by Lori Borrill
This was all coming clear to him. A continuation of the you-work-too-hard conversation she’d started a week ago. He’d thought he’d taken her mind off that track. Apparently, he’d only been able to sideline it. “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,” he droned.
“If you were going to bury yourself in your work, you might as well have been a lawyer or an accountant.” She waved a hand across the terrace, gesturing across the large courtyard of shops and cafés. The plaza truly was a beautiful place, shaded by palm trees and brought to life with large stone beds of flowers, greens and sturdy sculpted fountains.
When Marc and the partnership had bought the aging resort, they’d dumped hundreds of thousands into restoring the plaza to the beauty of its original heyday back in the fifties. And as he followed Rachel’s gaze, he was reminded of just how spectacular it had all turned out.
“When was the last time you sat in one of these chairs, mingled with the guests, and enjoyed the paradise you’ve got here?”
“I have business meetings here all the time,” he said absently as he looked upon a man and woman hand in hand with a young child. The girl ran to one of the fountains and stuck her chubby little hand in the water like the children always did, and her father knelt down and handed her a coin to toss in for a wish.
It was a sweet scene. The kind that reminded him of the life he hoped to have someday once he secured his future and was ready to settle down.
When Rachel didn’t respond, he looked back and caught her skeptical expression.
“I wasn’t referring to business meetings,” she said. “I was referring to really sitting here and enjoying the food and the scenery around here. You know, that working-in-paradise thing you were talking about?”
He studied her. Gave it a long note of consideration. Came up with nothing. “Okay, so maybe you’ve got a point.”
She laughed, a light whimsical sound that he’d heard a number of times in the darkness of their bed. He liked the way it sounded, especially when it came from her naked body pressed against his. And it reminded him that while he appreciated her sentiment, he would much rather be having it in a place where they didn’t have to pretend to be mere acquaintances.
Sitting next to her like this, her silky thigh within reach, her familiar scent of lavender perfume drugging his senses, he might as well be in a torture chamber for lack of being able to touch her. His hand begged to reach out and stroke that soft skin, his lips tingled for the taste of her, not to mention all the other body parts aching to mingle with hers.
Unfortunately, he knew what he was up against, had seen that unbending stubborn side of her and knew, whether he liked it or not, Rachel was having her way tonight.
Reaching casually for the menu, he picked it up and agreed, “Okay. Beer and dinner on the terrace, and I promise to enjoy every minute of it.”
She smiled with satisfaction and picked up her own menu just as Brett’s voice sounded behind them.
“If I didn’t see it with my own eyes I wouldn’t have believed it.”
Marc turned to find his brother approaching their table arm in arm with the woman he’d been dating the past couple weeks.
“My brother having dinner with a beautiful woman,” Brett went on. He glanced at Rachel with the smirk he’d been perfecting since the third grade. “What is it, charity night?”
He clapped Marc on the back as Margaret held a quick hand out to Rachel. “Hi, I’m Margaret O’Dell. It’s such an honor to meet you,” she gushed. “I’ve been a fan of you and your mother for years.”
Rachel eyed Marc then accepted the handshake.
“Are you two about to have dinner?” Margaret asked. “We were just looking for a bite to eat ourselves, weren’t we, Brett?” Without waiting for him to respond, she added, “Maybe we could join you!”
Marc would sooner have a root canal than extend this dinner into a long drawn-out foursome, but with Brett already pulling out a chair and Rachel moving her purse from the vacant seat it didn’t look as if he had an option.
He only hoped that when this was over and he got Rachel back to his room she was prepared for the long night of lovemaking he had in store for her.
JUST WHEN SHE’D FEARED her expensive dirt-searching venture would end up a bust, Margaret took a seat at the table, barely containing her excitement at running into Rachel in a rare public appearance—with Marc Strauss, no less.
