Double the Thrill

by Susan Kearney

  He spoke in a conversational tone with a hint of steel beneath. “I want you to think about me having free access to touching you. Whenever we meet again.”

  God. “You want me to stay aroused and wait for you? Are you nuts? Why should I do that? How do I know we’ll even see one another again or that next time you won’t disappoint me again?”

  “Because, as I think about you, I’ll be just as aroused and just as uncomfortable. And when we finally come together, it’ll be indescribable.”

  His words promised, persuaded and provoked. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Kiss him or kill him. But something had happened to her tonight. She wanted to explore her sexuality, see where he would take her. She had to take this journey. And after he’d admitted he wanted her as badly as she wanted him, her anger dissipated, leaving just the aftereffects of what he’d done to her—a pounding pulse, an accelerated heartbeat and a tension that gave her courage.

  “Okay.” She agreed to his terms, remembering Lane Morrow’s book and her claim that he’d taken her places she’d never been. Shown her sights she’d never seen. And even knowing that going along with him might be the most difficult experience of Toni’s life, she would never forgive herself if she walked away now.

  “You know what I need to do tonight?” he whispered in her ear as they left the restaurant.

  “What?” She expected him to tease her with more talk of sex, perhaps tell her how he intended to get ready for their next date.

  “I’ve got to write a few words about our evening together for tomorrow’s morning edition of the Louisiana Daily Herald to create your scandal. It might be easier to write if I knew why you wanted a sex scandal.”

  Toni grinned. “No one ever said life was easy.”

  ZANE TOOK TONI BACK TO the office with him, hoping she would fuel his creativity. The newspaper remained open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, and at this time of night, the building was mostly staffed with production people. Only a few reporters remained on shift.

  Zane escorted Toni up to the newly hired watchman who eyed her long legs with appreciation, but remained professional and asked them for identification and for Toni to sign in as a guest. Zane was gratified to see that his security detail followed the protocols he’d established, but he also realized that bringing Toni to the newspaper premises would make a statement to the employees that the boss had a new lady. She looked slightly sleepy-eyed, but sexy as all get-out in her little black dress and snappy heels. Gossip would fly and add fodder to the story he was about to write.

  Zane did nothing to hide his admiration of Toni. He hoped her lipstick had smudged on his neck. He hoped as they strolled through the building in their evening attire that employees would guess what they had been doing. Tomorrow, when the paper hit the streets, everyone would know.

  However, he’d heard Grey often talk about the business and knew that just because a story made it to print, the public didn’t always take it as truth. With the kind of scandal he intended to build, they needed to be seen together and he hoped the sparks between them would be as apparent to others as they were to him.

  He didn’t exactly know how or when, but he felt a connection with Toni Maxwell, businesswoman, femme fatale, stalker. She fascinated and intrigued him. And he found himself relishing his switch with Grey more than he’d ever imagined, mostly due to Toni’s company. But as much as Zane would like to give her all the credit, he couldn’t.

  He’d actually liked solving the multitude of problems that had cropped up during his short time here. His enjoyment of the challenge to pull this business out of the red and into the black was starting to make him wonder if he still wanted a life of leisure. But how long before Zane would tire of running this business? How long before he would miss breakfast at noon, elegant dinners at midnight and hanging with his jet-set friends?

  With the newspaper filling every minute of his days, and Toni to keep him company at night, he might be content for a while. And a while was longer than usual. So he would take this opportunity and see where it led—especially if it took him into Toni’s arms and her bed.

  After taking the elevator to the top floor where Grey’s office dominated half the penthouse administrative suite, they entered the outer sanctum where the managing editor, Stephen Robbards, diligently worked through stacks of paperwork.

  “Stephen.” Zane knocked, then entered the managing editor’s office. Six foot five inches, rail thin and with drooping brown eyes bleary from reading too much copy, Stephen peered at Zane, then Toni, with puzzlement. Zane put an arm around Toni’s waist and drew her against his side, leaving no doubt of their relationship. “I’d like to introduce you to Toni Maxwell. Save me a column on page one in tomorrow’s edition. I’m going to write a story about us.”

