Just Toying Around...

Nevertheless, he sincerely hoped that Desiree would keep to that schedule. It would make his job considerably easier. He assumed that she’d go down to the hotel restaurant in the evenings. Nick would simply turn on the charm, and the rest would be history.

Or so he hoped.

The sooner he got this over with, the better. If things went according to plan, he could be home as early as Wednesday, back to his regular routine, which consisted primarily of work. It had occurred to him that it might not be necessary to stay the entire week. He’d find out if she was a fraud—which he sincerely doubted—then report his findings to Ron. Then he could get back to his productive life at the office. Though he knew Ron needed him, Nick felt off-kilter when he was out of his element. He liked being in the boardroom, closing deals, finalizing mergers, reviewing contracts. Spying on a sex-toy critic, for heaven’s sake, was simply not his area of expertise. Still, he’d prepared for this week as best he could.

Nick had read Desiree Moon’s critiques and could easily see why she’d become so popular. To begin with, it was obvious that she was educated. She wasn’t the stereotypical bored lower-class housewife looking to add a little excitement to her life.

Though Desiree used explicit terms to convey her meaning, she managed to do it in a classy, yet sexy way. She was witty, used a self-deprecating humor that engaged the reader, kept them scrolling the tool-bar until she’d said what she wanted to say. Simply put, she not only critiqued, she entertained. In addition to that, her conclusions were thorough and insightful.

Nick couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps her assessments of Ron’s products weren’t right on the money. He certainly hoped not. Nick still had to help him, and by default, protect his mother. His mother had sacrificed enough on her children’s behalf—her health—and Nick couldn’t let her waste one more penny.

Nick’s mother had worked in a sewing factory for twenty years. She suffered from carpal tunnel syndrome and arthritis, and could barely hold her toothbrush as a result of that labor. His father had been a first-rate mechanic who had worked himself into an early grave.

Like most parents, the Devereaus had wanted a better life for their children, and though they’d had their problems, they’d succeeded, and more. His father had been a wily businessman and had squirreled away enough money to put both Ron and Nick through college, and to see to it that his wife had been provided for.

Nick had used his funds as his father had intended—education. Ron, in another misguided attempt to earn his father’s approval, had taken his college fund and opened his own garage. The decision had been a poor one—not Ron’s first—and the business went belly-up within a year. Ron had been on a quest to prove himself ever since.

Nick stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around his waist and stared into the mirror at his foggy reflection, the familiar guilt settling around him again. He blew out a resigned breath. When this was over, he planned to sit down and have a long talk with his little brother. Ron needed to let go of the past, to forgive their father for his mistakes, and he needed to quit relying on his family for financial support.

To Ron’s credit, this particular business had been operating profitably right up until Desiree Moon began to bash his product line on the Internet. Nick had looked at the books, seen a direct correlation.

And, if what Ron suspected were true—if Desiree Moon was a fraud and lacked the experience to critique these products—she needed to be stopped. Right was right and wrong was wrong. If she was making fraudulent claims, then someone needed to put an end to her online career. Nick sighed. Those were a lot of ifs and he preferred to deal with certainties. Too bad there weren’t any.

Nick heard a door open, then close. Her door.

Shit.

Without the hat and glasses, he didn’t know quite what she looked like. Damn. How the hell would he put her under surveillance if he didn’t know whom to look for?

Towel still wrapped loosely around his waist, Nick rushed to his own door, pulled it open and stepped out into the hall. He’d taken three steps into the corridor when he realized two things. One, the person in the hall was an old man, and therefore, couldn’t be Desiree Moon. Two, he didn’t have his key.

A hot oath hissed through his clenched teeth.

To Nick’s immense mortification, hotel patrons began to seemingly burst from their rooms like horses from the chutes at the Kentucky Derby. No fewer than five people passed him, giving him curious, look-at-the-pervert stares.

Nick nodded politely to each, heat creeping up his neck. “Stepped into the hall, forgot my key,” he muttered inanely.

Given the situation, he had two choices. He could board an elevator and go up to his brother’s room, pray that Ron was in and not with the check-in clerk. His stomach knotted in revulsion. Or, he could knock on Desiree’s door, then get back into his room via the connecting door.

Ah, hell. He supposed this was one way to speed up the farce. Showing up in nothing but a towel should spark some sort of reaction. Hopefully, the right one.

“I’LL BE CAREFUL. I know all about the undertow. Yes, I brought my sunblock. It’s not generic, Mom, it’s the good stuff.” She could hear the familiar drone of the football game in the background, indicating her father was home from the office. She smiled, thankful that some things in life never changed. “I don’t know the number offhand, but I have my cell. Call me on that if anything comes up.”

