One Hot Escape (Hot Brits Book 4)

by Anna Durand

  I get up and find my bikini, then put it on and slip the gauzy shirt on over it. Now I'm at least presentable when I walk back to my room on the discount side of the resort building. Richard paid for one of the luxury suites, which makes me wonder if he's rich. Or maybe the company he works for gave him a luxury vacation as thanks for his hard work.

  Yeah, right. Employers do that so often.

  Maybe his family gave him a Caribbean vacation as a present, but none of that matters because I will never see him again.

  I hunt around for a few more minutes until I find my sandals, then I slide my feet into them and head for the door, swinging it open.

  A woman with dark, curly hair yelps. She's standing right outside the door holding a keycard in her hand like she was about to open the door herself. Since she's wearing a maid's uniform, I figure this isn't another woman Richard seduced during his stay here.

  "Sorry," I say. "Didn't mean to scare you. I was just leaving."

  "Don't worry," she says in her lovely Caribbean accent. "I'm used to meeting guests while they're sneaking out of someone else's room."

  I don't take offense because she doesn't sound annoyed or disgusted. She sounds like she's had this same experience many times before. And she smiles, which makes me feel less like last night's lover who got caught by the maid.

  "Have a good morning," I say while I hurry away.

  An hour later, I've changed into jeans and a nice top, with spiffy sandals instead of my beach-appropriate ones. I've also availed myself of the huge breakfast buffet downstairs. Now, I'm back in my room on the second floor trying to figure out what to do for fun today. Sitting on the bed cross-legged, I flip through the mountain of brochures I grabbed from the racks in the lobby and try to decide where to start. Parasailing? I mentioned that to Richard, but the truth is that I have a problem with heights, so it's probably not a great idea. Snorkeling? Yeah, I can handle that. See the fishies, explore a coral reef…

  Someone knocks on the door three times.

  Maybe it's a maid coming to tidy up my room. I hope it's not the same maid who caught me sneaking out of that luxury suite.

  I drop the brochure I've been perusing and climb off the bed. Some of the brochures slide off onto the floor, so I sweep them up in my hands and dump them on the bedspread with the others.

  The impatient person outside my door knocks again, three more times.

  "Coming," I holler as I race to the door and yank it open.

  My heart skips a beat. Seriously, it does. I never thought anybody's heart really did that unless they had an arrhythmia, but mine does. A tingle of excitement sweeps over me from head to toe, awakening every hair on my body.

  "Good morning," Richard Cornelius Hunter says.

  I gape at him like an idiot. Why is he here? One night only, he said, but now he's standing at my door smiling in his hot British way. Last night, that same smile provoked me to strip naked and practically beg him to do me. Not that I feel like stripping right now. Well, maybe a little bit. He does look thoroughly lickable in khaki pants and a mint green polo shirt. When we met yesterday, he had a shadow beard. When I showed up at his suite, he'd shaved. Today, his morning stubble gives him that mysteriously sexy aura, so yeah, I absolutely do want to tear my clothes off and beg him to fuck me.

  But I will not do that. No way. A pragmatic researcher does not do things like that.

  The me who slept with this guy does not get a say in the matter.

  "Are you all right?" he asks. He tugs at his shirt collar. "I shouldn't have come. You don't want to see me again, do you? Of course not. I told you it was a one-off, so—"

  "Please stop babbling. It's cute, but you have no reason to be nervous." His nervousness is completely adorable and makes me want to throw my arms around him and kiss him, but statistically, there's no advantage to telling him so. "Why are you here, anyway? Not that I mind. I'm confused is all."

  "I, ah…" He hunches his shoulders and gives me an almost shy smile. "I wanted to see you again. You're sweet and sexy, and the hours I spent with you were the best time I've had in years. I'm not ready for it to be over yet. I wondered if you might feel the same way."

  "Yes, I do."

  "Brilliant!" He almost shouts that word, grinning like a kid who won a giant bag of candy in a raffle. Though I know he's forty, thanks to my snooping, he's not acting like a mature man right now. "May I come in, then?"

