Project: Runaway Heiress (11 page)

Inside his addled and obviously not very intelligent mind, however, he’d imagined her slinking out of the dress and shoes—either right there in front of him or in the privacy of the bedroom—and then him suavely murmuring that
now that she was naked, how would she feel about picking up where they’d left off?

It had all sounded so bloody brilliant as he’d played it out over and over in his head. And then somehow he’d mucked it up. He’d said the wrong thing or said it the wrong way.

Something
had gone cockeyed, because Lillian’s face had transformed from soft and mistily content to shocked and hurt.

He’d missed the chance to apologize and set the matter straight before she disappeared into the bedroom. Then when she’d come out, he’d been too gobsmacked and tongue-tied by his own stupidity to rectify the situation before she ran off again.

Bloody hell. What was it about this woman that turned him into a complete wanker?

Regardless, he had to fix it. He might not be spending the rest of the evening exactly as he’d hoped—naked and writhing around with Lillian on that king-size bed he had yet to sleep in—but he couldn’t let her storm off thinking he was a git. That the kiss they’d shared meant nothing or that getting Ashdown Abbey’s dress back safe and sound was more important to him than what was blooming to life between them.

Long minutes passed while he tried to decide how to go about cleaning up the mess he’d made. The clock on the mantel counted them down, grating on his nerves even as he paced in time with the steady
tick-tick-tick
of the second hand going round.

After wearing a path in front of the sofa, he moved closer to the bedroom door. He could hear the faint sound of water running and assumed she was taking a shower.

The thought of her stripped bare, standing beneath the steaming jets, made it increasingly hard to concentrate. It made other things hard, as well. Especially when he pictured her working up a lather of soap and rubbing it all along her body. Stroking, smoothing, scrubbing. First her arms, then her breasts and torso and...lower.

A thin line of perspiration broke out along his upper lip and his muscles went tense. He’d never known that the act of getting clean could be so dirty. And he very much wanted to walk in there to assist with both.

Chances were he’d get his face slapped for his trouble. He had to
talk
to her first. Work on seducing her back into the shower second.

The water shut off suddenly. And he strained to listen for movement on the other side of the door while bracing himself with both hands against the jamb on this one.

He didn’t want to frighten her, and chances were he was the last person she wanted to see right now, but he needed to talk to her.

Waiting a few minutes until he thought she would be finished in the bathroom but not yet climbing into bed, he tapped lightly on the door.

His palms were damp. His chest was actually tight with anxiety.

This wasn’t like him at all. He hadn’t been riddled with nerves about facing a girl since... Had he ever been? At university he’d even been a bit of a ladies’ man, if he said so himself.

And now he was sweating like David Beckham after a particularly rigorous football match at just the prospect of confronting Lillian once again. Especially when he knew it would mostly involve groveling and apologizing and begging her not to continue believing he was a total squit.

When long moments passed without her opening the door, he began to suspect she was avoiding him. Not that he blamed her. But he knew she was in there, knew she’d heard his knock and knew she couldn’t possibly be asleep yet.

He cocked a brow. Well, now he was growing somewhat annoyed.

He knocked again, louder this time. If need be, he would go in there with or without her invitation—after all, it was his suite, and he’d been generous up to now allowing her to have the spacious bedroom and master bath all to herself. Though he’d much prefer she open the door voluntarily so he wouldn’t have to add overbearing bullying to his list of crimes tonight.

Just when he was about to try the door himself, he heard a small snick and the knob began to turn. The door opened only a crack, the light from the sitting room illuminating just one eye and a narrow portion of Lillian’s face. The rest was left in shadow by the darkness of the bedroom beyond.

“Yes?”

Her voice was low, flat and far from friendly when she said it.

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” he began.

Which was so very close to simply
I’m sorry,
yet he managed to skirt a straight-out apology. Brilliant.

“Could I speak to you for a moment?” he tried again, still taking the coward’s way out.

“It’s late,” she told him, keeping the door open no more than a single inch. “I’m tired. We can talk in the morning.”

And with that, she closed the door. Soundly, firmly and with a clicking lock of finality.

Bugger.
Nigel barely resisted the urge to smack his fist against the solid door frame.

Well, he’d mucked that up good and proper, hadn’t he? Damn it all. The bloody dress that had started this debacle was on its way back to join the rest of the collection and await tomorrow’s fashion show, while he was still trying to find a way to mop up the mess he’d made.

He took a deep breath, as frustrated with Lillian’s refusal to speak to him as with his own bungled efforts.