This assignment had started out so promising, with rumors of tension between the convict celebrity and sexy hotel owner, followed by that sensational photo shoot in the hotel room she’d managed to orchestrate. Who’d known that stealing a few cleaning products off Rachel’s housekeeping cart would result in a chain reaction of such brilliant calamity? She’d had to pay her poor photographer for the repair of the camera, in addition to a pricy bottle of Scotch for his trouble, but the end result had been worth it. Her editor was thrilled, and more important, eager to keep her credit line open to cover the rest of her stay here.
Unfortunately, from that moment on, all activity had come to a screeching halt. The housekeeping staff had put the clamps on Rachel, not only keeping her locked behind closed doors, but cynically questioning every guest who came down the aisles of the rooms she was cleaning. They’d flocked around her on breaks and sounded the alarm on any reporter caught snooping around.
It was as if the woman had created an entourage of secret service out of the hotel staff, all of them staunchly loyal to her—for what? The few pounds of imported chocolate she’d brought into the break room last week? Or was it the literary agent she’d put in touch with Anita Cooper, Rachel’s partner in housekeeping who was apparently trying to get a book published?
According to Brett, the entire staff was ready to appoint Rachel to sainthood, which Margaret knew had foul written all over it. No way were so many people that tight-lipped, which meant Rachel was either being kept in near-total isolation, or she genuinely hadn’t done anything scandalous since she’d shown up here.
And if Margaret knew anything about Rachel Winston, she’d bet her money on the former every day of the week.
There was no way Rachel could go into seclusion like this without doing something newsworthy. Margaret simply had to get close enough to find out what it was. She’d heard from several sources that Rachel had come out of hiding yesterday, which gave Margaret just enough of a carrot to keep her editor from pulling the plug on this assignment. Now, thanks to the lover she’d taken on for the sake of her story, those nights with Brett might be finally paying off.
“So, what has you two sharing dinner on the terrace tonight?” she asked.
Marc and Rachel shared a glance.
“I, uh…” Marc fumbled.
“Mr. Strauss was gracious enough to escort me out tonight,” Rachel quickly kicked in. “I’ve spent so much time cooped up in my room, I was going stir crazy.”
“Really,” Margaret said, darting her eyes between the two. “I would have thought plenty of your friends would be visiting during your stay. After all, it’s a public resort—a lovely one at that—and it’s not like you’re under house arrest. I’ve been hoping to do a little star gazing but I haven’t seen a soul.”
Rachel studied her with slightly more intrigue in her eyes than Margaret would have given her credit for. Maybe Rachel wasn’t as dim-witted as she’d suspected—an early warning that Margaret would have to play her hand more carefully.
“We’d asked the Winstons that they keep Rachel’s stay under the radar,” Marc said. “Given the trouble we’ve had with the press, the addition of more celebrity guests would have made it difficult for us to protect Miss Winston’s privacy.”
“Of course,” Margaret said.
“Which means poor Marc is having to babysit me,” Rachel added, taking a sip of her wine. “He’s being such a good sport.”
The look she shot Marc carried a punch Margaret didn’t miss, but instead of following it, Margaret rolled the conversation back to Brett and his
tournament, careful not to come on too strong too fast. This was the golden opportunity she’d been working toward, and she wasn’t about to blow it by letting her excitement get the best of her.
“How is the tournament going, by the way?” Marc asked. “All’s been pretty quiet on my front. I haven’t been fielding any major emergencies.”
“It’s been great,” Brett said. “We had a couple players drop out at the last minute, but we were able to shuffle the brackets pretty easily and stay organized.”
“Oh!” Rachel said. “How did Gary do today?” She tapped her finger on her glass. “Darn, what’s his last name? Lesnansky! Gary Lesnansky.” Turning to Marc, she said, “He’s the brother of Rain, the girl I spent the afternoon with yesterday.”
“Gary Lesnansky,” Brett repeated. “He got knocked out of the semifinals this afternoon, but he did better than they’d expected considering his experience.”
