Intent to Seduce & a Glimpse of Fire (8 page)

Leaning against the back of the booth, he allowed the image to slip into his mind—those smooth legs wrapping around him, drawing him closer, trapping him. Right now he could be pushing into her heat, withdrawing and pushing in again. Deeper. He could almost feel her wet, silk heat closing around him.

“If you’re not waiting for someone…”

Lucas’s eyes shot open at the voice. It was Mac’s. Perhaps a little huskier. But the blonde standing a few feet away from his table had to be a stranger. Still half caught up in the fantasy he’d fashioned in his mind, he blinked and tried to focus.

She wore a bright red skirt, barely the length of a dinner
napkin. It fit her like a second skin and seemed to stop where her legs began. His throat went dry as his gaze moved down the length of them, then back up to where the skirt rode high on her thighs. Was she wearing anything beneath it?

“That outfit…” he began.

When she whirled in front of him, the skirt inched even higher.

“You like it?”

“Mac?” He dragged his gaze from the miraculous legs up her body to her…. He could see her nipples through the stretchy fabric of the tank top—perfect little buds. With great effort he managed to focus on her face. Her blond hair looked mussed, as if some man had just run his hands through it several times. And her eyes—they were huge, heavy-lidded…and there was no mistaking that golden-brown color.

“Mac, what in hell are you doing?”

In a flash she had slid in beside him in the back of the booth. “Shh.” She gave him a slow wink. “You’re mistaken. I’m not Mac. I’m Sally. And you’re…” She paused to slip a finger beneath the button of his polo shirt and flick it free of its hole. “You’re John.”

“John?”

“My first of the day.” Leaning closer, she lowered her voice. “We’re complete strangers. We’ve never met before. You saw me on the beach when you were docking your boat, and you’ve just invited me to join you in your very fancy hotel for a drink. I’ve never been in a place quite like this before.”

Pausing, she glanced around, then dipped her finger into the water that ran over the rocks behind them. Slowly, she ran her damp finger along his jaw, then down his throat until she could unfasten the next button of his shirt.

“Mac—”

She leaned closer. “It’s Sally. The fantasy will be more enjoyable if you let yourself get into it. Since you didn’t want to fill out the questionnaire, I chose one of the most popular ones—sex with a perfect stranger.”

She freed another button on his shirt.

“I’m hoping you’ll like it. This too.”

She set a package on the table. “I stopped in the gift shop and got you a surprise. Take a look and tell me what you think.”

He was finding it difficult to think at all while he could feel the hard pebbles of her breasts brushing against his arm. But he found his gaze wandering to the bag. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had bought him a surprise. It had been sweet of Mac to think of it—except that it might not have been Mac but Sally who’d bought him the gift.

Her fingernail traced a line down the center of his chest, sending little ribbons of heat outward and downward. Then her fingers were on his belt, pulling it free. He clamped his fingers around her wrist. “Stop.”

“You don’t really want me to.” Her free hand dropped to his thigh.

“We’re in a public place.” The ribbons of heat had burst into flames where her hand was resting. “Let’s go.”

“You’re embarrassed. That’s so cute.”

“Cute?” He stared at her for a minute. All he could see was a mixture of amusement and excitement in her eyes. “You’re enjoying this.”

She leaned closer and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Because I’m
Sally.
Getting into these clothes really helped. I think you’d enjoy it too if you could get into the fantasy. In one survey, fifty-three percent of the men fantasized about having sex with a stranger they picked up in a
bar. Thirty-five percent of those wanted the stranger to be a hooker. Have you ever had either of those fantasies?”

“No. I told you I don’t have them.”

“Never paid for sex?”

“No.”

“A first-time John. My favorite,” she said. He didn’t think it was possible but she suddenly seemed closer. “Think about what I’d promised you we’d do when I persuaded you to invite me here.” Her fingers traced a delicate pattern on his inner thigh as they moved higher.

“Doc, you can’t.” The words erupted on a moan.

“Want me to tell you what I promised to do?” The words were just a breath in his ear.

“Mr. Wainright, sir…”

Lucas turned to face a tall man wearing a conservatively cut suit with an insignia that marked him as a member of the hotel’s staff.

“Is this lady bothering you?”

Immediately Lucas slipped an arm around Mac. “Not at all. This lady is my wife.”

The man’s glance slipped to Mac, then back to Lucas. “Your…I’m sorry, sir. I just thought…”

“You thought wrong.”

“My apologies, Mr. Wainright. I…I’m sorry to have disturbed you. I hope you’ll let me know what the staff can do to make your stay more pleasant.” With a brief nod, the man turned and walked away.

