Against the Odds

by Donna Kauffman

  Mig shook his head. “Not me, buddy boy.” He pushed through the lobby door. “Too much cake out there waiting to be sampled.”

  Tucker shrugged and said, “Well, I guess not all of us can find our own personal bakery.”

  Mig chuckled as they slid into his car. “How true, how true.” Then he shook his head as he pulled out into traffic and muttered, “Lucky bastard.”

  Tucker thought that pretty well summed up how he felt at the moment. Fascinating work to be done and an even more fascinating woman to go home to. It didn’t get much better than that. So maybe the time had finally come for him to put up or shut up. Pursue the job lead here. Leave Canyon Springs behind. Go after what he wanted instead of waiting for it to come to him. But what about Misty? How did he make that work?

  “Whenever you get done daydreaming, we’ve got a case to discuss.”

  Tucker glanced over at Mig. “Hey, I’m just an unpaid consultant here. You only get to badger the hired help.”

  Mig shot him a look. “We’re trying to arrange that.”

  Tucker looked back out at the passing city landscape, realizing the decision had already been made. He’d make it all work. Somehow. “Well, I might let you.”

  Mig slapped his thigh and chuckled. “Got ya.”

  Tucker let his grin widen, but kept his eyes on the scenery. “Looks that way.”

  MISTY WAS SITTING in a restaurant in Tucker’s hotel, scribbling notes, when he pulled out the chair across from her.

  “Sorry, I know I’m a bit late.”

  “No problem.” She didn’t look up right away, wanting to get her complete train of thought transcribed to paper first. To Tucker’s credit, he didn’t interrupt her, waiting patiently until she was done. She slapped the pen on her notebook and looked up at him. If she hadn’t already felt a bit breathless with the incredible flow of creativity pouring through her, one look at him would have done it. “The hell with lunch,” she said, enjoying that she didn’t have to censor herself with him, in thought or deed, “I’ll just eat you.”

  He responded with a grin that only served to sharpen her hunger.

  “Maybe we should have called for room service rather than eat down here in the restaurant,” she said.

  “We keep trying to eat out. One of these days we might make it through an entire meal before we need some privacy.”

  Misty smiled and flipped her notebook shut. “Or semi-privacy, as the case may be. But no stairwells today.”

  Tucker pretended to pout. “What about car sex?”

  “You don’t have a car. And I draw the line with taxis. Besides,” she reminded him, “you said you didn’t want to mess around with me in public transportation.”

  “But cars are okay?” He tapped his chin in contemplation. “What about limos? With tinted windows.”

  “Only if that includes the one between driver and passengers.”

  “Spoilsport.”

  She shrugged, unrepentant. “I am spoiled. I don’t like to share.”

  “And yet, who pulled who into the stairwell?”

  “Ah, the chance of discovery is entirely different than having a built-in audience. And it’s whom.”

  “Writers.”

  “Can be such a pain, I know.”

  “Funny, I only seem to recall the pleasure.” He closed his eyes and groaned appreciatively.

  Misty glanced around, but no one was paying them a bit of attention. Not that it would have mattered. Not with Tucker. Something about him, about the way he took care with her, and yet whose desire for her seemed almost uncontrollable…it was a potent combination. She found she trusted him, even as the edge they danced on every time they were with each other got sharper and sharper.

  “Well, in exchange for picking on your grammar, you can dazzle me with your investigative prowess. I have some questions.”

  “And here I thought it was my other prowess you were dazzled with.”

  She could have told him quite honestly that she was as attracted to his mind as she was to his body. But seeing as he knew just how attracted to his body she was, that could be a dangerous admission to make. “I plan to make good use of both,” she said, a sly smile curving her lips. “Unless you have any objections.”

  He raised his hands. “None at all.” He folded his elbows on the table and leaned forward, motioning to her notebook with his chin. “So, I see the wheels have been spinning furiously while I’ve been gone.”

