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“Th-then what’s wrong?” she stammered.
What was wrong? He blinked, trying to remember his objection to her absurd proposition. He took a deep breath, but all that did was fill his head with the scent of her, flowery and feminine and setting off sparks along every primitive pathway between his brain and his sex organs. His body, at least, had already made up his mind about Lexie.
He tore his gaze away from hers and summoned his old willpower. Reasoning returned as his head cleared. “I’ve always had a policy of not mixing business with pleasure,” he said. “I don’t see any reason to back off from that now.” He almost winced. He sounded like some old coot with a steel rod for a backbone.
Instead of being angry, she looked amused. Superior. As if she knew how much he was bluffing. “Didn’t you ever hear ‘rules are made to be broken’?”
“Not by me. Not now.”
“Why not?”
“Because I said so.” Now he was channeling his father. He gripped the armrests of his desk chair and tried again. “Look. One of the things this job and my years as a cop have shown me is how screwed up life gets when people take too many chances and risk too many complications. They start out thinking they can handle it—one more hot check will take care of everything. One more time fudging on the books and they’ll be out of it. One more drink and they’ll stop. The next thing they know, they’re in too deep.”
Her expression told him she wasn’t buying it. “We’re not talking embezzlement or bank robbery here. We’re talking about two intelligent, healthy, single adults who are attracted to one another getting together to have a good time.” She leaned toward him, her voice low and breathy. “When was the last time you had a really good time?”
Words stuck in his throat. His pulse pounded at his temples and in his groin. He was close to giving in. Too close.
He pulled himself away from the edge, shoving his chair back and standing, putting some distance between them. “It doesn’t matter. I have a business to run and I can’t be distracted.”
He waited for anger, or even tears, but she surprised him by smiling—not the warm welcoming look he’d seen so many times before, but a slyer, knowing expression. She rose and looked him up and down. “All right, Nick. You’ve made up your mind and I respect that. For now.” She turned and moved to the door.
Fear that this might be the last time he saw her gripped him. “Wait,” he called. “Will you be in Monday morning?”
She looked over her shoulder at him, that same self-assured smile still in place. “I’ll be here. And just so you know, I’ll be making every effort to convince you to change your mind.”
He swallowed hard. “You don’t need to do that.”
“Oh, but I do.” The smile broadened. “Six months is a long time, Nick. I hate to think of spending all that time alone, don’t you?”
When she was gone, he sank into his chair, the strength in his legs deserting him. He was breathing hard, as if he’d just run up four flights of stairs, and his head was spinning. So much for his blasted self-control. He’d attempted to lay down the law and all he’d done was wave a red flag in front of her. Now she was determined to change his mind.
What man stood a chance against a determined woman like Lexie Foster?
3
NICK TOLD HIMSELF he’d turned down the promise of a temporary affair in the interest of keeping a good assistant, which in his previous experience, had always been more difficult to find. But as he worked side by side with Lexie during the following week he wondered at the wisdom of his decision.
She was still an excellent assistant, charming his clients and keeping the office running smoothly. But now, in addition to lusting after her in silence, he was constantly reminded of what could be his if he could only ignore common sense and convention. The struggle made him irritable and surly, which she pretended not to notice.
Instead, she smiled and made pleasant, intelligent conversation. She continued to dress in a variety of professional yet stunning outfits. Each seemed to have been designed expressly to call his attention to her shapely curves and long legs, all topped off by a silky scarf tied around her neck, like the ribbon on a package, tempting him to unwrap her.
She made no mention of their conversation that Friday afternoon, but he was aware of her watching him—studying him, really—as if she were formulating a plan of attack.
And was it his imagination, or her ingenuity, that led to the most innocent activities taking on a sexual connotation? Was it necessary for her to lean quite so far over his desk when she delivered letters for his signature? Had she meant for him to see the erotic black satin and lace lingerie peeking out of the bag she left in the restroom after a lunchtime shopping trip?
And speaking of lunch, he couldn’t believe mere coincidence had led her to return from lunch with an ice-cream cone, which she proceeded to consume in full view of his office, her tongue slowly encircling the cone, her lips making gentle sucking noises until, in agony, he’d gotten up from his desk and slammed the door.
Today it was lipstick. When he came out of his office at midmorning she was sitting at her desk applying lipstick. Slowly. The tube caressed her lips and stained them berry-pink. Who had decided women’s lipstick should have such a definitely phallic shape?
“I hate to interrupt your toilette, but I need you to call the Magnolia Hotel and make reservations for me for tonight.”
She slowly twisted the lipstick back into its tube and tucked it in her purse. “The Wittier investigation certainly has you out of sorts, doesn’t it?”
If she wanted to think he was feeling this way because of Stan Wittier and his wife, let her. The case certainly was contributing to his frustration. He’d followed Ellen Wittier all over town for a week and come up with absolutely nothing. If she was meeting another man she was being incredibly discreet about it.