  Stephen grinned and offered Toni a large hand to shake. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” Then he turned to Zane. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Wrong.”

  “But we put the paper to bed in less than an hour.”

  “Then I’d better get cracking. Wouldn’t want to miss the deadline,” Zane spoke lightly, hoping the managing editor wouldn’t suddenly drop dead of a heart attack. Stephen appeared about to choke on his former grin. His face suffused with color. He rose to his feet, confusion making him stumble with clumsiness.

  Zane quickly guided Toni into a turnaround and started to ease her through the door.

  “Wait.” Stephen frowned at them. From one of the more conservative old money Louisiana families, he was Grey’s right-hand man, running the entire operation during the night hours and leaving only after Grey’s arrival in the morning. While Zane was certain Stephen didn’t have a clue that his boss had switched places with his twin, the man was looking at Zane as if he had suddenly sprouted three heads. To his credit, his tone remained polite. “Would you like me to send in a reporter to help?”

  “No, thanks.” Zane continued walking, expecting to leave a sputtering Stephen behind.

  However, the man had more presumptuousness than Zane had given him credit for, following them out the door and into the hallway. “Sir, may I ask the story’s subject matter?”

  “Sure,” Zane kept his feet moving. “I’m going to write about New Orleans’s hottest sex scandal.”

  “What sex scandal?” When Zane didn’t reply, Stephen didn’t give up, dogging their footsteps. “Perhaps you should consult with our attorney. We don’t want to open ourselves to a lawsuit.”

  “Not a problem,” Zane countered.

  “Sir, think of the liability. Do you have two reliable witnesses willing to confirm the details?”

  Zane winked at Toni, who had tried and failed to bite back a grin. “That’s why I brought Ms. Maxwell with me. She’ll give me details from the woman’s perspective.”

  “I will?” Toni looked up at him, mischief gleaming in her eyes.

  Stephen looked like a man who’d just eaten a sour pickle, and couldn’t swallow or find a place to spit. “I really don’t think that this is a good—”

  “A sex scandal will sell newspapers,” Zane told him.

  “This paper has always been—”

  “Too conservative,” Zane argued.

  “But without quality reporting, you’ll drag this paper’s reputation through the dirt. Your grandfather—”

  “Liked to turn a profit. Stephen, if we don’t raise our circulation, there will be no paper. And no jobs.”

  Zane had reached Grey’s office and let the door slide shut behind him and Toni, leaving Stephen to sputter in the hallway. He couldn’t worry about the Herald’s reputation—not since he’d reviewed the balance sheets. Something had to be done. And quickly.

  Tonight he would put his journalism degree to use for the first time since he’d graduated college. While Toni used the rest room, Zane took a few minutes to call Grey and coax his consent for Zane to do whatever he wished with the paper. Grey, surprisingly, said he just couldn’t think about business right now and
that Zane had free rein to do what he liked.

  Zane wondered if Grey would still feel that way after reading the story about himself on page one. But with a midnight deadline looming, Zane had to get moving. With a burst of inspiration, he decided to create his own column and byline called “Hot Scoops.” Sitting in front of the computer, he cracked his rusty knuckles and began to type.

  He described Grey’s fascination with a certain lady who went by the initials T.M., about how the sounds and the sights and the tastes of New Orleans had led him into a homegrown romance with one of the city’s most elegant career women. He wrote about how sexy he found matching wits with her. He described the outfit she’d worn to Club Carnal and the dress she’d worn to the restaurant in detail, down to the built-in bra and exactly how fine she looked to him. He reconstructed and summarized their conversation, and their hot kiss in the red velvet room, hinted how they’d gotten carried away, that one of them had partially disrobed. And as he wrote, he got turned on all over again, remembering her taste, her soft skin and her trembling response to him.

