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  Hearing male voices approach in the hallway, I kick the door shut, surprised by the fact that I already don’t want anyone else looking at her. “You going to tell me why you’re in my room, woman? Or just stand there looking hot?”

  When her red-stained lips spread into a smile, I once again marvel over the fact that she’s got zero plans to cover herself. No complaints from this corner. I’m just acutely aware that she was waiting for me to react to her nudity so she could take my measure. Based on that smile and her squaring shoulders, that’s exactly what she’s done. I’ve logged nine thousand hours in the boardroom, so I know all about sizing up a potential ally or adversary. Reading people is my business. I’m usually the unreadable one—and I don’t like how easily she managed it. Leave it to a pair of knockout tits to throw a man off his game.

  “You must be mistaken.” In the saddest event in my recent memory, she produces a bra and snaps it into place, before strutting slowly around the bed. Legs. For. Days. My groin tightens like a motherfucker, which is saying something considering I’ve had wood since walking through the door. She’s showcasing those thighs with a black strip of material some might call shorts, but they’re more like underwear. Or two fabric samples stapled together. As if I’m not having a hard enough time keeping my eyes off that sweet little V between her legs, she slides a card key from the front of her shorts and waves it at me. “This is my room.”

  “Then they double-booked it.” My tone is challenging. She thinks she’s got the upper hand? Let’s see if she can keep it. “I’ve been sleeping in that bed for three days.”

  Her throaty hum turns up the ache in my dick to full volume. “Comfortably, I hope.” Leisurely, she cocks a hip and scans the room with pursed lips. “Where’s all your stuff? If I’d walked in and seen your jeans on the floor, this peep show could have been avoided.”

  I shake my head hard. “Now that would have been a shame.”

  Color fills her cheeks, which seems to…annoy her? “Maybe your credit card got declined and this was their way of breaking up with you.”

  I can’t quite keep the amusement from my voice. “That’s definitely not it.”

  Another sexy purr. “Well, let’s solve the riddle, shall we?” She tosses me a wink on her way to the bedside table, where she picks up the phone and hits a button. Waits a few beats. “Hello, this is Teresa Smith.” Smith, my ass. “I just checked into room one-oh-seven, but the room’s rightful owner just showed. I feel a little bit like Goldilocks. Was it double-booked, by any chance?”

  Southpaw drops down on the ground at my feet, so I crouch down to rub his belly. Not to get an even better view of Teresa Smith’s tush, which of course is just as mesmerizing as the rest of her. High, firm and looking to get slapped.

  My life is lived within the walls of my offices, so most of the women I come into contact with are my employees. I’m only interested in their ability to bring me a winning play. On the rare occasions I get out and have the opportunity to meet women who aren’t on my payroll, none of them make my pulse trip over itself like this one. I’m kind of stunned by the force of my attraction. It’s potent and she calls to it more with every second that ticks by.

  “Ahh,” Teresa says, nodding over her shoulder at me. “I see. No, that’s fine. Thank you for your help.” After dropping the phone into the cradle, she starts gathering things off the bedside table I didn’t notice on the way in. A cell phone, a pair of earrings, some loose change. “They gave me the wrong room. I’m next door.”

  Giving Southpaw a final pat on the stomach, I rise. “You’re going to put a shirt on before you head into the hallway.”

  “Was that a question or—”

  I shake my head.

  Temper flashes in her eyes, but it doesn’t reach her tongue. “Sure.” Teresa saunters closer, all graceful-hipped and sultry-eyed. “You want to help me out with that shirt idea?” She bends down to scrub a hand over Southpaw’s head and the dog pants with rapture. If she notices the lump on his front, right paw, she gives no indication. Laughing softly, she steps over him carefully, bringing us inches apart. With a low sound of interest, she lays her hands on my pecs, rubbing them in a slow circle, finding my top button with her fingers. Unhooking it. “I’d hate to go digging through my luggage when you’ve got a perfectly nice shirt right here.”

