Tempting the CEO (a Sleeping With The Enemy novella) (Entangled Brazen)

Never mix business with one night of playful, sizzling pleasure…

If lawyer Angie O'Hare needed another reason to hate New York City, this would be it. Locked out of her room and stranded in the hallway. Wearing only a towel. Lovely. But then, rescue arrives—in the form of the wickedly hot, funny guy in the penthouse next door. Angie is so relieved that she ignores her usual buzz-kill tendencies, and agrees to have a drink with Mr. Sexy Salvation...

But things don't stop at just a drink. Or even a hot make-out session.

Cue one night of hot, ultra-x-rated sexy time. No names. No personal information. And the next morning, Angie sneaks out, returning to her prim-and-proper life, every hair in place. But New York City isn't done with Angie yet. Because her meeting that morning is with CEO Jed Worth... whose bed she did everything but sleep in last night! And Jed isn't the sort of man to take “conflict of interest” as an answer...

Angela Claire

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2014 by Angela Claire. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Entangled Publishing, LLC

2614 South Timberline Road

Suite 109

Fort Collins, CO 80525

Visit our website at
www.entangledpublishing.com
.

Brazen is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC. For more information on our titles, visit
www.brazenbooks.com
.

Edited by Marie Loggia-Kee

Cover design by Heather Howland

ISBN 978-1-63375-085-2

Manufactured in the United States of America

First Edition October 2014

To my wonderful sisters Colleen and Arlene, for helping me stay positive, and as always to Bernie, Alex and Ben, who I could go on about but won’t!

Chapter One

I was pretty sure the guy in the hotel suite next to mine
hadn’t
been upgraded. He belonged on this penthouse floor. The dark blue suit he wore was tailored, fitting his broad shoulders and long legs precisely, not a seam or pleat out of place. As for me, I’d checked in after an endless drafting session and benefited from a midnight-shift clerk who was eager to please me. Although I’m sure I looked like a wreck—my blonde hair was like straw after a day of pulling it out to stem my frustration at the arrogance of New York lawyers—the clerk was very friendly, and before I knew it I’d scored a lavish penthouse suite when my Midwestern law firm would only foot the bill for an economy double.

But the guy in the suite next to mine had to be paying for it with a suit like that. He turned in my direction, pulling his door shut, and I saw that money wasn’t the only thing he had going for him. The guy was gorgeous. Six feet three at least, with black hair. The only indication of the lateness of the hour was the slight shadow on his steely jaw. Otherwise, he looked as fresh as if he were stepping into a morning meeting.

Since I
didn’t
—naked and wrapped in a towel as I was—I ducked quickly back into the alcove with the ice machine. In my defense, I didn’t expect anybody to be around at this time of night in the two minutes it took to shoot down the hall for ice. I hoped he hadn’t seen me.

No such luck, though. I’d barely put the bucket under the chute when I looked up and found Gorgeous Guy standing right in front of me.

He smiled and my heart beat a little faster.

Whoa. He was even better looking when he smiled.

“Sorry. I couldn’t see a girl in a towel dart out of the way as soon as I spotted her and not come to investigate.”

“Oh. Yeah, well, I took a chance nobody would be around. I guess I lost.”

“And I won. But I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I’ve got to ask, though. Why the towel? Why didn’t you put on one of the robes in the closet?”

“My suite didn’t have one.”

“I’ll have to leave Housekeeping a nice tip to thank them for that.”

“I was getting some ice,” I said stupidly, nodding my head toward the bucket I was filling up without looking away from the eye candy.

“I think you’ve got enough.”

My ice bucket floweth over. I yanked it away from the stream of cubes, losing a few on the carpet and kicking them under the machine.

“They can bring you ice, you know,” he pointed out.

I was so truly not supposed to be on this floor.

“I didn’t want to wake anybody.”

Again with the smile. “I think you’ll find room service is twenty-four hours in this hotel, especially for this floor.”

“Of course. Yep.”

Despite having a mother who could flirt as effortlessly as she could breathe, I had not inherited her knack for it. Consequently, nervous as I was, I didn’t try to crack a joke or make conversation. I just stood there staring at this hottie. Which was okay, I guess, since he was staring at me, the smile a little dimmed as his eyes dipped down to check me out.

I hadn’t gotten my figure from my rail-thin mother, either. She was a former model, and when I filled out in my teens, I couldn’t have been more relieved. Among other things, it saved me from having dear old Mom shove me out onto the runway, breasts not being conducive to Paris fashions. But these days, my curves were a little more trouble than they were worth, and usually I wore a suit jacket and sturdy bra to disguise them.

