Best of Temptation Bundle

by Tori Carrington

  She drew a shaky breath. Another line from her first book. He was Alexander, and yet he wasn’t. Her dream lover, and at the same time a flesh and blood man—fascinating and sexy. And dangerous.

  She steeled herself, then nodded at Devin, fearing that any attempt to talk would end her up in his arms. She slid out of the bathroom and pulled the door shut behind her.

  Memories of his caresses, his scent, his charm drifted through her mind. She sighed. It would be a long night.

  But at least she’d won Round Two.

  7

  “HALF-NAKED IN A BATHTUB? And you left? Are you ill?” Rachel extended a hand to feel Paris’s forehead.

  “Will you stop?” Paris swatted Rachel’s hand away, glancing around the busy LaGuardia airport gift shop.

  A well-tanned older couple wearing matching Bermuda shorts and clashing Hawaiian print shirts glanced her way. Paris smiled politely, hoping they were staring because they were nosy, and not because they’d overheard Rachel’s comments.

  Then again, maybe they were looking at the dark circles she was sure lined the undersides of her eyes. She hadn’t slept at all last night, too distracted by the man in the next room. But now victory was hers, and Rachel wasn’t going to spoil it. Especially considering how hard-fought the battle had been. “I told you I wasn’t going to sleep with him. And I meant it.”

  “Well, goodie for you. You win the jackpot. Biff the Wonder Accountant, a thrill-a-minute life playing hostess at Daddy’s and hubby’s parades of political functions, a nanny and a prescription for Prozac. How excited you must be.”

  “Rachel.” Paris shot her a warning look.

  Rachel threw her hands up in surrender. “Hey, not that there’s anything wrong with that. If that’s what you want.” Rachel slapped a magazine and a packet of gum down on the counter. “But I think you’re just avoiding the truth.”

  Paris rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t have even told you if I’d known you’d go psychoanalyst on me. In fact, I wouldn’t have had you drive us. Devin and I would have just taken a taxi.”

  Rachel shrugged and paid the clerk, a dark-haired girl who looked about sixteen. “It’s not too late to stock up on those condoms. You still might need them.”

  The clerk giggled. Paris aimed a dirty look at Rachel, then added a candy bar to her own stack of paperback novels. “What magazine did Devin say to get him?”

  “Um,” Rachel scanned the magazine rack and pointed to a dense weekly finance and investment report. “Guess our little scrapper’s into light reading, huh?” She nudged Paris. “Maybe you can mold him into your accountant.”

  Paris gave her a level stare. “Just pass me the magazine.”

  She paid the girl, who Paris was sure was holding back a smirk. On the way to the gate, Rachel coughed once. Then again. Paris looked at her.

  “Nothing,” Rachel said, all innocence.

  “I’m not sleeping with him,” she said, her gaze automatically drifting toward the bank of pay phones halfway down the concourse where Devin stood, the receiver pressed to his ear.

  “Right. I know. You’ve made that perfectly clear.”

  Paris stopped dead, almost tripping a woman struggling with a massive suitcase. “Why are you making it your personal project to attach me to this guy? You’re practically begging me to sleep with him. And despite all your talk, that’s not your normal routine. So why are you pushing it on me? Do you win a prize or something if you manage to compromise my virtue?”

  “Not me. You win the prize. A lifetime membership in the Club of Lost Virtue. Or…” She took a step back, arms crossed over her chest, and scanned Paris from head to foot.

  “Or, what?”

  “Maybe he’s The One. You’ll fall madly in love, and your virtues can ride off into the sunset together.”

  Paris laughed. “Since when did you become the romantic type?”

  “I liked Sleepless in Seattle. I cried during Titanic.”

  “Only because she dropped the necklace in the Atlantic.”

  “Even so. Mark my words. I have a feeling he might be it.”

  Paris frowned. Rachel needed to hurry up and get over this Paris-Devin kick before she resorted to something rash. Paris pictured Devin handcuffed to her in a locked candlelit room, and Rachel not letting them out until they finally did the deed.

