One Taste

by Cari Quinn

  “You’re not a stupid woman.” Shawn loosened his hold on her finger. No matter what he’d indicated on the phone, it’d be her choice whether she stayed or cut and run.

  “No.” Clearly challenging him, she cocked her head. “And because I’m not, excuse me if I find the timing of this sudden lust --”

  When she fumbled, he gripped her wrist. “This sudden lust isn’t sudden. Maybe it proves I’m a fool, but I kept hoping you’d stop flitting from man to man long enough to see me.”

  She jerked free, but she didn’t retreat. “You’re my closest friend. I never gave you any reason to believe I felt otherwise, so don’t pull this crap on me now. You don’t want me to see Ryan.”

  “Damn straight I don’t,” he agreed, swinging his legs off the bed so fast his gaping towel took another leap toward indecency. His move forced her back a step, then two as he rose and grasped her shoulders. “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you from making the biggest mistake of your life.”

  “My life, my mistakes.” She tipped her head back until their gazes were level. “I’m leaving.”

  “So go.” Shawn lifted his hands to her face. “In a minute.”

  Rather than swooping in to ravage, he stretched his fingers over her cheeks, cradling them in his palms as his lips brushed hers. With that first taste, as wicked and dark as her wine red lipstick, heat coursed through his veins to gather in his groin.

  It took all his will not to crush her against him as her fingers curled over his shoulders. But when her tongue slipped between his lips to war with his, he nearly lost his shaky grip on the torrent of need choke-chained inside him.

  “Rach,” he whispered against her mouth, wanting her to know what this meant. Wanting her to understand. Instead, as she ripped her mouth away, the deep, dark pools of her eyes widened as if she couldn’t believe what he’d done.

  What she’d done.

  Without another word, she hurtled across the room and out the door. Away from him.

  Again.

  Chapter Three

  Once Rachel left Shawn’s hotel, she canceled her reservation at the Conquistador. She immediately called the other hotel she’d been interested in, only to find they were booked solid through the weekend.

  She weaved through the steady foot traffic, one sweaty hand clutching her forehead, the other clutching her phone. For the first time in her life, she had to put distance between her and Shawn. She had to get another room. Immediately.

  Directory assistance gave her a list of places to try, and she started at the cheapest and steadily worked up to the most expensive. All were booked, except the Meridian -- her last choice, as the rooms cost more than seven hundred a night.

  Plus, the hotel was geared to couples. And romance. And lots of discreet, expensive sex.

  “It’s our last suite, madam. As you might be aware, Zenith Publishing is holding --”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m aware.” She blew out a breath, considering her options as she came to a halt inches from the revolving door of the Conquistador. “Okay, I’ll need the room at least until the weekend.”

  “Excellent, madam. Our Harmony suite is perfect for a romantic --”

  Again, she cut off the concierge. The last thing she needed to think about at the moment was romance. “Gotcha. Appreciate it. I’ll be checking in within the hour.”

  “Your name is?”

  She thought fast. “Rose Dawson.”

  “Wonderful, Ms. Dawson. You’ll be staying alone?”

  “Yes.” A brief smile crossed her lips. “And paying cash.”

  Shawn decided he wouldn’t try to contact Rachel that evening. Even a love-starved fool could tell when he was pushing his luck. Besides, he knew the kiss he’d laid on her earlier would do enough talking for the time being.

  As he dressed for a late dinner, he smiled at his reflection. He wore thin black slacks and a collarless linen shirt in deference to the steamy August night, and they doubled as appropriate attire for the swanky restaurant downstairs. With the turn his evening had taken, his appetite had risen exponentially. He didn’t particularly want to eat alone, but it couldn’t be helped.

  He grinned as he picked up his wallet off the ornate Chippendale dresser. If just kissing Rachel had made him so ravenous, imagine what finally getting her naked would do.

  His cell beeped, and he crossed the spacious suite to retrieve it, assuming he’d see his father’s name on the ID. Shawn had yet to return his phone calls, choosing to wait until he’d filled his rumbling stomach to deal with him.