  "Oh sure, yeah." I move out of the way so he can walk inside the room. "I don't have a mega-suite like yours or the fantastic view you've got, but it's plenty comfy in here."

  "I don't care what your room looks like." He glances around. "It's quite nice, actually."

  "Thanks." Why am I thanking him like I own this room or something? I didn't decorate it. The niceness of my room is down to the resort owners and the staff who keep it clean and tidy. "Would you like to sit down?"

  "Have you eaten breakfast yet?"

  "Yeah, I have."

  "Oh." He sighs, his shoulders flagging. "I think I will sit down, then."

  We settle onto the small sofa—a love seat, really—with no more than six inches between us. He scratches his arm. I bite my lip. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something but shuts it. I tap my fingers on my leg.

  "This is silly," I say. "We can talk to each other. We've done that before. It shouldn't be weird just because, um…"

  "We had sex all night long?"

  "Exactly."

  He twists his lip to one side, then the other, while looking everywhere but at me. "Maybe sitting wasn't the right choice."

  And he jumps up, shoving his hands in his pockets.

  I get up too and set my hands on his chest. "Relax. I'm not about to declare I'm pregnant and demand you marry me. Let's go for a walk or something. If you haven't eaten, we could stop off at the buffet along the way. I wouldn't mind eating a little more papaya."

  He aims his sapphire eyes at me. "I want more time with you, that's all. We don't need to have sex again unless you want that. I definitely want it, but I have no expectations."

  "I would love to spend more time with you." Rising onto my toes, I wrap my arms around his neck. "Would a kiss be acceptable?"

  "Yes, I'd love that."

  He loops his arms around me and tugs my body closer. His mouth meets mine, and I can't stop myself from mashing my lips to his. He smells so good, thanks to what I'm sure is cologne or aftershave. The heady scent makes me want him even more, and I imagine him dragging me down onto that tiny sofa so we can screw each other mindless.

  But he doesn't even deepen the kiss. When he pulls away, our mouths hover close enough that his lips graze mine.

  I've still got my eyes closed, feeling dreamy and floaty and warm. "Mm, Richard."

  He stiffens against me. "Why did you call me that?"

  I wince and crack my lids open.

  The man who made love to me for hours last night is staring at me without blinking, his lips parted.

  "You mean why did I call you Richard?" I ask as a pathetic delaying tactic.

  "I never told you my name."

  "Right." I back away from him and clear my throat. "I, um, kind of snooped around while you were asleep last night. I couldn't stand not knowing your name, it was driving me insane, so I found your wallet and looked at your driver's license."

  His gaze narrows, and his mouth crimps.

  "I'm sorry," I rush to say. "It was wrong, I know. Never have I ever done anything like that. I've never had a one-nighter either, but I had no call to snoop to find out the name of the guy I slept with. I'm sorry. So, so, so sorry. If you want to leave, I understand."

  Richard Cornelius Hunter raises one brow, tilting his head to the side, and studies me for so long that I start to feel warm, though not in a pleasant way.

  "Are you okay?" I ask.

  Please don't turn into a psycho who's about to chainsaw me into a thousand pieces. Spend the night with an a
nonymous stranger? It sounded so hot yesterday, but now I'm seeing how stupid I've been. Should I look for something I can make into a weapon? Sure, because I'm MacGyver. Get a grip, Maddie.

  Richard slings an arm around me, hauls me into his body, and kisses me.

  Chapter Four

  Richard

  Yes, I'm kissing her—which must mean I'm barking mad. She tells me she nicked my wallet last night so she could learn my name, and I respond by fastening my mouth to hers. I'm also holding her warm, lush body to mine and relishing the way her breasts are crushed to my chest and the way she smells so bloody incredible, not to mention the way she tastes. I should be irritated by what she did, but instead, I feel aroused. I love that she wanted to know more about me and wanted it so badly that she resorted to espionage.

  Maybe she is a spy. Or maybe she's just a sexy, nosy American. Either way, her need to know my name makes me want to shag her.

  Of course, I have no right to get annoyed. I'm not entirely innocent either, and I experience a sudden impulse to tell her the truth. Peeling her body away from mine, I grasp her upper arms. "I have a confession too, Madeleine."

