Best of Temptation Bundle

by Tori Carrington

  “How’d you keep it a secret? What about royalty checks?”

  She twirled her straw around the edge of the glass. That had been the tricky part. “Well, you could say my dad helped with that.” His brow furrowed. “Law school, I mean. Just one afternoon of paperwork, and suddenly the Montgomery L. Alexander Literary Corporation was born. The company actually owns the copyrights to all of the books. And it has a tax identification number, so there’s no problem with the IRS.”

  Alexander leaned back, nodding approval. “Very clever.”

  “Thanks.” Now can we move on to other topics? Perhaps, say, kissing?

  “But Brandon never asked?”

  Paris took a long swallow of the drink. Obviously he was stuck in the getting-to-know-you phase while she was itching to start rounding bases. “Sure he did. I told him about Alexander being the private type, and that was that. Eventually he quit asking.”

  “You must have liked him, though. You’re at another publisher, and he’s still your editor.”

  “Same publisher, actually. Cobalt Blue’s a recent spin-off of Desperado. Ellis Chapman thought the classy name would help with marketing,” said Paris. “But you’re right. Brandon’s swell. He’s a fabulous editor. And we’ve become good friends, too.” She felt a blush creep to her cheeks. “At least, as much as we can be considering I lie to him pretty much every day.”

  Paris fell back against the plush upholstery, intending to nip in the bud his fascination with the fine art of conversation. “Listen to me babble. This drink on top of champagne. Wow.” She drew the straw up to her mouth and licked off every drop of liquid, enjoying the reaction she saw in his eyes.

  She didn’t really doubt he wanted her. Throughout the entire evening, his touch, his look, his voice had all told her so. He wanted her and she wanted him.

  But she wasn’t going to have him. She was going to hold tight to her resolve. It was just chemistry between them, anyway. Nothing magic, nothing earth-shattering. She would allow herself a kiss, maybe even two or three, just so she’d have the memory. So she could satisfy the part of her that longed to be swept up and away, the part that wanted to lose herself if only for a moment.

  She’d lose herself in his kisses. Those kisses, she told herself—his kisses—would be enough.

  Of course, even a kiss might be wishful thinking. Like her or not, he still hadn’t tried anything. So what are you going to do about it?

  No brilliant plan stepped forward, and for the first time in her life Paris wished she’d paid more attention to Rachel’s scripted, rehearsed and tested technique. She’d just have to wing it. Or chicken out entirely.

  “Are you going to tell Brandon?” he asked.

  She smiled at him, still teasing the end of the straw between her lips in a manner she hoped emphasized how kissable she was. “You’ll be out of a gig if I do.”

  HER RESPONSE WAS LIGHT and teasing. But even so, Devin worried she had realized what his questions were getting at. If a number of people already knew Alexander’s deep, dark secret, she’d have little motivation to pay him to keep his mouth shut.

  His father’s voice lectured in his head. So what if she’s figured it out? She’ll realize when you ask her for the cash.

  True enough. But he didn’t want to demand the money just yet. He wanted to get to know her, to spend time with her. Alone. Preferably undressed. From the way she looked at him, he knew she wanted to spend that type of quality time with him, too.

  If he could just keep the desire burning in her eyes, maybe he could get the money and still manage to hold on to the girl.

  He bit back a curse. Who was he fooling? She wasn’t interested in him. Paris wanted Montgomery Alexander. She wanted to be swept away by a suave, sophisticated man who said all the right things.

  Devin O’Malley was not that man. But he wanted her, wanted her bad. Even if it meant playing a part. And maybe, just maybe, she’d fall a little bit for the man behind the mask.

  Oh, Devie-boy. Falling for a mark. Didn’t I teach you better?

  “Shut up,” he whispered.

  “What?” She looked confused. He hoped she hadn’t heard him.

  “I said we should go up.”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “We should?”

  “I meant that I should walk you to your room.”

  “Oh.” She studied her short manicured nails. Was she disappointed he hadn’t suggested more?