A towel wasn’t much of a disguise, and they strained against the white cotton in all their glory.

It was still kind of rude of him to look so blatantly. Sexy as hell, but rude.

The feminist in me wanted to tell him, “Eyes up here,” but I
was
in a towel and he was, well, human…and a guy. I guess I couldn’t exactly be surprised. Although what was it with guys and breasts anyway? They were like true north to a compass. Would I check out a guy’s package like that? I took a quick glance down.

Well, maybe, but that was beside the point. And his pants weren’t
that
tailored.

In any case, the feminist in me had been pounded down by hours of concentrating on merger contract minutiae. I just wanted to take a hot bubble bath and paint my toenails or do something equally girlie. Like maybe hook up with my gorgeous overnight next-door neighbor who, notwithstanding how his sex parts might stack up, was yummy from everything else I
could
get a look at.

Sadly, that wasn’t going to happen. Not my style. Spontaneous wild fun and all. And I had a meeting to get to in the morning.

I’d have to settle for a bubble bath.

Adopting as formal a manner as I could in a towel, I brushed past him to get back to my room. “Have a good night.”

I carried it off pretty well if I do say so myself—shoulders back, nose in the air, ice bucket held against my chest like a shield—right up until I slipped my key card into the door lock and it blinked red.

Red.

Uh-oh. I tried again. Nothing. I turned the card the other way and swiped it a few more times as if that would help.

What is it they say about insanity? It’s doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. Sometimes I felt that way about my whole life.

“Those things are finicky,” a deep voice said behind me. “They can get demagnetized.”

It was hard to carry off the nose-in-the-air thing at this point. This was so what I didn’t need. In a towel with the hottie right behind me.

“Do you want to use my room phone to call the front desk?”

I sighed, shaking my head. “No thanks. I’ll go down there.”

“Good idea. That way a whole bunch of guys, everybody at the lobby bar, will see you in a towel instead of just me and whoever they send up with the new key.”

I turned around, prepared to do battle—hey, that was what I did, whether I was paid for it or not—but the logic of his argument deflated me as he stood there all innocent.

“You’re right. Thanks. But I don’t want to hold you up. You were going out.” I gestured with the arm that wasn’t holding the ice bucket and keeping the towel secure.

He slipped an iPhone out of his pocket and tapped away. “I was planning to meet my lawyer in the bar to be debriefed on some meetings, but I didn’t want to anyway. There. Done.” The cell went back in his pocket. “I’d rather help a damsel in distress.”

I considered asking to borrow his cell and avoid going to his room, but he was already walking down the hall and sliding a card key into his door, which magically unlocked,
like it was supposed to
. He held it open, beckoning me, and I didn’t want to look paranoid.

A peek inside his suite showed it was even fancier than mine with a mirrored bar, floor-to-ceiling windows and plush leather sofas. I must have the junior digs or something. Maybe that was why I didn’t get a robe. He shrugged out of his jacket, laying it on a chair by the door. He loosened his tie, too.

I stood in the foyer, a faint sense of unease rearing its head. I may be in a towel, but no need for him to go undressing.

“Phone’s right there,” he said.

Once I gave my room number and explained to the hotel operator that I was locked out, she told me she’d send somebody up, warning that it was a shift change and might take a few minutes.

I hung up, tightening my towel, and his eyes followed the movement.

“Thanks for the use of the phone.”

“Sure. I don’t bite if you want to sit down. Have a drink while you wait.”

“I want to be outside when they come up.”

Besides, I wasn’t sure I could sit down without flashing him.

He didn’t close the door behind me as I went to take my post and I was grateful for it when he poked his head out a few minutes later and called down, “Not here yet?”

“Shift change, I guess.” I set the ice bucket on the carpet. “Can I come to your room for a minute though?”

“Couldn’t resist my charm?” he asked as I hurried past him.

“No. I have to use the bathroom.”

“You’re not very good for my ego,” he said, pointing the way.

When I came out, the door to the hallway was still open. “Nobody yet. I’ve been watching.”

I was beginning to feel as if fate were conspiring against me, or with me. Tie off, shirt open, black hair ruffled, my neighbor was getting comfortable for the night, and it didn’t take much imagination to picture myself getting comfy with him. Since I was already undressed and everything.

Reflexively, I tightened my towel again.

“You know doing that makes me focus on how I wish it would drop, right? I doubt that’s what you’re trying for, but hope springs eternal.”

He took two beers out of his minibar, smiling slightly, and popped one open, kicking off his shoes. “Don’t worry. If your cold shoulder at the ice machine didn’t do it, the doe-in-the-headlights look you’re giving me now would.”