The moment he was out of earshot, Mac spoke on a bubble of laughter. “‘This lady is my wife!’ How did you manage to say that with a straight face? I don’t think he believed you.”

“No, he didn’t.” Lucas kept his eyes on the man’s retreating back until he was out of sight. “He was trying to do his job.”

“He was going to throw me out, and you saved me. It was just like in
Pretty Woman
when Richard Gere brings Julia Roberts into that swanky Beverly Hills hotel. He doesn’t let them throw her out either. Instead, he hires her for the whole week. Now
there’s
a fantasy. How about it? Would you like to hire me for a week?”

Her hand was burning its way up his thigh again. Lucas covered it with his own, and when he turned to face her, he found that she was very close. It wasn’t just her hair that was different. Her mouth was too—slicked with red the color of wild raspberries. It took all his willpower not to sample. “What I’d like to do can’t be done here—” he tore his gaze from her lips “—unless you want to get us both thrown out. Let’s take this to the room.”

She smiled at him. “I’m not done yet.”

Before he could prevent it, her hand slipped from beneath his to cover his erection.

“Ever fantasize about having sex in a public place?”

“Doc…” The word was barely audible. He couldn’t breathe, didn’t dare to move.

“I’m Sally, remember?”

Beneath the table, he grabbed her wrist and removed her hand very carefully. “This fantasy is over. We’re getting out of here.”

“Not until you kiss me. I’ve been dying for you to kiss me. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Lucas gazed into her eyes. The teasing light was gone. In its place was something hot and needy. Was it Mac talking? Or Sally? And just who had brought him nearly to completion with her touch? At the moment that his mouth covered hers, he wasn’t sure he cared.

K
ISS ME.
The words had slipped out before she could prevent them. She hadn’t meant to say them. But touching him, feeling the strength of his desire fill her hand had changed the fantasy into a desire so sharp she couldn’t resist.

She hadn’t even had time to blink before his mouth had crushed down on hers. The memory of their last kiss shattered as new sensations streamed through her. She welcomed the heat, the urgent demand, and wanted more.

The feelings racing through her were as exciting as the first time one of her theories had proven to be true in the lab. There was that breathless rush of pleasure, then the exhilaration that came with knowing that the results were just the beginning. That they could be taken to the next step and the next.

Touch me,
she wanted to cry out.
Please touch me.

And then he did. His hands were hard—and rough. One had clamped like a vise on the back of her neck. The other was running down her in a smooth, possessive stroke until it reached the top of her thigh. When he scraped his teeth over her bottom lip, a bolt of pleasure shot through her. She could feel everything—the soft give of the cushioned leather at her back, the hard line of his body pressing against her, and the beating of her own heart—so fast, so hard, she was sure it was going to pound its way right out of her chest.

And all the while, something inside her was beginning to boil like hot molten rock at the earth’s center.

More. She arched toward him, and suddenly his hand was just where she wanted it to be. Right at the center of her heat.

“Excuse me.”

The two words didn’t register at first. All she was aware of was Lucas’s abrupt withdrawal. First, he pulled his mouth from hers and then his hand. But he kept one arm around her as he turned.

“What is it?” Lucas’s voice sounded like a snarl, and the perky little waitress took a quick step back from the table. At least he could talk. Mac’s lips felt as if they were vibrating. She wondered if she could ever use them for forming words again.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said with a faltering attempt at a smile. “But my manager sent me over. There’s a call for you at the main desk. He thought it might be important.”

Mac could almost feel Lucas put a clamp on his anger. His voice was much milder when he said, “We’ll take the bill.”

“Thanks.” She beamed a smile at him, then waited until he signed it and handed it back to her.

Mac didn’t look at Lucas until the waitress left. He was studying her, and there was nothing on his face that gave away what he was thinking.

“You’re trouble,” he said.

She could have said the same about him and meant it. She didn’t kid herself for one minute that she’d been successful at sustaining her fantasy for even a second after Lucas had begun to kiss her. One taste and Sally might just as well have been vaporized. She was the one who’d
been kissing Lucas, wanting Lucas. And she hadn’t wanted to stop.

He slid out of the booth and held out his hand. “We’re getting out of here before we’re arrested.”

“I think I’m glad I’m with the owner of the hotel,” Mac said as she grabbed the bag that contained his present, then tucked her free hand in his.

Lucas’s lips twitched. “I’m glad I
am
the owner of the hotel.”

They were both laughing as they walked out of the lounge.

T
HE LOBBY WAS CROWDED.
Some people were clustered in groups, others wove their way toward the bank of elevators or up a curving sweep of stairs to the second level. The sun streamed down on them from a skylight as they circled a fountain in the open atrium.

