Hot Sheets

by Jeanie London

  "I changed my mind," she said simply.

  "Now, after I've left town? How the hell did you reconcile our differences?"

  "Do you mean declining to date you when you asked?"

  He nodded.

  "The limited time frame of the grand opening solves the problem, don't you think?"

  He looked skeptical. "One of them, maybe. I'm leaving in three weeks, so there'll be no question about commitment."

  "Problem solved then. As long as we're clear on what we want from each other."

  "I know what I want from you, Laura. I've always known." His dark, silky tone promised enough bare skin and killer orgasms to send a shiver through her. "What exactly do you want from me?"

  "I want to be your lover." She gave his words back to him, needing to give as good as she got, that familiar feeling rising up like it always did with him, that.. .need to do something to catch his attention, to make him notice her.

  "Really?" He arched an inky brow. "You wouldn't go on a date with me because you don't do flings and I'm not the man of your dreams."

  Now he shot her long-ago words back to her with that deep, sexy voice, his gaze holding hers so steadily that she could feel the effects low in her belly. "Can't a girl change her mind?"

  "What made you change it?"

  "You're the man of my fantasies." She watched his reaction flash across his handsome face. His nostrils flared. His jaw tightened. His whole body tensed. "It's this chemistry between us, Dale. It drove me crazy while you were here. I thought after you left I'd get over it" She shrugged. "Read my invitation. It's all there. I haven't been able to stop thinking about you."

  His eyes bored into her as if demanding her truths, questioning, not quite daring to believe his sudden good fortune.

  "Three weeks in this suite seemed like the perfect opportunity to get this chemistry out of the way…unless you don't want me."

  "You know better."

  The heat was pooling really low now, potent enough to make her take drastic action. Okay, so she'd have to convince him. Fair enough. She'd gone from red-hot to ice-cold when he'd asked her on a date so long ago.

  Turning away, she opened the hall closet and slipped off her jacket "I have to be back downstairs for dinner at seven."

  Here was another perfect opportunity, this one designed to convince him that she was serious about wanting a fling. Swinging her braid over her shoulder, she unfastened the button at her nape.

  "Did you tell Annabelle to chase off my date?" he asked.

  Laura shook her head While she might earn brownie points if he thought she'd masterminded the deal, she couldn't lie. Especially not when she still had pangs about the woman leaving.

  "I only sent Annabelle to pick your brain. If you came in alone she was supposed to find out if you were expecting a date. If not, she could give you my invitation. If you arrived with someone, she was supposed to tear up my invitation and swallow the pieces so there wouldn't be any evidence."

  He laughed. That husky-edged sound rippled through her but Laura still didn't look at him. It was easier to be calm, cool and courageous when she wasn't on the end of that gaze. Much, much easier.

  Time to level the playing field.

  Unfastening her skirt, Laura let it slip to the floor, leaving her standing in a shell, panty hose and practical pumps.

  "What the hell are you doing, Laura?"

  "I'm convincing you I'm serious about wanting a fling."

  After their long business affiliation, undressing in front of this man was beyond outrageous. But as much as she wanted to see his reaction, she refused to let him see how important his reaction was to her. She hung her skirt on a hanger, instead.

  "How can I be the man of your fantasies but not the man of your dreams?" He sounded unconvinced. "Please explain the difference to me."

  His voice had lowered another sexy octave and Laura fought to keep her calm, as if stripping in front of an attractive man was a commonplace occurrence. "The man of my fantasies is a man I can enjoy myself with. When it's over, it's over. We both go our separate ways and take away some pleasant memories."

  She tried not to wax too poetic when she said, "The man of my dreams is the man I want to share my life with. He'll be someone with similar values who wants similar things from life. He'll share some of my interests and be willing to explore new ones that we can share together. He'll bring out the best in me and I'll do the same for him."

  Dale's snort sounded less than amused, so Laura placed the hanger in the closet and chanced a peek at him.

