on her shoulder, and he wondered how she’d injured herself. His gaze moved to her face. Someone had once done an article about that face, about the symmetry. Everything in its place, as if it had been shaped by a master sculptor.
He’d heard other women talk about her. How it was so unfair for one person to be so blessed. Money, looks, power. They blamed Piper for her good fortune, and they resented her for it, too.
He’d only seen Piper with one girlfriend in all the years he’d known her. Lisa Scott. Who was also beautiful and accomplished.
Did Piper want more friends? It had never once occurred to Trace that she could be lonely, but she must be. She didn’t lack for groupies and wannabes, but that wasn’t the same.
But it wasn’t his problem, was it? He didn’t need to be her friend. He needed to get the job done. If having mind-blowing sex was part of it, oh, well. He’d have to deal. But it didn’t mean things were going to change. Piper was the daughter of his boss. Once the hotel issue was settled, it would be over between them.
He finished dressing. Enough. He wanted her and the wait was killing him. He hadn’t forgotten her teasing from before. She thought she knew where the night was heading.
She had no idea.
Once they were decent, both of them carrying their shoes, they headed to the elevator. She pressed the button for her floor.
They didn’t speak. But they did touch. Her head against the crook of his neck, his arm around her slim shoulders. He felt her breathe, thought about everything he wanted to do with her. To her.
Inside her suite, he stopped her, turned her back to the door, kissed her as he grabbed her wrists and forced them up above her head.
She gasped as he pinned her with his body, so tightly he could feel the press of her breasts against his chest, the hollow between her thighs.
Finished with games, he ravished her mouth.
Piper took his punishing kiss and gave it right back. She pushed her hips against him, rubbed his erection, wishing they were both naked again, wishing he would take her, right here up against the wall.
Piper loved being helpless, loved the abandon, but she couldn’t let go. Not with Trace, despite their conversation. There was too much history to let herself fall completely.
So she bit his lower lip just hard enough to make him jerk, to make him understand he couldn’t call all the shots.
He backed up, still keeping her hands above her head, pressed against the wall. He stared at her with darkened eyes, his lips curled in a wicked smile.
He said nothing. Instead, his hands abruptly dropped. The next thing she knew she was in his arms, and she had to grab his neck as he took her through the suite to the bedroom.
He put her down next to the bed, stepped back and waited.
“Why, Mr. Winslow,” she said as she stripped for him once more. “You are full of surprises.”
Trace laughed as he shed his clothes. “Who was it that said people see what they want to see?” he said, his voice, sandpaper and silk, thrilling her as much as the challenge in his gaze. “Lay down. Don’t cover yourself. I want to see every inch of you.”
She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about this new Trace, but her body had definite opinions in the affirmative. She spread herself across the silk bedspread, lifted her arms until her hands curled around the wood of the headboard, and even as her face heated in a wild blush, she spread her legs and lifted her hips.
His moan turned into a wry chuckle as he climbed onto the bed, right between her spread legs. “You, my dear Piper, are evil. And, I might add, you have wiles.”
“Wiles?”
“A deceitful or seductive manner.”
“How can you possibly claim this is deceitful? I’m offended.”
“Because you’re turning into someone completely new right before my eyes.”
“Is this a good thing?”
He moved up her body, their skin barely touching. His heat infused her, his gaze held her transfixed. “Oh, yeah.”
She gasped in each breath, her breasts rising and falling rapidly as he moved in for the kill. But she still had one trick up her sleeve.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, locking them together at the ankles. Squeezing, she held him fast, delighting in his astonishment.
Then, using his body for leverage, she lifted her hips. His swollen erection was caught just above her mound, and she rubbed him, hard.
“Shit,” he whispered.
She laughed at his breathlessness, using all her muscles to maintain control. She had him, helpless, even though she never released her hold above her head.
He took her mouth again, a searing kiss that made her lose her rhythm. His tongue thrust, filling her. And then he pushed back, breaking her hold. Her legs went down to the bed, and he was up on his knees.
He inched up until she couldn’t see past him. He towered above her, but this wasn’t anything like her little tease out by the pool. He held her chest down with his thighs, with the weight of his stare.
His hand went to his cock and he stroked himself slowly, from the base to th
e crown, a quick finger over the slick, and back down again.