Enough of this. It was going to be dealt with right here, right now and that was the end of it.

Raising his hand, he knocked again, hard enough that she couldn’t help but hear the summons and know he meant business.

“Go away, Mr. Statham.”

Oh, so it was back to Mr. Statham, was it? When she’d just begun to call him Nigel.

There was only one thing to be done about that.

Leaning close to the door, he lowered his voice and ordered, “Open this door, Lillian.”

He could have sworn he heard a snort of derision, followed by a mumbled, “I don’t think so.”

His jaw locked, teeth grinding together until he thought they might snap.

Slowly, carefully, enunciating every word, he bit out, “Open this door, Lillian, right now.”

He paused, listening for movement, but heard none. “You have until the count of three,” he told her, sounding like every angry father in every movie he’d ever seen, “or I’ll kick it in.”

In truth, he wasn’t certain he
could
kick the door in. He prided himself on staying in shape, playing at least a game or two of squash per week, in addition to his regular exercise routine. But nothing in his past led him to believe he would have either the strength or the martial-arts-like coordination necessary to actually break down a door.

And then there was the sturdiness of the door itself. Not to mention the lock, which—hotel quality or not—might just prove to be un-break-down-able. He rather hoped he didn’t have to find out.

Stepping backward, he took a deep breath, steeled himself and got ready to follow through on his promise.

And then there came a click. And the muted turn of the knob.

He watched as the brass-plated handle inched around, letting the air seep from his lungs on a slow exhale and the tension leach from his tendons.

Once again, she opened the door only a crack, but at least this time it was a couple of inches instead of only one. Popping her head out, dark blond hair still damp from her shower, she glared at him.

“Are you threatening me?” she asked, eyes crackling like lapis. “Because that smacks of a threat. Or possibly even harassment. I’ve got a phone in here with 9-1-1 on speed dial, and I’m not afraid to use it.”

Nigel sighed, resisting the urge to rub a hand over his face in frustration. With her. With himself.

“Just a moment of your time,” he said. “Please.”

When she didn’t immediately slam the door in his face, he soldiered on.

“I wanted to apologize for earlier.”

Her lashes fluttered as she narrowed her eyes a pinch, but he ignored the warning. With luck she would hear him out and stop shooting daggers.

“It wasn’t my intention to offend you by asking you to remove the dress so it could be returned for the show tomorrow. In retrospect, I might have worded my request a bit differently.”

He watched her arch a brow, her grip on the edge of the door loosening slightly. She even let it drift open another fraction of an inch.

“For instance, I should have said that the sooner we got the dress off you and headed back for the show, the sooner we could return to what we were doing in the car. Or better yet, I should have ripped the dress off you as soon as we stepped into the suite and said to hell with the show. So we’d be short a look and a model would be sent home in tears...it would have been worth it to avoid hurting your feelings, as I obviously did. And to be making love to you right now instead of standing here having this conversation, hoping you won’t slam the door in my face. Again.”

There, he’d said it. It had pained him, especially in the region of his pride, which seemed to currently be residing near his solar plexus, making it feel as though a very heavy anvil were pressing down on his diaphragm.

Now to see if it had any impact on Lillian whatsoever, or if she would, indeed, slam the door in his face for a second time. He watched her carefully, trying to judge her response from the one eye, one cheek and half of her mouth that were visible.

Her lashes fluttered, and her tongue darted out to lick those lips nervously.

And then the door began to creak open—so slowly, he thought he might be imagining things.

But the door did open, all the way. And she stepped out, into the light of the sitting room. Behind her, he could see that one of the lamps beside the king-size bed was lit, but it wasn’t bright enough to fill the entire room.

She was wearing one of the hotel robes, covered from neck to ankle by thick, white terry cloth. She should have looked shapeless and unattractive, but instead she looked adorable. Her hair hung past her shoulders in damp, wavy strands, her flesh pink from its recent scrubbing.

With the belt pulled tight, he could easily make out her feminine curves. The flare of her hips, the dip of her waist, the swell of her breasts. A V of skin and very slight shadow of cleavage were visible in the open neckline of the robe, making him want to linger, stare, nudge the soft lapels apart to reveal even more.

He was on extremely thin ice with her already, however, and didn’t think it wise to press his luck. No matter how loudly his libido might be clamoring for him to do just that...and more.

Threading her arms across her chest, she watched him warily.

“So you don’t...regret what happened in the limo?” she asked quietly.

