Jim had had no way to know Michael even existed when he’d gotten the dog.
But they’d cross that bridge when they came to it.
There was a shower in the bathroom, but she eyed the huge whirlpool tub with longing, wondering if she had time to take a quick bath before Michael returned.
A few minutes later, blissfully ensconced in bubbling waters, Suzanne leaned back against the bath pillow and heaved a huge sigh. Over her body, the water swirled, soothing away the nerves of this unique and trying day. Drifting on a tide of relaxation so complete it was almost sinful, she felt her mind begin to wander, too. Eyes closed, she relived the kiss in the elevator, the press of his big muscular body against hers, and longing suffused her. Her body floated with the currents of the whirlpool, and she felt the brush of bubbles over skin that now felt too sensitive, too tight to contain all the heat that Michael could generate with little effort.
She let herself imagine the two of them in this suite, free of other ties. If it were only them with no other responsibilities, nothing but the long night ahead, so sheltered from the storm…
What did Michael look like beneath his clothes? She’d felt the power of those muscles, knew that he had never used his full strength with her, treating her like some delicacy she’d never been. She was no fragile flower, no pale tea rose. She was a sturdy weed, not all that pretty, not very desirable, but strong. She endured.
He made her feel so feminine, almost dainty. So protected. Even when she knew he was tempted badly, he’d always kept his strength under a tight leash.
But what would it be like if Michael’s leash snapped? If he wanted her as badly as he made her want him? In this place, this jungle room, what if she possessed the power to enchant him past bearing? What if they were free to play outside the realities of their world?
Fire raced over her nerves, across her skin, and made her burn. She could almost feel Michael’s hands on her body, could imagine sliding over him in this tub, lying beneath him on that huge round bed. Could imagine him poised above her, moss-green eyes gone dark with power—
A knock sounded on the door. “Suzanne?”
She scrambled from the tub so quickly that water shot from the jets and hit the floor. Frantically she fumbled for the switch, then tried to remember where she’d left the robe the hotel provided. She caught a quick glimpse of herself multiplied a hundred times in the mirrors.
“Suzanne, are you all right?”
Naked. Oh, God. “Yes.” She gulped, then finally spotted the fluffy white robe. “Just a minute.”
Quickly she donned it, her heart racing a mile a minute as she tried to adjust from thinking about—
No. Oh, no. She couldn’t let him see. It must be written all over her face. As she walked toward the door, she grabbed a towel, then flipped the lock and turned away, busying herself drying her hair, praying the towel would cover her face until she could compose it.
Michael shoved the door open with his foot, so loaded down with packages that he could barely see where he was going. “Could you take this—” He fell silent.
She was bent over, toweling her hair, and the view of her luscious behind made his mouth go dry. He jerked his gaze away, only to see the front of her reflected in the mirror. Her face was blocked by the towel, but the robe she wore gaped in the front just enough that he could see the upper curve of her breasts, the seductive shadow between.
“What?” she asked, her voice muffled by the towel.
All he could think about was that she was naked beneath that robe. It took him a minute to recover his powers of speech. “Nothing.” Resolutely he walked past her, regret that he couldn’t linger and look shadowing every step.
He dropped several of the packages on the bed, holding on to the box of pizza at the bottom and the sack of champagne. Taking them over to the table, he risked one glance in the mirror beside him and couldn’t decide whether to cheer or groan that there was hardly an inch of wall space—or ceiling, for that matter—not covered with the reflective means to torture a man who wasn’t here for this room’s anointed purpose.
He could be. He sure would like to be.
But he wasn’t. Couldn’t be. If ever there was a woman he needed to keep his hands off of, Suzanne was it.
“There’s a hair dryer. Wouldn’t it be simpler?” he asked. She was still bent over, toweling her hair. If she didn’t stand up straight pretty soon, he was not going to be responsible for his actions.
She didn’t answer.
“Suzanne? Hello?”
Finally, she straightened, lowering the towel slowly. Her face was red from being bent over so long, but the flush extended down to where the robe gapped even more.
He turned away. Quickly. Not one of his friends would believe he was trapped for the night with this delectable woman and had no intention of touching her.
Hell, he couldn’t believe it himself.
“There’s not much to choose from right now. It’s too late for lunch and too early for dinner, so I grabbed us a pizza. I hope pepperoni’s all right.” Not that he cared about the stupid pizza. His mouth was suddenly full of sawdust, and he doubted he could choke down a bite, never mind that he’d been starved until he walked through the door.
“Mushrooms, too?” she asked with a husky undertone in her voice that made him want to howl.
“Yeah. And bell peppers.”
“Sounds perfect.”
He glanced in the mirror and saw her staring at him with something that looked a lot like hunger. If only he couldn’t see the nerves, too. If only he could forget what was real. What she really wanted. What he’d promised.
No, sweetheart, he wanted to say. Perfect would be you and me in that tub. On that bed. Me inside you until we lost our minds.
He was so hard he ached. “Don’t look at me like that unless you want to be flat on your back in the next five seconds,” he growled.
With a little squeak, she whirled away, her head swiveling from side to side as she looked for refuge. “I’ll just put my dress back on. Excuse me, please.”