He was hard and hot, and all she could think of was what it would feel like inside her. God, she wanted him. She hadn’t felt this…excitement in so long. It wasn’t just physical, either. She wasn’t the only one with wiles.
Keeping her still between his knees, he reached for the night table and came back with a condom. She hated them, wished they didn’t need to use them, but even that couldn’t dim her anticipation.
He rolled the condom on. She could see his need, his desire, on his stunning face, in his brilliant eyes.
He leaned over, his lips coming close, but not touching hers. “Don’t move,” he whispered.
Oh, she wouldn’t. Every part of her wanted this, couldn’t wait. He stirred between her thighs once more, and his hands cupped her legs, then lifted them to his shoulders. He smiled at her with so much arrogance she nearly screamed, and then he thrust inside her, all the way, so deep the whole bed moved, and she did scream.
He stayed there for a minute, dragging in a deep breath, then he withdrew, slowly.
“Come on, Trace,” she said, knowing she was edging toward danger, but loving it. Loving that her mind was as turned on as her body. “You can do better than that.”
He laughed. “Better?”
“Show me what you’ve got.”
He slammed back into her, making her cry out again. Making her back arch and her body tremble.
“Is that what you want?”
She opened her eyes again. “More.”
“Oh, you’re asking for it, missy.”
“I’m so scared.” She pulled her head up off the pillow. “Can’t you feel me shaking?”
He shook his head. “That’s not shaking,” he whispered. His tempo changed as he thrust faster, leaning over her so she was almost bent double, his penetration stealing every thought she’d ever had.
“This is shaking,” he said.
She cried out, gripping the headboard so hard she thought she might rip the bed apart.
“Come on, Piper.” His lips were just above hers.
She let go of the headboard and clawed his back as her body began the fabulous convulsions of the most intense orgasm she’d ever had.
HE WOKE with a gasp, his heart pounding in his chest, his body hot as hell and trembling. He threw back the covers and stood. When his feet touched the floor, he realized where he was and that he wasn’t dying of a heart attack but waking from a nightmare.
He hadn’t disturbed Piper, which was a good thing. It was so damn late. Actually, early. Almost four. He needed something to drink.
It took him a minute to get into the living room, and he closed the bedroom door behind him. God, he was sweating. His heart still hadn’t slowed, and now, shit, the images from his dream were coming back.
He turned on the light, wincing as his eyes adjusted. The fridge was stocked with everything from champagne to tomato juice, but he grabbed a bottle of water and drank most of it standing in the cool air from the open refrigerator.
He gasped as he brought the bottle down. He hadn’t had the dream in years. Why now? What the hell was going on?
After he closed the door, he went over to one of the large leather chairs. He was still naked, and he didn’t have a robe with him, but at this point he didn’t care.
Hissing as his overheated skin met the cool of the leather, he stared out the huge window at the dark night. Of course there were lights on, it was Manhattan.
He’d grown up here and probably couldn’t function anywhere else, but still. There were times when he wondered what else his life could have been.
His father had worked for Devon all his adult life. The firm, Winslow, Reynolds and Webster, had no other clients. It was a way of life, one Trace had been indoctrinated to from childhood. The Devon hotel chain kept his family in sports cars and luxury apartments, and he had few complaints. Sure, he’d wanted something more ambitious, but that was when he was a kid. He’d actually wanted to specialize in family law, and back then he’d been naive enough to think that he could make a difference.
Of course, life had taught him otherwise, but some stubborn, stupid part of him still had remnants of that old folly. And every once in a great while, he entertained thoughts. Though admittedly, not for long.
Something had stirred those dinosaurs tonight, and that’s why he’d dreamed about Bob Steiner. His old college roommate, and his closest friend.
At least he used to be. Before he’d killed himself.
Bob had gotten himself in trouble. Insider trading, fraud and embezzlement. He’d never told Trace why. What had happened to him. In college he’d been an idealist, and honest as the day was long. But something had obviously happened in the five years after graduation.
They’d lost touch. Not completely, but they were both so busy trying to build their careers that everything, including friendship, had been very low on the priority list.
The last he’d heard from Bob had been right around the time of his promotion. Nicholas had made him acting administrator of all the Devon trusts, and his days and nights had been consumed with learning all he could.