Nigel’s heart gave a thump of encouragement. If she was asking, that meant she’d been thinking about it. Thinking and worrying.

Taking a cautious step forward, he flexed his fingers to keep from reaching for her. But he answered clearly, honestly, consequences be damned.

“Not even if you call the authorities, as you threatened. Or file a sexual-harassment complaint at Ashdown Abbey, as you have every right to do.”

She seemed to consider that for a moment, and then the stiffness began to disappear from her rigid stance. Her expression lightened, her arms loosening to drop to her sides.

Taking a deep breath that lifted the front of the robe in a way that shouldn’t have been seductive but was, she let it out on a long sigh.

“This is a bad idea,” she murmured, letting her gaze skitter to the side so that he wasn’t certain if she was speaking to him or more to herself.

“I’m working for you,” she continued. “You could fire me or use me because I’m in your employ. Things could get ugly.”

Nigel’s shoulders fell almost imperceptibly, and he felt as though his entire bone structure slumped inside his skin. She was right, of course, but that wasn’t at all the reaction he’d been hoping for.

“True,” he acquiesced, albeit grudgingly. “Though I’m
not
using you, and I would never fire you over something...personal. Something that I would be equally responsible for and took equal part in.”

Her eyes locked on his. “You’re that noble, are you?”

His chin went up, every ounce of the pride and dignity driven into him from birth coming to the fore. “Yes. I am.”

It was her turn to slump as she let out a breath. “I was afraid of that,” she said, sounding almost resigned.

And then her voice dropped, but he had no trouble hearing her. No trouble making out both the words and the meaning.

“I’m not sorry, either. About what happened in the limo.”

Ten

L
ily knew she
should
be sorry about what had happened in the limo. She should also have graciously accepted Nigel’s apology without saying anything more, then turned and locked herself back in the bedroom.

Oh, how smart that would have been.

Oh, how she wished she had that much strength of will.

But no matter how hurt and offended she’d been by Nigel’s actions concerning the dress, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about
that kiss
the entire time she’d been in the shower. Even through her tears and ragged breathing, her body had hummed with unspent passion. With need and longing and plain old
want.

Her thoughts had swirled with
what-if
s. What if they hadn’t been interrupted by their arrival at the hotel? What if she hadn’t been wearing one of the designs for tomorrow’s fashion show? What if he’d kissed her in the elevator, then pounced on her like a cat on a mouse the minute they’d reached the room?

What if everything from the past forty minutes had happened far differently and they were in bed right now? Making love. Exploring each other to their hearts’ content. Scratching the itch that had plagued her since the first moment she’d met him.

She shouldn’t want any of that. She should be smart enough or even angry enough at his possible involvement in the theft of her designs to slam the door on all of it. To man up and stop letting her hormones do her thinking for her.

But she couldn’t. Or at least none of her attempts so far had been successful.

So she was giving up. If you couldn’t beat ’em, join ’em, right?

She knew now that Nigel was just as attracted to her as she was to him. That what she’d felt in the limo when they kissed hadn’t been one-sided. And she just wanted to throw caution to the wind, to be with a man who made her toes curl and her insides feel like molten lava.

And so what if she did? Nigel didn’t know who she really was, and she wasn’t going to be around that much longer. A few weeks, maybe a month more. Just until she solved her mystery and could return home with information that would save and vindicate her company.

Nigel never even needed to know her true identity. She’d done a fairly good job as his personal assistant so far, if she did say so herself. And knowing it wasn’t permanent employment, that he wasn’t going to be her boss forever, made it even easier to justify a hot, steamy fling. She could let her hair down, have a good time, and walk away with no consequences. With a quick letter of resignation and excuse about getting another job elsewhere—preferably far away, but without hinting at her true residence in New York—she could wipe the slate clean.

So this was almost like a freebie. Casual, no-strings vacation sex.

Considering how long it had been for her, how long since she’d had a date or sex—casual or otherwise—all she could think was
yes, please.

Which was why she’d come clean and told him that she didn’t regret what had taken place between them after the party, either. She’d wanted him to tear her dress off her body and take her up against the nearest wall of the suite the minute they’d set foot inside.

Well, maybe not that dress, but
a
dress.

And she didn’t want to spend the rest of the night alone in that immense bed, tossing and turning and unfulfilled.

Watching his eyes go dark and glinting at her softly spoken admission, she took a deep breath and decided to press on, letting him know in no uncertain terms
exactly
what she meant.

