As Hot As It Gets (6 page)

“Oh. Right, I forgot about that.”

“Great sex make you forgetful?”

“No one could ever accuse you of being overly modest.”

Mason shrugged. He wasn't, but that was beside the point. “So have you gotten tired of me yet?”

She cast a suspicious look at him. “Why do you ask?”

“Wasn't that the whole point of our sleeping together?”

“I thought you were sleeping with me to get information.”

“Stop trying to divert attention from my question.”

“Yes, you're out of my system, okay? Mission accomplished. Congratulations.”

“You don't exactly sound thrilled about it.”

“This isn't my idea of great morning-after pillow talk.”

“You said no nicey-nice chitchat, right?” Mason decided not to point out that it was her idea in the first place that they sleep together this way. He wasn't so sure the crazy experiment had been even remotely successful for him, but hey—if it got him the information he needed…

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I changed my mind.”

Mason resisted smiling at how easily he could ruffle her feathers. “So tell me, what else do you know about this dominatrix ring?”

Claire sat up in bed and crossed her arms over her glorious breasts, so dewy and lush in the soft light, it was all he could do not to lean over and take
them into his mouth. “That's all you care about, isn't it? Your damn business. No wonder you're such a success—you know how to put work first, that's for sure.”

“I should have known I couldn't trust you to keep a deal.”

She smiled sweetly. “You're an asshole.”

“So this is how it goes—we can't talk for five minutes without getting in an argument? It's a good thing you're tired of sleeping with me, already.”

She shot him a look of death. “Yeah, good thing,” she said as she pushed the sheets aside and stood up.

Mason watched her stalk across the room and out the door, presumably in search of her clothes that had been discarded last night in the living room. Her perfect backside, smooth and lush, beckoned him to follow her. As infuriating as she could be, he felt a loss at her absence from his bed.

Last night had been nothing short of incredible. Explosive, amazing, earth-shattering… Overblown adjectives couldn't express how moved he'd been—and still was. Part of him wanted Claire to leave just so he could have the time to examine how he felt, try to explain away the emotion that had welled up in his chest.

And part of him wanted to forget about it, forget her, forget last night. Move on.

But his business side wanted to stalk into the living room after her and demand she tell him what she
knew. Which probably wasn't anything he couldn't find out on his own. Still, a deal was a deal.

He got out of bed, grabbed a pair of jeans from the closet and tugged them on.

“Claire, you're not leaving until you tell me what you know.”

She was tugging on her dress. “Fine. Maybe I should call a few travel magazines and let them know what's going on here, too.”

She was bluffing. He hoped.

“Go ahead. All they'll find is me stopping this thing before it's had a chance to get started.”

She jammed her feet into a pair of sexy heels, and Mason found himself momentarily distracted by the sight of her struggling to get the straps of her shoes around her ankles. He forced his brain back into gear.

“Fine, you want to know the rest? That muscle-bound blond bartender at the Cabana Club is involved in it. That's all I know,” she said, then turned and headed for the door.

Mike D'Amato? Mason tried to wrap his brain around the possibility. Anything was possible, he'd learned, and even people he considered trustworthy could be snakes in the grass.

“Claire, wait.”

“Bye, Mason. Nice knowing you,” she said as she opened the door and stepped into the hallway. “Last night was loads of fun,” she said in a voice meant to convince him it was anything but.

Mason watched as she closed the door, unable to utter a word or make a move. Why he'd frozen in place, he had no idea. One thing was sure though—Claire leaving was the best thing that could happen to him.

Really, it was.

So he couldn't figure out why her closing the door had felt like a punch in the gut.

C
LAIRE TURNED ON
the water in the shower, then started undressing as she played and replayed the events of the night and morning in her mind.

What the hell was she doing? Here she was at Mason's new resort in the Caribbean, having just spent what was possibly the most incredible night of her life…with a guy who drove her absolutely crazy.

Worst of all, her plan had been an utter, complete, down-and-out failure.

Mason was not out of her system, he was not even the slightest bit of a bore in bed, and she needed to adjust her whole outlook on him as a man.

Sure, he was still a world-class jerk, but he was a world-class jerk with bedroom moves to die for.

All her fantasies starring Mason had been dead-on accurate—had possibly even fallen short of how amazing he actually was in bed—and she had no idea what to do about him.

One thing was sure though, if she left the island now, she'd never be free of the fantasies. More likely,
they'd only get worse, fueled on by the memories of their only night together.

Oh yeah, she had it bad for Mason, and instead of leaving on the next plane off the island as she'd planned, she feared what she really needed to do was to stick around long enough to find the cure for him. But it would be all too easy to fall victim to his charms.

Storming out of his suite had been nothing more than a rather immature way for her to put some distance between them so that she could think clearly, and it had surely damaged her chances of getting Mason to help her out with her fantasies anymore.

Claire stepped into the shower and winced at the hot water, then slowly relaxed into it. She felt the twinges and aches of a long night of lovemaking, yet another reminder of Mason's mark on her.

