by Lori Borrill
Brett nodded. “Yeah, we’re just going over the details now. I’ve mentioned that we’re pairing her with Anita, went over a few of the things she’ll be doing.” He gestured to the chair. “Sit down. Have a drink.”
To Rachel’s pleasure, he took the seat and ordered coffee from the waiter.
“And how did your discussion go after I left?” Marc asked. “Are we all clear on the expectations?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Brett said absently.
The comment left Rachel confused. She didn’t know what Marc was referring to, since after he’d left the conference room, there was no discussion other than how happy they were to have her.
“What expectations, exactly?” she asked.
Marc turned those dark steely eyes to hers. “That this is a job and a responsibility, not a vacation.”
The cynical tone should have offended, but instead she grew more intrigued. As much as Rachel loved hot men, she loved a sexual challenge even better.
She blinked innocently. “Does that mean I can’t use the pool?”
“Girl, we’re paying for the room,” Stefan injected. “You can use anything you want.”
But her gaze never left Marc’s, and the table went quiet as she awaited his answer.
A fire in his eyes brimmed. “The standard shift is eight hours with a one-hour lunch. During that time, I’m expecting you to conduct yourself as an employee. What you do before and after is your business, as long as it’s not disruptive to the other guests.”
She studied him, hoping to read from his expression what kind of options she had for “after,” but he remained silent and professional. Possibly oblivious to her signals, but probably not. Instead, she suspected inside that handsome head he was waging war with his libido. And the fact that he could be working hard to keep his distance only excited her more.
She’d spent a lifetime brushing off advances from eager men and, in the end, most were either after her body, her money or an avenue to her father. Oh, how she’d love the opportunity for a hunt more challenging than shooting tigers in a cage.
“I can work an eight-hour day,” she said. She took another sip of her margarita.
Brett nervously tapped a finger to his drink. “Cool. Anita works Monday through Friday, eight to five.”
“Uh, that’s going to be a problem.” Stefan thumbed through his planner. “Tuesdays are her spa days. I’d switch it to the weekend, but Gwendolyn couldn’t possibly make it up here on a Saturday, and Sundays are blocked out for reflection and meditation.”
Marc’s eyebrows shot up.
“So, we’ll find someone she can work with on Saturdays,” Brett said. “And housekeeping has all kinds of project work that won’t require supervision, like cleaning mirrors—”
“Nothing with perfumes or chemicals,” Stefan said. “She’s deathly allergic.”
“Everything they do involves perfumes and chemicals,” Marc snapped. “It’s housecleaning, for crying out loud.”
Stefan shook his head and flipped to a blank page. “Another issue we’ll have to deal with. I know of a good supplier who offers hypoallergenic cleaning supplies. I’ll get you the information. They should be able to overnight a supply.”
The fire brimming in Marc’s eyes ignited. “We aren’t ordering anything. You need something special you get it at your own cost.”
“To clean your hotel?” Stefan scoffed.
“Why don’t I try what they’ve got and we’ll go from there?” Rachel suggested, hoping to avoid a fight. Besides, she wasn’t even sure she was allergic to anything. Once, three years ago, she’d developed a rash after cleaning a compact with window cleaner. Ever since then, Stefan had insisted she was sensitive to chemicals.
Stefan sighed and shook his head. “Fine, if you want to risk it. But when you swell up and turn orange like an Oompa Loompa, don’t say I didn’t try.” He scribbled another note on his pad. “Marty will be here day after tomorrow to go over Rachel’s special diet needs. Can you give me a contact in the kitchen he can work with?”
Now Marc’s neck began to flush. “We have an award-winning staff and chefs that can handle any special diet needs. What they can’t handle are extra people in the kitchen telling them what to do. Tell Marty he can fax the specifics to the resort. There won’t be any meetings.”
Then he turned to his brother. “You were supposed to have gone over this with Richard. I’m not having this resort turned into a circus.”
“We’re not asking for anything a standard high-end facility wouldn’t provide their guests,” Stefan quipped, clearly in an effort to snub Marc and his hotel.
And it worked. Marc looked as if he was one more prod away from bounding over the table and going for Stefan’s jugular.
“You know,” she attempted. “It’s been a long day and I don’t know about you, but I’m tired.” She pulled Stefan’s planner away and closed the book. “I’ve had enough business for one day. Maybe these discussions would be easier after a nice meal and a good night’s sleep.”
Just then, Marc’s cell phone rang. Taking a heavy breath, he rose from the table. “I need to take this. Your idea is a good one. Let’s meet in my office tomorrow at nine.”
Stefan reached for the planner, but Rachel held him off. “Tomorrow at nine will be perfect.”
And with that, Marc stormed off, leaving the three of them staring at each other.
Brett was the first to speak. “Look, don’t worry about my brother. We’ll get you what you need. In fact, it would be a good idea if you ran everything through me. I’ll have a talk with him and we’ll cancel this meeting tomorrow—”
“No.” Rachel held up a hand. “I’d like to meet with him tomorrow. Alone.”
“Rachel,” Stefan warned. “I hope you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking.”