“As much as I enjoyed modeling one of Ashdown Abbey’s newest designs, I wish I hadn’t been wearing that dress tonight. Because I would have enjoyed having you rip my clothes off the second we walked through the door.”

His eyes darkened even more, his jaw tightening until a muscle ticked near his ear.

“Be very certain of what you’re saying, Lillian,” he grated, the words sounding as though they were being dragged from the depths of his soul. “Because once we begin, there will be no stopping. No more noble gentleman. No more polite facade.”

Shivers rocked her nerve endings at what he left unspoken. That once they stopped dancing around their need for each other, once they dropped all pretenses and got down to business, it would be raw, primal, unapologetic S-E-X.

Swallowing hard, she took a single step forward. Determined. Ready.

“I understand,” she told him. “And I’m not slamming the door in your face.”

Heat exploded across Nigel’s face. Lighting up his eyes like emeralds, rolling off his body in waves and battering her like a storm front.

He closed the distance between them without a word, moving in almost a blur of motion. One minute he was over there, the next he was grabbing her by the arms and yanking her to him with such force, her feet nearly left the ground.

His mouth crashed down on hers, twining, mating, devouring. She met him kiss for kiss, thrust for thrust.

He tasted just as he had in the limo—only better, because this time she knew it wasn’t a one-time-only, heat-of-the-moment thing. This time she knew he wanted her, she wanted him, and they were going all the way to the finish line, consequences be damned.

Her hands climbed the outside length of his arms to clutch his shoulders. They were broad and strong and welcoming. She kneaded them for a moment before trailing her fingers around to the front of his shirt.

She didn’t need to open her eyes or look at what she was doing to loosen the knot in his tie, unbutton his collar, then open the entire front of his starched white and pleated tuxedo shirt. He groaned as she touched his bare chest, and she was close to groaning with him.

The pads of her fingers dusted across hard and flat pectorals, tickled by just a sprinkling of crisp hair. Blast-furnace heat radiated from his skin and seeped into hers.

Pushing the sides of his shirt and jacket apart, she continued to explore, to study the contours of his body as though she were reading Braille. Then she ventured down to the waist of his pants.

Her nails raked his stomach and he sucked in a breath. Though her own breathing was none too steady and she was gasping for air from their long, tortuous kiss, Lily grinned at the feel of his abdomen going rigid at her touch. She trailed her fingers through the path of hair leading down the center and disappearing into his slacks.

With a groan, he took her mouth again, cupping the back of her head with both hands, stabbing his fingers through her hair and against her scalp to anchor her in place.

She was only too happy to be there, to have him desperate for her, out of control, ravishing her. She only wished they’d started earlier instead of wasting all that time on arguments, hurt feelings, uncertainty and explanations.

Finding his belt buckle, she worked it free, pulled the two ends apart and dragged the long strip of leather through its loops in one fierce yank. It hit the floor with a thud a second before she went for the closure of his pants.

She could feel the heat of him, the hard, swollen length pressing against the back of her hand through his fly. She took a moment to run her knuckles up and down along the prominent bulge, making Nigel moan and nip her lower lip with his teeth.

She smiled against his mouth, then let out a low moan of her own when his hands slid down either side of her spine to her bottom, squeezing roughly and tugging her even more firmly against his blatant arousal.

Squirming in his grip, she rubbed all along the front of him while at the same time wiggling her fingers between them to undo the top of his pants and slowly ease down the zipper.

He let her work. Let her get as far as dipping her fingertips beneath the waistband of his briefs before lifting his lips from the pulse of her throat, setting her half a step away, and tearing at the belt of her robe. It took him a moment to deal with the knot, which got stuck from all his tugging. But then it was loose, the edges of the robe falling open and catching at the bends of her arms when he pushed the plush material over her shoulders.

She was naked beneath, her flesh flushed pink now from passion rather than the steam of her shower. When the cool air of the suite hit her bare skin, she shivered. But she didn’t try to pull her robe back up for warmth or try to cover her nudity. Not with Nigel standing there, staring at her as though she was the most delectable morsel ever created.

Not when she’d been dreaming about this moment for far too long. Wanted it far too much to hide.

So she stood there. Half-naked. Half shivering, both from the cool interior and the need coursing through her veins. And she let him look his fill.

Of course, while he was looking at her, she was returning the favor, taking in his surprisingly tanned skin against the backdrop of the white shirt and black tuxedo. His amazingly muscular and well-formed physique. He could have been a model posing for some sexy cologne ad—and raking in the dough when women everywhere flocked to buy whatever he was selling.

