by Myla Jackson
Finally she’d gotten a lead on the International Trade Convention and had applied. Her stepfather put a bug in the ear of one of his buddies from his active Army days at the Pentagon and she’d landed the contract.
Now all she had to do was prove she was up to the task. If it fell apart, she’d lose her business, disgrace the U.S. government and shame her stepfather. The pressure to succeed had almost been overwhelming. To manage the workload, she’d taken out a big loan, more than doubled her staff, coordinated the use of the convention center, arranged for all the food, meeting rooms, audio-visual equipment, translators, and blocked out lodging and security for the guests.
As she dried her hair, she stared at the shadows beneath her eyes. Only a few more sleepless nights and the convention would be underway and over. She’d be playing the role of orchestra conductor, managing the staff to ensure everything was perfect. The most important aspect of the event was tight security. The Department of Homeland Security had notified her today that with all the foreign delegates scheduled to attend, the probability of a terrorist attack had risen to threat level orange.
A quick glance at her watch reminded her that she only had ten minutes to get ready before her meeting in the lounge with the man Homeland Security had insisted she add to her staff to oversee security. This last-minute addition made her nervous. She knew nothing about the man, his background or his capabilities. He could prove more of a hindrance than a help if he got in the way. All she knew was that he’d better be on time, and he’d better be good. With a hundred items roiling around in her head at any one moment, the last thing she needed was an international incident.
Fiona shut off the blow dryer, ran the brush through her hair and reached for the doorknob, reminding herself to look at the e-mail on her laptop from Homeland Security to get the name of the contact she’d be meeting shortly. Before she could turn the doorknob, it twisted in her hand and the door flew open.
A very naked man, with wild eyes and bared teeth shoved her up against the wall, pinned her wrists above her head and demanded, “Who the hell are you? And why are you in my room?”
Chapter Two
Wyatt had stopped in the hotel store for a can of shaving cream and a package of condoms. The shaving cream he had in his duffle, but it was getting low and the condoms… Well, after running into the pretty jogger in the pink shorts, he’d started thinking about sex again. He’d rather be prepared in case an opportunity presented itself.
A mother and a couple of kids got to the clerk first and proceeded to count out thirty-five pennies, five dimes and a quarter for a candy bar.
Wyatt glanced at the clock hanging on the wall behind the clerk. In fifteen minutes he was supposed to be in the lounge to meet with the convention planner. He could get a shower, shave and dress in less than ten, if the kids would hurry up and complete their purchase.
One of the children dropped more pennies on the floor. The two kids and their mother dropped to their haunches to collect the coins.
At that rate, he’d never get ready in time for his meeting.
Still, he couldn’t be impatient with the children, their mother was trying to teach them it cost money for treats and how to pay for things they want. One of the pennies rolled toward his foot and he bent to pick it up.
The boy looked about the same age as Little Johnnie who’d kicked him in the shin, only this child smiled up at him instead of glaring. “Thank you, sir,” he said. He had dark auburn hair and freckles on his nose.
Wyatt pictured the woman in the pink shorts as the mother of this child and immediately he glanced across at the child’s mother who had a lighter shade of red hair and no freckles. Whew. He hadn’t been lusting after someone’s wife or mother—as far as he knew.
She helped the boy and the small girl hand over the change and grabbed the candy bar. “We’ll split it after dinner. Come on, this gentleman has been waiting long enough.”
“No hurry, ma’am,” he assured her, even though he stood a strong chance of being late for his meeting with the event planner. F. Allen would just have to cool his heels. Wyatt was too sweaty from his jog to meet with anyone.
His purchases paid for, Wyatt retrieved his duffle bag from where he’d stashed it behind the concierge’s desk and fished his key card, from an inside pocket. He’d checked in earlier, but his room hadn’t been quite ready. Rather than stand around the lobby, he’d gone for a jog that served two purposes: blowing out the cobwebs and giving him a tactical lay of the land.
Key card in hand, he hurried to the elevator, a shower and a shave at the top of his priority list. He rode up to the floor he’d been assigned, slid his key card in the door lock and entered. As soon as the door closed behind him, he tossed his duffle bag next to the dresser, stripped out of his vest, gun and shorts and made a beeline for the bathroom, anticipating just enough time to make his meeting.
That was when he pushed the door open and ran chest-first into an intruder. His pulse leapt and he grabbed her hands, slamming her against the wall, his instincts on self-preservation. Surprise sharpened his voice as he said the first thing that came into his head. “Who the hell are you? And why are you in my room?”
After his gut reaction to slam the intruder against the wall, his mind had a full two-second delay before it engaged.
Wide green eyes stared up at him. Eyes he recognized from an earlier encounter beside the river. It was the redhead he hadn’t stopped thinking about. And she looked pissed.
“Let go of me or I’ll scream,” she cried, her naked breasts pressing into his chest with every breath she took.
No longer on alert, he relaxed, but he didn’t let go of her wrists. “Not until you tell me what you’re doing in my room.”
“Your room? This is my room and you’re trespassing.”