  “Only thing is, I’m wearing it,” I rasp. Fuck. Up close, she’s nothing less than extraordinary. She barely reaches my shoulders, but the little woman packs a punch. Her eyes are gray-green. Is that even a color? Her skin is just a hint sunburned, but the red sits on top of a golden glow, making her look rosy. Ripe. Everywhere. My cock is all but growling for freedom behind my zipper, wanting contact with that skin. Wanting to conquer it.

  She flicks open the second button. “Can’t I wrap myself in it for a while?”

  I catch her wrist before she can undo the third. Southpaw yelps inside his throat, but I shh him. “Who are you?”

  There’s a line between her brows, those gray-greens racing all over my face. I’ll be damned if there isn’t buzzing static rippling back and forth between us, taking us both for a ride. “Teresa Smith,” she murmurs. “At your service.”

  Just like before, I’d love to call bullshit on her last name. One thing at a time, though. “A strange man seeing you mostly naked doesn’t bother you, Teresa?”

  Me saying her name delivers some kind of jolt. I feel it travel through her arm and slide up into my shoulder. Around to the back of my neck. And I can tell the precise moment she decides to tell the truth, instead of going with some patented bullshit I’d see from a mile away. “Acting like something doesn’t bother you is easier than admitting it does, right?”

  There’s a sharp pressure in my chest. What the hell is going on here? “Yeah.” Reluctantly, I let go of her wrist, but only after I apply some pressure to her veins and watch her lids slide down. “Yeah. A hell of a lot easier.”

  Keeping her in front of me with a look, I open the rest of my shirt, drape it over her shoulders, then re-do the buttons. All the while, she watches me like I’m the mystery in the room. I should be smug, shouldn’t I? Girl shows up topless and does her damnedest to turn me into a sputtering jackass. She didn’t quite succeed, even though having her look me over, neck to belt buckle, is giving my dick the consistency of iron. So how come all I want to do is tug her close and run my thumb along her bottom lip? To ask her what else bothers her that she doesn’t find easy to admit.

  Jesus. If someone told me this morning a woman existed who could make me feel protective, jealous, horny, challenged and curious in the space of five minutes, I would have laughed until my fucking face turned blue.

  “How about you return that shirt later when we have dinner?”

  “I have plans.”

  My hands do their own thing, curling in the shirt and dragging her closer. “Break them,” I breathe against her mouth. “I want to…talk to you.”

  Her laughter puffs out. “Yeah, I can feel how badly you need to talk.”

  “Come on now. You’ve been strutting around naked looking hotter than fuck. You’d be offended right now if my dick wasn’t hard.”

  Humor twinkles in her eyes. “Good point.”

  “Dinner, woman.”

  Turning her head, she presses those soft lips against my ear. Breathes in and out. “I’ll think about it.”

  Before I can formulate a response, she sidesteps me, taking the handle of a rolling suitcase, which has the strap of a laptop case wrapped around it. Without missing a beat, she glides toward the door. I should let her go, right? She’s in the room beside mine. And I’ve just made her acquaintance, but I already know she’s a woman who makes up her damn mind only when good and ready.

  I can’t simply close the door and let her simmer for a few hours, though, because those male voices I heard earlier? Their owners are posted up right outside my door, passing a joint back and forth. Maybe it’s due to the marijuana or they’re just plain stupid, but th
ey don’t even see me. Or they can’t manage to take their stunned eyes off Teresa’s bare legs long enough to acknowledge my presence.

  “Damn,” says Moron Number One. “Hey there, pretty thing.”

  And never count out Moron Number Two from chiming in. Moron number twos can never help it. “I’d ask to get inside your pants, but you’re not wearing any.”

  A paint splatter of black obscures my vision, heat sinking into my veins. Especially when Teresa takes a backward step, her eyes searching for me over her shoulder. Behind me, Southpaw starts to growl, but I’m already on the same page. It has been a while since this man, the one I used to be, was invited to come out and play, but it’s like riding a bike. The immediate transformation supports the theory that I’ve been pretending to be someone else for too damn long. Brushing past Teresa in the doorframe, muscle memory and disgust bring my right fist down in the center of Moron Number One’s face. He hits the floor and stays down, so maybe he’s not as stupid as I originally thought.