“Don’t.”
“What?”
Stay naked. My hands could be inside that robe in the next second. I could have you under me in two. He shook his head violently to rid himself of temptation. He started to speak, then had to clear his throat. “I brought you some warm clothes.”
“Where did you—” Her lids fluttered down, then rose again. “Did you keep the receipt?”
That cooled his blood as nothing else could. “No,” he snapped. “Consider it a wedding present. Dammit, Suzanne, can’t you even accept the smallest gesture?”
“Clothes aren’t small. A Popsicle is small.”
“Well, pardon me, but I thought you’d rather have some warm clothes than a Popsicle. Foolish of me, but there you go. I’m just a stupid rich guy who doesn’t get it.”
Color glowed brightly in her cheeks, and battle flared in her eyes. The hellion of the council chambers was back.
In a fluffy white robe. He couldn’t help smiling.
“What’s so funny?” she snapped.
“You. Me. I was just picturing you dressed like that at the next council meeting. A whole new image for Prosperino’s own Joan of Arc.”
He could see hasty words about to spill from her lips and waited for her to blast him. A fight sounded pretty good right now. He needed some way to dissipate all the heat in his body dying for a far preferable release he didn’t have a chance in hell of obtaining.
Then she threw back her head and laughed. A rich, husky laughter that made his blood race. But he’d just have to get used to that. Being with her every day was going to be a delicious kind of hell, he could already see.
But it wouldn’t be boring.
Michael laughed along with her. The nerves of the last twenty-four hours, the strain of desire that could not be appeased, the absurdity of this room, this situation…
It was pretty damn funny, he had to admit.
Suzan
ne collapsed on the bed, tears streaming from her eyes as laughter rolled from her lips, slowly diminishing to giggles. Then she got the hiccups.
Loud ones. Unladylike as hell.
She slapped one hand over her mouth and tried to stifle them, but another one escaped. Michael was laughing until she fell back on the bed, then curled abruptly into the fetal position with a raw moan.
He was across the room in one second, leaning over her. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
She shook her head, eyes squeezed tightly shut, arms wrapped around her waist as if in pain.
“Suzanne, tell me what you need.”
She was so still. Instinctively, he felt for the pulse in her throat, both of them jumping at the feel of his fingers on her skin.
When he felt the sure, steady beat, he relaxed. But he didn’t remove his hand, trailing it instead along the delicate line of her collarbone, knowing he should step away. Now.
Air exploded from her lungs, and he realized she’d been holding her breath. She sucked in one greedy gulp of air, then fell still again.
Her sooty lashes laid on her skin, casting lacy shadows. Silken strands of jet-black hair drifted around her, some of them brushing his fingers as he stroked up her throat, then down again.
Silence painted the room, filled all its corners, a silence fecund and rich with longings unspoken.
Michael couldn’t make himself lift his fingers from the sweet satin of her skin. As he trailed them down past the fragile hollow of her throat, he lowered his head, telling himself he’d stop if only she’d say something.
But Suzanne lay unmoving under his hand, a stillness that covered the hum of nerves strained past bearing.
One kiss. Just one kiss would hold him.
Carefully, as though she were a wild animal who had never known a man’s touch, he brushed his lips over hers, feeling as much as hearing the soft gasp of her breath, the rising beat of her heart under his hand.
And then she hiccuped again.
She curled up again and hid her face in her arms, groaning loudly. “I am so embarrassed I am going to climb into these covers and never come out.”
The spell broke. With an odd feeling of relief for rescue from what he knew would be a major mistake, he stepped back from the bed and headed for the bathroom to draw a glass of water.
He returned, and she was, if anything, more tightly curled into a ball, her entire body quaking with each hiccup. He grasped one hand and tried to pull her to a sitting position.
She pulled back, shaking her head. “No,” she wailed, though he could hear the tinge of humor. “I’m never coming out, I tell you.”
Michael felt the most profound relief to be able to joke instead of being eaten alive by a hunger he knew wasn’t dead. But it was beaten back for now. “Come on, don’t be such a girl.”
“I am a girl.”
He tugged again. “You’re not a sissy girl. Come on, sit up and drink this water.”
“It’s an old wives’ tale. It doesn’t work.”
“My mother swears by it. Works every time for me.”
“I have to hold my breath.”
“Doesn’t seem to be working.” When she hiccuped loudly again, he smiled. “Come on, sit up. Try it. What have you got to lose?”
With a groan, she let him pull her up, grasping her long mane in one hand and smoothing it back from her face. “This—” She hiccuped and grimaced. “This better work. I’m dying.”
He handed her the glass, watching her swallow until the movement of her throat drew his attention back to the opening of that damn robe.
Quickly, he turned away and walked to the pizza. He wasn’t hungry, but he needed to do something with his hands. He stood there, staring at the box since it wouldn’t show him her reflection like every other surface in this godforsaken room. He chewed and swallowed, concentrating so hard that when her arm reached past him for a slice, he nearly jumped out of his skin.
“Jumpy, Mr. Mayor?” Amusement warred with embarrassment in her eyes.
“We’re in the jungle. Good to be wary.”