  And, preferably, imbibed half a magnum of champagne.

  But it wasn’t his father. The caller was Morgan Cooper.

  “Hey, Mor.” He headed for the door. “What’s doing?”

  “Better question. What have you been doing?”

  He needed to clear his throat, twice, before he could answer. Which wasn’t only inexplicable, it was stupid. He and Rachel were adults. So what if he’d known her since she’d sported braids and braces? “Uh, nothing. You?”

  “You’re in New York?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “So have you spoken to my sister yet?”

  A memory of Rachel’s hard nipples rubbing against his bare chest sprang into his mind, and his hand fumbled on the doorknob as he pulled his door shut. “Yeah.”

  Morgan’s sigh sang through the phone. “You fought, didn’t you?”

  After offering a smile to a passing elderly couple, he strolled down the wide hallway to the bank of polished bronze elevators. “We had words.” Among other things. “What’s this about? You can’t possibly care Rachel and I argued. We argue every damn day.”

  So they had an explosive relationship. He had no apologies to make for it, and truthfully, he damn well hoped that combustive element translated to their sex life.

  If they ever had a sex life.

  “Normally, your arguments don’t cause her to disappear.” Morgan’s voice turned icy. “What’d you say to her, Shawn?”

  When the elevator doors opened with a nearly silent swish, Shawn skirted the people already onboard and slouched against the back wall, crossing his legs at the ankles. “It was a typical --” Okay, that was a lie. “Mostly typical spat. Don’t worry your pretty little blonde head about it.”

  “What the hell’s wrong with your pretty little blond head? Did you hear me? She’s gone.”

  “Gone as in meaning what?”

  “As in checked out of her hotel hours ago. As in left no forwarding address. As in didn’t call her doting sister to tell her what the hell got her so worked up. Then I bought a clue.” She hissed in his ear. “If not for your stalking --”

  As Morgan’s statement finally infiltrated the hot-kiss/hunger-induced fever that had overtaken his brain, he thumped his hand against the wall, much to the visible chagrin of the two hotel patrons closest to him. They each took a cautious step away. “She didn’t act like I was stalking her when she had her tongue down my throat four hours ago, Morgan!”

  Not only did Morgan go silent, so did the happy chatter among the three guests who’d somehow managed to overlook Shawn’s previous display of fury. He tunneled a hand through his hair. They were definitely aware now.

  “She kissed you?”

  “No.” He exhaled, slowly. “Not exactly. You’re sure she’s not at her hotel?”

  “I’m sure. Did you do more than kiss?”

  “Listen, I’ll upload the video to my website tonight, okay?” Clenching and unclenching his free hand at his side, he waited as the other guests disembarked the elevator in the lobby. Once he’d broken free of the herd, he strode toward the carnival lights of midtown beyond the exit, ruefully bypassing the subtly lit entrance to La Luna. His plans for a low-key dinner had gone on permanent standby. “In the meantime, I’ve gotta go.”

  “Shawn --”

  “I’ll get back to you when I find her,” he said, ending the call and sidestepping the doorman to push through the revolving door.

&
nbsp; After settling into her plush new hotel room, Rachel had to admit the place had style. She’d seen her share of fancy accommodations -- her family’s mansion had eleven bathrooms and twice as many bedrooms -- but class dripped from each diamond-cut glass sphere of the Meridian’s myriad chandeliers.

  The rich golden woodwork of her suite complemented the bold reds and purples of the luxurious bedding and carpeting. Even the vast hot tub had been crafted in a surprisingly sexy red marble that made a woman want to submerge herself in cherry-scented bubbles. Arrangements of fresh lilies and tulips decorated every tabletop, adding sweeping color and scent.

  Romantic definitely. The ambiance almost made her wish she’d packed some CDs of tango music to go with her piano concertos.

  She curled up atop of the sweetly starched sheets in the enormous California King bed as soon as she finished unpacking. Two hours later, she woke from her “short nap” mostly refreshed. And really, really horny.

  Because the second made her nervy enough to almost totally cancel out the sleep she’d gotten, she forced herself to take a slow, calming breath. She needed to find her Zen.