“That’s good,” Rachel said. “I sure hope Rain went to his tournament like I asked.”
“Knowing teenagers?” Marc said. “I’d give it a fifty-fifty chance.”
She frowned and shoved him playfully. “Stop being such a cynical snot.”
He held up his hands. “You’re the one questioning it.”
“Children, children,” Brett said, “Try to get along.”
“Yes, Marc,” Rachel teased. “Be nice to me.”
There went another look, and this time Margaret knew for a fact there was something going on between these two. The air around the table practically reeked with innuendo, and though Marc tried hard to hide it, he couldn’t keep his eyes off Rachel. If he wasn’t already sleeping with the woman, he certainly wanted to.
Margaret spent the next hour studying them, watching every move while they enjoyed the French-California cuisine and chatted about everything from the tournament to the rich history of the Clearwater Springs Resort. As much as Margaret could get away with, she steered the conversation to how Rachel was spending her time here, but Rachel was far more poised at dodging any pointed questions than Margaret had expected.
It was unnerving, really. She’d never met Rachel personally. Had only made assumptions based on her shallow-minded blogs and that preposterous reality show she’d starred in briefly. What she hadn’t expected was someone a lot sharper in the flesh than she appeared on screen, and it left Margaret with the grim reality that her fight to get a story might be harder than she previously thought.
“What’s your mother been doing these days?” Margaret asked when the conversation hit a lull. “I was such a huge fan of Abigail, but I haven’t heard anything about her in months.”
“She’s been abroad for a while now,” Rachel said. “She was doing advertising for Paola, a line of clothing for older women, and has decided to stay on longer. Apparently, she’s fallen in love with Italy and wants to buy a house there. I’m thinking about flying out and staying with her for a break when I’m done here.”
Marc shot a quick glance at Rachel. “I didn’t know that.”
Rachel shrugged. “I haven’t decided for sure.”
Margaret watched as Marc set his fork on his plate and took a swig of his beer.
Everything in her said there was something going on between Marc and Rachel, but did she have enough to phone her editor and start a rumor? Photos. She needed photos.
Or even better, she needed this lover of hers to start helping out by digging into his brother’s business. When she’d first approached Brett, she’d been under the impression the two men were close. And why wouldn’t she? They’d gone into business together. They spent all day every day running this resort and all the activities the resort sponsored. She’d expected them to spend more time together, but in two weeks, all she’d managed to get out of Brett was that the two had been busy lately.
She needed him to start asking questions.
So when their dinner was finally over and she and Brett went their own way, she didn’t waste any time.
“Those two are sleeping together.”
Brett shot out a laugh. “What?”
“Marc and Rachel. I’d stake my career on the fact that those two are doing the bedroom tango after hours.”
Brett gazed at her as if she had geraniums growing out of her ears. “That’s ridiculous.”
“I have eyes, and so do they. Those two couldn’t keep them off each other all night.”
He shook his head. “You don’t know my brother. He’d never do something as stupid as sleeping with Rachel. In fact, he’d given me the long lecture of not sleeping with her myself last month.”
Thinking he’d offended her, he quickly wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pecked her on the cheek. “Not that I’d even been thinking about it. I’m one gentleman who prefers blondes.”
“Well, I think you’re wrong. I’m a woman. We have intuition about these things and my intuition was screaming pretty loud and clear.” When he tried to scoff it away, she pressed. “You should at least ask him about it, and if it’s true, tell him to be more careful out in public. I mean, if I picked up on it, think about how horrible it would be if a reporter did, too. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”
“No, but…” He looked down and saw the seriousness in her eyes. “All right. I’ll ask him. But I’ll bet you sexual favors that you’ve got this one all wrong.”
She smiled. “Okay, sailor. You’re on.”
11
“I THOUGHT I’D NEVER get you here,” Marc said, pulling the zipper on Rachel’s pale pink dress as he nipped and kissed a path down the nape of her neck. “That was the longest, most torturous dinner I’ve ever had to sit through.”