  Of course, that might not be such a bad thing. Paris pictured Devin laid out on the bed, his arms stretched wide and kept firmly in place by silk ribbons. No, by Paris’s black silk stockings. Chest bare, she could tease and torment him with her kisses until his skin danced with passion and he writhed beneath her at only a whisper of her touch.

  Paris sighed and opened her eyes. This was not the place to be thinking those kinds of thoughts. No, she corrected, she shouldn’t be thinking those thoughts anywhere. Plan, remember? Right kind of man, remember?

  But thirty minutes later, as she sat tucked into her cramped little airplane seat, Rachel’s prediction still rang in her mind.

  The One? Not possible. Paris was a sensible girl, and sensible girls did not fall madly in love with con artists. A smile touched her lips. Not even ones that read the financial pages, spoke eloquently about kisses and thought up goofy plans that involved taking a bath fully clothed? No, she told herself sternly, not even those.

  But do sensible girls write thrill-a-minute spy novels with half-naked femme fatales lurking in the hero’s bed?

  With a yank, she cinched the seat belt tighter. This girl did. She wrote novels, she fantasized about her invented author and she hired a mystery man to impersonate her pen name. But even if he was a complete hunk, and even if she was attracted to him, and even if her hormones were working overtime, she wasn’t going to fall for him.

  Not hard anyway.

  She was going to stick to her plan and get her life back on track so that she could tell her dad what she did for a living and marry some nice, normal guy and live happily ever after.

  Paris shot an irritated look toward Devin, buried in one of her books. She scowled. He didn’t even have a clue about her angst. Men.

  She gave the restraint one more tug for good measure and made sure her seat and tray table were in the full upright and locked position. When the attendant held up an emergency procedures card, Paris scrambled in the pocket to find hers.

  Devin wasn’t even paying attention. He seemed engrossed in Alexander’s third book. The plane could go down in flames and he’d have no clue about which exit to head for.

  She looked up to find the oxygen masks that would fall in an emergency. The ceiling seemed pretty solid. What if her mask was in there too tight?

  She turned to Devin, but he didn’t seem interested, and his nonchalance fanned her already sparked irritation. She took a breath and tried to think of that mantra. Something about lotus flowers. Okay. Everything was okay. If the plane crashed Paris could take care of herself.

  Oh, Lord, surely it wouldn’t crash.

  Devin turned a page, glancing up slightly, and caught her eye. A smile tugged at his mouth. His kissable mouth.

  Paris frowned and dropped her eyes, concentrating on the emergency card in her lap. Rachel was just flat wrong. That was all there was to it. He surely wasn’t the one. He was all wrong. Nothing like Paris had planned for. Nothing like what her father expected or would approve of.

  She had her entire life and career to think about. Family expectations. Appearances. She’d be silly to sabotage all that by giving in to a couple of weeks of passion. Even really, really intense passion.

  She jumped a mile at the gentle nudge on her shoulder.

  “Sorry.” His brow furrowed. “Are you all right?”

  “Sure. Yes. Of course.” She peered at him. “Why are you asking? Don’t I look all right?”

  He nodded toward her lap. Paris followed his gaze and winced. She’d managed to inflict serious damage on the emergency card. Bent corners, little tears, creases and crinkles.

  “My mind wanders,” she said.r />
  “I can see that.”

  “And I don’t much like flying.”

  “No kidding.”

  It was like sitting next to a tub of dynamite. Paris didn’t know what to do, what to say. She wanted to explore this thing, this desire, that crackled between them, even as she wanted to run screaming from it.

  The silence thickened.

  Getting any work done with him was going to be murder, and she still had four hours on this plane with him before they landed in Los Angeles. Not to mention over five hundred hours on the ground. Traveling together. Working together. Closely. Intimately.

  The hum of the engines increased and Paris felt the pressure of acceleration push her back in the seat. Her fingers tightened around the armrest and she closed her eyes.

  The surprise of his palm on the back of her hand took her mind away from the takeoff. His caress was gentle, but still firm and reassuring. Paris opened her eyes and smiled a silent thank-you as the plane lifted into the air. He squeezed her hand, and Paris instantly wished he hadn’t. Every nerve ending below her wrist was on fire, and each of those nerves had a high-speed connection to the depths of her heart.