“I have a key and a receipt indicating this was the room assigned to me at the desk. Which means, darlin’, you’re in the wrong room.”
“I have the same, and I don’t appreciate being held captive without any clothes on. Perhaps we can take this discussion down to the desk, after we’ve both had a chance to dress.” Though her words were matter-of-fact and forceful, color had crept up her neck and bloomed in her cheeks.
Wyatt relented and released her wrists, stepping back, reluctantly. Too late, he realized his body had reacted to hers and his cock jutted out, hard and ready to take it from there.
Her gaze slipped down his length, pausing at that revealing appendage. “Holy shit.” If possible, her cheeks grew even redder. She grabbed a towel and flung it at him. Then she ducked beneath his arm and dove for the bedroom dresser.
A chuckle rose up Wyatt’s throat as he watched the smooth, rounded derriere dart past him. The pink shorts had nothing on the smooth pale, white flesh of her pretty bottom.
“A gentleman wouldn’t stare,” she said, her voice breathy as she jammed her feet into a pair of panties.
“I never claimed to be a gentleman.” Wyatt wrapped the towel around him, the front tenting out. No matter how hard he tried to think his way out of the erection, seeing the redhead slide into her panties only made him harder.
“At the very least, you could turn around.”
He shook his head. “Sorry, darlin’. I never turn my back on strangers. Especially if the stranger is trespassing in my room and has a sexy ass.”
She huffed, grabbed a bra out of a drawer and turned her back to him, that very sexy bottom holding his interest more than he should admit, the thong panties doing nothing to cover the glorious orbs.
“I told you, this is my room. I reserved it months ago,” she threw over her shoulder.
“Guess we’ll have to let the desk clerk sort it all out.”
When she turned back, dressed in a sexy black bra and matching lace panties, she planted her hands on her hips. “Why aren’t you getting dressed?”
He nodded to t
he duffle bag on the floor beside the dresser. “Just waiting for you to move so that I can get to my clothes.”
She stomped past him to the closet, pulled out a gray skirt suit and an orange sherbet blouse and faced him, holding the suit in front of her like a shield. “Do you mind?”
He shook his head. “Not at all.” He remained leaning against the doorway to the bathroom. When she continued to stare at him pointedly, he straightened. “I take it you want me to let you by so that you can dress in the bathroom.”
“That would be the gentlemanly—”
“—thing to do.” His lips curled and he wanted to laugh out loud at her indignant expression. “How do I know you’re not keeping a weapon in the bathroom?”
“Because I didn’t carry a weapon into the bathroom. Go ahead. Check the bathroom. I might be hiding a fifty-caliber machine gun in there.”
Wyatt shoved the door wider and glanced in, making a quick show of checking shelves, counters and behind the shower curtain. The only thing that caught his attention was the hot pink shorts lying in a half-open laundry bag on the floor. “All clear.”
“Told you.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, still not moving out of the doorframe. “I knew it. I’m just pushing your buttons, since you’re trespassing in my room. Did you know your eyes flare when you’re angry?”
The woman planted her fists on her gorgeous hips. “Then they should be flaring right now.”
“I don’t know why you’d bother to dress in the bathroom. You could dress out here and let me get my shower.”
“I like having a lock on the door.”
“What does it matter? I’ve already seen everything you have to offer.”
“For the record, I’m not offering you anything. And I don’t dress in front of jerks.”
He nodded. “We’ve established I’m not a gentleman. Really, the repetition is getting boring.”
She stomped a pretty little foot, her effort making little impression in the carpet, but she sure was cute with her long red hair hanging free around her shoulders.
Wyatt had the sudden urge to pull her into his arms and tangle his fingers in all the burnished copper strands. He moved aside, allowing her pass.
She walked past him into the bathroom, her head held high and slammed the door between them.
After barging in on her and holding her captive when she was naked, Wyatt figured he didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell at getting her to go out with him. Not now. Still, he couldn’t help trying. Those long, shapely legs would be nice wrapped around his waist, and he could just imagine how her pale white ass would fit in the palm of his hands as he pumped in and out of her. He glanced down at the tented towel and groaned. “It might help to know the name of the person who is trespassing in my room.” He crossed the room to the duffle bag leaning against the far side of the dresser and removed a pair of jeans.
“Why would I tell you my name?” she asked through the door. “For all I know you’re some pervert who gets off on breaking into a woman’s room.”
“I guess when you put it that way, you have a point.” He grinned as he draped the jeans over his arm. “Only, since it’s my room, you could be the pervert. Though that thought has some appeal.” He pulled a chambray shirt from the bag, shaking out the wrinkles. The door to the bathroom opened as he draped the shirt over the jeans and waited for her to come out.
The redhead emerged from the bathroom, fully clothed in the soft gray suit and pale orange blouse, looking cool, calm and collected and every bit as sexy as she had in her bra and panties or stark naked.
What was it about this woman that had him so hot? Wyatt chalked it up to the months he’d been celibate. After he’d recovered from his injuries, he’d lacked any desire to find a woman and take her to bed. The shrink had claimed PTSD could lead to depression. Lack of desire was only one sign of depression.
