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She followed his warm stare and glanced down at her body. Her bikini top, which had seemed almost modest in comparison to some she’d seen out by the pool earlier, now seemed too tight. The curves of her breasts pushed high above the fabric, rising and falling as she took deeper breaths. Her skin puckered with gooseflesh in the air-conditioned hallway. There was no mistaking the tightness of her nipples, right below the edge of her top.
Returning her attention to him, she saw Troy’s much-too-kissable lips part and his eyes narrow as he continued to study her. Chloe nearly shuddered. “I didn’t have a chance to put on my cover-up,” she whispered.
He slowly shook his head. “Don’t bother on my account.”
She should. She knew she should. She was holding the darn thing in her fingertips; it would be easy enough to slip it on over her nearly naked, cold and damp body.
But Chloe couldn’t move. Couldn’t lift her hand. Couldn’t keep a single coherent thought in her head. Troy’s gaze moved higher, zeroing in on her face—her lips. He’s going to kiss me.
“At the risk of sounding like a jerk with a pickup line, I have to tell you something. You have a great smile.”
Smile? Yeah, like the moronic one she wore right now at the mental image of him dragging her into his arms and pressing that amazing mouth onto hers. Just the thought of feeling this man’s arms around her, his hands on her waist, his tongue dancing with her own, and she went weak-legged and brainless.
“Thank you,” she murmured. Then she tried to make a joke, tried to lighten the heavy atmosphere by referring to his normally reserved attitude. “So do you. Though, I certainly have never seen very much of it.”
A hotel employee, the one who’d been stacking lounge chairs before the storm, walked toward them in the long, silent corridor. Chloe took a quick step back, trying to pull herself away mentally, as well as physically, from Troy’s strong, sensual lure. She glanced around, but her eyes kept returning to him. His tanned, handsome face. The curve of his lips. The line of his jaw. The perfection of his bare torso. Even his hands. His hands! Why have I never noticed the strength of his hands?
“I guess I should go back to my room and change for the dinner banquet,” Chloe finally managed to whisper as she noticed the amused, appraising glance they got from the passing pool boy.
“Meet me later. After your banquet.”
She shouldn’t. Something was happening here that had nothing to do with the store, or the retailers’ conference. This was elemental, like the storm tossing the awning around outside. She should stop, back up, take a deep breath and remember what was important. School, job and family. Not a man. Not a gorgeous, to-die-for man who took her breath away.
She nodded. “Okay.” Then she widened her eyes. Who said that? Chloe, you idiot.
“In the bar? At ten?”
Still having a mental argument over the stupidity of her actions, Chloe murmured, “I’ll be there.”
“Then it’s a date.”
A date? A date with the managing director? The guy who could toss you out on your rear at a moment’s notice? Are you insane?
Maybe. But, damn, insanity had never felt so good.
Catching sight of the face of her waterproof watch, Chloe gasped at the time. “I have to go,” she said. “Don’t you, too?”
He raised a quizzical brow.
“I’ll see you in a little while,” she said, not waiting for his reply. Chloe clutched her bag close to her chest, turned and hurried away toward the elevator, fighting against her urge to look back at him one more time.
It didn’t matter. Whether she looked back or not, she knew he watched her every step of the way. The excitement coursing through her body was all the proof she needed of that.
As she punched the button for the elevator, she found herself softly repeating Jess’s words. “Mindless and fabulous.”
TRENT DIDN’T REALIZE until after the curvy brunette boarded the elevator that he hadn’t learned her name. He chuckled, knowing he’d probably appeared as besotted as a teenager. But she’d agreed to meet him anyway. Later tonight he’d find out her name. Her name—not to mention everything else about her.
Though he’d been hit by a bolt of attraction watching her from behind as she stared at the stormy sky, Trent was even more interested now that he’d seen the rest of her. Her curly mane of light-brown hair surrounded a soft, heart-shaped face with blue eyes he thought he could get lost in. Her laughter, her obvious joy in the elements, her sense of humor—all intrigued him.