Think, Claire, think.

She had to think clearly about the situation. No more rushing headlong into half-baked plans and finding herself in worse trouble than before.

She always had her best ideas in the shower, but as she shampooed her hair, she realized that this shower only reminded her of last night in Mason's shower during their third round of sex, of how he'd worked her into a lather both literally and figuratively, of how close the shower had come to her tropical rainforest fantasy.

Ten minutes later she was toweling off and no
closer than before to a revelation about how to deal with Mason. Rather, her nerves were on edge and her body aching for his touch again.

She seemed to be insatiable all of a sudden. Even after last night's marathon of sex, she still hadn't had enough.

How much more of Mason would be enough? She'd never lusted after a guy so intensely; this was uncharted territory.

And then she saw her plan before her, clear as day. She had to stay at Escapade until she was sick of Mason. She had to convince him to sleep with her, again and again, until she'd had enough.

He'd clearly enjoyed last night as much as she had, if not more, so convincing him shouldn't have been a problem.

Except for the way they'd said goodbye this morning…

She had to convince him not only that she should stay around, but that they should keep up what they'd started last night.

Definitely a challenge.

Claire dressed in her most convincing outfit, then dried her hair until it was its usual mess of crimson waves. A light layer of lipstick followed by a few finishing cosmetic touches, and she was feeling a tiny bit more confident that she could present her case to Mason.

She had one thing going for her—Mason had to
have felt the strength of their attraction as much as she had. If anyone wanted to continue their liaison for a little while longer, it had to be him.

After grabbing a croissant and some coffee at one of the brunch buffets set up for resort guests, Claire followed the already-familiar route back to Mason's suite. But after knocking on the door twice and waiting, she decided he must have already left for the day. Either that or he was avoiding her—which was entirely possible.

Doubt nagging at her, she tried to think where he might have gone on a dreary, blustery Sunday. The storm center still seemed to be hovering offshore, but the island had gotten fairly well pounded late last night, though she and Mason mostly had been too busy to notice. Some palm trees had lost branches, and the sky was a dark gray that suggested more was to come any time now. The wind whipped at Claire as she wandered back outside, but she didn't mind it—even welcomed it. She loved the ocean scent that permeated the air and the sound of the palm trees rustling overhead.

But where was Mason? He seemed like the work-aholic type who might go to his office on a Sunday, so she set out for Escapade's administrative offices, which were located just inside the main entrance of the resort.

But the longer she walked, the more she became convinced that she would need another bargaining
chip to ensure she got what she wanted from Mason. Unlimited access to his bed for a week, she feared, would not come easily after the way she'd behaved this morning.

But what if she were useful to him—both in and out of bed? What if she could help him?

Claire stopped in her tracks.

Surely the Cabana Club wouldn't be open at noon, but maybe she could catch the bartender from last night there prepping for the afternoon and evening crowd. She decided to give it a shot and made a bee-line for the bar.

Five minutes later, she was inside the cool darkness of the club, but no one else was in sight. Since the front door was open, she assumed someone was indeed in the back prepping, and she headed for the back of the bar toward the kitchen.

“Can I help you?” a male voice called from inside as her footsteps echoed throughout the silent building.

Claire followed the sound of the voice, and found the bartender named Mike from the night before flipping through what looked like an inventory sheet.

“Actually, you can. We met last night? At the bar?”

He looked her over in a way that was half friendly and half lascivious, then smiled. “Sure, I remember you.”

“I'm hoping you can tell me who the man that talked to me was.”

His expression turned neutral. “You'll have to be
a little more specific. I see hundreds of people a night out there.”

“Maybe early to mid-fifties, tall, gray hair, light blue eyes. He called me Ashley, and you corrected him.”

“Oh, Mr. Casey. He's one of our VIP guests. We have some customers who spend more than their share of money here, and they get some special treatment.”

“Seemed like you two knew each other for some other reason,” Claire pressed.

Something passed over his eyes—suspicion?—but he kept his expression neutral and shrugged. “Nope.”

She'd have to work some magic if she wanted to get any further with this guy. But something nagged at her—if the man last night had been a VIP, could it be that part of Mason's special treatment for him was some kind of sex-service-for-hire thing?

Could she trust Mason to tell her the truth? Maybe he had Lucy fooled, and maybe he was sleazier than everyone thought.

He had, after all, been more than ready to have sex with her right there on the dance floor of his own nightclub last night. He hadn't hesitated for a moment.

But then, neither had she.

“Who was Ashley? His date for the evening?”

The bartender shrugged. “It's not my business.”

Okay, she needed to try a different tack—one that rarely failed her. She smiled and shifted her hips ever so slightly, changing her body language from guarded to come-hither.

“A funny thing happened last night, you know.”

“What's that?”

“I left something for you on the bar, but someone else found it.”

He smiled, interested now, as she'd known he would be. Unlike Mason, most men were painfully predictable.

“Oh yeah? What was it?”

“My room number. Imagine my surprise when a middle-aged guy in a diaper showed up instead of you.”

