by Jo Leigh
“Put me down. Right now. I’m calling the police. I’m going to scream. Put me down!”
He walked to the bed, really feeling her fists on his back, although she’d be even more steamed if he told her she was giving him a much better massage than his guy at the gym. Once he reached his target, he bent again and dumped Bentley unceremoniously on the bedspread.
He was just about ready to say something, but then he looked at her, all disheveled and pink, with that prim little skirt pulled up high on her thighs, and then he remembered her teddy, and he couldn’t help wondering if that’s what she had on under that white suit
He felt a flush come on him suddenly, and his imagination went a little bonkers. He could see her, dammit, lying on the bed, wearing that teddy, looking the way she did right now, only she wanted him. As badly as he wanted her.
He felt himself harden, just like this afternoon. It must be the altitude, or the water, because he hadn’t reacted this way around a woman since high school. Besides, it was Bentley lying there. The woman who alphabetized her canned food. Who cleaned her poker chips with Lysol. Who beat him out of the Russell story without so much as a by-your-leave.
She had gotten up on her elbows, the fury in her face making her somehow more beautiful, and soon she’d be standing again, ready for round two.
Nope. This boy was calling uncle. The last thing he wanted was for her to find out that Junior here, completely on its own without his permission, was getting ready to wake up and salute.
He turned and went to the closet, pulled down the extra blanket and unfolded it across the couch. It was a small couch, but he’d manage.
“What are you doing?” she asked, standing, fists curled, next to the bed.
“Going to sleep.”
“Now?”
“It’s late.”
“But…”
“Yeah, that was fun, but it’s time for beddy-bye. Go put on your jammies, kiddo. Get some shut-eye. It’s going to be a big day tomorrow.”
“But…”
“And turn off the light. Damn, listen to that wind out there, would you? I pity anyone out on a night like this.”
With that, he curled himself into the most comfortable position he could, which ended up being about a three on a scale of ten, and closed his eyes. Unfortunately, the picture he’d conjured of Bentley on the bed still danced in front of him like a mirage. Sleep. The only cure was sleep.
Bentley stared at the ball of blanket on the small couch. She didn’t know what to do. First, she picked up the lamp on the nightstand, weighed it in her hands, calculated the probable damage to his hard head and realized it wouldn’t inflict nearly the pain she was after.
She put it down and spied his belt hanging out of his bag. Wouldn’t that be neat? Strangling him with his own belt? She took a step toward it, but then she thought about the police, and Stephanie’s wedding, and what Babs would say, and she gave it up.
How did he do this to her? She’d never wanted to pummel anyone before. Ever. She was a gentle person. A sweet person. She gave money to Goodwill, dropped off presents in the Christmas barrel. Yet after less than twenty-four hours in the company of Mitch Slater, she was about an inch from committing a serious crime.
She saw him move a bit on the couch. At least he looked uncomfortable. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. Had she really thought, even for a second, that he was like her dream man? It must have been the alcohol or the stress or the water. There was a very good reason that she didn’t like Mitch Slater. Several very good reasons. She wouldn’t forget them again.
She turned from him, walked to the wall, turned off the light and went into the bathroom for a long, hot soak in the heart-shaped tub, and then bed.
THE KNOCK ON THE DOOR woke her. She sat up, confused from her dreams, and saw Mitch, wearing a pair of worn jeans and nothing else, let room service in. It was a large cart, and she could already smell the coffee. He took the check and signed it, and the waiter said, “Thank you, sir,” and left.
Then Mitch poured a cup of java, put a little milk in it and brought it to her in bed.
“Light, no sugar, right?”
She nodded, awake now and suspicious. Why was he being nice to her?
He handed her the cup and saucer and sat himself down next to her. Again, she felt the dip of the mattress, felt his thigh against her thigh, only this time she moved over.
“How did you sleep?”
“Fine,” she said. “Why?”
“Well, that’s a nice good-morning.”