She smiled and sipped the last of her drink. “I’m thinking the next four weeks will go much more smoothly if I extend an olive branch to Mr. Strauss. And I can do that much better without an audience.”
“As long as you aren’t dangling a hot pink thong on the end of it.”
Brett choked on his tea, and Rachel chuckled. “Does your brother have a girlfriend?” she asked as casually as she could pull off.
“Marc?” Brett laughed. “He’s deeply devoted to Clearwater Springs. No other woman can compare.”
She tried to conceal her pleasure, but Stefan knew her too well. “Don’t even think about seducing that man. I’ve got enough problems as it is.”
And she could certainly relieve one of them if she got Marc Strauss to come play in her sandbox. Though Rachel had a very short list of things she was good at, handling men was right there at the top. With everyone else working so hard to make sure this sentence of hers went as painlessly as possible, getting Marc on their side would be the least she could do. And a lot of fun in the process. Because, no matter how angry he seemed just now, she hadn’t the slightest doubt that the bulk of that gnarly exterior came from the fact that he was torn between what his body wanted and his judgment wouldn’t allow. And once she convinced him that his body knew best, they could all start getting along.
“Nine o’clock tomorrow,” she said to Brett and Stefan. “You boys sit that one out.”
3
MARC CHECKED HIS WATCH. Ten minutes after nine. Rachel and Stefan were fashionably late, of course. He would have expected it of them, but Brett was usually more prompt.
Leaning back in his chair, he rubbed his hands over his face and tried to brush the sleep from his eyes. It had been a long and restless night, the events of the day before playing over and over in his head like a bad horror film. Reporters ransacking the grounds, Stefan and his demands, Phil Arnall threatening to pull the rug from under him. The scenes had flashed through his thoughts for hours, growing brighter and more threatening as the night wore on.
And in the middle of it all was Rachel. She’d left him staring at the ceiling for a whole slew of reasons all her own—the most notable being a dose of
lust that only seemed to compound as time went on. Every time his mind had settled toward the peace of slumber, she’d come at him in his dreams, all tender flesh and wanton eyes. She’d placed his hands on her breasts and her lips on his, the sweet taste of that honeydew margarita just as vivid as if she’d really been there in his bed.
She’d flashed that pouty smile, the one she’d offered from the brown velvet chaise. Damn Brett for throwing that magazine on his desk. It had been haunting him ever since, and now that he had the real woman to complete the fantasy, he hadn’t been able to shake it from his thoughts.
But he had to find a way. This situation had too much potential for blowing up in his face. Though he hadn’t wanted to admit it to Phil, the man had been right on one account. The resort was still in its infancy, and he and Brett were still proving themselves. This wasn’t the time to make any major mistakes, especially not when the risks were more than his alone.
He sighed at the sight of his empty office. This was no doubt a precursor to the level of commitment he could expect from Rachel in the coming weeks. And while he couldn’t control her, he could definitely control the reports he provided to her parole officer.
Abandoning any notion that this meeting would take place, he rose to go find his head of housekeeping. But when he opened the door to his office, he found Rachel standing there, one fist raised as though she’d been about to knock.
“Going somewhere?” she asked.
He backed up two steps. “I, uh…”
It took only a glance at her coy, playful smile for him to forget what he’d been doing. And what red-blooded male could blame him? The woman was beautiful. There was simply no other word for it. And today she was even more breathtaking than she’d been the day before.
He blinked as she stepped into his office, those hips swaying gracefully under the thin film of her dress. Dotted with pale blue flowers, the silky summer slip hugged what little it covered, leaving only the most intimate body parts up to the imagination.
And what it did show was pure bliss.
She’d let her dark, wavy hair hang down around her bare shoulders. Her makeup was pale, leaving her looking more fresh than made up. Complemented by a touch of sweet perfume, she came at him through all the senses, and his only defense was to swallow hard and retreat back to his desk.
“I thought you’d forgotten our meeting,” he managed to choke out once he had his back to her.
“And miss a chance to spend my morning with you?” she asked. “I don’t think so.”
Flattery. He’d love to say it wouldn’t work, but damn, it did.
He took his seat, working hard to keep his priorities on his career and out of his pants.
“Is Stefan coming?” he asked.
She shook her head and lowered to one of the two chairs facing his desk. “No. Actually, I asked the others to leave this meeting between you and me.” She smiled sweetly. “I thought we might make more headway if you and I could talk alone.”
He certainly loved the idea of dumping the annoying assistant, but the two of them alone with very little between his hands and her naked body didn’t sit well.
It would if you’d pull your mind out of her skirt.
“I can’t shake the feeling we’re getting off on the wrong foot,” she said. “I’d like to start over. Maybe see if you and I can come to an understanding…or something.”
“Or something,” he muttered.
She flashed a girlish pout. “Sometimes, I think you don’t like me at all.” Then she curved it into a smile. “Other times, I think you like me very, very much.”
The temperature in the room seemed to shoot up—probably from the steam pouring through those big blue eyes—and he struggled to avoid getting sucked into the siren’s web.
This isn’t worth all you’ve worked for, he told himself, dragging his attention away from all that glory and onto what really mattered to him the most.