  Her eyes go wide for a second or two, then she shakes her head and curves her kissable lips into a knowing smile. "You snooped on me too. I didn't bring my purse or wallet to your suite, so I'm curious how you obtained that information."

  I love the way she talks, using more sophisticated words than most of my clients. They're supposed to be language experts, but too many of them write like twelve-year-olds. Madeleine is clever, for sure, but also elegant. She has an elegantly beautiful body for sure.

  "Well?" she says. "Are you going to confess or what?"

  "Yes, right." I can't make myself let go of her arms, since I love the feel of her silky skin under my palms. "I bribed the desk clerk to tell me your name. He wouldn't share your last name, though. All I know about you is that your first name is Madeleine, you're American, and you're a bloody brilliant shag."

  She laughs, holding a hand to her belly because she's laughing so hard. I think I see a bit of spittle flying from her lips.

  I release her arms. "Why is that so funny?"

  Madeleine manages to calm herself, though she needs to wipe tears from her eyes. "You did what I did. Here I thought I was the loony one skulking around in the dark to find out who you are, but you did the same thing. It was like our own little two-arm parallel assignment."

  What on earth is she on about? Strangely, not understanding a word she said makes me even more aroused. I've probably gone insane, so I should call a psychiatrist immediately. I don't, though. I'm too busy staring at the daft angel standing in front of me. "I have two arms, but I don't understand—"

  "A parallel assignment is when multiple groups of participants in a clinical trial each receive different treatments or interventions. A two-arm parallel assignment involves two groups." She points at me and then herself. "You and I are the two arms."

  "We're not treating ourselves with drugs." If she's on drugs, that would explain some of her behavior, but I don't believe she's high.

  "That was an analogy, and admittedly, not a great one. I say goofy things when I get nervous."

  "So do I, apparently. At least when I'm with you."

  Madeleine smiles again, and it's so disarming that I want to hug her. "That's so sweet. Thank you, Richard."

  "You're thanking me for being nervous around you? That's not the reaction I expected."

  She shrugs. "I usually do what everyone expects, but this vacation is my chance to do what I want. Being goofy is one of those things."

  "Was sleeping with a stranger on your list of unexpected things to do?"

  "Not at first," she says, and her smile becomes wickedly enticing. "But after I met you, yeah, I added that to the list."

  "I'm, ah, flattered." Like an idiot, I offer her my hand to shake. "We haven't been formally introduced. I'm—"

  "Richard Cornelius Hunter. Yeah, I know, it was on your driver's license." She accepts my hand, folding her fingers around it. "I'm Madeleine Louisa Solberg. The people I like the best call me Maddie."

  "And what do the people you don't like call you?"

  "Dr. Solberg, mostly."

  "I see." I don't, and I want to ask what sort of doctor she is, but first I need to tell her something else. It seems vitally important that I do. "The people I like the best call me Rick."

  "May I call you Rick?"

  "Please do." I met this woman yesterday and only learned her identity this morning, but I want her to call me Rick. I loved hearing her say "Richard," but I love it even more when she speaks my nickname. "May I call you Maddie?"

  "Absolutely. I mean, we had sex last night—lots of sex, in lots of different ways—so I think you've earned the right to call me Maddie."

  "I'm glad." I shove my hands into my trouser pockets. "What sort of doctor are you? Sorry. It's none of my business, is it?"

  "Sure it is. Why not? I know where you live, down to the street address, so it's only fair I give you a little info about me. I'm an epidemiologist, which means I study diseases and how they spread."

  A realization hits me, and I rewind our conversation to a moment ago when she introduced herself. "Did you say your last name is Solberg? One of my mates, Dane Dixon, is married to Rika Solberg. Now she's Rika Dixon, of course."

  Maddie flutters her eyelids like she can't believe what she's seeing—or hearing. "You know my little sister?"

  "Apparently I do."