And the woman did some damn fine things to a black bikini.
Yes. This weekend of work was definitely looking up. After all, there wasn’t much landscaping to be done after six o’clock at night. He had tonight and tomorrow night all to himself. To get to know her a lot better.
Trent couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt as instantly attracted to a woman as he had today. It had been ages since he’d had the time to even date, much less get involved with someone. His business had been a twenty-four/seven commitment since the day he’d started it. Funny how having to pay rent for the first time in his life had made work more important than anything else.
He refused to think his broken engagement was the reason he hadn’t allowed himself to get more than passingly interested in a woman in the past three years. Sex, yeah. That was easily available. But someone he actually wanted to get to know? Well, that hadn’t happened in a long time.
The mere idea that he was thinking along those lines startled him. No, the timing wasn’t great—it sucked, in fact. The last thing he needed during these last critical weeks of this project was to get distracted by a curvy brunette with a heart-breaking smile. But Trent had never been one to let what he needed prevent him from going after what he wanted. Right now, he very much wanted her.
As he walked down the corridor, he suddenly wished he’d asked for her room number, in case she got cold feet and decided not to come tonight after all.
“She’ll come,” he told himself. Remembering the sight of her standing in the rain, he knew the woman was a risk-taker at heart. Much like himself. She’ll come.
AT 10:05, CHLOE STOOD IN her hotel room, chewing a hole into her lip, staring at her own reflection above the bathroom sink. Troy hadn’t shown up at the dinner banquet, so it had been several hours since she’d seen him. Yes, she’d had several hours in which to totally chicken out on their date in the bar.
“You can’t do this. You know that, right?” she told the mirror.
It’s just a drink.
“Baloney, it’s not just a drink. You were there—you felt the heat, Chloe Weston. You meet him tonight and you might be with him until tomorrow morning.”
Is that such a bad thing?
“Yes. It’s a bad thing. You can’t get involved with your boss. This job is too important. Losing it could very well mean dropping out of school and getting a day job to make rent money.”
So when does living get to be as important as working?
That was the question of the hour. When did she get to live? Chloe had borne the emotional responsibility for her mother’s and sister’s well-being since she was twelve years old, right after her mother’s second husband had walked out. That had been the worst year, when Chloe and Morgan had been separated from their mother for months. Once they got back together, Chloe had been determined they’d never be parted again.
So Chloe was the one who’d learned to fake a communicable disease when the landlord came to call. The one who’d bartered baby-sitting services with the owner of the kids’ consignment store up the street to keep Morgan clothed. Through the other husbands, boyfriends, towns, people and jobs, Chloe had never let herself forget one thing: she was the one who had to keep it together. Morgan was too young and Jeanine too unpredictable.
Following her heart—or, in this case, her libido—was not something Chloe usually allowed herself to do. So why not do it…just this once? You know you want to. Don’t be a chicken.
“Oh, shut up,” she muttered aloud to the insidious voice. She sometimes pictured a little cartoon devil, complete with horns and a tail, sitting on her left shoulder whispering in her ear when she contemplated doing something really stupid. On her other shoulder, there perched not an angel, but a two-inch-tall version of Sister Mary Frances.
The sister had been her second-grade teacher during Chloe’s single year at a parochial school—a year prompted by one of her flaky mother’s religious experimentation periods. That was before her real father had split, when they’d had something of a normal life. Chloe had spent most of second grade sitting in a corner until she learned how to behave like a proper young lady. Instead of learning patience and obedience, she’d actually used the time-outs to imagine ways to get even with the Penguin, as the kids called her. So the Sister Mary Frances voice seldom won out.
Finally, sick of having a conversation with her own sun-pinkened face in the mirror, she grabbed her purse and slammed out of the room. The mental arguing continued, however. She talked to herself in the empty elevator all the way down to the first floor, then right up until she reached the bar entrance. The place was crowded, so she stopped mumbling and cast a quick glance around. She nearly convinced herself he wouldn’t be here anyway, so it wasn’t worth getting so hyped up about.