Though it felt like minutes, she was sure it only took a few seconds for them both to drink each other in, then lose all patience for the five or six inches that separated them. Nigel’s hazel-green eyes glittered, reflecting the same desire she knew filled her own.

Lowering his head, his eyes grew hooded, and he made a feral sound deep in his throat before stalking toward her. He reached her in a blink, sweeping one arm around her back and the other behind her knees.

Her heart gave a little flutter as he lifted her against his chest in one smooth movement that didn’t seem to tax him in the least. She released a breath of laughter and clutched his neck as he hiked her even higher.

He returned her grin, then leaned up to press his lips to hers. Never breaking the kiss, he carried her across the room and straight to the waiting bed.

Once there, he balanced her carefully with one arm while reaching out to turn back the covers with his other hand. Then he laid her near the center of the soft mattress, following her down until he covered her like a warm, heavy human blanket.

The fabric of his tuxedo rubbed along her bare skin except where it was open down the front. The heat of his chest pressed to hers, making her want to wiggle and worm even closer, if possible.

Wrapping her legs around him, she drove her hands inside his open shirt and tuxedo jacket, loosening it even further and pushing it jerkily over his shoulders and down his arms. He moved with her, aiding her efforts until he could shrug out of the garments and toss them aside.

Then he returned the favor, stroking her waist, her rib cage, the undersides of her breasts, but not lingering in any one spot, even though she writhed for his touch. Ignoring her whimpers of need, he finished removing her robe, lifting her when he needed to in order to tug the thick terry cloth out from under her. Then it, too, was gone, hitting the bureau with a
slap.

His chest heaved as he stared down at her, his gaze raking from the top of her head to where her legs were still twined around his thighs. He took in her bare breasts, the slope of her belly, her triangle of feminine curls.

Everywhere he looked, she broke out in goose bumps. His nostrils flared, and his eyes flashed with a wolfish gleam.

Without taking his gaze from her, he kicked out of his pants and shoes and the rest of his clothes, dislodging her hold on him only when absolutely necessary. In seconds, he was naked and glorious, so beautiful he made her throat close with unexpected emotion. She swallowed it back as he moved over her. Reminded herself that this was just a casual fling, nothing more.

Lifting her arms, she wound them around his neck, drawing him to her even as he met her halfway. They kissed slowly, finally taking time to explore each other’s mouths at a leisurely pace. The taste, the texture, likes and dislikes.

Of course, for her, it was all likes. And judging by the feel of him pressing against her inner thigh, he was liking everything just fine, as well.

His fingers tangled in her hair, angling her just the way he wanted while she raked his back, reveling in the play of muscle, the dip of his spine, the row of vertebrae leading down to the delectable swell of his ass.

His moan filled her mouth and his arms tightened around her. She arched into him, wanting to get close, even though they were already nearly as close as two people could be.

Dragging his lips across her cheek, he nipped at her throat, nibbled the lobe of her ear, trailed his mouth over her clavicle and toward her swollen, arched breasts.

Her breathing was choppy, her head getting fuzzier and fuzzier with longing as he teased her mercilessly and her temperature rose. But there were things that needed to be taken care of before they went much further. Before the fuzziness turned to full-blown mindlessness and she forgot everything but her own name.

“Nigel,” she murmured, tightening her legs around his hips and moving her hands to his biceps while he nuzzled the side of her breast.

“Nigel,” she said again when he didn’t respond, resorting to tugging at his hair instead. “Condom. I don’t have one—do you?”

It took a second for her words to sink in, for movements to slow and his mouth to halt mere centimeters from the center of her breast.

His head fell to the side and he groaned, the sound vibrating against her skin, making her shiver. With a particularly colorful-but-amusing curse of the British persuasion, he pushed himself up on his forearms to glare down at her.

Without waiting for her acquiescence, he peeled away from her and climbed out of the bed, flashing his sexy bare bottom as he hustled into the other room, where she assumed he had a stash of protection. Thank goodness, because she hadn’t exactly packed for Los Angeles
or
Miami with hot, impulsive sex in mind.

Despite his command not to move a muscle, she pushed herself up on the bed, propping the pillows behind her and leaning against the bamboo headboard. She thought about tugging the sheet up to cover her stark nudity, then decided that if Nigel could stroll around the suite completely naked and unselfconscious, then she didn’t have to be so modest, either.