Twenty Times Tempted: A Sexy Contemporary Romance Collection

by Petrova, Em

  Jordana gave a soft laugh. “Are they still together?”

  He flinched. “Hell no. Divorced as soon as I graduated college. It’s been years since they split, and they still fight whenever they’re in a room together.”

  “They have something in common no matter what. You.”

  “And man, do they hate it.”

  She rubbed her arms together. “What’s your dad like?”

  He rose to a cabinet and got her a blanket, and she thanked him. “He’s semiretired, lives in SoCal. He mainly watches over our LA office on an abbreviated schedule and couldn’t be happier. The divorce, once it was finally settled, was the best thing for them. I think what brought them together was the same thing that tore them apart.”

  “And that is?”

  Sitting back down, he reached for his drink again. “Although you would assume they were complete opposites, they were actually too alike,” he answered. “When they were young, it made sense. My aunt said they were all over each other. They had the same isolated childhoods, same backgrounds, same ambitions. They argued a lot, but to solve their problems, they did what young couples do—worked it out by ignoring each other, then making up out of loneliness, without learning anything. But, as they say, passion fades, and if that’s all you had to begin with, well then, once that’s gone, there isn’t much left.”

  She completely agreed. “Lucee thinks great sex and good times are the only things you need in a relationship. That stuff doesn’t last forever on its own. You need more.”

  “You need a miracle.” He leaned over, holding his glass out. “Cheers.”

  They clinked glasses, and as they drank, Jordana felt a squeeze on her heart.

  Logan’s cynicism stemmed from his parents’ broken marriage and hers came from being dumped by her fiancé. She wondered if they were better off, or if people like her sister, blind to the warnings and hopelessly romantic, had it right. Because, even if Lucee’s happiness was temporary, at least she would have a time when she was hopeful and the future looked nothing but bright.

  Jordana looked out the window, watching the wing’s light flash in the dark as they flew over the desert. Not long ago, she’d been in love, dreaming of a wedding, and anticipating the future with bated breath. But it’d been nothing but an illusion, as men’s intentions often were.

  Now who sounded cynical?

  By the time they landed in Las Vegas, left the airport, and arrived at the private VIP entrance to the LaVoisier hotel, it was nine o’clock. Though, by Vegas standards, the night hadn’t even begun yet. As soon as Jordana saw the Strip, her face lit up at the sight, and a small part of her wished she could have a little fun.

  “Mr. Savant, welcome back,” said the VIP manager. He came around the counter and shook Logan’s hand.

  Jordana looked around in awe, taking in the polished floors, gleaming brass, and oversized vases with exotic flowers.

  “Unfortunately,” she heard the manager begin, “your usual suite burst a pipe in the bathroom and has flooded. We’re working on it as quickly as we can, but with the hotel booked solid, I’m afraid I can only offer you one villa on our roof level with two bedrooms at this time.”

  “This is unacceptable,” Logan said a quiet, firm tone. “I require two. One for me, one for Miss Shaw.”

  Sweat started to break out on the balding man’s forehead. “I’m very sorry, please understand I am trying to accommodate all of my valuable guests and this is the best I can do. I will, of course, comp you at any of our restaurants and give you credit toward play.”

  “Theo, it’s imperative the lady have a suite of her own—”

  “That’s okay,” Jordana interjected, coming to Theo’s aid. “I’ll have my own bedroom, that’s good enough.” Share a villa with Logan? Hardly bad news.

  He made a stern face and pulled her to the side. “You should have your own. If he can’t make it happen, I’m sure there is another hotel that can accommodate us.”

  “It’s a two-bedroom. I’m sure there will be plenty of privacy. Unless you’re uncomfortable sharing?”

  “Absolutely not. I’m just thinking of your preferences.”

  “Then I prefer to take what the man is offering and settle in. He’s in a bind. It’s not like he’s sticking us in the basement next to the boiler room.”

  He started to smile. “All right. If you’re okay with it, I’m okay with it.”

  “Good. Now go tell him before he has a stroke.”