“I dreamed you weren’t here. Now you’ve spoiled it.”
“Ouch.”
“I’ll say.”
“Now, now. That’s no way to start the day. I’ve thought about a lot of things this morning. I say we call a truce. Partners. Whoever gets the story shares it fifty-fifty. What do you say?”
She sipped the coffee, and it felt wonderful all the way down. The wind was still strong, but not as strong as it had been last night. She could see the clouds out there, swirling and huge, but they weren’t all dark. A few of them were an almost silver white. “I say I don’t trust you for a minute.”
Mitch grabbed an imaginary arrow near his heart and yanked it out. “That hurt.”
“You deserve worse.”
“I know. But let’s pretend, just for a minute, that I’m not the jerk you think I am. That I’m really here just to get a story, not destroy your life. That I figured we’d both be better off working as a team instead of going solo.”
“That’s asking a lot of my meager imagination.”
“It’s a big hotel, Bentley. And Colker isn’t just going to open the door and offer us tea.”
“He might. At least he might for me.”
“You’re cute, honey, but this is a man who’s gone so far underground he doesn’t need his eyes anymore. He’s not going to fall for a pair of great legs.”
She took another sip. “Great, huh?”
“Figure of speech.”
“Thanks. So what do we do now?”
“I’ve been giving that some thought.” He got up and walked over to the coffee and poured himself a cup. “I think this situation calls for the old divide and conquer. We figure out how to find Colker and get him to sit down for an hour or three for an interview.”
She couldn’t help but notice that his back was better than she’d ever suspected. She had a thing for backs. She liked them muscled, but not too muscled. Sleek, with that fabulous tapering that men did so well. Of course, it didn’t hurt that his butt was just right, too. High, tight. She could bounce quarters off a butt like that.
He turned and came back to the bed. She knew she was blushing. She just hoped he wouldn’t notice.
“Any ideas?” he asked.
She sipped first, then said, “How about we see if we can get some information out of room service. Take him his lunch?”
“Good. Isn’t Babs doing some work with catering? Maybe she can tell us who’s in charge.”
“Getting Babs involved is dangerous.”
“Not if it’s done right”.
“Let’s hold up on that for a minute. First, let’s give it a straightforward go. I’ll go to the penthouse and see if I can make some headway. You can talk to Shelli again. See what else she’ll tell you.”
“Why don’t I go upstairs—”
She glared at him. “I thought we were going to be partners.”
“And so we are.” He put his cup on the nightstand and stuck his hand out. “Partners.”
She hesitated, but just for a second. She took his palm in hers. “Partners.”
“So get dressed,” he said. “We’ve got work to do.”
“One more thing.”
“Why do I feel like I should be worried?”
She put her cup down and leaned forward. “I need you to promise.”
“Promise what?”
“That I can count on you to keep quiet about Carter.” She waited for his reply, then noticed th
at he wasn’t looking at her. His gaze had gone south. She looked down and saw that her nightgown, light cotton and very modest, was tucked into the covers and pressing against her breasts. It wasn’t a big deal, for goodness’ sake. She loosened the covers and adjusted her gown. Then she waved to get his attention. “Hello? I’m up here. If you want to talk to them, you have to ask permission.”
He grinned and looked at her. “You didn’t ask permission to peruse my butt.”
“What? I did no such thing.”
“I saw you in the mirror, doll. It normally doesn’t take me more than a second to pour coffee. But you looked like you were enjoying the view so much, I dawdled.”
She was going to have to learn how to stop this blushing thing. Her cheeks were hot, and she realized she’d blushed more in the last twenty-four hours than she had in her whole life. “So do you promise?”
“Huh?”
“About Carter.”
“Ah. I won’t promise never to tell, but I will do my best, as long as we’re partners, to convince everyone I’m Carter.”
“You think I’m going to go behind your back?” she asked innocently.
“I’m pretty sure it crossed your mind.”