Then she spotted Troy waiting for her in a corner booth. Any thought of turning chicken, slipping out the door and running to her room like a scared little virgin evaporated. Not just because he’d seen her. No, it was because of that look in his eyes as he stood and walked toward her. Not a Troy look. Not a confident, I-never-doubted-for-a-minute-you’d-show-up look.
No, this look was relieved. Appreciative. Anticipatory. “I was afraid you were going to stand me up,” he said, his voice husky and intense as he reached her side.
“I almost did.” Oh, gee, nothing like a little honesty to start an evening off right.
“What changed your mind?”
Brushing a stray wisp of hair off her face, she struggled to seem nonchalant. “I was thirsty.”
“I’m glad you were thirsty,” he said with a teasing smile. “I was afraid you might have cold feet.”
“My feet could sink the Titanic,” she admitted ruefully.
He chuckled as he led her back to the intimate back-corner table, which was even more hidden by a few hanging plants and an indoor garden area, complete with softly gurgling fountain.
Candlelight. Flowery plants. Shadowy secluded corner. Chloe Weston, turn those wobbly three-inch heels of yours toward the door right now.
“Back off, Sister,” she whispered under her breath.
He obviously noticed her sudden anxiety. “Is this all right? I asked for a quiet table so we could talk.”
She gulped. “Uh, sure. Fine.”
After pulling out her chair for her, he sat down opposite her. “Please, relax. I haven’t got the wrong idea. I know you’re here on business, you didn’t come here for this. You never planned to meet with a man you don’t really know in a hotel bar.”
“A dark, candlelit hotel bar with low, sultry, danceable music,” she muttered. His eyes widened and she shook her head. “No. This is so not me. I’m usually so boring. No adventures in hotel bars in my recent history. I’m an open book. A boring, what-you-see-is-what-you-get book.”
Sitting across from her, he reached out and caught one of her hands, which she’d just lifted to again nervously brush back her hair. “I doubt that. I saw you by the pool, remember? I think there are some deeply hidden facets of you I’d very much like to explore,” he said, his voice a seductive whisper.
Okay, that’s it. You’re in trouble now, missy.
As if he hadn’t noticed her heart beating so wildly she thought the veins on her temples were about to explode, he continued. “Let’s forget about who we ‘usually’ are for a while.”
Chloe stared at him, trying to gauge his meaning. Obviously Troy knew something about hiding his real identity—he did such a good job of it even she hadn’t caught a glimpse of the real tire-changing man beneath the business suits in the past few weeks. He’d obviously become adept at living a double life, slipping off his at-home persona as easily as he slipped off his sexy little gold stud earring.
Why shouldn’t she give it a try?
He must have seen the indecision in her eyes. “Forget all the standard reasons we shouldn’t be here together. You don’t do this, I don’t do this, we don’t know each other. Just let it go. Tonight we’re two people sharing an interesting evening together, getting to know each other. That’s all.”
“That’s really all?”
“Yes.” His voice lowered, his stare grew more intense. “Unless we both decide we want it to be more.”
Heck, she wanted it to be more already. Get out now, Chloe.
He glanced toward the table, at her hand, which still held tightly to her purse. Chloe knew he realized she was poised to flee at a moment’s notice. “So will you stay?”
Taking a deep breath, Chloe consigned the picture of Sister Mary Frances to the depths of her subconscious, briefly closed her eyes and nodded. “I’ll stay.”
“I’m glad.” He reached over and gently tugged the purse free of her fingers, pushing it to the side of the table, still within reach, but not clutched like a lethal weapon.
He held a hand up, waving to a waitress. “How about a rum punch? It seems appropriately tropical. Okay?”
“Yes, but only one or I’ll be dancing on the table.”