Meg inwardly groaned, regretting the whopping lie she’d fabricated to account for her week-long absence. Her mother, The Chronic Worrier, would fret until Meg arrived safely home from her trip to the “beach.”

Still, she could hardly tell her the truth.

Hey, Ma. Headed into town for a sex-toy trade show. By the way, have I mentioned that I’m a sex-toy critic now? Multi-talented, your daughter is. Meg chuckled, and then shuddered. Her mother would call an emergency meeting of her prayer group quicker than she could say “Amen.” It wouldn’t be pretty.

“I don’t plan on going to any bars to pick up men, Mom. Yes, I’ve heard all about the date-rape drug. Listen, Mom—” Meg paused as a knock sounded at her door. Probably another vendor, she surmised. Half listening to more of her mother’s concerns, Meg crossed the room, flipped the lock and opened the door. “I’ll avoid…strange men, Mom. Bye…” Meg trailed off weakly as her eyes landed on the wet, glistening wall of a spectacularly muscled chest.

She instinctively knew whom the chest belonged to, so she didn’t waste any time by allowing her gaze to be drawn upward to confirm an identity.

Instead, she took the lucky opportunity to slowly scan and commit to memory each and every golden inch of his impressive torso and all areas south. The chest gave way to a rock-hard, splendidly sculpted abdomen. The desire to learn those ridges, to play them like a harp and listen to the music of his groans of pleasure, the hissing of his breath, was so strong Meg’s throat went dry. She wanted to wet her finger, slowly drag it down his belly and swirl it around his navel.

The towel barely clung to lean, narrowed hips, and dipped lower in the front, revealing a gilded treasure trail Meg itched to explore. An impressive bulge created an intriguing terrain across the front of his towel, leaving little doubt that what lay underneath was just as well proportioned as the rest of him. A slow simmer commenced between her thighs and Meg absently licked her lips.

He cleared his throat, forcing her preoccupied gaze to the northern territory of his face. A slight flush reddened his cheeks and a sheepish grin tugged the corners of his beautiful lips. “I’m locked out of my room,” he told her. “Do you mind if I get back in through the connecting door?”

Still bedazzled, Meg blinked. “Connecting door?”

“Our rooms have connecting doors. Haven’t you noticed?”

No. She hadn’t. Meg glanced behind her to confirm what he said and, sure enough, they did indeed share a connecting door. She didn’t know quite what to make of that, and decided to sort the conundrum out when a half-naked man wasn’t standing less than two feet from her.

“Would you mind if I came in out of the hall?” he asked, gesturing behind him as a couple of teenagers tittered past. “I’m attracting quite a bit of attention. The kind that could get me arrested.”

Meg started. “Oh. Sure. Sorry.”

He murmured a thanks as Meg stepped back and allowed him to come in. A clean, masculine fragrance bathed her as he passed, making her knees go weak. Gathering her scattered wits, she hurried to the bed and drew the coverlet over the newest batch of products awaiting her critique, then she doubled back and unlocked her side of the connecting door. She could feel his observant gaze following her.

“Is your side locked?” she asked.

He shoved an impatient hand through his damp hair and swore hotly.

Meg took that as a yes. “Er, why don’t you call down to the front desk and ask someone to come up and open your door? You can wait in here until they arrive.”

“Thanks.” He rubbed the back of his neck, then lifted the receiver and dialed the front desk. “I’m really sorry about this. I hope I’m not keeping you from anything.”

Meg pretended to check her watch. “I’ve got a few minutes.”

What she really had was a bad case of lust. The man had the best ass she’d ever seen. The damp terrycloth clung to the hard muscles of his butt like butter over warm bread. The finely sculpted muscles of his back glistened with wet droplets and, strangely, Meg found herself consumed with a peculiar urge to nibble a path from his sinewy shoulder up the curiously vulnerable side of his neck.

Heat swamped her, made her breasts heavy, her sex moist. She’d never been more attracted to a man in her life.

“They said they’d send someone up in a moment,” he told her. He tightened his towel, glancing about the room as though unsure of what to do or say next.

Making an attempt to be some sort of hostess, Meg hastily scooped up her discarded clothes from the back of the only desk chair. While she’d unpacked all of her things and arranged them to her satisfaction, she’d yet to clear away her dirty clothes. “Have a seat,” she offered, summoning a weak smile.

“Thanks.” Firmly holding the towel in place, he folded his big frame into the chair.

“So how did you come to get locked out of your room? Like that?” she asked meaningfully, gesturing toward the towel. Her gaze lingered just a fraction longer than necessary.

“I thought I heard someone knock on my door, stepped out into the hall, and the door closed before I could get back in.” He lifted one shoulder in a negligent shrug and grinned. “Bet it happens to everyone.”

Meg’s lips quirked. “I’m sure it does.”

“Has it ever happened to you?”