She sighed. “Fine. I can live with that.”
“So? Why are you still in bed?”
She started to throw off the covers, until she saw that he was waiting, eyes ready, for a little skin show. “You need to do some dressing, too, cowboy.”
“Can’t blame a fellow for trying,” he said, then turned to go to the closet.
Bentley got up quickly and put on her robe. Once she was decent, she selected her wardrobe for the day and took all she needed into the bathroom.
Her shower was a quick one, for her at least. And a disconcerting one. She couldn’t escape the feeling of anticipation, of excitement that had her scrubbing a little too hard, smiling a little too much. She worked alone. Always had, always would, so what was the story here?
All right. If she had to tell the honest truth, she’d always admired Mitch. For his journalism. Not liked. Admired. So working with him was bound to teach her a thing or two. That had to be it. The eagerness she felt was the thirst for knowledge.
Completely satisfied, although still having random, unwelcome butt thoughts, she turned off the water and stepped out into her adventure.
MITCH WAS DRESSED and watching television when she left the bathroom. He was in a Hawaiian-style shirt, made more garish by the addition of prominent pink toucans liberally peppered over the garment. He was still in his jeans, and he’d put on tan canvas loafers to complete the ensemble.
She looked down at her beige tailored slacks and her subtly shaded beige-and-mushroom short-sleeved blouse and her spectator pumps. There was no way in hell she and Mitch were ever going to be able to work together.
She was scampi, he was fried shrimp. She was champagne, he was Ripple. It wasn’t meant to be.
He heard her drop her hair blower on the dresser and turned. “Hey, you look sharp, as always.”
“You look…colorful.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He pointed the remote at the TV. “Listen to this. We are having a hurricane, only we’re just getting the edge of it. Bonnie. How dangerous could a hurricane named Bonnie be?”
“Exactly as dangerous as Hugo or Andrew.”
“Nah. They’re calling it moderate. A level two. And over here, we’re just going to get a bit of wind and rain. Maybe a little flooding. A chance that the electricity will go, but only a chance.”
“Did you ever get my batteries?”
“As a matter of fact, I did. They’re right over there.” He pointed, using the remote again, toward her suitcase, and she saw a crumpled paper bag.
She went for the bag, and her emergency supplies, which were in the left pocket of the case. Just as she reached out, someone knocked three times on the door. She veered right, to answer, but Mitch beat her to it. With his right hand, he opened the door—with his left, he took her completely by surprise and grasped her around the waist and pulled her toward him.
She gasped, had one second to see Babs standing in the hallway, and then she was being kissed.
The kiss was not moderate. It was intense, hot, fast and somehow sexier than it had any right to be. It was a French kiss, the kind she’d fought off in high school and longed for in college. It was deep and she felt swept away in a hurricane of her own.
“My goodness. I see you two have made up.”
Her mother’s voice changed everything, and she was back on the fourteenth floor, in her room. With her phony husband. She pushed him away, and he went, but not before giving her the single most lascivious smile she’d ever seen. Briefly, barely consciously, she squeezed her legs together at that smile. Then turned to Babs. “What’s going on, Mother?”
“You sound like I interrupted something important. I can come back.”
“No, Mom,” Mitch said. “Come on in. Good to see you. Great of you to drop in.”
Babs gave. Mitch an odd look, then went immediately to the bed and sat on the edge. She gave the room a critical once-over, clearly disapproving of the clutter. If Mitch thought she, Bentley, was neat at work, wait till he got a load of the Immaculate Presentation over there. Babs’s definition of clean was invisible.
“So, I finally got through to Stephanie. She’s still in Honolulu, and she has no idea when she’s going to get here.”
Bentley moved over to the couch, prepared to sit for a long time while her mother recited her litany of woes.
“And I’ve yet to meet with the wedding coordinator. There are hundreds of things to do, and all your father can think about is his stomach. He ate waffles this morning. With butter and syrup. I swear, it won’t surprise me if he has a heart attack right here. I shouldn’t have left him alone in the room with the honor bar. He’s probably eating peanuts as we speak.”