  Moron Number Two, however, is just as moronic as his first impression gave. He telegraphs his punch in stoner slow motion—it takes so long I could make a fucking sandwich—so I sidestep and let him stumble against the far wall, before spinning him around and pinning my forearm against his jugular. “A woman walks out of my room, wearing my shirt, you don’t speak to her. You don’t even look at her. You got that?” He lets out a strangled yeah, man. “Matter of fact, you’re not getting a second chance. Pick up your asshole friend and get the hell out. I don’t want to see you back here again.”

  When I let Moron Number Two go and he scrambles to collect his buddy, I glance over at Teresa and I’m surprised to find Southpaw guarding her, lips peeled back to show off his teeth. Has he ever done that for anyone but me? Granted, I’m a complete loner so he’s only got me most of the time, but still. It makes me study her harder. Makes my gut kick.

  She looks back at me with a sardonic tilt to her lips. “All right, all right. I’ll go to dinner with you.” After giving Southpaw a scratch behind the ear, she saunters past me toward her room. “You can stop showing off now.”

  By the time her door clicks shut, I’m laughing.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Teresa

  Listening for Will to reenter his room after the hallway altercation, I finally hear the door snick shut. Footsteps traveling down the hallway, man and dog. After meeting him, I have no doubt he’s going to double check my story with motel reception, but I’m safe. They’re disorganized enough to think they truly made a mistake and definitely won’t suspect I simply climbed the first-floor balcony and jimmied the flimsy lock.

  Entering the bathroom, I barely recognize myself in the mirror, my neck flushed from the encounter with Will. I grip the sink edge and blow out a shaky breath, attempting to get myself under control. It doesn’t work. My hips sway forward and press against the cheap imitation marble, my head falling back on my shoulders. Without consent, my butt muscles flex, grinding me closer—and wow. Nothing to see here, I’m just humping the sink. Christ.

  I’ll admit that after Silas showed me Will Caruso on Instagram, I scrolled through his feed…all the way to the end. Purely for research purposes, of course. And yeah, he is potent on a tiny digital screen, but nothing compares to real life. Nothing comes close. For one thing, I can smell him. Can smell nature hugging him closely, laced through with undertones of menthol aftershave.

  Part of me was wondering if Will’s vamoose from New York was some rich boy emo quest to discover himself. After spending a few minutes around him and Southpaw—seeing the way they react to one another—I have to admit it’s the real deal. Whatever happened between him and Silas might have contributed, but as his Instagram account implies, he’s on the road to give Southpaw a treasure trove of final memories. A man showing genuine affection for something other than himself must be the reason I’m so damn attracted.

  Good thing we’re incompatible.

  I’m not talking about physically. Because, hello, I’m grinding against a sink and if someone ran into my nipples, they would impale themselves. I don’t think I’ve ever been this hot for a real-life man, have I? The closest I’ve come in recent memory is seeing Magic Mike XXL in theaters after two mango margaritas.

  We’re incompatible for three reasons. One? He’s a man, which definitely doesn’t work in his favor. Two? I’m here under false pretenses. Three? Silas expects me to sleep with Will.

  I can’t give that evil man the satisfaction.

  In another world, if Will and I had a chance meeting in a bar, I would let my libido get some exercise and strut away without looking back. But my goal is getting Will back to New York, right? As I’ve discovered too many times before, as soon as sex ceases to be the big, mysterious driving force between a man and woman, he starts to lose interest. I have to keep that interest.

  And that means sex is a no-no.

  Easy peasy, right?

  I fan my heated cheeks.

  The most important thing I noticed about Will during our first meeting is this: he’s as sharp as a samurai sword—and not the prop kind. I don’t have long to accomplish this mission before he smells something rotten in Denmark. As every reality show villain in history says, I’m not here to make friends. I need to remember that next time I’m faced with all that keen intelligence and scarred, rugged muscle in one huge, animal-loving package.