Clearing his throat and shifting in his seat, he looked out the window to the resort he loved so much, reminding himself of all the hopes and expectations he had for his future. Every one of them in jeopardy if he didn’t keep his head about him.
“It’s not that I don’t like you,” he finally said. “If you’d come as a guest, I’d welcome you and your entourage with open arms, ordering the staff to make your stay as enjoyable as possible.” He turned his gaze back to hers. “But you aren’t here as a guest. You’re here as a ward of the court, and our duty is to a court order that says you’re here to work.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
“Good. Because everyone’s watching. I’ve done my best to keep the media off the grounds, but you know as well as I some are getting through. And I can’t prevent the staff from talking. I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but your parole officer called last week. She wanted to clarify the work you’re supposed to be doing here. And before she hung up the phone, she left me with a polite but firm reminder of all the things this resort could be cited for if we should be found falsifying documents or otherwise misleading them about what you’re doing here.”
He paused to let that sink in before adding, “I’ve worked hard to get where I am. I’m not going to jeopardize it.”
“I understand completely.”
She rose and moved to his side, leaning a hip on his desk and crooking her foot on the seat of his chair. The satiny hem of her dress inched up, exposing one smooth, delicious thigh.
He tried not to look, but his traitorous eyes betrayed him. They took in every bare, luxurious inch from the drape of that flowery fabric down to the dainty toes that peeked out from her blue sandals. His mouth watered, aching for a taste of her, and he pondered how easy it would be to slide his fingers up that skirt and grasp a handful of silky flesh.
“And what better way to make sure this all goes smoothly than to keep a close eye on me?” she asked.
She trailed a finger along the inside of his thigh, stopping short of his growing erection before turning and heading back toward his knee.
“You see,” she said, lowering her voice to just above a whisper. “I think we could form a partnership that’s mutually rewarding. One that starts with these lips—” She touched her lips. “Right about here.”
Slipping her foot off the chair, she leaned in and pressed her mouth to his, proving in an instant that every fantasy he’d had about her had been elementary compared to the real thing.
The touch of her lips was even softer, the taste sweeter, her body firmer. She ran her hands up his chest and slipped onto his lap, and when she opened her mouth and prodded her tongue toward his, he realized his only choice was surrender.
His body whipped to life, the blood rushing through his veins double speed. He sucked in a breath as his hands skimmed up her torso, snaking along the slippery fabric all the while ignoring the desperate warnings in his head. He wanted to stop, needed to fend her off, but his body wouldn’t obey his orders. His hands simply kept roaming, his tongue probing, his hips jutting forward in an attempt to get his cock closer to the place it begged to go.
“You’re so hot,” she groaned into his mouth, turning him hard as steel. Long ribbons of her dark hair tickled against his neck as she slipped her fingers up over his chin and trailed them along his jaw. She guided his mouth over hers, the soft twirling of tongues increasing in speed until they grew hot and devouring. His hungry hands found those breasts and he nearly lost his manhood, the supple mounds so glorious in their perfection he could barely decide where to start.
It stunned him, the power she had over him. The way smooth heat turned to raging fire at the simple press of her lips. He could only imagine the devastation of taking her fully, bare flesh to bare flesh, the two of them out of this office and in the comfort of his apartment. It was only when he started to plan it that his senses eked through the mist and began to take hold.
What was he going to do, carry her through the lobby? Even acting covertly, all eyes would be on them.
He didn’t need a mirror to know they had sex written all over them. The stiff bulge in his pants alone would draw eyes. And as the reality of the situation settled further, hot lust turned to angry fire.
Pushing her off him, he rose and stepped away. “That’s enough,” he said, taking a few more paces toward the window to walk off some of his idiocy.
What the hell was he thinking?
And more to the point, what the hell was she trying to pull?
“Come on,” she urged. “You can’t stop now.”
“I should have never started, and I assure you, that won’t happen again.”
She shot out a breathy laugh. “Why? Are you gay?”
Sarcasm. That was good. It fueled his anger and doused any remnant desire.
He stepped to her and grabbed her forearm, intending to escort her to the door, but first he had some words to share.
“I’m not gay, nor am I interested in playing games or forming partnerships. You’re here to work. And if that’s not part of your plan, you can waltz that pretty little butt of yours to a new hotel.”
She snatched her arm from his grasp and huffed.
“I don’t know exactly what you did to land in this mess,” he went on. “I don’t follow the tabloids and I really don’t care. But I do know one thing. The judge had something in mind when he sentenced you to this. Maybe he wanted you to come down from your ivory tower and see how real people lived—people with jobs and families and responsibilities. People with hopes and dreams and aspirations. Who don’t treat the world like their playground and everyone in it their toys.”
She placed her hands on her hips and gasped, but it only angered him more.
“Yeah, that’s right. Someone’s telling it to you straight for a change.”
“You don’t know anything about me.”
“No, but what I’ve seen so far isn’t impressive.” He raised a finger to her chest. “You’ve got an opportunity here to step into someone else’s shoes. To see how life is for people who don’t have the world handed to them on a silver platter. And if you weren’t so spoiled and afraid, you might actually get something out of it.”