  He ended the column with the comment that Grey Masterson had certainly moved on from Lane Morrow to someone much more intriguing. And that readers could expect the next installment in two more days, after the couple had a chance to become much better acquainted, especially since the lady had promised not to wear panties until they met again.

  He read over his story, did a word count and spell check, then carefully perused for typographical errors and punctuation mistakes, already knowing that no matter how perfect his grammar, the staid newspaper would receive a slew of complaints. At least he had no board of directors to please. With his and Grey’s parents retired and on a semipermanent tour of the world, Zane had no one to please but himself.

  He hit the print button, intending to read his work aloud one more time before shooting it down to production. He’d been so engrossed in capturing on paper the romantic mood of the evening, he’d forgotten the woman who’d made the column possible.

  Toni. Where was she?

  He snagged the printed column from the printer and checked his watch with a frown. Toni had abandoned him for the rest room, almost forty minutes ago.

  He strode out of his office to find her sitting at his secretary’s desk, her head pillowed on her arms, sound asleep. He imagined that she’d peeked into his office, found him typing madly and hadn’t wanted to disturb him. Touched by her consideration, he vowed to make it up to her.

  But, first, he needed an eye-catching picture for “Hot Scoops.” Perhaps a gown, or maybe a pair of shoes.

  Recalling that he’d read a story the paper had once done on Toni’s boutique, Zane checked through the files and found a sensational image of a flirty blue dress designed by Toni. Carefully, he centered the picture and placed a caption at the bottom. Perfect. The image depicted class, and the story remained edgy. He expected circulation to go up. Hoped Toni would be pleased. And he muffled a chuckle as he tried not to think about his conservative twin’s reaction to reading about his newest lover.

  With a few added keystrokes, Zane bypassed the proofreader and sent the picture and story straight to production. His work for the day finished, Zane’s attention focused on the sleeping woman in the next room and he decided he wasn’t taking her home. Tomorrow was Sunday, and her store would be closed.

  He picked up the phone and began to make arrangements. The best part about wealth was that, at any time of the day or night, money could buy luxury and convenience. Zane asked Grey’s butler to pack two travel bags, one for him and another for the lady. In addition, Zane called a friend who never slept until dawn and asked him to deliver a very special package of goodies from his specialty shop to the Herald’s rooftop.

  Zane and Grey both had their helicopter pilot’s license and Grey’s chopper was on the roof. Zane remembered Grey’s island, bequeathed to him by their grand-mère, the same great-grandmother who had left Zane the Garden District home he now leased to Reina Price. Neither one of the brothers visited the private island often, but a live-in cook and handyman looked after the beach house and stables in case of last-minute jaunts. Zane couldn’t think of a better locale than the Roquellaire island for the scandalous activities he had in mind.

  If Toni had other plans for tomorrow, she’d just have to cancel them.

  6

  HALF AWAKE, TONI LIFTED her head from the desk where she’d fallen asleep waiting for Grey to finish typing their story. No matter what else happened between them, she would always treasure the memory of him pounding his keyboard with such ferocity, eyebrows drawn together in concentration, a sexy smile playing on his lips. Blue light had shined on his glossy dark hair and had cast shadows on sharp, intense cheekbones, as he’d leaned aggressively forward, that complex smile haunting his face.

  Apparently, he’d enjoyed their evening as much as she had. She could have called a cab and gone home, but she’d been reluctant to part without saying goodbye, had been reluctant to leave him, period, and no way could she bring herself to interrupt him.

  Toni might not know a thing about the newspaper business, but she understood the fragile process of creativity. When she penciled her designs, the uninterrupted flow came from a place that she couldn’t tap on demand. Her ideas came in spurts. Bright, hard and fast. And she’d draw furiously, one idea prodding the next. Stopping would not only break the flow, she could lose that particular idea forever. So she’d napped, unwilling to interfere with his flow of words. And now he stood over her in his secretary’s office with that mixture of intensity and amusement that seemed uniquely his.