“Tell the hotel I’d like a room on the west side of the fourteenth floor. Preferably either 1422 or 1424.”
“Why those particular rooms?” she asked as she flipped through the yellow pages.
“Those rooms look directly onto the Wittiers’ loft. Stan Wittier told me he’s going to be out of town on business for a few days, so I figure his wife will use the opportunity to meet her lover. When she does, I’ll be watching.”
“What if she draws the curtains? You won’t see anything.”
“No curtains. I already checked. They apparently hired a decorator who’s into minimalism. Or they don’t want to block the view they paid big bucks for.”
She found the number for the hotel and put her finger on the page to mark the spot. “Who is this boyfriend of hers, do you know?”
He shook his head. “I haven’t seen a sign of him. So far, Ellen Wittier has lived a stupefyingly dull life that seems to consist mainly of shopping, having lunch with friends and attending various beauty appointments.”
“I don’t think she’s cheating at all,” Lexie said. “I think her husband’s paranoid because he married a pretty young thing and doesn’t spend enough time with her.”
“If she’s not cheating, it will be the first time in my experience that a client’s been wrong about something like this. By the time somebody hires me to get the evidence, they already have a good idea what’s going on.”
“There’s a first time for everything.” She picked up the phone. “Any preference as to what kind of room? Double-double? King?”
“I don’t care as long as it gives me a good view of that loft.”
She looked him up and down, her gaze traveling over him deliberately. He felt his temperature rise when her vision focused on his crotch and she smiled. “I think you’re more of a king-size man,” she said, and punched in the number.
He turned and retreated to his office. It was either that or snatch the phone out of her hand and do all the things to her he’d been dreaming about. Fantasies of Lexie were keeping him awake nights anyway.
Every day that passed, he was having more trouble remembering why those fantasies couldn’t come true. Logic was apparently the first thing to go when the sex drive started running the show.
LEXIE HUMMED ALONG with pseudo-pop hits and waited for the hotel reservations agent to come on the line. Nick’s gruffness didn’t fool her one bit. She knew she’d shaken him up with her suggestion they become lovers. Though he’d done his best to keep his distance from her this week, she sensed he was weakening.
Who wouldn’t melt a little in the heat of the attraction that crackled between them? Her senses stayed on hyper-alert whenever they were in the room together and when they accidentally brushed against each other it was all she could do not to moan. Ever since she’d conceived the idea of taking him as her lover she’d been able to think of little else, like a woman stranded on a desert island in need of a chocolate fix.
If Nick were chocolate, he’d be the most expensive, darkest kind, sinfully rich and sweet, with a hint of bitterness.
Now that she’d set her sights on him, no other man would do. She’d been patient so far, reminding him at every opportunity of what he was missing. But so far he hadn’t taken the bait. Maybe it was time for more drastic action.
“Hello, reservations. How may I help you?”
She started as a man’s voice replaced the music. “I’d like to reserve a room for tonight.” She explained Nick’s requirements and was assured that room 1422 was available, and that it had a king bed.
“Will there be anything else?”
She smiled, struck by a brilliant idea. If Nick wouldn’t come to her, she’d simply have to go to him. After all, it would be a shame to let that king-size bed go to waste. “Yes, could I go ahead and order dinner for two to be sent up? Say, about seven o’clock? Something simple—steak and baked potatoes, with a nice salad and a good bottle of merlot.”
“Very well. Is there anything else?”
“No. That’s all for now. Thank you.” She gave the rest of the reservation information and hung up. Good thing she’d bought that new lingerie earlier in the week. Tonight she’d put it to good use. She and Nick would enjoy a good steak dinner together and then…on to dessert.
NICK STOOD TO ONE SIDE of the window that took up most of a wall in his room at the Magnolia, binoculars trained on the loft apartment slightly below and to his right. In the three hours since Ellen Wittier had arrived home and he had checked into the hotel she’d changed into a sexy, expensive looking pair of lounging pajamas and had set the table with china and candles for what looked to be a romantic dinner.
When she’d leaned over and lit the candles, Nick’s heart had sped up. He knew it! Once again, his instincts had been right. With her husband safely away at a convention in Reno, Ellen was making her move.
But now, almost an hour later, he wondered at her lover’s tardiness. The candles were dripping wax on the tablecloth and Ellen was on her second glass of wine. Why was her Romeo keeping her waiting?
A knock on the door roused him from his musings. He glanced at the door, then at the clock—six forty-five. He wasn’t expecting anyone, so it was probably someone with the wrong room. He turned back to the window and raised the binoculars again.
“Nick, open up. It’s me, Lexie.”