  A few minutes later, they were escorted to the villa…or more accurately, a mini-estate by Jordana’s observation. Over four-thousand square feet and decorated in classic European design, it was decadent and ridiculous. Two bedrooms, four bathrooms, a dry sauna, a private salon, plus a workout and massage room. A full kitchen and dining room, a terrace and a pool. What the…? She’d never seen anything like it.

  After the bellmen left, she playfully smacked Logan on the arm.

  “What was that for?” he asked.

  She held up her palms. “This is overkill. A regular room would’ve been just fine.”

  “What’s wrong with this one?”

  “It’s…it’s not a room. It’s a palace. Way too big. Butlers? A massage room? A garden? Do we really need any of that?”

  “Vegas isn’t about needs,” he said with a smile, setting down his briefcase. “It’s about wants. I can see it in your eyes there’s something you want,” Logan said pointing at her.

  Jordana grabbed his finger and pulled his hand down, giving him a reproachful yet guilty look. She wanted him. More than anything the hotel had to offer. “Oh, it’s tempting. But I’m not here for a spa day, I’m here for Lucee. Speaking of my impulsive sister, I should call her and let her know I made it.”

  “Good idea.”

  Jordana was sent to Lucee’s voice mail again. This time, she left a message, telling her sister she flew in to Vegas and to call her as soon as she could. “I bet she forgot to charge her phone before she left. She always does that.” She sighed with a smile. “Thank you, Logan. For everything. You’re going above and beyond.”

  “It’s the least I can do.” He gestured around. “Help yourself to anything you want. Liquor. Entertainment. Make the butler earn his tips. Order room service. There’s a massage therapist at any hour. Whatever your heart desires.” He gazed into her eyes. “All you have to do is ask.”

  Those butterflies stirred again. Always on cue whenever he said nothing out loud, but his eyes spoke a thousand words. She just wished she spoke their language.

  Needing to break away from his gaze, she placed a light hand on his chest, leaned in and kissed his cheek. When she pulled back, she saw his eyes opening, as if her brief gesture had made him close them.

  His voice was husky and remote. “Pick a bedroom.”

  Chapter Eight

  Who can sleep in Vegas at ten p.m.?

  When Logan told her to select a room, she thought he might join her in it.

  He didn’t, claiming he had work to do and bid her goodnight.

  Jordana couldn’t sleep for anything. It wasn’t as though the bed wasn’t blissfully comfortable; the linens were Egyptian cotton and the oversized down pillows were too soft for words. The lingering scent of the fresh gardenias on the nightstand drifted through the room, and they were placed next to a crystal bowl of mints and chocolates, tempting her to feed her sweet tooth all night long.

  Even resting in all this comfort and extravagance, she couldn’t turn off her revolving thoughts about Lucee, the stunning news of the elopement, and most of all, Logan.

  Did he enjoy confusing her?

  She sighed long with frustration and tossed the sheets away. Maybe she would take advantage of the butler, after all, and ask if he had some chamomile tea to help her fall asleep.

  She walked out into the darkened living room, pausing when she saw Logan sitting in a chair, facing the floor-to-ceiling windows, feet propped up on an ottoman.

  “Everything all right?” he as
ked, voice raspy.

  Her heart tripped at the sight of him in his idle pose, arms draped over the arms of the chair. He was still wearing his polo and slacks, though the shirt was untucked now, giving him a slightly unkempt appearance. Papers were stacked on a side table to his right.

  She walked over to stand in front of him, licking her dry lips. A small voice told her to turn back, especially since she wore nothing but boy shorts and a snug tank top sans bra.

  Then again, modesty be damned. She wanted to test Logan once and for all.

  His heated gaze tracked her as she folded her hands behind her back and leaned against the window, bending a knee. “Everything’s fine. I just can’t sleep.” She waited for him to say something, but he remained silent, watchful. “You too?” she asked, unable to withstand the quiet.

  “I sleep when I’m tired.”

  She smiled softly. “Right. You’ve told me that before.”

  “Do you need something?”

  I need you. I need you to touch me, make me feel the way you did that first night. “I don’t know,” she said, not fearless enough to voice her thoughts. “Sometimes chamomile tea does the trick.”