  When her stomach croaked out a dismal plea, she laid a hand over it. Maybe she could find her Zen over dinner.

  Wherever she found it, she prayed she didn’t cross paths with Shawn. She wasn’t ready to see him yet, and she wouldn’t be until she managed to erase the searing memory of his lips.

  Fat chance, Cooper.

  With all the time she’d spent in his company, why hadn’t she suspected how that man could kiss? And now that she knew, how the hell was she supposed to think about seeing Ryan tomorrow night? How was she supposed to think about anything?

  It just wasn’t right to hijack a person’s feelings like that, especially someone you purported to care for deeply. They’d taken baths together as kids, for heaven’s sake! She trusted Shawn like she trusted no one else, or at least she had until he’d decided he needed to forcibly use his body to stop her from having reunion sex with Ryan Halston.

  And what a body it was…

  Rachel rolled onto her stomach and picked up the TV remote. By choice, she and Morgan didn’t have cable at home, and the sheer number of channels astounded her. The offerings ranged from fashion shows, where she half-expected to hear Cooper, Inc.’s latest trend-watch issue mentioned, to all-night zombie marathons, to sex, on which she stumbled no less than four times before she finally heaved the remote across the bed.

  If she’d ever wanted to watch bad porn, tonight wasn’t the night.

  She glanced at the streamlined silver alarm cube she’d set on the nightstand, surprised to see it was nearing nine already. Her nap had punched a big hole out of her evening, but she’d be damned if she spent her first night in the city dawdling over room service.

  She’d come here for action -- and yeah, for sex, but not with Shawn -- and it was time she got the party started.

  First up? Calling the phone number Ryan had scrawled at the bottom of his invitation. Of course, that required gathering what remained of her dwindling nerves to actually make the call.

  But if she didn’t, Shawn would win.

  Did he really think she believed he’d been harboring some sort of unrequited lust toward her? The timing of his declaration and his tongue-play was a bit too coincidental not to be some kind of weird jealousy deal. Hell, maybe he was smack-dab in an early midlife crisis of his own, so he’d decided to focus on her because she was a safe target.

  Then again, if that were the case, why had his kisses had the exact opposite effect on her? Of all the things she’d felt when he’d kissed her, safe hadn’t numbered among them.

  “Enough.” Rachel rose from the bed to stalk to her phone. She wasn’t some dewy-eyed virgin contemplating her first time. She wanted a vacation fling, and by God, she intended to have one.

  She called the number she’d already programmed into her cell. Her thudding heartbeat obscured the rings, but she heard the voice that answered Ryan’s phone without any problem. And that voice wasn’t his, unless he’d had an operation that had rendered him useless for her needs.

  “Yes?” The silken female voice had a lilt, implying she was foreign. Irish maybe.

  Rachel remained silent.

  “Anyone on the line?” From the ripple of laughter tacked onto the end of the question, the lass wasn’t too concerned.

  Then Rachel heard a man -- Ryan -- whisper, “Colleen, come back to bed.”

  As if the phone in her hand were a hissing snake, Rachel flung it onto the mattress, not even sure she managed to hit the End button first. She whirled away and pressed her face into hands that stayed as steady as the moonlight pouring through the square window over the bed.

  Damn Shawn. Damn him for being right again.

  She went into the connecting bath to splash some cool water on her face, then reapplied her makeup. She added mascara, a sweep of shadow, two swipes of wine lipstick.

  Now she needed something to wear.

  A plunging red number hung on the back of the door, but she’d been planning to wear the dress to Ryan’s ball tomorrow night in lieu of a costume. Since that plan had gone the way of her vacation sex, she stepped up to it, cocking her head. She needed to eat, didn’t she? Why not eat in a divinely sexy dress?

  To prove to herself that she was fine, she hummed while she changed clothes. After finger-combing her riotous curls into place, she slipped on a pair of strappy heels and headed for the door of her suite.

  She was down, maybe. The door clicked shut behind her as she faced the hallway, smile firmly in place. But not out.