Mike the bartender blinked in surprise. “A
diaper?
And nothing else.”

“A really big diaper and a raincoat.”

“You're joking.”

“I wouldn't joke about that.”

“Did you let him in?”

“Do I look like the kind of girl who'd go for a guy in a diaper?”

He shrugged. “I've seen quite a bit in the short time I've worked here. It doesn't surprise me the weird stuff people go for.”

“It's definitely not my choice of fetishes.”

“Whatever floats your boat, babe. That's my motto.”

“So that's what you say to women in bed?” she said, feeling a little sleazy now.

He grinned as he lifted a crate of vegetables onto the counter. “You can find out firsthand if you want.”

Claire groaned inwardly. She'd need another shower after this conversation. “Tempting offer,” she said.

“Mondays are my nights off, if you're still going to be around tomorrow.”

“I haven't decided, but I think I will be. Maybe we could meet up for dinner?”

Mike D. eyed her, as if trying to decide whether she was worth suffering through a dinner for. She decided to cut to the chase.

“Listen,” she said. “Truth is, I like it rough. I'm sort of a closet sadist, if you know what I mean.”

“Like I said, whatever floats your boat,” he said, turning to the sink to wash some baby carrots.

“Do you like it rough?”

He turned back to her. “I don't mind an occasional pair of handcuffs, but getting spanked really isn't my thing.”

“Know anyone who does go for it?”

His expression turned neutral again. She apparently hadn't done as good a job gaining his trust through sexual banter as she'd hoped. “I'll keep you in mind if I hear of anyone looking for that kind of thing.”

“Thanks,” she said, ashamed of herself for not having the balls to push further. “I'd appreciate that. I'll be around the bar tonight.”

“I'll be here,” he said. “Now if you don't mind, I've gotta get this food prepped.”

Claire left the club, feeling a mixture of relief at escaping her fake flirtation with the bartender and disappointment at not having gotten the information she wanted.

As she headed for Mason's office, she noted that there was no shortage of guests out determined to have a good time in spite of the lousy weather. Even the beach, visible in the distance, was fairly crowded, and the pool she passed along the way was just as busy as it might have been on a sunny day. She supposed the kind of people who came to Escapade weren't necessarily put off by the threat of a hurricane, probably even considered it an added element of excitement.

Just as she had last night….

Having gotten nowhere with Mike, she decided the best way to get what she wanted from Mason was with the direct approach. She'd tell him she wasn't leaving until she had the relief she needed. And maybe a little heartfelt apology would be in order to smooth over the rough edges she'd left this morning.

The clerks at the reception desk were busy with the mass weekend changeover of guests—many checking out and many arriving—and didn't see her slip into the reception area. She followed a sign that read Administrative Offices down a hallway until she found the door that sported a brass placard with the name Mason Walker engraved on it.

She tapped on the door, and Mason's voice called, “Come in,” confirming that her guess about his location was correct.

Claire was about to go in when a woman's voice behind her said, “I'm sorry, miss, but this area is for employees only.”

She swung around and smiled at the resort employee. “Oh, I'm a friend of Mason's.”

“You can't just come wandering back here and knock on his door like this. You'll need to go back to the reception desk and—”

“There's a huge line out there.” Claire reached for the doorknob but the woman inserted herself between Claire and the door.

“You cannot disturb Mr. Walker!”

The door jerked open and Mason stood there looking between the two of them. “What's going on out here?”

“I'm so sorry, Mr. Walker, this woman just—”

Mason gave Claire a look. “It's okay, Janine. I know her.”

Janine's bubble burst, she glared at Claire and nodded. “Okay, sir. Sorry to disturb you.”

Mason stepped aside and let Claire in. “Maybe you should hire a few armed guards if you really want to keep out riffraff like me.”

He closed the door and stood there, his arms crossed over his chest. Clearly ready to send her packing at any moment. “What's up, Claire? What are you doing here?”

“I might ask you the same thing,” she said, smiling.

“This is my office.”

“You work on Sundays, too? Isn't that a bit extreme?”

Mason leaned against his desk and sighed. “I'm
not going to defend my work habits to you, but no, I don't normally work Sundays unless it's necessary.”

“Let me guess. Today there's a certain female you're trying to put out of your head. But it's not working, is it?”

“Not when she won't leave me the hell alone, no.”

“I just wanted to let you know I'm not leaving today as planned.”

Mason's gaze narrowed almost imperceptibly. “Tomorrow, then?”

“No.”

“Because?”

“Because I changed my mind. I owe you an apology—I overreacted to your questions this morning.”

He didn't bother to hide his shock, and Claire had to smile. She'd never been good at admitting she was wrong, but for the right cause, she could say anything to get what she wanted.

“Apology accepted, so now you can leave, right?”

“You need my help, Mason.”

“I do?”

“I can help you get information from Mike D.”

“That's not necessary.” Mason's mouth was set, firm, uncompromising. Probably the same expression he used to fire employees and dump girlfriends.