Frowning, he laid aside the binoculars and went to check the door. Sure enough, Lexie was standing in the hall, looking up at the peephole, her face distorted by the fish-eye lens. He undid the locks and opened the door. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I came to see you.” She moved past him into the room, and set her purse on the bedside table. “Nice room,” she said, looking around.
“I don’t have time to visit,” he said. “I’m working.”
She walked to the window and looked out. “Which one is the Wittiers’ loft?”
“Top floor on the right.” He came to stand behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. She was wearing a halter dress made of some clingy red material. Her shoulders were bare, her skin soft and warm. He ignored the tightening in his groin when he touched her. “Move back from the window a little. I don’t want her to see us.”
She did as he asked, colliding with him as she stepped back, sending shock waves of awareness through him. She leaned her head back and her hair brushed against his face, filling his nose with the scent of flowers.
He released her and quickly moved away. “Why are you here?” he asked again.
She walked to the bed and sat, crossing her legs. The skirt of her dress was slit at the side, revealing a long expanse of thigh. “I kept thinking of you up here, all alone, with this king-size bed.” She smoothed her hand along the bedspread.
He looked away, breathing heavy. Seeing her sitting on the bed this way was only a short leap from imagining her stretched out on it. Naked. “I’m working,” he said again. He was repeating himself, but his brain couldn’t manage more, considering most of his blood had flowed south.
“Has anything interesting happened yet?”
Other than you showing up here like this? He shook his head. “She came home, changed into a sexy outfit, set the stage for a romantic dinner and poured the wine, but so far her lover’s failed to show.”
She stood and went to the window again, careful this time to keep back. “Maybe she’s not waiting on anyone. Maybe she’s just entertaining herself.”
“Check again. There are two places set at the table.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Right.” She turned away from the window. “Any idea who she’s meeting?”
He shook his head. “Her husband didn’t know, either.”
Another knock on the door interrupted him. So much for laying low. “Who is it?” he called.
“Room service.”
“I didn’t order any—”
“I ordered it.” Lexie hurried to the door.
A waiter wheeled in a table topped with covered dishes, a vase of flowers, a bottle of wine and two glasses. “Would you like me to open the wine?” he asked.
“Yes, please,” Lexie said. While he did that, she checked under the metal covers. Steam rose from the plates and the aroma of grilled steaks made Nick’s mouth water.
She signed for the meal, then closed the door behind the waiter. When they were alone again, she turned to Nick. “I thought you might be hungry,” she said.
She flicked her tongue along her bottom lip, reminding him of all the things he was hungry for. He checked on Ellen Wittier again, trying to compose himself. She was pouring her third glass of wine, slumped at the table, watching the candles drip.
“Come sit down,” Lexie beckoned him. “Have some wine.”
He sat in the desk chair, but she perched on the edge of the bed, the light from the lamp mounted on the headboard spotlighting her. The neck of her dress was low, revealing the swell of her breasts. When she leaned forward to remove the covers from the plates, he had a tantalizing glimpse of one shadowed nipple. He immediately grew hard, and hurried to spread the napkin across his lap to hide his arousal.
The steak was tender and juicy, but he scarcely tasted it, too distracted by his dinner companion.
“Where is Mr. Wittier this weekend?” she asked halfway through the meal.
“Reno. At a convention. According to the schedule he gave me he was originally supposed to fly home tonight, but he sent word yesterday that his plans had changed and he intended to stay over.”
“And that’s when you decided to book this room?”
He nodded. “I knew his wife wouldn’t pass up the chance to spend a whole night with her lover.”
“As far as you know, she’s never spent any time with this phantom lover.”
“I haven’t seen him yet, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t exist. Who else is she dressing up for tonight?”
She glanced toward the window. “He’s not a very considerate lover, standing her up this way.”
“Maybe he’s cheating on his wife and couldn’t get away.”
She frowned. “You think he’s married?”
“It happens. All the time.”
“I suppose this job gives you a pretty jaded view of relationships between men and women, doesn’t it?”
“I prefer to think of it as realistic.”
“Don’t you believe two people can be happy together without hurting each other?”
“I wouldn’t say I didn’t believe it. I just haven’t known it to happen often. ‘Happily-ever-after’ occurs in fiction a lot more than in real life.”
“What about ‘happy-for-right-now’?” She laid aside her fork and looked at him. “What about two people enjoying each other for the moment and not worrying about what might happen a few months or even a few weeks from now?”
He took a long drink of wine, weighing his answer. He knew what she was getting at. Here, in this intimate setting, with Lexie so warm and willing and only inches from him, and another woman in the building across the way, alone and crying without her husband or her lover to comfort her, all of his old arguments about working together or not working together didn’t seem to matter. Tonight, those objections were reduced to one question: Did he want to spend another night alone?
No, he didn’t. He wanted to welcome this woman, whom he’d been lusting after for weeks, into his arms and his bed.