Bob had called one night, and goddamn it, he’d been crying. Crying. It had been so out of character that Trace should have understood right then. But he hadn’t. Bob had told him he was in trouble. He hadn’t gone into the details. Just had asked Trace for legal help.
And what had Trace done for his old friend? Shrugged him off. Trace had told him he was too busy, had to go out of town, and gave him the name of another lawyer.
Bob had hung up the phone, probably feeling even more distraught and ashamed by the lack of a caring response from him.
The next time Trace thought about the phone call, he’d been contacted by a reporter from the New York Times, who’d notified him of Bob’s suicide and asked for comments. Hearing that, Trace had felt sick with guilt.
It had taken a long time, but Trace had finally understood he wasn’t to blame. That he had no way of knowing just how bad off Bob had been.
But waves of guilt kept surging up from time to time. Like tonight. When he’d had the best sex of his life. When he’d discovered an entirely new side to someone he’d thought he understood. When life was about as good as it could get.
So why? Because things were good? Or because he was letting Piper influence him?
His instincts told him it was the latter. That he was starting to let his feelings get in the way of his job. Which was crazy.
He might like sex with Piper, but not enough to give up everything. No woman was worth that.
And as for his nightmare? He’d put it where it belonged. Behind him.
11
TRACE WALKED into Erotique to find that Piper was still being interviewed. He should go back to his room, get some work done, but he really didn’t feel like it. He was tired after a long day of negotiations with the culinary workers. During the breaks he’d caught up on some contracts for a new Devon hotel in Belize.
He went to the bar and pulled up a stool next to Lisa Scott. “Who’s that?”
“Jace Friedken,” she said, leaning toward him but not shifting her gaze from Piper. “Vanity Fair.”
Trace watched for a while, trying to reconcile the woman he watched now to the Piper he’d seen this afternoon.
She’d been tough-minded with the union officials, not letting them slide on one issue. But unlike her father, she hadn’t tried to screw them, either. They’d walked out with a fair deal.
Her negotiating skills were top-notch, which was a surprise in itself. The union leader had swaggered in, expecting to eat Piper for lunch, and was soon eating crow instead when he saw Piper was on to his every trick.
What Trace wrestled with was what she’d given away. The benefits, in particular, were quite generous, above the standard in Manhattan. She’d told him she wanted employees who’d be loyal, but was it worth the money?
The only way to know would be to wait, but if Nicholas too
k over, the contract would change along with the hotel theme.
“Can I get you something?”
He turned at the sound of the bartender. She was an attractive woman with streaks of blue in her extravagant hair, but he liked her smile.
“Stoli, rocks, please.” He touched Lisa’s arm. “What about you?”
She ordered an apple martini. When the bartender had gone, Lisa looked at him questioningly. “Are you starting to get it?”
“Get what?”
“Hush. What Piper’s trying to do.”
He shook his head. “No, I’m not.”
Lisa sighed. “It’s going to work, you know. The whole concept is brilliant, and no one on earth could pull it off like Piper.”
“You’re her friend, of course you’re going to see it that way.”
“So because I like Piper, I’m stupid?”
“No, I didn’t mean that at all.”
“I did a hell of a lot of research on this hotel, Trace. But not half as much as Piper did. You have no idea what’s gone into this.”
“The woman knows hotels, I’ll admit that, but she’s still not seeing the big picture.”
“And what is that?”
The drinks came and Trace paid. Then he turned back, watching as Piper laughed, smiled, charmed the reporter. “Nicholas has built an empire and a trademark. They’re inextricably intertwined. Devon is a brand name and it’s worth everything.”
“It’s not the Devon Hush.”
“Doesn’t matter. You can’t separate Piper from Devon. It’s a package and she’s striking at the very heart of what’s made Nicholas one of the richest men in the world. How can he possibly endorse this? It’s like Trump opening a sex shop. It tarnishes more than the name.”
Lisa turned to him. “You’re here. You see that she’s gone to tremendous lengths to make Hush a class act all the way.”
“But the focus is still on sex. That overshadows anything else.”
Lisa shook her head. “She’s making her own mark, and she’s doing it brilliantly.”
“If she wasn’t Piper Devon, it might work, but she is, and therefore it can’t work.”
“Taking this away is going to kill her.”