  The frown darkening his expression warned her a storm was brewing so she wasn't entirely unprepared when he arched a brow and asked, "How do you know what I want from my life? I don't recall ever having that conversation with you. Or one about values, either."

  She forced a laugh, unsure why she'd offended him. "You're a bad boy, Dale. The man of my dreams won't be."

  "Define bad boy."

  "The guys who drive fast cars and chase faster women."

  "This is your opinion of me? Based on what? I behaved exemplarily while I was on this property."

  He sounded so indignant that she had to swallow back a real laugh. "That may be the case, Dale, but let me point out that you can't help flirting no matter how young or old a woman might be. I don't think you'll deny that."

  His frown morphed into a scowl. But on the up side, his heated gaze kept dipping from her face, and she thought he might have noticed that she didn't wear panties under her pantyhose.

  "Flirting doesn't make me a degenerate."

  "I never said degenerate. I said bad boy. There's nothing wrong with bad boys but they don't stay forever. They like skirting the edges and pushing the limits. They like being challenged."

  "This is bad?"

  "Not at all. It can be perfectly exciting in a lover. But the man of my dreams won't work a job where he travels all over the world for extended periods of time—"

  "Sounds like you have a problem with my job, not me."

  "I don't have a problem with either," she clarified patiently. "I just didn't want to complicate our working relationship when you weren't what I was looking for in a man. It's not that I'm opposed to a fling per se, but a fling is meant to be short We've been working on this project for two years and much of that time we were on this property together."

  She wouldn't mention her own concerns about mixing sex and romance. They would undoubtedly send this man running.

  "I find it interesting that the woman who single-handedly masterminded the Wedding Wing and the Naughty Nuptials, a woman who is the biggest romantic idealist I've ever met, and I've met my share of women, believe me—"

  She certainly did!

  "—can be so cold-bloodedly pragmatic about her own love life."

  "What's cold-blooded? I know what I want and don't want to waste my time heading down roads that'll take me where I don't want to go."

  "How do you know where a road will take you unless you go for a spin on it?"

  He visibly struggled to keep his gaze on her face, so she propped a shoulder against the wall, folded her arms across her chest and hooking her ankles in a would-be casual pose that let him view her in all her full frontal glory.

  His gaze dropped again.

  "I've looked at the map, Dale. I know exactly where you'd take me—straight into bed. Then after the ride, you'd beep your horn, wave good-bye and not look in the rearview mirror. You would have shown up for work the next day as if nothing had happened between us. I just wasn't comfortable with that."

  "You've looked at the map? What the hell does that mean?"

  He didn't refute her charges, and that only reinforced what Laura already knew—Dale Emerson might be a dyed-in-the-wool bad boy, but there was honor beneath his fast grins and charming words. He wouldn't lie. Not even he could deny he was trouble on two very nice legs.

  "It means I've looked at some of your past rides and they've confirmed my opinion." She hadn't meant to reveal that lit
tle tidbit but if he needed proof… "I did some homework before I wrote my invitation."

  "You checked out the women I dated while I was in town?"

  "Yes."

  He tossed the invitation onto an end table as if it suddenly burned his fingers. "Enlighten me."

  "My pleasure." But first…a distraction. Dragging the hem of her silk shell upward, Laura stretched, another provocative move that was rewarded by a quick intake of breath. She schooled her smile before the blouse cleared her face.

  "I heard that you had such a hot love life you could only date women who didn't live in Niagara Falls proper so you wouldn't damage your reputation."

  "My former dates are talking about me?"

  "No, Dale. They're bragging."

  That stopped him. His expression went blank, and his mouth popped open enough to show a glint of teeth before he rallied, "Bragging? About what?"

  "About what a studmuffin you are in bed," she informed him pleasantly. "From what I hear you can come four times a night and bring a woman to pleasure twice that number."