  “And then you’ll invite me in for a nightcap.” There. That was a very Montgomery Alexander thing to say.

  “Pretty confident, aren’t you?” she asked, her breathless voice reassuring him that he didn’t have to worry about being invited in for the evening.

  “That we’ll have a nightcap together? Yes.”

  “Why, Mr. Alexander, are you trying to get me drunk?”

  “I think you already are.”

  She put up a good show of being offended. “Moi? No, no, no. I’m just a little tipsy.” She leaned forward, crooking her finger to draw him nearer. “If I were drunk, then I’d do what I’ve been thinking about all evening.”

  Devin’s heart skipped a beat. “Yeah? What’s that?”

  A mischievous smile lit up her eyes, and he wondered what he was in for. In a quick movement, Paris slid out of the booth, and joined him on his side of the table. She sat close, her hip and thigh soft and feminine against him. Devin steeled himself against an instinctive, physical reaction. She was so close, so sweet. He wanted her so naked, so willing.

  “What have you been wanting to do?” he asked, amazed and relieved that he was able to form words despite the effect of her proximity on him.

  Her lips brushed his ear, her scent more intoxicating than their drink. “Can’t you guess?”

  “Tell me,” he whispered, even as he struggled to keep from grabbing her shoulders and claiming her mouth with his.

  Her tongue flicked across the top of his ear. He grabbed the edge of the table and squeezed, willing himself to stay sane.

  “I want you to tell me something first,” she whispered.

  “Vixen,” he teased.

  She eased forward so he could see more of her face, more of her eyes, dark with passion. Her finger dipped into the drink, and she moved it to her mouth, parting her lips, sucking the liquid from her own finger. Then she dragged her finger casually over her full lower lip, her eyes never leaving his face. Teasing eyes and tempting lips. He wanted to lose himself in those lips. Wanted to lose himself in her.

  Devin heard a moan, realized it came from him, and knew the world was reeling beneath him.

  Paris slipped her finger back into the drink, but this time, instead of raising it to her own lips, she gently grazed his mouth with her moist fingertip. So tender. So inviting.

  Craving a deeper taste, Devin drew her finger into his mouth, rolling his tongue over her flesh, reveling in her sweet flavor. Paris shut her eyes, but Devin didn’t need to see those liquid brown pools to know she was aroused.

  Just as Devin closed his own eyes, Paris withdrew her finger and shifted so their hips no longer touched. His body lamented as he opened his eyes and saw that she’d slid away. Now she leaned against the table, her gaze locked on him, one finger in her mouth. This time the gesture wasn’t seductive. Instead, she was nibbling on a fingernail.

  Basic, primal need crashed over him.

  Was she having second thoughts? Please, no. She’d already taken him to the brink, and the thought of not having her, not touching her was unbearable. He wanted to keep them in this moment with a desperation he’d never felt before. He needed to let the feeling grow, to explore her finger until he knew every taste, every crevice. And then to do the same with every soft, perfect inch of her.

  “What did you want to ask me?” He kept his voice low, willing her back to him.

  Her smile was fragile. “I shouldn’t…we shouldn’t…” Paris took a deep breath, then looked down at the table. Devin could tell she was torn, and he stiffened, waiting for her to de
cide. Everything he wanted in the universe hinged on which way she would come down.

  When she lifted her eyes to meet his, he thought he saw an invitation. Devin relaxed, and the earth continued to spin.

  “I wanted to know if you really just wanted to run your hands through my hair.” She looked away as she spoke, and his heart swelled at her sudden shyness.

  Devin held on to the moment for as long as he dared. He wanted to burn that instant into his memory. The way she looked, magnetic, electric, blazing. Her voice, husky with lust. Her scent, flowers and musk.

  He stroked her cheek, his fingertips light enough to feel the fine hairs on her perfect skin. Paris closed her eyes again, her lips slightly parted. He caressed her face, outlined her mouth with his fingertips, stopping finally to cup her chin. When he had taken as much as he could from the moment, he brushed his lips over hers.