Thankfully, the woman had reminded him he was definitely a healthy male capable of a raging hard-on. How to get her into bed would be the challenge.
She padded to the closet, stepped into light gray high-heeled pumps and finally faced him. Her eyes flared briefly when her gaze landed on his chest. Her hands clasped together and she swept her tongue around her bottom lip.
That tongue thing was almost Wyatt’s undoing.
“How much longer until you’re ready?” she asked, breaking into his mental picture of his tongue dueling with hers.
“Don’t wait on me. I’m not getting dressed until I shower the sweat off my body.” He doubted seriously he could walk at that point, with his cock tenting the towel around his middle.
“Not in my shower, you’re not.”
“Guess we’ll be waiting here for a long time then.”
She blew a stream of air out her nose. “Fine. Get your shower. And hurry it up. I’m not leaving you in my room. You might rob me.”
He chuckled, loving the fire in her eyes and the color in her cheeks when she was angry. “I can’t imagine what I’d do with panties and skirt suits.”
She quirked her eyebrows upward. “Perverts do strange and disgusting things.”
Oh, he could imagine all kinds of strange and disgusting things he’d like to do to her body. He crossed to the bathroom door. “I’m ready…” For more than she could imagine. And wouldn’t she be appalled if she could read his mind? “…er, I’ll be ready in less than five minutes.” Closing the door behind him, he switched on the shower and stepped in even before the water warmed, hoping the cool shower would deflate his boner. He’d have a difficult time getting into his jeans as hard as he was.
The bathroom smelled like her, the shampoo some honeysuckle-scented perfection that reminded him of home in the Texas hill country and only made him crazier with need. With quick, efficient movements, he scrubbed the sweat off his skin and shampooed his short hair. When he ran a soapy hand down to his dick, he groaned. Damn he really needed to get laid. No woman should have that much of an effect on him. Rinsing in ice-cold water, he gave up and climbed out, toweling off with more speed than care.
As promised, less than five minutes later, he exited the bathroom, wearing uncomfortably tight jeans and sliding his arms into his chambray shirt. “Ready?”
Her brows furrowed. “Don’t you think you should button up first?”
“I can do it on the way down in the elevator.” Wyatt pulled his boots on and held the door open for her, waiting for her to pass. When she did, he inhaled the fragrant scent of honeysuckle in her hair.
She reached the elevator before him and jabbed the down button.
When the door slid open, she stepped in. Wyatt followed, slowly buttoning his shirt as the car slid toward the ground floor. By the way she glanced sideways at him, he figured he was getting to her. Either that, or the bright pink in her cheeks was the result of too much sun, a distinct possibility in Texas.
The elevator car stopped on the second floor and a group of teenage boys in matching baseball uniforms scrambled in, laughing and poking at each other.
The redhead eased to the back of the car, backing over Wyatt’s boots. She wobbled and would have fallen if Wyatt hadn’t slipped an arm around her middle to steady her. “Easy there, darlin’,” he whispered against her ear.
She stiffened. “I’m not your darlin’,” she said, her voice low, her comment meant for his ears only.
He liked that even though she’d started out stiff, by the time they reached the lobby level, she was leaning against him.
The boys piled out quickly, leaving Wyatt and the woman to exit at their own pace.
The redhead bolted, heading straight for the reception desk.
Wyatt hurried after her, a step behind, thinking damn, she has a great ass every step of the way.
Several people stood in line, many wearing business suits, some speaking Spanish, others speaking languag
es Wyatt wasn’t as familiar with.
“Damn,” the redhead muttered. “I don’t have time to wait in line. I have a meeting in…” she glanced at her watch, “…three minutes.”
Two of the people checking in gathered their key cards and documents and wheeled their suitcases off, opening up a clerk for the next two in line.
Wyatt glanced at his own watch. He’d be late for his meeting as well. “Next!” a female receptionist called out.
The redhead hurried toward her. “Excuse me, but there seems to be some confusion. This man claims he was assigned to the room I reserved over two months ago.”
“Name, please?”
“Fiona Allen.”
Finally a name to add to the beautiful face. Fiona. It suited her. She had that red Irish look to her, with the pale skin and freckles.
The clerk’s fingers flew over the keyboard and she glanced up. “The system shows you in room three twenty-eight.”
Fiona’s head jerked up and she gave him a triumphant smile. “See? It’s my room.”
“Your name, sir?” the receptionist demanded.
“Wyatt Magnus.”
Again the clerk’s fingers skimmed across the keys. She frowned and hit a few more keys. Then she glanced to the side at the man wearing the manager nametag. “Scott,” she called out.
Busy welcoming another guest, he ignored the clerk’s entreaty.
“Scott!” she called out, louder this time.
Scott turned toward her, the smile he’d been sharing with a customer fading when he looked at the clerk’s face. “What seems to be the problem?” He joined her at the monitor and added his frown to hers.
“It appears we’ve inadvertently double-booked the room,” he said.
“What do I do?” the clerk asked.