“
Doe in the headlights?
”

I’d been called a shark before, but a doe? And as for my towel dropping, even if I wanted to take my malfunctioning card key as a sign and throw caution to the wind—which I
didn’t
, I reminded myself firmly—I’d been in a sweaty law firm conference room all day and hadn’t cleaned up yet. I was getting ready to when I went for the ice. In the shape I was in, I probably smelled and wasn’t fit for a hookup with a guy like this. But though I may not be good with flirting, even I knew not to mention my own body odor to a guy.

“I think I’ve been insulted,” I muttered instead.

“Yeah, you’re right. Doe doesn’t capture it. It’s more of a frosty aura.” He took a swig of his beer. “Anyway, I get the message. When a guy has a horrible day and a beautiful girl runs by him in a towel and gets locked out of the room next door…sure, he might think things were looking up. But when he gets the brush-off, he realizes it’s part of the universe’s plan to torture him.”

I finally laughed, unable to help myself. My mouth, wide enough as it was in idling mode, stretched from ear to ear. My mom had always tried to get me to perfect a more subtle smile, as she called it, more ladylike, more mysterious. Fuck that. After the day I had, it felt wonderful to grin for real and not just to drive the knife in when I was making a killer point for my client.

It really was a ridiculous situation—the towel, the hot guy, my not having been laid in longer than I can remember, and his looking like he could get a woman any time he crooked his little finger but acting like he was crushed by my “brush-off.”

“I’ll give in to your charm and hang out here until I’m forced to go downstairs and get the key myself.”

I shook my head no at his wordless offer of the other beer and risked perching on one of the barstools, relieved to see that all my appropriate parts were still covered by fluffy white.

He took the seat next to me. “I’m flattered. How old are you?”

“Twenty-seven.” I was never going to be one of those women who lied about her age. At least until I was thirty.

“No hookups with strange guys in the hotel room next to you? Which you have to know,” he added quickly, “was what I or any other dumb jerk would be hoping for in this situation.”

“No comment.”

He nodded at the beer. “And no drinking either, huh? You’re way too serious for twenty-seven.”

“So they tell me. And I do drink, but not beer. Why? How old are you?”

“Older.”

“What was so bad about your day?”

“You keep giving me the brush-off.”

I laughed again and he shook his head. “No. It was nothing. Business. Whatever.”

He seemed about to say something else, taking another sip of beer instead, and I prompted, “You don’t seem like the kind of guy who would let business get you that down.”

He shrugged, running a thumb along the condensation on the can. “Just a kid I know. Not doing too well.”

“Sick?”

“Kind of.”

Which was my cue to stop prying.

He passed a hand over his face, as if wiping whatever was bothering him away, and I thought we could probably both do with some relaxation. Some fun.

The fantasy was more dangerous than when we’d exchanged a word or two in the corridor. I could feel the towel slipping. Not for real. In my mind. I could imagine his hand sliding under it, cool and sure on my inner thigh.

Parting my legs…

“What about you?” he asked. “How was your day?”

I jerked myself back to the moment and thought of the stuffy conference room and all those high-priced obnoxious lawyers. “Worse than yours, I bet.”

He paused. “It could get better for both of us.”

His eyes were a deep blue, darker than his tailored suit. It was hard to look away from them.

“So I’ve been dying to ask you.” His voice had a little hitch in it but he kept his hands to himself. “Were you about to take a shower or something when you went for the ice?”

I put a hand self-consciously up to my half-undone ponytail. “Yes. I’m a mess.”

He scanned me from head to toe, and I felt it along every inch. “If this is how you look when you’re a mess, I’d love to see you when you’re all cleaned up.”

A shiver ran through me.

“On the other hand,” he added, in a low chuckle, “sometimes I like it dirty.”

That proposition went right to my tender bits. I swallowed hard, and he set his beer down on the counter, edging a little closer.

Right as I heard a grumble in the hallway outside. “What lady? I don’t see no lady.”

I scrambled off the stool. “Hey!”

Gray-haired and with a complexion that spoke of something harder than beer, a handyman stood at my door, adjusting his tool belt. Doing a double take at my towel, he was gentleman enough not to make some crass remark. “Your door’s stuck, miss?”

“Stuck? No, the key didn’t work.”

“They said it was stuck.”

“You’re not going to have to go back downstairs to get my key, are you?”

He glanced over at Gorgeous Guy leaning against his doorjamb. “Not unless you want me to.”

“I do,” my neighbor called, getting a laugh from the handyman.