  “All done?” she asked. Stretching, she glanced up to find Grey’s expression tender, a hint of devilry in his eyes. Her first stretch had been to ease her aching bones, the second was pure female ego as she arched her back and raised her arms above her head, drawing attention to her chest. She liked watching his gaze slide downward from her face, liked that he didn’t even attempt to hide his appreciation of her body.

  Before they’d met, she’d pegged Grey for a conservative businessman whose private desires had been outed by Lane Morrow’s book. And when she’d stalked him and he’d resisted, her original idea about him had been confirmed. Yet, sometime between her embarrassing him in her gorilla suit and his appearing at Club Carnal, his personality had done a one-eighty. This Grey wasn’t just relaxed about his sexuality, he embraced it.

  “The article is finished, but, lady, I’m not done with you.” His voice, low and deep, shimmied over her with serene composure and shot a wake-up call to her brain. She’d known Grey Masterson was powerful, influential, but she hadn’t anticipated that she’d find his unique intensity so seductive. She sensed from the tightness in her throat to the curling in her toes that if she intended to back out of their bargain, now was the time.

  Clearly, he was up to something. She could read it in his expression as he watched her like a hungry jungle cat about to pounce on tasty prey.

  Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she stood, retrieved her beaded scarf and stretched again. “That’s why I waited right here. I’m not done with you, either.”

  “Good. Let’s go.” He slipped his arm through hers, the gesture so gentle and civilized that she actually felt safe—until he pressed the up button of the elevator.

  Grey’s office was on the top floor. She turned to him in confusion. “Where—”

  “You’ll see.”

  The elevator opened onto the building’s flat rooftop. Leaving the air-conditioning behind, the warm night air wrapped around them while moonlight lit their way. A helicopter sat on its pad, the baggage compartment open while a man in a uniform stowed luggage.

  Did Grey intend to spirit her away? A shiver of pleasure shot through her. While she’d slept, Grey hadn’t just written his article, he’d made plans…that included her. Yet back in the private room at the restaurant, he’d led her to believe that they wouldn’t be seeing one another for a while. He’d specifically requested that she
sleep naked, that he intended for her to stay aroused until they met again.

  She spun to face him, her hands fisting on her hips. “I thought we were going to delay being together.”

  “I couldn’t wait,” he admitted with a sheepish grin that charmed her. “Besides, tomorrow is Sunday and your boutique’s closed. I thought I’d fly you away for what’s left of the weekend.”

  Without asking? Obviously, he didn’t want to wait much longer to make love. She didn’t know whether to be flattered, annoyed or impressed. However, she did feel a little thrilled that he’d gone to the trouble to make such decadent plans. For a supposedly conservative man, he seemed to enjoy extravagant gestures.

  He motioned to the two-seater red-and-white painted helicopter with the newspaper’s logo on the tail. The craft looked fragile, the bubble Plexiglas front little protection from the elements, but she’d never flown in one and the notion excited her.

  “You’re a pilot?”

  He nodded. “If there’s anyone you need to call before we leave, you might want to do it now. Cell phones don’t always work on the island.”

  “Island?” He didn’t hear, or ignored, her question as he left her side to check over the helicopter.

  She phoned home and left a message on the machine that her sisters shouldn’t worry, telling them she’d be back no later than Monday morning. Realizing that Mickey would want more explanation, one Toni didn’t want to give, she turned off the cell phone, justifying the action by reasoning that she didn’t have a charger for her battery and needed to save it. Practical matters over and done, she joined Grey beside the helicopter.

  Thinking that a quick trip home to pack might be in order, she tapped him on the shoulder. “I don’t have a toothbrush.”

  “I have a spare.”

  She gestured to her cocktail dress. “But I don’t even have a change of clothes.”