  She beamed. She couldn’t help it. There was nothing quite like the rush that came when a new story was coming together. “I haven’t felt this excited in a long time.”

  “You were pretty excited last night.”

  She merely raised an eyebrow. “Ha ha. But I was referring to my work. I enjoy it, but as I said before, I’ve found it more difficult of late to find new inspiration.” She laughed. “I never thought it would be murder that would solve that particular problem.”

  He reached for her hand, picked it up, toyed with her fingers. “Sometimes the things we want the most show up in unexpected ways.”

  She stilled then, focused on his direct gaze, the feel of his fingers brushing hers. It was all rather exquisite, and made her want to believe what she was reading into his words. She slid her hand away before she said something foolish. “It certainly did this time,” she responded, quite honestly.

  Tucker seemed to take her cue and returned his attention to her notes. “So, are you setting the crime in your book in Las Vegas?”

  She nodded. “And it will involve a resort something like Blackstone’s, only entirely fictional.” She smiled. “I can take creative license that way.”

  His grin made the corners of his eyes crinkle. “And I think I can say your readers will thank you for it.”

  “Can you now?”

  Tucker lifted a small plastic bag onto the table. She hadn’t noticed it when he’d arrived because she’d still been jotting down her thoughts. “I believe I can, seeing as I am one now.” He pulled out her most recent novel, Hot House; an oversized, slender paperback that featured a crush of white orchids with a string of black pearls nestled in the center. He flipped it open to a page near the beginning. “I like Rosalie.”

  Misty wasn’t quite sure how she felt about this. She was proud of her work and never apologized for the frankness of her stories. She enjoyed the letters she got from her readers, enjoyed knowing she’d brought them pleasure, or just a few hours of escape. But that was all rather abstract. It was another thing entirely to be seated across a table from a man she’d been more intimate with than any other, knowing he’d read her words. Which, especially in the case of Rosalie, was like reading her personal journal.

  And yet, wasn’t that why she was with him? To explore those fantasies for real? Wasn’t it easier if he knew, up front, what it was she desired?

  Like he hasn’t already figured that out, she thought, then tried not to smile. With Tucker, what she desired was pretty much anything he wanted to do with her…to her.

  “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he said, breaking the sudden silence. “I really enjoyed what I’ve read so far. You’ve made Rosalie someone to care about.” He grinned. “I’m hoping she ends up with Del, though.”

  Surprised out of her thoughts, she glanced up at him. “Really? Why? He’s obviously not the type who would be there for her in the long haul. He’s strictly—”

  “Short term? Someone for her to learn with, but not good enough to stay with?”

  She propped her elbows on the table, rested her chin on folded hands. “I don’t know about good enough. She doesn’t think in those terms. But do you really think he’d stick around? He doesn’t want that kind of commitment.”

  Tucker tugged her hands free, pulled them both across the table, tracing circles in her palms as he held her gaze. “Oh, I think he does. He just doesn’t know it yet.”

  Misty felt her heart stutter. Surely he was talking about her book. About Del and Rosalie. Not about them.
r />   “So, am I right?” he asked. “Does she end up with him?”

  He was right, and gauging from where the page was turned, he’d made his assumption very early into the story. “You’ll have to finish the story, find out.” She managed a light smile. “That’s what makes a story successful, when you have to keep turning the pages.”

  “Oh, I’ll finish it. And the others.”

  “Others?”

  “They had four of your titles in stock. I got them all.”

  She blushed, truly flattered. “Thank you. I’d have sent you copies, you know.”

  “And I would have appreciated it. But when I want something, I usually don’t wait to go after it.”

  She felt her body tighten at the message she saw clearly signaled in his dark eyes. Surely she wasn’t misreading any of this. She cleared her throat. “Why did you pick Hot House to start with?”

  “I started reading while I was waiting in line.” He shrugged and smiled. “I was hooked.”