Bentley nodded. It was really the only thing to do when Babs was on a roll. Just let her be, like a force of nature. No use fighting it.
She glanced at Mitch, who was trying to be polite and pay attention to her mother, but he was drawn to the TV. He kept trying to sneak peeks at the screen, then he’d catch himself and turn back, only to be enticed by the magic of the tube again.
It was his own fault. He was the one who wanted to be Carter. He sure kissed like Carter. Or like Carter would if he was real. She hadn’t been kissed like that in years. Kissing was one of her favorite things in life, like cashmere and hot fudge sundaes. She hadn’t known Mitch would be so good at it. Never suspected. But she was learning a lot about Mitch, wasn’t she? How could she have worked with him for so long and been so oblivious?
It’s because he was dangerous, that’s why.
“…flowers are still in the truck, and thank God it’s refrigerated, but for how long? Who knows. It’s all going to fall apart….”
Bentley nodded once more. She was trying to listen to what her mother was saying, honest. But the combination of Babs’s voice and the wind outside lulled her back to her own thoughts. Thoughts about. Mitch.
What was she going to do about this partnership? Sure it sounded great, but this was Slater she was talking about. She watched him, smiling. He’d about given up the struggle and was watching the TV in earnest now. He didn’t know that Babs didn’t really expect anyone to pay attention. She just liked an audience.
”…five thousand dollars. And would you think she would wear the dress I picked out? Not a chance. She insisted on Oldham, when I told her La Croix was the only real wedding designer there was in…”
Trusting Mitch wasn’t something a smart girl did. He was bound to double-cross her, it was practically genetic with him. So why had she agreed? Maybe she should do a little double-crossing on her own. Just in case.
“And it’s Dinky this, and Dinky that. Your father roomed with him in college a hundred years ago, you’d think they’d be tired of each other by now….”
But what if he wa
sn’t trying to pull a fast one? That would make her look like a first-class jerk. No. Everything she knew about Mitch warned her to be on her guard. Warned? There were practically neon signs shouting Beware! all over the room. Beware. Not just of the story. But of that kiss.
She was getting in over her head, and she’d better do something about that right now.
Chapter Eight
Bentley stood, stopping her mother midsentence. “It’s great that you dropped in, Mother, but as you said, there are a hundred things to do. Why don’t we—”
“But—” Babs looked at Mitch. “I thought—”
He shot up next to Bentley and grabbed her arm. “Why don’t you offer Mom some coffee?”
She tried to pull her arm free, but he was gripping it tightly. Not enough to hurt, but she couldn’t break free.
“What is it?”
“It’s a hot beverage. Now, be nice and get her a cup.” He smiled, then turned toward Babs. “So, tell me about the catering arrangements, Mom.”
Bentley finally understood. Despite her request that Babs be kept out of things for the moment, Mitch was, as usual, doing whatever the hell he wanted. That had to be the shortest partnership on record.
“Really?” Babs asked, her voice almost trembling with gratitude. “You really want to hear?”
“Every word.”
Bentley poured her mother a cup of coffee, handed it to her and turned to Mitch. She gave him an evil glare, which he seemed to think was a come-on, because he winked at her.
“We decided to go a bit native with the hors d’oeuvres. We’ve hired a sushi chef for the first hour, and we’re bringing in dim sum carts. We’ll also’ have…”
Bentley tuned her mother out. She’d heard the menu about a billion times, so that wasn’t hard. She concentrated on Mitch, who was no longer struggling to keep his attention away from the television. As a matter of fact, he’d turned that off. Now it seemed that the struggle was between listening to Babs and keeping an eye on her.
She tested her theory by walking to the dresser. Yep, he followed her surreptitiously, just with his eyes and briefly at that. Why? What did he have up his Hawaiian shirtsleeve?