  “All you need to do is ask, remember?”

  What she wanted, she couldn’t bring herself to ask for. But maybe she could show it. Something emboldened her to make a move. She moved toward him, stopping at his right side. The cool temperature of the room tightened her nipples. Logan moved nothing but his gaze as she approached; those eyes were telling her he hadn’t expected this.

  Tracing her fingertips over his leg, his thigh muscle jumped, and she asked, “The night we met, when I brought you up to your room. Do you have any memory of what happened before you passed out?”

  Gently, he took her right hand and sat up from his relaxed position, removing his legs from the ottoman, tugging her over. Jordana moved to stand between his knees. He scooted to the edge of the chair and rested his strong, warm palms on her hips. “Do I distinctly remember what I did when you were standing in front of me, just like this, and I…? Yes, I remember it.” He grazed his hands up her arms. Easing the tank’s straps off her shoulders, he drew them down, stopping just as her breasts were about to spill over. “Wait,” he said huskily, his hand sliding to the nape of her neck. “This first.”

  She sank into his lap and bent her head, their mouths hovering for a moment before he nipped her upper lip, then completely possessed her in a long kiss. Jordana made a soft sound at the controlled yet passionate taking, opening her mouth. How silkily his tongue moved in and out, how he pulled on her lips with gentle firmness, made her achingly wet.

  Her hands were in his hair as she began to writhe in a languid rhythm on his lap. He kissed the corner of her mouth, sliding down her throat as her blood rushed with fierce lust, completely under his spell, her eyelids heavy. As he grazed over her collarbone, he pulled her tank top down in degrees. With a soft groan, Jordana slowly lay back on the ottoman as his mouth captured a nipple. Her breathing became erratic as he smoothed a hand down the middle of her chest, making her arch with his slow caress like a cat to a petting.

  His hands slid around her back and brought her up to meet his mouth. She grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it off. As she spread her hands over the fiery hot skin of his broad chest, she marveled at the shadowed planes and hard lines of his shoulders and strong neck. With a low, needful sound, he yanked her closer and she savored the searing heat of his chest against her cool nipples, his erection hard as iron at her center.

  She hadn’t planned on seducing him when she walked over, but now that things were progressing, they would continue, as her body demanded it.

  “Logan,” she whispered in a haze.

  He groaned, his hands grazing alongside her outer thighs as he kissed her neck, fingers sliding into her panties to cup her backside.

  Bzzzz. Bzzzz.

  By his disappointed moan and stilling movements, she could tell he was distracted, and she silently begged him to ignore his cell phone.

  Reluctantly, he pulled back as the phone vibrated loud and long.

  “Jordana—”

  “It’s all right,” she breathed as she covered her breasts with her hands, moving off his lap.

  He grabbed for her. “No, don’t go.” The soft pleading in his voice weakened her and she remained. He brought her down for another heart-crushing kiss, sparking her desire anew, his hot, insistent tongue swirling over hers. She imagined what it would feel like on her—

  Bzzzz. Bzzzz.

  Okay, I give up. “You should answer it,” she said, sliding her arms through the straps.

  He sighed as she stood up. “It’s an international client. He’s nine hours ahead, and I promised him a meeting. I’m sorry.” He pushed off the chair and ran a hard hand over his face and through his hair. He snared his cell phone. “Ciao, Alanzo, come stai? Mi conosci, non dormo mai.”

  Jordana could feel Logan’s eyes on her as she moved toward her bedroom. She shut her doors, pressed her back into them, and closed her eyes. He speaks Italian too? The man was too much.

  Heated skin, drumming pulse, stomach fluttering…she blew out a long breath. Her hands were trembling. She was high on his touch, his kiss. It would take hours to calm down.

  Sliding into bed, she sighed, hugging a pillow to her chest. Sleeping with Logan would lead to more complicated routes, and she wasn’t absolutely sure if she was ready for that, though her body was more than ready.

  A sample of what was inevitably going to happen already had her heart beating a staccato, knowing the next time they kissed like that, she’d be in his bed.