  “Is that what you’ve been wanting to do?” he asked.

  A sparkle in her eyes. A hint of a smile. She shook her head, no.

  Before Devin could register confusion, she continued. “No. I wanted to do this.”

  In one movement, she caught his mouth with her kiss. Bold and deep, the kiss was hungry, devouring, nothing like Devin’s sensual tease. This was a full-blown kiss. Torrid, lustful, enthusiastic and unmistakably sexy.

  Devin returned her ardor. Her mouth was moist and ready for him, and he explored her with his tongue, even as his hands glided over the curve of her neck and the arch of her back. Despite the awkward position, their bodies fit perfectly.

  More. He needed to know the rest of her.

  “Maybe it’s time I walk you to your room,” he said, pulling away just enough to look at her. It was a strain for him to get the words out.

  Paris’s eyes told him what he wanted to know. “Yeah. Maybe it is.”

  Hours seemed to pass before they settled the bill and caught the elevator. During that eternity they held hands, not saying a word, electricity arcing between them. “What floor are you on?”

  “Thirty-five,” she said, punching the number.

  “You should have taken a room in the single digits. This elevator’s horribly slow. I’m not sure I can wait until thirty-five.”

  With a gleam in her eye, she looked down at the obvious bulge in the front of his slacks. “No, maybe you can’t.”

  Devin pulled her in front of him, his erection pressing against the thin dress and her soft flesh underneath. “Do you have any idea how much I want you?”

  She wriggled against him, her unexpected response thrilling him and almost sending him tumbling over the edge. “I’ve got a pretty good idea,” she said.

  He groaned into her hair. “Vicious flirt,” he murmured.

  The elevator stopped at the sixth floor, and Paris straightened up, placing a safe strip of air between them, as a gray-haired woman stepped on and punched the button for the thirty-second floor. She smiled at Devin and Paris, then turned to face the closed elevator doors.

  Devin moved closer behind Paris, clasping her around the waist to keep her from pulling away. He peered at their companion. She seemed unconcerned.

  When he felt Paris relax in his arms, Devin conjured a fake cough, and, with cough and motion working together, managed to maneuver Paris’s zipper down to her waist without their elevator guest noticing. Paris stiffened but didn’t say a word.

  Devin laid the palm of his hand against her bare back, fearful that Paris would step away. He’d never done anything this bold, but he felt compelled. Desire controlled him. He felt a hunger to know her completely, body, mind, soul. And a need to be the man she wanted, the type of man who was confident enough to seduce a beautiful woman in an elevator.

  For her, he could be that man.

  Paris held her back rigid and faced forward like a soldier. But she didn’t try to move away, and Devin let his fingers glide up and down the path left by her zipper. She shivered, then leaned back into him, her sigh almost inaudible.

  Trailing his fingers up her back, Devin kept his eyes on the gray-haired lady, ready to drop his mission if need be, but still tantalized by the prospect of discovery. He felt the pattern of Paris’s spine, traced the gentle curve of her shoulder blade, and found the soft skin under her arm. Her body rose and fell as her breathing became more labored. She was forcing herself to stay in control. He knew, because so was he.

  With slow, easy strokes, he caressed her side, up and down under her arm, delighting in her soft skin under his fingers. With each upward stroke, he moved his fingers closer to her front. Paris leaned back, the soft grinding movement of her hips against his groin making him harder than he’d ever been.

  When his index finger stroked the soft flesh of her breast, his efforts were rewarded with a small spasm. Was she going crazy? He knew he’d go mad if they didn’t soon reach her room.

  The elevator stopped at thirty-two, and their impromptu chaperone stepped off. As soon as the elevator doors closed, Paris spun around in his arms, her face flushed.

  “Kiss me.”

  It was an order Devin wouldn’t dream of ignoring, and he lost himself in the kiss for the next three floors, lost to everything except the throbbing of his own body and the delicious ambrosia of her mouth under his own.