  She flushed again. It was always wonderful to hear a person enjoyed the words she worked so hard to put together. But with Tucker, it was more than merely gratifying. It was personally satisfying. Deeply so. He’d become personal, intimate, with far more than her body. He’d made it clear last night that he wanted more. He’d even told her before this whole thing began that he was going to push…and that she was going to want him to. And he’d been right.

  But how far did she want this to go?

  Last night, he’d been on the verge of telling her what he was feeling, but then he’d found those cords. And they’d ended up laughing and teasing, their lovemaking more playful than serious. They’d fallen asleep and when she’d awoken, he’d been gone, leaving a note promising he’d return quickly.

  Now, here they were, having lunch. Talking shop instead of sex. And she knew she wanted that much, to get to know him better, learn more about him. But most of all, she wanted to know what he’d meant last night.

  More what?

  “And I’ve added a few things to my ‘want to try’ list,” Tucker added, flipping through the pages.

  He was so damn sexy when his eyes flashed like that. Misty smiled, realizing that she didn’t have to ask him to explain what “more” he wanted. All she had to do was keep taking the next step. They’d figure out where they were headed when they got there. “I’m almost afraid to ask.”

  “And I’m beginning to think you’re really not afraid of much of anything.” Before she could respond, he flipped to another page near the end and turned the book around, pointing to a paragraph with a blunt-tipped finger.

  She didn’t look down—she knew exactly what went on at that point of the story—but rather up at him. “I thought you started on page one?”

  “I did, after I bought it. I didn’t say which page it was that got me hooked.” He tapped the page. “You haven’t tried this, have you?”

  She felt an instantaneous spurt of heat between her legs as she envisioned Tucker doing to her what Del had been doing to Rosalie. She had to fight to keep from squirming. “No,” she managed. “No, I haven’t.”

  “Would you like to?”

  She held his gaze, felt a delicious sliver of anticipation snake its way through her system, then slowly nodded.

  His eyes flared and he snapped the book shut. “Me, too.” He shoved his chair back, barely giving her time to snatch up her pad and pen before pulling her along behind him. He stopped short a step later, turning back to her so that their bodies came right up onto one another. “I do have one question, though. Do they have to be real pearls?”

  12

  THEY FOUND A GIFT SHOP in the hotel lobby that sold long strands of colorful beaded necklaces. “Any particular color you want?” Tucker asked her, a downright wicked gleam in his eye.

  If she weren’t so incredibly turned on, she might have been embarrassed. As it was, she just wanted him to buy the damn things so they could head upstairs to his room. And put them to use. She shook her head, then said, “The blue ones.”

  Tucker just laughed and scooped up several strands and took them to the counter. He tossed two skinny packs of peanuts along with them. At her look of inquiry, he said, “Sustenance.”

  She merely nodded as the clerk rang up their items. If the young man suspected what they intended to do with their purchases, he didn’t show it. But then, Misty hadn’t looked him in the eye, so she wasn’t entirely sure.

  By the time they finally paid and left the store, she was aching to start this next adventure. But when she headed in the direction of the elevators, Tucker tugged on her hand and pulled her toward the front revolving lobby doors instead.

  “Where are we—?” She stopped short and gasped as she spied what was idling by the curb. “You didn’t. How did you—?”

  Tucker waved the driver back into the car and bowed as he opened the back door of the sleek, black stretch limo himself.

  “When did you arrange this?” Misty asked, stunned.

  Tucker winked at the bell captain, who gave him a little nod and wave, then he helped her into the luxurious interior.

  Misty swallowed her surprise and slid along what had to be a mile of soft black leather until she was on the far side of the car. Tucker climbed in behind her, his long legs making the roomy interior suddenly much more close and intimate.

  A small center panel in the solid partition separating them from the driver slid open. “Where to, sir?”

  “Just drive around town. We want to see the sights.”

  “Thank you, sir.” And the panel whispered shut. A moment later the car pulled away from the curb.

  Misty was still trying to gather her wits when Tucker opened a small console and pulled out a bottle of champagne. “Shall we?”