At any other time, Lucas might have taken a moment to just mingle and observe how smoothly the staff was running the place, but two things were on his mind—the woman beside him and the phone call waiting for him at the desk. No one knew he was here at the hotel. Even if Tracker had guessed, he would have called him on his cell phone. After he solved that problem, he would have to figure out what he was going to do about the doc.

If he could just predict what she might do or suggest next, he might be able to get a handle on that. Clearly, his first priority was to get her back upstairs to their suite before she got them both arrested.

“Lucas Wainright,” he said to the well-groomed young man at the reception desk. “I was told there was a call for me.”

“Yes, sir. Just one minute, Mr. Wainright.”

While he waited, he glanced over to where Mac was
leafing through one of the brochures stacked on a nearby table. She’d kicked off one of her high-heeled sandals, and he found himself wanting to slip her out of the other one.

Odd, but he’d never been particularly attracted to women who dressed in clothes that screamed casually available sex. He preferred his dates to wear elegant but conservative styles.

The outfit Mac was wearing was even more eye-catching than it had been in the dimness of the lounge. As he watched, the gaze of more than one passerby locked on her. One man stumbled, nearly falling into the man ahead of him. Another lurched into the woman at his side. Yet the doc seemed totally unaware that she was causing traffic mishaps.

Instead, she was totally engrossed in the brochure. Clearly, he was looking at Dr. Lloyd. His eyes narrowed. But there was a Sally lurking inside her. And he was beginning to think he was fascinated by them both.

He planned to have both of them in his bed tonight.

He let his gaze wander down the length of her legs. She’d taken off both sandals now, and she was rubbing the back of one foot against the calf of her leg. Evidently, the doc wasn’t in the habit of wearing hooker shoes.

Very soon, he intended to have her out of the rest of her hooker outfit too. The tank top would go first. First one strap, then the other. And then he would slide the fabric down slowly until he could cup her breasts in his hands. Then he would—

“Sir, I have your call ready.”

Turning, Lucas picked up the receiver. “Wainright here.”

“Are you enjoying your vacation?”

Lucas recognized Vincent Falcone’s voice immediately. “Very much. Are you enjoying the wine country?”

Falcone’s laugh sounded relaxed in his ear. “You’ve been keeping tabs on me, I see.”

And you’ve been doing the same with me.
Lucas didn’t like it one bit, but he didn’t say the words aloud. He said nothing at all. A long time ago, he’d learned that silence was often more effective than a direct question in getting the information he wanted. While he waited, he let his gaze sweep the lobby. Did Falcone have a tail on him even now? He noted that Mac was chatting with the bellhop who had shown them to their rooms. In a moment, the young man was going to drool all over his uniform.

“You’re much harder to locate than I am,” Falcone said. “I heard a rumor that you were off to the Keys. I thought naturally of the Wainright Casa Marina, but I didn’t really expect my call to strike pay dirt.”

Right. And pigs fly.
“It hasn’t. Our business relationship is terminated.”

“That’s why I called. I have something in my possession that will change the picture.”

“You’ll have to be more specific.”

There was a sigh of regret on the other end of the line. “I’m afraid I can’t. Phone calls can be tapped. Let’s just say that fortune has dealt me a few cards I didn’t hold before. One of them might grab your attention.”

Lucas wanted to hang up the phone. But he couldn’t afford to. He knew the kind of ruthlessness that Falcone was capable of. That was why he’d wanted his sister with him and not in some damn spa. “A meeting then?”

“Ah. I thought you’d never ask. Saturday at my vineyard in Napa.”

“Saturday in my offices in D.C.”

Falcone’s laugh lacked both humor and warmth. “My dear Lucas, this time it’s my turn to call the shots. Three o’clock on Saturday at my vineyard. If you’re curious, you’ll come to me. If not, well, that could be very unfortunate.”

Lucas listened to the phone go dead in his ear.
Hell would freeze over first.
There wasn’t anything that the man could possibly offer him to renew their business relationship. Vincent Falcone was a crook. Hell, it had taken him four long years to find a way out of doing business with the man that wouldn’t violate any of the contracts his father had signed.

He’d bided his time, making sure that any joint ventures Wainright had with Falcone’s companies steadily lost money. Then when the man had come to him wanting the capital to invest in Lansing, a biotech company, Lucas had all the ammunition he needed. He’d given the older man Lansing as payment in full to buy him out of Wainright Enterprises.

Lucas reran Falcone’s phone call over in his mind. He couldn’t afford to underestimate him. A quick glance at his watch told him that it had been twenty-four hours since he’d talked to Tracker. Suddenly, he wanted to be very sure that Sophie was in that spa.