Her eyes snapped to his in a moment of shared understanding. “Can’t be too careful of wild animals.”
He felt like tearing off her clothes with his teeth, so he knew he’d qualify. Quickly, he turned away. “I’m going to change out of this suit.” He pawed through the boxes, pulling out the ones he knew contained clothes for him. “I hope I guessed your size right. If not, I think they’ll be close.” He headed for the bathroom, already thinking of somewhere else to go. Alone. Away from this too-tempting woman.
As he closed the door behind him, he heard her speak but couldn’t make out the words. With a silent groan, he pulled it back open a crack. “What?”
“I said, you’re a good man, Michael Longstreet. An honorable man. If you want, we can share the bed and just make a bolster between us.”
“Great.” Michael closed the door and leaned back against it. He was supposed to sleep in a bed with her like some damn eunuch? He’d sleep in the car first. His blood could use some cooling.
Honor was a real pain in the behind sometimes. And it did absolutely nothing to satisfy an ache that seemed likely to only get worse with every day they were locked inside this sham marriage.
But at least back in Prosperino they could give each other wide berth. He would concentrate on that and do his best to get through the endless night ahead of them.
Six
Michael woke up and checked the clock. Four o’clock in the morning. Somehow they’d made it through the evening, thanks to a channel that played old movies. He’d had no idea Suzanne was a black-and-white film buff. The Maltese Falcon had been showing, and she’d regaled him with everything she knew about the story behind the production. With every minute that had passed without touching, they’d relaxed a little more. They’d wound up eating the whole pizza, but he’d put the champagne away, fearing to light the powder keg again.
Now something warm on his chest moved, shocking him out of the dream state. He glanced down to where he lay on the covers, fully dressed for safety’s sake, and realized it was Suzanne’s hand reaching across the bolster he’d decided was an excellent idea, after all. In her sleep, she clutched loosely at his shirt. Heat rippled through his body like lightning.
He closed his eyes again, squeezed them tightly. Breathed through pinched nostrils until he could beat the craving back.
Then he studied the hand, striving for the eyes of an indifferent observer. Yeah, indifferent. Sure thing.
Her hand was so slender, her fingers long and graceful, his ring a gleaming circle that suited her hand well, though he was sure she didn’t think so. Short and unpainted, her nails were beautiful but not pampered, much like Suzanne herself. She worked hard, pouring her energies into others rather than herself. She dressed in simple, clean lines, no obvious jewelry, no self-indulgence at all that he’d ever seen.
Too bad. With her stunning coloring, she was more suited to designer frocks than the brown wren clothes she chose. Maybe, while they were together, he could indulge her a little in ways she never would.
But right now he needed distance from her, from the hand that lay so trustingly on his chest. Carefully, he slipped out of the bed. He was resisting her for the moment, but he didn’t want to press his luck. He could remember only too easily how craving had dug in its claws before they’d found the blessed distraction of the movie.
He’d discovered, during those hours of enforced civility, that he liked Suzanne. Liked her a lot. If she hadn’t been a woman—and so damn beautiful—she could have been a great running buddy.
Liking her helped him gain perspective. Her mind was so agile, her sense of humor unexpected and quirky. She worked hard at a difficult job. She was a generous, caring woman totally focused on trying to regain something she needed badly: her son.
She was passionate, yes, and he knew that sex between them would be explosive. But he’d been right when he said she led with her heart.
If he seduced her into bed with him as he badly ached to do, he doubted that she would be able to consider it just sex—and he had nothing more to offer.
He’d walked into this arrangement so blithely, thinking only on the surface. She needed a temporary husband; he needed a temporary wife. Logical. Practical. A simple solution for both of them. She was a big girl; he was a grown man. They’d play their parts in the game for a while and walk away clean, he’d thought.
But he hadn’t counted on wanting her like this. Hadn’t expected to find the tender underbelly on a woman who’d been such a sharp-tongued adversary. His conscience balked at taking advantage of her passionate nature, no matter how much he wanted to sink in to the luxury of that fine body.
So they would be friends and nothing more. Her ground rules were smart, and he would follow them to the letter. In time he would get used to her, would be able to ignore the attraction.
And then, one day not far down the road, it would be over. He would be able to walk away easily, knowing he had done the right thing.
For now he would take each step as it came. Carefully, he slipped out the door of the suite to call the airfield, hoping to high heaven that now that the skies were clear he could get them back to the world they knew, back to normal life. Back where he could keep his distance from a woman who appealed to him too much—before he did something foolish that would wreck this precarious peace.
Suzanne stepped down from the plane, noting that Michael kept a careful distance this time as he helped her to the ground. The flight back had been accomplished in virtual silence, punctuated only by an occasional remark on what lay below or how the weather had improved.
Today was one of the rare clear days in Prosperino, not a remnant of fog, only buttery yellow sunshine. Dewdrops still glistened on the trees and grass, and the crisp air held only a slight chill. Suzanne’s worry lifted as she looked around.
They would do all right. The turbulence of yesterday had given way to a careful truce between them. This was how it would be, from this day on. She would do everything in her power to keep this fragile peace between them. No matter how he made her heart race.
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