  When they reached Paris’s floor, Devin felt a twinge of regret that this woman he was seducing, that was seducing him right back, had absolutely no idea of his name. He started to tell her, then stopped. What was the point? He was from his world, and she was from hers, and never the twain shall meet. She didn’t want a Devin O’Malley. Wasn’t that obvious? After all, she’d never pressed him for his real name.

  Paris wanted Alexander, and Devin had no idea how to change that, how to make her see that he could be everything she wanted.

  She wanted Montgomery Alexander, and fortunately for Devin, tonight that’s who he was. He wanted tonight with her.

  Tomorrow was soon enough to figure out how to get the money, keep Paris and still be Devin O’Malley.

  4

  “THIS IS IT.” Paris indicated her hotel room door with a wave of her hand. She tried to keep her voice normal, casual, but she doubted she succeeded.

  Alexander nodded. “So it is.”

  He stood only inches away, not touching her, but close enough to tease her with the possibility of contact. Part of her wanted him to touch her again, like he had in the elevator, but if he did that, Paris didn’t think she could summon the strength not to touch him back. Every part of him. With her fingers, her lips, her tongue. And not just kisses…

  After all, wasn’t that what she really wanted? Wasn’t that why they were standing here in the hallway in front of a room furnished with little more than a bed? She’d been foolishly trying to trick herself into thinking she could survive on only his kisses. But in truth, she wanted all of him. Maybe it was only chemistry between them, but that was okay. After all, she didn’t want or need any ties to this man. Just one night of passion to savor forever.

  She imagined Alexander, stretched out naked on that king-size bed, holding his hand out, beckoning her to come to him. Urging her to make love to him all night. Just like he did in her fantasies.

  The possibility sent her blood rushing.

  Anticipation. An old ketchup commercial skittered through her head. I’m giddy, smitten and starstruck.

  “Are you going to invite me in?” His soft words brought her back to the moment. From the husky tone of his voice, Paris knew he wasn’t worried the answer would be “no.”

  “Sure,” she said, then slipped the card key through the slot and watched as the light turned from red to green. Green for go. Green for no holds barred, damn the torpedoes, and all that jazz.

  As her hand paused on the door handle, she realized that the etiquette of the situation eluded her. The Fates willing, she was about to sleep with a man she technically didn’t know all that well—not a normal happening for her.

  But he was Alexander. And with Alexander, Paris had no qualms. She may
have only met him a few hours ago, but she’d known him all her life.

  Girl, you are so losing it.

  She ran her free hand through her hair, pulling the curls up and away from her face. What on earth was she doing? He wasn’t Alexander, and she wasn’t going to sleep with him. Adventure in fiction was fine and dandy. But it had no place in her real life. You are not going to make love with him. She needed to keep reminding herself of that. For some reason, she kept forgetting.

  For some reason? Please. She had good reasons. Lots of them. Like that he was hotter than sin and so very close.

  Still, no matter how much she wanted it to be true, he wasn’t the man she’d imagined so many times when she was alone in her bed. He couldn’t be.

  She stressed the point, trying to mentally drive it home. He couldn’t be Alexander, because Alexander didn’t exist. And this man, the one standing behind her who had almost burned up the elevator with her, was not—repeat, not—her dream man.

  She needed to call this off, run for shelter, before it was too late.

  Unfortunately, her body wasn’t really keen on this new call-it-off plan. Her body wanted to do the kinds of things people did behind hotel room doors.

  Her body didn’t even care that she didn’t know his real name. But what was in a name, really? Especially when the chemistry was so potent. When she melted at his touch. When every thought in her head evaporated under the spell of him.

  She sighed. Maybe he really was Alexander.

  Or maybe she was trying really hard to think up a justification for sleeping with him.

  “Paris?”

  She looked up, taking in his bad-boy-turned-corporate-exec good looks that practically oozed sex. The silk tie was loose and his first two buttons were undone, revealing a smattering of gold hair. His eyes glittered, intent on watching her. A smile played at his lips, and Paris thought of the wolf and Red Riding Hood. The better to eat you with.