  His scowl reappeared in force now, but he didn't dispute the claims, or agree, for that matter. Laura got the distinct impression he didn't know what to say, which came as another surprise. She'd meant to stroke his ego, had thought he'd be pleased to know his past lovers regarded him so highly.

  Obviously not.

  "How do you even know who I dated, Laura? I never visited the same town twice."

  "You're in western New York, my friend. Mountains and valleys and miles do not equal anonymity."

  "Apparently not."

  He sounded so annoyed that she couldn't help but take pity on him. "I'm serious about wanting a fling, Dale. If it didn't work out during the grand opening, then I considered taking a much-deserved vacation to California to look you up. You sounded worth the trip."

  He gave a grunt of disgust.

  She smiled. "According to my research, you dated six women during the time you worked on the Wedding Wing. All six had rave reviews. That's something to be proud of."

  "Except that I thought I was on good behavior because I was the senior project architect on this job."

  "Oh." Pushing away from the wall, Laura headed toward the bedroom to retrieve her dinner dress and give him a performance along the way. "Case closed, Dale. You're a bad boy."

  Chapter Three

  Laura continued to the bedroom closet, attempting to calm her pulse and reevaluate her strategy. She'd guessed that Dale would want an explanation about her change of heart, but she hadn't expected quite so much wariness about her offer. To be fair, she supposed that being a five-star Mr. Charming didn't necessarily mean he was careless about who he jumped into bed with.

  She'd honestly never meant to imply that his actions were degenerate. She'd intended to compliment his prowess, reinforce her reasons for wanting a fling. But he'd seemed so surprised by her revelations about his past dates that she wondered if he'd expected her to crawl into bed with him without at least peeking at his history. That sort of negligence would have been reckless. Laura might be a lot of things—a romantic idealist among them—but she wasn't reckless.

  She'd decided to switch gears and veer off the respectable relationship track, and while she knew Dale from work, she didn't know much about his personal life. She'd looked into it. Plain and simple.

  Her choice of dates for the Naughty Nuptials would reflect on Falling Inn Bed during what was intended to be a media circus. Her choice in attire would reflect on the inn, too, so she selected a blue crochet dress and a pair of kid-skin slingbacks. Simple, tasteful and elegant Heading back into the living room, she avoided Dale's gaze and hung the dress in the hall closet.

  She'd answered his questions and given him a sneak preview of what she had to offer with the removal of her suit He would make the next move. He'd either accept her offer or turn her down. If he turned her down, she'd simply dress for dinner as if changing in front of him had been nothing more than a necessity of time constraints. She'd pretend to have some dignity left.

  Dale still hadn't said a word. Maybe he needed more time to decide. Maybe she'd just surprised him. Maybe he still didn't trust her. But whatever his reasoning, she began to feel naked and didn't like the feeling at all.

  Just as she reached for her dress, she heard him get up. Glancing over her shoulder, she found him heading toward her, his expression nothing short of purposeful.

  Now here was a look she'd never seen before. Gone was the professional who'd strategized and problem solved the design and construction of the Wedding Wing. Gone was the easy, smiling man she'd gotten to know while working together, a man who flirted as naturally as he breathed. And gone was the surprised, moody man she'd met only moments before.

  This Dale Emerson had a fierce determination about him as he drew near, his long-legged strides powerful, his presence almost aggressive as he closed the distance between them.

  Catching her in front of the closet, he moved behind her, and she braced herself, thinking he might whisper in her ear or kiss her cheek. Her whole body tensed expectantly, a boneless gathering of muscle as she stood poised and ready to react.

  But he simply placed his hand above her head and slid the closet door shut, showcasing them in the full-length mirror. She lifted her gaze to the reflection of his face, a face that had lost much of its familiarity up close. Or perhaps all her bare skin was to blame.

  Here was a man reputed to bring women pleasure. And from the way one look from him stoked the spark inside her to a flame, he'd earned his reputation with good reason.