  In the span of one night, Shawn had developed a passionate dislike for New York.

  Okay, that wasn’t exactly fair. He had to admit that Times Square past midnight on a Thursday wasn’t like anywhere he’d ever been before. Saying the place reminded him of a dizzy, year-long carnival didn’t cover it.

  Street corner spray-paint artists wielded their tools with an artistry even he had been moved to watch, working at a speed that defied the quality of the creations they produced. People stopped to chat and occasionally to buy, but whether or not their work earned them coin, most of the artists appeared to ply their trade for the sheer enjoyment alone.

  As a man who’d been lucky enough to find pleasure in the work he’d been groomed to do since childhood, Shawn found that concept mind-boggling.

  Tourists stopped among the swarms of people to gawk and point toward lit buildings reaching for the sky or to elbow each other about the man strolling casually through the crowd with a huge yellow python coiled around his stubby neck. Cameras flashed with distressing regularity, and excitement pulsed in voices that carried on the wind.

  New York, he’d come to realize, was sort of a Disney World for adults. How people lived in the center of all that chaos, he didn’t know.

  Shawn fed off the energy, even as he expended it for his own use. What he’d give to be able to relish the sweet night air, fragranced with the scents of more kinds of food -- from Indian to Caribbean to good old-fashioned hot dogs -- than his nose or his greedy stomach could absorb.

  But no, he needed to find a woman who wanted nothing more than to elude him.

  Shawn stopped outside McDonald’s, his eyes practically watering at the intoxicating smell of french fries wafting around him. Screw it. He’d eat first, then go back to canvassing the endless streets of the city that never slept.

  Half an hour later, he peeled the yellow wrapper off his third cheeseburger as he stared at the Meridian Hotel. It was the last on the short list of hotels he’d compiled in the immediate area surrounding the Conquistador, and for good reason.

  Even he’d balked at paying so much for a suite on an unscheduled vacation, and for the most part, he saw money as a commodity meant to be freely spent. If he’d shied away from the Meridian, there was no way in hell Rachel would’ve ponied up.

  But if she were desperate…

  Chewing and swallowing the burger in three big
bites, he shoved the wrapper in his pocket and charged up the steps to the looping pathway leading into the hotel. He got quite a few looks from the doorman -- probably because his shirt was littered with crumbs -- but he paid him no mind as he strode to the inlaid cherry front counter. Blinking against the glittery light from the chandelier directly above the desk, he explained the situation to a petite, unsmiling brunette.

  His version of the situation anyway.

  She refused to tell him if Rachel was booked there, so he removed his ID from his wallet. He wasn’t above using whatever he had at his disposal, and a little name-dropping usually loosened even the most rigidly clasped lips.

  Not this time.

  But he pressed on, scanning the brunette for any flicker of recognition. He knew it was likely Rachel had checked in under an alias so he couldn’t find her. Years of friendship helped him guess at possible combinations of names she’d choose, but nothing hit until, at a loss, he latched upon the last name that popped into his head.

  “Rose Dawson. Try that.”

  The brunette glanced at her terminal and tapped a few keys. But even as she shook her head, dismissing him once again, he saw the shift in her hazel eyes. Bingo.

  Apparently, OD’ing on Titanic had finally paid off.

  Smiling, Shawn pushed away from the counter. “Thanks. Have a great night.”

  He didn’t head up to her room or camp out in the spacious lobby to wait her out. Wouldn’t be necessary. He stepped back into the night, the victory he smelled sweeter than any french fries.

  A short while later, he called the hotel. Luckily the woman who answered was more obliging and offered Rose Dawson’s room number as soon as he asked.

  Now that he knew where Rachel was, he needed to act quickly before Ryan Halston got his grubby hands on his woman. What he had in mind involved two things.

  A strawberry shake. And handcuffs.

  Rachel dined on lobster and a fresh greens salad at the Meridian’s five-star restaurant and finished her meal with two glasses of exquisite white wine. Afterward, she decided to bump her adventure up a notch by going dancing at one of the “slamming” clubs in midtown.