Pushing the numbers into his cell phone, he glanced over at Mac and stared. She’d perched herself on the table that held the brochures and crossed her legs. The skirt had inched about as high up her thighs as it could go. Three bellhops were now gathered around her, totally wrapped up in whatever she was saying, and the registration line had doubled.

Tracker wasn’t picking up the call. Lucas disconnected it and punched the numbers in again. He hadn’t taken his eyes off Mac.

“He wrote seventy percent of his works here—
A Farewell to Arms, For Whom the Bell Tolls,
” she was saying. “Can you tell me how to get to his house?”

She was talking about Ernest Hemingway. Lucas couldn’t prevent a smile.

“Sure thing. I read
The Old Man and the Sea,
” said the tallest of the three young men.

“I saw the movie once. I think,” said another.

She was dressed like a tart, and she had three kids who were probably still in high school competing to admit they’d read Hemingway.

“My great-grandfather used to box with him on the front lawn.”

“You’re kidding,” Mac said.

“No. There’re pictures of him in the museum. You can see them if you go.”

Clearly, being a descendant of someone who’d actually come into contact with Hemingway was much more impressive than merely reading his books. He might just have to tell her—Sally or the doc or both—that his own grandfather had fished with the novelist.

Lucas disconnected the second call and punched in the numbers again. The only time that Tracker didn’t pick up a call was when he absolutely couldn’t talk. Had he managed to get inside the spa? Each call he made would leave a message on Tracker’s caller ID, and three calls in a row would let Tracker know that it was an emergency.

As the phone rang in his ear, Lucas saw one of his very able managers approaching. Obviously, the man didn’t like that Mac had three of his bellhops enthralled—nor could he be too pleased that she was making a spectacle of herself, having captured the attention of most of the
males waiting in the registration line. He’d taken two steps toward Mac, intending to remedy the situation, when Tracker picked up. “What’s up?” he said.

“You’re inside?” Lucas asked.

“Mr. Wainright?” The voice came at his elbow. “Sir, I hate to interrupt you.”

“Hold on, Tracker,” Lucas said as he turned to face the young manager. “What is it?”

“Do you think that Mrs. Wainright would be more comfortable in a chair? I’m having one brought down from the upper lobby.”

A glance at the curving stairs told him that, indeed, a chair was making its way toward them. Lucas met the young man’s eyes. “That’s a very thoughtful idea, and I’m sure Mrs. Wainright will appreciate it. Her feet seem to be bothering her.” Pausing, he glanced at the man’s nametag. “Mr. Waldman, you’re doing a nice job here.”

Waldman nodded at him. “Thank you, sir.”

“
Mrs.
Wainright?” Tracker asked in his ear.

“It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time. My ride into the Serenity Spa won’t be leaving for another hour. I’m being delivered with bottled water and organic produce, and I was in the middle of final negotiations with the driver when you called.”

“Everything went well, I take it?”

Tracker laughed. “Piece of cake. I take it you’re not at Lucas’s Folly?”

That’s debatable, Lucas thought. “No, I’m at the Wainright Casa Marina.” He watched as the man scooped up Mac’s high-heeled sandals, but she insisted on carrying the bag with his present in it herself. Waldman escorted her to the chair, and the bellhops were allowed to remain in attendance.

The only people who might be a tad disappointed were the men who were still waiting to register. Mac’s skirt covered at least two inches more of her leg once she was seated in the chair, and they had to crane their necks to see her.

Waldman deserved a raise.

“You’re at your Key West resort with a
Mrs.
Wainright. I’m assuming that’s Mac. I’m also assuming that she’s not really Mrs. Wainright because it does take time to get a license and so forth. But there are still a lot of gaps in your story, and I have at least another hour or so.”

“I just got a call from Vincent Falcone.”

Tracker was silent for a moment. “How did he get hold of your cell-phone number?”

“He didn’t. He called me here at the hotel.”

“I didn’t even know you were there. How did he—”

“Exactly. No one could have known I was here unless—”

“He’s having you followed.” Tracker swore softly.

“He could have had Sophie followed too.”

“I didn’t see anyone, and I was looking.” There was a pause. “But then I wasn’t following Sophie. Maybe he believes she’s with you.”

Lucas sighed as he studied Mac. The waitress who’d served them in the lounge had just presented her with a drink. It looked like a Shirley Temple. She didn’t look anything like the kind of woman who would be ordering a Shirley Temple. “He won’t for very long. Right now Mac doesn’t look anything like Sophie. She doesn’t even look like Mac.”

“I’m sensing some more interesting gaps in the story. C’mon, boss. It’s raining here and I’m stuck in the back of a delivery truck. I could use a good story.”