She chuckled and wiggled out of her clothing, the gentle brush of her ass against his waist stroking places that didn’t need any more encouragement. He was already rock-hard, had been through most of dinner, and now that he’d finally gotten her back to her suite he didn’t need much in the way of foreplay.
He wrestled off his shirt and tie as Rachel worked on his pants, his cock springing up when she yanked down his briefs and sent them sliding to the floor.
“Poor baby,” she teased, tracing a finger along his shaft and giving him that Hush magazine pout that nearly brought him to his knees.
He’d never met a sexier woman in his life, definitely not one who held such carnal control over his body. She was like a narcotic, every taste of her only leaving him needing more, and after going a whole day without, his body felt as though it were in the throes of withdrawal.
This wasn’t good. From the start, he was supposed to be getting the woman out of his system, not letting her sink in. But from the moment she’d set foot on his resort, nothing had been going the way he’d planned.
“What can I do to make it up to you?” she asked, but before he could answer, she clasped her fingers around his erection, whisking the words from his throat.
She pressed her mouth to his chest, kissing hot rings of fire everywhere her lips made contact with his skin. She licked his nipple, toyed with it then bit at his flesh while she used her fingers to gently stroke his eager cock. It was ecstasy and agony rolled into one, and while he wanted to move her to the bed and take control, his feet froze in place, not a cell in his body willing to move away from her luscious feast.
“You’re already forgiven,” he said, his limbs weakening as she trailed her talented mouth farther down his chest.
“You can’t be that easy,” she teased. “I’ve been such a bad girl. Surely, there’s something I can do.”
She dropped to her knees, sending a bolt of anticipation through him without so much as a touch. And when she pressed her lips to the head of his penis and gave it a tender kiss, he had to snake his fingers through her hair to stay afoot.
“That works,” he said, the words lurching from his chest when she opened wide and sucked him like a lollipop. Sensation sped through him, the slippery velvet of those lips ripping away his thoughts and draining a day’s worth of problems off his should
ers.
Oh, what a way to round out an evening, to take all the stress and worry and shove it out the door, leaving him calmed and thoroughly relaxed. It was an experience he was getting used to. And as she licked and stroked the tension from his limbs he became aware of his growing aversion toward letting it go.
Rachel was getting to him. Not just with a beautiful body and mind-blowing sex, but in the spirit of who she was and the things she’d brought to his life. She wasn’t what he’d expected, and the more he got to know her, the more this affair between them became something more than simple lust.
Suddenly, his thoughts disappeared when she clasped his balls and licked him from tip to base. This wasn’t going to last. He’d spent two hours watching her at the dinner table and fantasizing about getting inside her body. If she wanted more than short and sweet, they’d need to take a less direct route. So he attempted to pull away, but when he did she wrapped her hands around his thighs and yanked him back.
“No,” she said. “This is good.” Smiling, she looked up at him, those big blue eyes filled with purpose and sin. “I want it all the way.” Then she opened wide and sucked him into her mouth.
He wanted to argue, would have if he hadn’t spent two hours watching her eat her meal and wishing every morsel had been a part of his body. But when she moaned and took him in, all his restraint collapsed under the weight of that glorious mouth wrapped around him.
She licked him hard, stroking faster and gripping him firmer until his legs shook and his body exploded. And when he came, she palmed him, holding his cock against her chest where he spilled himself over her breasts.
She lolled her head back and groaned. “This is so hot.” She used one hand to smooth the cum over her nipples while the other pumped out every ounce she could get from him. He grabbed her breasts and stroked his shaft between them, letting the smooth slippery mounds pull out the last of the climax while the heady scent of sex grew heavy in the air.
It was erotic and sexy, the waves continuing to ripple through him as he watched her stroking her own breasts. So much so that by the time the climax eased and his strength returned, he was already aroused and gearing up for another round.