  "That's an amazing coincidence. Not that I believe in things like that. It's pure chance." She puckers her lips, squinting like she's thinking hard. "Rika encouraged me to take a vacation. She and Dane paid for this trip and made all the arrangements for me. I remember my sister had wanted to set me up with some guy back before she and Dane got married, but it never worked out. You don't think…"

  "They also tried to set me up with a woman, but the timing was never right." I groan as I realize what must have happened. "The Dixons all knew I was coming here to meet with a client. Dane and his brothers encouraged me to extend my visit and make it a holiday. I decided yesterday to cut my stay short, though, and go home. Until I changed my mind about that this morning."

  "You've got to be kidding me. Did Dane and Rika arrange this?"

  "Well, I doubt they arranged for us to spend the night together, but they certainly organized events so you and I would be at the same resort at the same time."

  She throws her head back and growls. "My sister is in so much trouble."

  "The Dixon brothers are in trouble too." I rub my jaw, thinking about the situation. "If Dane Dixon and his wife paid for your holiday here, why didn't they get you a luxury suite?"

  "They did, but the resort overbooked. Some bigwig got first dibs on the suite I was supposed to have, so I wound up in this room. It's plenty nice."

  "I hope you got a refund for the extra cost."

  She rolls her eyes. "They gave me vouchers for free spa treatments and stuff."

  My stomach chooses this moment to grumble.

  Maddie glances at my belly. "We'd better get you some food, huh?"

  "Yes, I am very hungry." Though I'd offered to order room service last night, we'd both forgotten about that once the shagging started in earnest. The first time had been incredible, but after her trip to the bathroom, we had abandoned ourselves to the lust. "I owe you a meal. Since you already had breakfast, let me buy you lunch and dinner."

  "That's not necessary."

  "But I insist." I usher her toward the door. "I'd love to hear more about your job over breakfast."

  "Okay. What do you do for a living?"

  I pull the door shut and stop. Why do I feel anxious about telling her? Most people think my line of work sounds glamorous, but I'm worried Maddie might think it's tawdry. I'll need to tell her eventually since she told me about her job, so I force myself to say the words. "I own a publishing company in the UK."


  "That's amazing." She clasps my hand and starts down the hallway. "I want to hear all about it."

  "And I'll tell you—later."

  "Sure, whenever. Or don't tell me at all. It's not like we're dating." She casts me a sideways glance. "Are we?"

  "Well, I…have no fucking idea."

  Maddie laughs. "Me either. We'll figure it out together, hey?"

  "Yes, I suppose we will."

  I let her lead me onward, to wherever she wants me to go. I'll go anywhere with her. Why? Because she's beautiful, sexy, clever, and fantastic in bed. All good reasons, aren't they? Maybe I'm letting her take me away because I want to shag her again.

  Either way, wherever she's taking me, I hope there will at least be food.

  Chapter Five

  Maddie

  I stuff a cupcake into my mouth, tearing off half of it, and moan with a satisfaction deeper than anything I've experienced in years. Well, excluding last night. Not even the best dessert in the world could compare to the way Richard made me feel. Still, I haven't eaten any kind of dessert in a long time. The places I've traveled to usually don't have amenities of any kind, sometimes not even toilets.

  So I close my eyes and moan again while I consume the cupcake, then I stuff the other half into my mouth and do it all over again. God, I could almost climax from the satisfaction of consuming a sinfully delicious salted-caramel cupcake with buttery, caramel-y cream cheese frosting. The cake almost melts in my mouth, so silky and luscious, and the frosting delivers that extra boost of creamy decadence.

  Swallowing the last crumbs of it, I open my eyes.

  Richard's gaze is riveted to my mouth. He has his eyes half-closed while his tongue slides across his bottom lip like he's just eaten a luscious cupcake too.

  But he hasn't. My companion chose healthy breakfast choices like fruit cocktail and bran muffins. Honestly, how can a guy who spent all night doing naughty things to me be such a stickler for healthy eating? Sure, I told him I wanted more papaya. But once I spotted those cupcakes… Healthy dietary choices be damned. I hoped Richard would choose something more fun to eat too, like chocolate chip pancakes with whipped cream and maple syrup. But no, he wanted bran.