  “It’s only one o’clock in the afternoon.”

  “And?”

  And she couldn’t believe he’d managed all this. They’d gone straight from the restaurant to the gift shop. He’d only gone back to pick up his— “So that’s when you arranged this. Mr. I-left-my-bag-by-the-table.”

  “I did leave my bag. The rest was sort of spur-of-the-moment.” He slid closer, still holding the champagne bottle. “We can just see the sights, Misty.”

  She looked at him, thought about the purchase they just made, about the reason behind that purchase…and then scoped out the rather roomy interior. “A small glass won’t hurt.”

  Tucker grinned and worked the cork until it popped. “Oh, I wasn’t thinking we’d use any glasses.”

  She just squirmed in her seat.

  “Come and get it,” he taunted, then took a small swig from the bottle and pulled her head to his.

  Misty kissed him, tasting the tart zing of the sparkling wine on his lips. She wanted more, so she slipped her tongue into his mouth, and enjoyed the rush of just how delectable a champagne Tucker kiss could be. The heady mix of wine along with the anticipation of what else he was offering her had her taking the kiss deeper, had her pushing him back along the leather seat. She straddled him and lifted the bottle from his hand. “My turn.”

  Tucker watched her as she took a sip from the bottle, then leaned in for a wet, warm champagne kiss of her own. He groaned as he pulled her deep into his mouth, but she was already moving away, tugging his shirt from his waistband with her free hand. He shifted, helped her, and the polo shirt was gone, leaving all that wonderful, smooth plane of his bared chest for her to do with what she pleased. And she pleased a great deal.

  Another sip, only this time she leaned over and ran a fizzy-wet tongue around his nipple, then the other. She was very gratified with his intake of breath, the way he tightened beneath her tongue, the way his hips began to move as she shifted her weight back and moved lower. Another sip, and this time she dipped her tongue into his navel.

  “Dear God,” he breathed.

  She looked up at him, all innocence and wonder. “Is this what you had in mind?”

  “Actually, I thought I’d be the one—” He broke
off when she slipped his belt loose and unfastened the waistband of his khakis. “But I’m all for spontaneity,” he finished, jaw clenched as she worked his pants and briefs down along his hips.

  Another sip, then a sharp gasp from him as she took him into her chilled, fizz-filled mouth. He bucked hard against her, but she kept him inside her mouth, enjoying immensely the feel of him growing even harder as she worked her tongue around him. Immense being a key word in more than one way.

  She released him, much to his vocal dismay, then tucked the bottle in the convenient little holder in the center console…and picked up the gift shop bag.

  Tucker managed to open his eyes at that point, but he said nothing. Watching her with a glittering dark gaze as she slipped out one long strand of gold beads and let the rest fall to the floor, still inside the bag. Straddling his calves she slipped the beads through her fingers…and licked her lips. Tucker’s visible shudder made her feel downright invincible. “This is quite lovely you know, seeing the sights. I’m certainly enjoying them,” she said, running her gaze slowly over every inch of him. Some inches more than once.

  “Yeah.” His voice was taut, hoarse. He throbbed and twitched as she continued to slip the beads from one palm to another. “Best idea I’ve ever had.”

  They were in their own private little world, the real one blocked out with tinted windows and privacy screens…and yet the thrum of the city was right outside. She hadn’t forgotten that. In fact, the very idea made this entire escapade that much more thrilling. Which she assumed was exactly what he had in mind. However, and she grinned quite wickedly as she thought this, she was fairly certain he hadn’t expected her to take charge. Which was what made doing so all the more fun.

  Her heroines always took charge…in their day-today lives. Which was why, when she got them into the hands of their lovers, invariably taking charge was the last thing she allowed them. It was precisely that element of pleasure that she’d wanted to experience at Blackstone’s. Men never minded when you took charge, but it was another matter entirely to trust them with taking complete charge of you. And she meant complete. And trust was only part of it.