Reasons for Revenge: Scorned by the Boss

“Jefferson,” she said, inching farther from him. “Let’s forget for the moment why you came here. How did you get into my room?”

He smiled and she felt her knees wobble. Not a good sign.

“I followed you here.”

“Yeah. I got that.” Frowning, she asked, “How’d you know where I was going?”

“It’s not that difficult for a man in my position to get whatever answers he needs, Caitlyn.”

Probably not, she mused. The man had contacts all over the world and enough money to pay for whatever information he needed. But why go to all this trouble? And even if finding her was no big deal, how the hell did he get into her hotel room?

“Fine. You found me. But who let you into my room?”

He sat down on the edge of the bed and the towel pulled away from one of his thighs, exposing a good bit of tanned, very muscular flesh with just a sprinkling of blond hair. Oh, god.

“When I explained to the front desk that my wife had arrived a few days ahead of me, they were very happy to give me a key.”

“Your wife?” Okay, that was enough to pull her out of the fantasies her brain was currently indulging in. “You told them I was your wife? And they believed you?”

“Of course.”

Of course.

He said it as a matter of fact. And why wouldn’t he? The name Jefferson Lyon carried enough weight that they probably would have let him into her room even if he hadn’t claimed to be her husband. Money, as she’d learned long ago, didn’t just talk, it shouted.

“Caitlyn,” he was saying, and she forced her overworked mind to focus. “There were no other rooms available. The hotel was completely booked up. So what else was I supposed to do?”

“Go home?” she offered, throwing both hands high in exasperation.

“Not without seeing you.” He casually leaned back and propped himself up on his elbows. The towel slipped again and Caitlyn sucked in air. Now most of his thick thigh was exposed, with the soft blue towel just covering up the essentials.

Closing her eyes, Caitlyn rubbed at the spot between her eyes and told herself to count to ten. When she’d finished, she counted to twenty. Didn’t help. She was still furious and a little shocked and a lot needy.

So not a good combo.

Jefferson watched her and wished he could read her mind. The emotions flitting across her features were fleeting and so diverse he knew that her thoughts had to be wildly entertaining.

While she began to pace, talking to herself, Jefferson followed her with his gaze. Sunlight speared through the open French doors leading to the small private balcony. A soft wind made the sheer curtains dance and wave with languid abandon and the wash of golden light in the room played on Caitlyn’s long, lean legs, tanned to the color of warm honey. Something stirred within him and he scowled briefly as he recalled the desk clerk describing Caitlyn as “the one with the amazing legs.”

Jefferson had to admit the guy had been right. And why had he never noticed Caitlyn’s legs before? Shaking his head now, he pushed that stray thought out of his mind and concentrated instead on the situation. He was here with her and his plan was just getting started.

He could have gone downstairs to find her, but meeting her this way had been so much more … intriguing. He hadn’t had any trouble talking his way into Caitlyn’s room—and if he owned this particular resort, he’d have fired the clerk who’d bowed to Jefferson’s name and money long enough to hand over the key to a guest’s room. But since that employee wasn’t his trouble, he could only appreciate the fact that the Lyon name carried the weight he had needed.

Of course, the fact that Jefferson had bought up the remaining rooms in the hotel so he wouldn’t be able to leave Caitlyn’s room had probably convinced the desk jockey to be more lenient than usual.

“You can’t stay here,” she said finally.

“No choice. There aren’t any available rooms.”

“Go buy a house.”

“Private island,” he reminded her.

Hands at her hips, she lifted her chin and glared at him. “Not my problem.”

“Now, is that any way for a wife to talk to her husband?”

“I can’t believe you did that. In fact, I’m surprised you managed to choke out the word wife.”

Jefferson pushed off the bed, felt the towel at his hips slip a little and reached to straighten it. And he caught the flash of interest in Caitlyn’s eyes. Smiling, he said, “But I did. And now that I have, you’re stuck with me.”

“Don’t count on it,” she promised, and walked to the phone on the nightstand beside the bed. “I’ll call the front desk. Tell them you lied.”

He folded his arms over his chest. “I’ll tell them this is a lover’s quarrel.”

“They won’t believe you.”

“I can be very convincing.”

She frowned up at him and he wanted to grin at the frustration pouring off her in waves. He could almost see her thinking her way through this mess and looking for a way out. When she didn’t find one, she said, “Fine. Fine, they’d side with you anyway and probably end up kicking me out and giving you my room.”

“Oh,” Jefferson said, enjoying himself, “that wouldn’t happen. I’d never let my ‘wife’ be treated like that.”

She blew out a breath that ruffled the fringe of bangs on her forehead. “You’re such a jerk.”

“Pet names,” he said, smiling. “Isn’t that nice?”

“I don’t know what you’re up to, Jefferson,” she said. “But it won’t work, whatever it is.”

“What’s the matter? Afraid to be alone with me?”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” One eyebrow rose. “Then, there’s no problem, is there?”

“Fine. You can stay here until they find a room for you.”

Which wouldn’t happen anytime soon, Jefferson knew all too well.

“But you sleep on the floor.”

“So you are scared of me. Or of yourself with me.”

“Your ego is astounding.”

“Thank you.”

“I can’t believe this is happening,” she muttered.