  ***

  “That’ll do for now, gentleman,” Logan said the next morning as he rose from his seat, ready to hit the end button on the intercom. “We’ll reconnect on Wednesday.”

  He strode out of the room and thanked the clerk for setting him up under short notice. Although he could’ve taken the conference call in the suite, he didn’t want to disturb Jordana.

  Last night had been a surprise.

  He’d been losing himself in paperwork, his thoughts jumping from contracts to Jordana to financial statements and back to her again, until he had given up and decided just to do nothing for a while. Then Jordana had come out, wearing nothing but a tight top hugging her sumptuous breasts and curvy hips and shorts displaying a plump bottom he wanted to dig his teeth into.

  Would they have continued to the bedroom had his phone not interrupted them? Maybe she hadn’t intended on it going that far. It just happened.

  He’d been on his way to seducing her right on the chair, tasting her mouth, licking her skin and breasts with supreme control, desire roaring in his blood, clawing at him to be inside her. To forget his phone call, cripple his prized self-restraint, and just make good, hard love to her.

  But once they were interrupted and he saw uncertainty in her eyes, he realized that, although he’d been moving slowly, perhaps they were moving too fast.

  Either way, if his instincts were right, and they usually were, their weekend was going to include more than a spontaneous wedding that may or may happen. He’d entice her to go out with him for the night and see where it led from there. Ultimately, it was up to her. Then he was going to keep going until she cried stop. Or, he thought with a private smile, until she cried, “Don’t stop.”

  ***

  Jordana took a shower, dressed, and checked her phone for any messages while she towel-dried her hair. Her sister had left a text she and Adam were on their way to get the marriage license and would call her afterward. It was like her sister sensed Jordana wanted to have a serious talk and was purposely avoiding her.

  The private pool outside beckoned her as the autumn warmth in Vegas made it too tempting to stay indoors. The daffodil-and-cream striped cushioned lounges, the whimsical Greek statue, the teal blue water of the pool, and the pops of red bougainvillea flowers whispered of stylish luxury. Just because she didn’t have a swimsuit didn’t mean she couldn�
�t dip her feet in.

  She changed into white shorts and a loose, coral-colored blouse, picked up a magazine from the coffee table, and ventured outside.

  Flipping blindly through the pages, she bit the corner of her lip. She couldn’t read a word about the latest acts appearing on Las Vegas stages when her mind kept imagining her and Logan tangling the sheets with wild abandon.

  “Morning.”

  The deep timbre of Logan’s voice broke her reverie, and she lifted her gaze to see him leaning on the patio doorway, arms crossed. His mouth quirked in a dangerously sexy half smile.

  She grinned. “Hi there.” Are your ears burning?

  “How was your Friday morning?” He held out his hand and brought her to stand.

  “Best breakfast ever. I ate like an absolute queen.”

  “I’m happy to hear it.” He leaned down, murmuring, “Sorry, I’ve been wanting this all morning.” Slowly he met her mouth in a long, hungry taking.

  He wasn’t the only one. She pressed into him and he moaned, deepening their kiss as she wound her arms around his neck. As his hands roamed from her arms to her back and cupped her butt, she gasped, feeling him hard against her tummy. Knowing he could be turned on that fast by her was a delicious sense of power. By the time he drew back, she was short on breath, dazed.

  Logan’s broken breath fanned over her wet mouth. “You always taste so good.”

  The suite’s doorbell rang.

  “Are we cursed?” she asked with a sigh. “Every time we kiss, some alarm goes off.”

  He chuckled. “This time, it’s entirely my fault. Come on in, ladies.”

  The front door swept open and two sharply dressed young women in low-cut black suits walked in, carrying garment bags. Then an older woman followed, wearing a red dress and a matching chunky necklace.

  “What’s this?” Jordana asked, bewildered.

  “After my meeting this morning, I made an appointment for you with the ladies from Madame Bissette. It’s a boutique shop downstairs,” he explained.

  The woman in red shook Jordana’s hand, grinning. “I’m Mimi.”