  The wrong kind of thoughts started wandering through her mind. Images of his shoulders, his thighs, the memory of the elevator and his breath on the back of her neck.

  Something about a mile-high club. She shivered.

  “Are you going to be okay?”

  “What? Oh, the plane. Yeah. It’s takeoff that gets me the most. I’m fine. Really.” She glanced down at their intertwined hands, then back up quickly before he could notice.

  Too late. He let go of her hand. When she looked at him, he seemed sad, but the effect was fleeting.

  “You distracted me,” she said, walking into dangerous territory. “I guess I should say thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” He sat up straighter and turned to face her. “So, did you sleep okay last night?”

  Her response was immediate and honest. “No.”

  “Me neither,” he said, shifting in his seat and relaxing a little. “It’ll be hard getting through three weeks on no sleep.”

  “Somehow we’ll muddle through.”

  “It’s a bummer.” The corner of his mouth twitched and Paris knew he was teasing.

  “What?”

  “’Round the clock employment, but no fringe benefits.” He spread his hands, imploring. “What’s a poor boy to do?”

  Paris grinned and smacked his hand away. He was too quick and caught her fingers, his hand engulfing hers. She gave a gentle tug, but he held on.

  “Gotcha.” He gave a quick, gentle kiss to her fingertips, sending her mind whirling. “I think I’ll just have to keep a tight hold on management until we can negotiate better terms.”

  No doubt he was thinking about the same type of terms that were running through her mind. Terms that involved more than just touching fingertips.

  She mentally waggled a finger at herself. Ah-ah-ah. Rules, remember? Plans? He’s been officially working for you for less than twenty-four hours. Get a grip and control your lust.

  She smiled sweetly. “You’re not exactly being paid minimum wage.” She pulled her hand free, and as her fingers slid away, the ability to think coherently returned.

  She regarded him out of the corner of her eye. He didn’t look at all guilty about trying to change her mind. Persistent devil. “Nice try,” she allowed.

  “Thanks. Did I gain any ground?”

  “No.” And if you did, I wouldn’t tell you.

  “Oh, well. Too bad. But I had to try.”

  “Why?”

  He tapped his finger against his chin. “Why? Hmm. I’d have to say testosterone, mostly.”

  “It’s amazing how accurate some stereotypes are. Men are just ruled by their—”

  “—right. It’s true. We’re a lowly lot.” He pretended to pout.

  He was pretty cute when he was being lowly.

  “Well, all that aside, we’re keeping a safe distance between us. Platonic. Professional,” she insisted.

  “Safe for whom?”

  Paris ignored him.

  “Are you sure that’s what you want?” he asked.

  “Devin. I told you. You distract me.”

  His eyes found hers, and Paris was sure he could see all her secrets.

  “I like to distract you,” he whispered, in a voice that zeroed in on her core.

  She took a breath. Steady. Steady. “We need to work. You’re the hired help, remember?”

  “I’m gunning for a promotion.”

  Paris did her best to conjure up a seductive smile worthy of Rachel. “Well, then, you know what they say,” she said, lowering her voice to a husky whisper.

  He didn’t look like he was buying it for a second, but he played along. “What?”

  “Performance counts.”

  “I’ll like earning this promotion.”

  She pulled a three-inch thick binder out of her tote bag and dropped it into his lap. “This. You get to perform this.”

  “I’m guessing this isn’t the Kama Sutra,” Devin deadpanned.

  “You’re very astute.” She flipped to the first section. “You can start with the plot lines of Alexander’s books.”

  THREE HOURS LATER, Devin closed the notebook, his eyes sore from reading. He hoped he could keep it all straight. The last thing he wanted to do was let her down.

  Devin had to give her points for organization. Her notebook certainly made his job a lot easier. Press clippings, time lines, a fifty-page bio of Alexander, complete with birthplace and educational background. It was all there. A complete primer on Montgomery Alexander. The bloody British bastard.