“There’s a sight I’d like to see,” he said. “Particularly considering the length of your skirt.” Chloe flushed as he laughed softly. “Don’t worry. I didn’t get the wrong impression. You look perfect. Sexy as hell—but still tasteful. Just right to show you’re a desirable woman, without flaunting it.”
“Well, I guess you know women’s clothes,” she murmured, feeling both embarrassed and at the same time very glad she’d worn the tight black miniskirt and sheer black hose.
“Now, should we introduce ourselves?”
“Excuse me?”
“We’re strangers. Isn’t it time for introductions?”
“Strangers in a bar?” she asked, catching on. This, obviously, was another way to separate themselves from reality—from the fact that they worked together in their everyday lives. That he was her boss, the managing director and part-owner of Langtree’s Department Store, and she a window dresser. They would be strangers. No outside ties. No encumbrances. No expectations. Maybe even no repercussions. “I think I like this idea.”
“My name’s Trent,” he said, as the waitress arrived with their oversize glasses. The woman leaned close to him as she placed their drinks on the table, her stare blatantly admiring. Chloe felt another shiver course through her. She was playing sexual games with this devastatingly attractive man—a man every other woman in the room had eyed at least once since Chloe had sat down with him. The anxiety Chloe had felt early in the evening began to slide away, replaced by something else. Excitement. Titillation. Why the heck not?
“Trent. How nice to meet you. My name’s…Claudia.”
He waited until the waitress walked away again before picking up his drink and raising it in a toast. Chloe lifted her glass as well and waited, expectantly.
“To stormy skies.”
She nodded. “And strangers getting to know one another.”
The first sip of rum punch was enough to convince Chloe she absolutely could not drink more than one. The thing tasted like straight rum, with a little cherry juice thrown in to give the alcohol a pink tinge. “Whew,” she gasped once the burning sensation in her throat had stopped.
“Good?”
“Very. Just potent.” She sipped again, noting the fiery sensation was no less strong the second time. But she was getting used to it. “So, uh, Trent, tell me about yourself.”
He shrugged. “Not much to tell. I work too much. Eat all the wrong foods. Don’t keep in touch with my family the way I should. I live in a beachfront apartment I really can’t afford and have never seen such a wonderful blending of shades in a woman’s hair before tonight.” He reached over and brushed some curls back off her brow, stopping her heart. “Gold, brown, reddish highlights. It has to be natural.”
Whoa…he’s good. She picked up her drink and sipped from it heartily, coughing and choking as the heat hit her belly again.
“You okay?”
“Fine,” she choked out. “Now, uh, what do you do?”
He shrugged. “I own a landscaping business.”
Well, that was stretching the fantasy a bit, in Chloe’s opinion. Then again, it was his fantasy. And she’d already seen Troy Langtree’s sensory attraction for the outdoors. So maybe it really was a deep-rooted wish, one he’d hidden from the world like he’d hidden his killer smile and the amazingly strong arms and chest. Not to mention the charming, flirtatious attitude.
“What about you, Claudia?”
“Hmm,” she mused, playing along, trying to come up with her fantasy life, her deepest desire. What she’d do if she could be doing anything. “I’m a full-time grad student, and freelance graphic artist.” She sighed with pleasure at the fantasy. Imagine, working for herself, only when she felt like being creative, and being able to afford to go to graduate school. Sounded heavenly.
“Any family?”
She contemplated continuing the fantasy, but in the end stuck with the truth, saying, “Yes. A beautiful, brilliant younger sister, Morgan, who’s about to graduate high school. And a wonderfully creative—if a trifle irresponsible—mother who looks like she’s my age. You?”
He nodded. “I have a few family members in this area. My parents retired and moved to Colorado a few years back.”
Chloe sipped her drink, getting used to the strong brew and not choking this time. “No steady girlfriend?” she asked, not wanting to spoil the illusion, but needing to know just the same.
He seemed to sense that her nonchalance hid a keen interest. Reaching across the table, he took her hand. “I haven’t been seriously involved with anyone for over three years. Too busy working. And I hadn’t found the right woman yet.”