  He looked purposeful while she looked surprised. Laura thought she'd nailed this man for who he was, but soon realized that knowing Dale was a charmer and experiencing the effects of his charm were two distinctly different things.

  Slipping his arms around her in a whipcord motion, he dragged her backward. She gasped as she came in full contact with his body. His broad chest surrounded her, his muscular thighs molded her backside. A rock-hard erection rode in the small of her back, and just as casually as he pleased, he rested his chin on the top of her head and met her gaze in the mirror.

  "You feel good. I knew you would."

  The breezy observation made her stomach swoop wildly. She could feel his every hard inch against her and relished how good he felt.

  "But can Ms. Romantic Idealist really handle a fling?"

  She understood why he might raise the question. Except for the bare skin, she really didn't look the part of a woman used to flings. Panty hose. Practical pumps. Nothing-special bra.

  If she'd honestly believed Dale would arrive without a date, she might have dressed for a seduction. But her chances had been slim at best. Without Annabelle's help, she'd have been attending three weeks of events with Adam, who would much rather deal with erotic events from the outside looking in.

  "I can handle you, Dale," she said, sounding very sure of herself. "Just because I declined a fling, doesn't mean I can't manage one. I'm a big girl."

  "Yes, you are."

  As if to prove the point, he dragged his hands up her ribs, a deliberate motion showcased in the mirror, visually erotic.

  "So, Laura What did you want to know about me? Were you interested in my stamina or did you ask my former dates for details?" The smoke in his gaze rode out on his voice so there was no missing that details meant sexy details.

  "I wasn't so…specific."

  "No? You didn't want to know how I would touch you to make you come so many times in a night?" He arched a dark brow. "Or what I like to do to make me come?"

  Damn if a blush didn't start creeping up from her breasts like the sunrise, the downside to her fair skin that she couldn't stop once it started. And she knew exactly what he was trying to do…well, not trying, doing, given the way her blush deepened.

  He tested her, challenged her, because even though he touched her, he hadn't accepted her offer yet.

  "Actually, Dale." He was about to find out that she was made of st
erner stuff than he gave her credit for. "Your former dates were all so thrilled with your performances that they offered the information without much inducement."

  "I'm glad I've left behind some happy women, but I much prefer to think about you asking for intimate details. Don't you want to know what I like to do in bed?"

  "I'd like to find out for myself."

  He chuckled, and his fingers began a slow glide down her neck. This was no tentative exploration. His hands pressed into her skin until she could feel a heat radiating downward, making her breasts grow heavy and her nipples stand at attention.

  Yet Laura couldn't ignore that…something underlying his provocative manner. Something that hinted at how unexpected her revelations, and her opinion of him, had been.

  "Does it bother you that I talked to those women?"

  "Why should it?"

  "I don't know," she replied silkily, even though the flush in her cheeks made a lie of her nonchalance. "I wouldn't want you to worry that a romantic idealist like me would set my sights too high and wind up disappointed."

  That lethal grin kicked up the corners of his mouth, and he gave a laugh. "Never fear, lovely Laura. I'll live up to my press. Don't give that a second thought."

  He nuzzled his face against hers, his smile still in place, and his faintly stubbled cheek abraded her skin, a simple touch that ignited her nerve endings everywhere.

  "I don't doubt it, Dale, and I won't have any trouble handling you, either."

  "Then I'll be your bad boy for the grand opening. If that's what you want from me."

  "It is."

  His gaze never left hers as he pressed an openmouthed kiss to the juncture between neck and shoulder. "I've wanted to be bad with you for a long time. We're going to be bad together, Laura. Very bad."

  That heat roared inside, and Laura caught a breath that made her chest rise and fall sharply. She could still see that smile where his mouth dragged against her skin.

  "You like that."

  "I do."

  There was an incredible unreality about the moment. Sensory overload from the feel of his mouth, the sight of his dark head poised over her, the promise in those smoky eyes.