  With a sigh, he leaned back in his seat. He’d agreed to play her Monty in public. Like he’d said, it was his performance that created this mess for her. In private, however, he intended to convince her that she wanted him, not some fantasy she’d crafted over the years. He’d play Alexander, sure. But he’d let Devin seep in around the edges. Until finally, in private, there would be only him. Devin.

  And when that happened, he didn’t want there to be any doubt in her mind about who was holding her and loving her. That was the real reason he’d agreed to this tour. The only reason he’d sucked up his pride and committed to three weeks—even though that meant he’d probably have to crawl to Derek when he got back to New York.

  Maybe he’d get lucky. Jerry promised to canvass all their friends from the old neighborhood who’d gone legit. He’d end up indebted to half of New York and most of New Jersey, but it would be worthwhile if he got Paris in the end.

  And he had every intention of getting Paris back in his arms and keeping her there.

  Old Monty could take a flying leap.

  Paris mumbled something in her sleep and shifted her position, the flimsy blue blanket dropping from her shoulder. Devin reached over and tucked it around her, unable to resist the urge to stroke her cheek as he pulled his hand away. She stirred, turning her face toward him and prolonging the contact.

  He imagined her in bed, asleep, curling her body against his, instinctively seeking his warmth, his touch. It was a dangerous place for his thoughts to go. His body was already reacting to the image of Paris, naked beside him, her skin and hair glinting in candlelight.

  Very dangerous. And very, very appealing.

  She moved again in the seat beside him, pulling the blanket tighter around her. He chuckled. She probably hogged the covers. That was okay. A small price to pay.

  Devin reached over and brushed a wild curl away from her face.

  “Are we there yet?” she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep. He pulled his hand away.

  Paris sat up and squinted at him. “Do we land soon?”

  “Welcome back. I think we’re over California. Probably about a half hour more.”

  “Devin? Thanks for agreeing to the whole tour. I appreciate it.” She dropped her eyes. “And thanks for agreeing to keep it purely professional.” />
  “Well, I’m not so sure I willingly agreed to that.” She looked up, alarm shining in her eyes. “But, hey, a deal’s a deal. The lady wants it purely professional, then professional it is.”

  Devin allowed himself a tiny grin. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t try to change the lady’s mind.

  8

  “IT’S AN HONOR having you stay here, Mr. Alexander. Really. An honor. I just love your books.” The bellhop stopped the luggage cart in front of the elevator bank of the swank Santa Monica hotel.

  “Thank you,” Devin said. He gestured to the call button. “It’ll come faster if you push the button.”

  “Oh. Right. I’m just…Wow.” The boy jabbed the up-arrow.

  Devin squelched a grin, and looked at Paris. She scowled at him and crossed her arms over her chest. Then she examined her watch and looked back up at Devin.

  He shrugged, not sure what was annoying her. Maybe the taxi drive. Even after the morning rush hour, Los Angeles freeways weren’t exactly a picnic, and although their driver spoke no English, he seemed to have a fascination with rap music played at deafening levels. Paris probably just needed to relax.

  The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. “Right this way, Mr. Alexander.” The boy wheeled the luggage cart in, holding the door open just long enough for Devin to enter. Paris jumped in as the doors were sliding shut. She shot the bellhop a dirty look, but Devin doubted the boy noticed since he was so intent on staring at the famous Mr. Montgomery Alexander.

  This sudden dive into celebrity was turning out to be a wild ride. He checked to see if Paris shared his amusement. She rewarded him with a look even dirtier than the one she’d laid on the boy. Okay. So she wasn’t amused.

  She turned her back to him and faced the closed doors. Her arms were crossed in front of her again, her foot tapped a rhythm, and her back was rigid. She looked ready to explode.

  She also looked damn sexy.

  What was it with the two of them and elevators?

  A light, cotton button-down covered every inch of her back and arms, but it didn’t matter. In his mind, Devin could still see the glow of her milky-white skin revealed as he coaxed her zipper down. He delighted in remembering her warmth under his fingertips, her fervent response to his touch.