  Don’t. Don’t think of his package. Or the way he came to my defense and then acted so freaking cool about it. Smiling as I passed. Instead of crushing a beer can on his forehead like most guys after the tiniest squabble.

  I fan myself harder, but the added wind doesn’t help. Admitting defeat, I drop my right hand, sliding it into the front of my shorts. As soon as my middle finger grazes my clit, I cinch my tights around my hand on a moan. Eyelids drooping, I remember how his thick shoulders rolled as he removed his shirt, that muscle popping in his jaw. And that dusting of black hair decorating his stomach. Not the abdomen of a man who flexes and preens all day in the gym, but goes extra hard on the weights when he needs to burn energy. Making him rock solid beneath a tight layer of rough, no frills, glorious bulk—

  My cell phone buzzes on the sink. A frustrated whine breaks past my lips at the interruption, but when I look down and see my brother’s name, I whip my hand out of my shorts faster than drug stores discount heart-shaped candy after Valentine’s Day.

  “Shit. What…uhh…” I run my hand under the tap and dry it on a threadbare towel before answering. “Nicky. Hey!”

  Congratulations, that sounded totally natural.

  “Hey, Resa.” Traffic competes in the background amid honks and humming engines. “You go back to LA?”

  “No.” Aware of the thin walls, I shut the bathroom door and sit down on the closed toilet. I’m also aware that Nicky’s phone line isn’t a smart way to communicate now that he’s running with Silas Case—it could easily be monitored—so I search for a way to keep things vague. “I had to take a little vacation. To handle everything.”

  “A vacation.”

  “Yeah.” Not having total control of my brother’s safety makes my right leg jiggle. Why did he have to go to New York in the first place? I should have worked harder to keep him from leaving. God. When my parents left us, I swore to myself I’d be his rock. Turns out I’m less rock, more slippery slope. Fix it. “Just…lay low for a while, all right? Real low. I’ll be coming to get you very soon.”

  “How soon?” His tone is part impatience, part nerves. “I know you’re probably doing everything you can. And this is my fucking fault. But…nothing has changed. I’m still working. He called me personally and reminded me to show up as usual. No exceptions. He’s never done that, you know?”

  Dammit. I come to my feet without realizing it and start to pace. “There’s nothing to worry about. That was probably just to put pressure on me—”

  “Pressure on you? Resa, that’s never good coming from this man.” I can practically see Nicky s
natching the ball cap off his head and jamming it back on. “I can’t believe I dragged you into this.”

  I take a deep breath to combat the pressure in my throat. “Nicky, do everything you can to stay clear of trouble until I get back. I’m working on it as we speak.” Heat blooms behind my eyes, my arms shaking with the need to hug my little brother. The irresponsible shithead. I’m too far away to hold him, but there’s no way I’m ending this call with him sounding so scared. “Hey. Remember that summer I tried to recreate E.T. shot for shot with my first camcorder?”

  “How could I forget?” He snorts. “You wrapped me in a sheet and made me be E.T. when I wanted to be out playing ball.”

  “Right.” The memory of him sitting on the bathroom sink while I colored his index finger with bright red Sharpie makes my throat hurt. “I showed that recording to your first girlfriend, remember? Consider this payback.”

  “I would never. But that was pretty fucked up.”

  My laughter is halting. “Yeah, it was.”

  There’s a long pause. “I’m more worried for you than me, Resa. Whatever you’re doing, be careful.”

  I wave a hand, even though he can’t see me. I can see myself in the mirror, though, and there’s no mistaking the conflict in my eyes. “Trust me. I already got this half in the bag.”

  An hour later, I have one foot propped on the bed while I lace up my chocolate-colored gladiator sandals, quietly thanking Lilly Pulitzer for the added reminder that I’m here to win. Losing could cost my brother everything.

  A knock at the door brings my head up.

  This is a job. Eyes open. Take it seriously.

  And since Silas issued me an indirect warning, I’m giving him the mental bird by remembering one small but important fact.

  He said I need to get Will back to New York.