The Tycoon Meets His Match (11 page)

She had to stop dwelling on it, stop playing it over and over in her mind. And while she was at it, she’d better stop toweling before she rubbed the hair off her head.

Angrily, she flung the towel at the bathroom door.

So it was a good—maybe even spectacular—kiss, but Trae was no stranger to passion. She might be currently unattached, but she’d had plenty of boyfriends and even more dates and was acquainted with the excitement such contact provided. Why, then, had she been so unprepared for Rhys’s sensual onslaught? And to the point that she’d lost all track of time and place? If someone hadn’t coughed discreetly behind them, she might not have had the sense—or even the will—to stop.

Try as she might, she couldn’t remember ever being that badly jolted. They could have had an electric current running between them, the way she’d lit up. In fact, her nerves were still humming. Still hoping for more.

Get a grip, she tried to tell herself. Rhys seemed to have suffered no ill effects. As usual, he seemed more concerned with what was going on back home at the office, as evidenced by his preoccupation with the call to his brother the instant they got back to the room. Leaving Rhys arguing over the phone, she’d escaped to the bathroom for a much-needed cold shower.

Unfortunately, she hadn’t cooled down one iota, and now she had to go out there and face Rhys. Not to mention the rest of the night. Her, him and that red satin bed.

She wasn’t stalling, she told herself as she slipped into a pair of Lucie’s black sweats and a bright-yellow tank top. Washing out her bra and panties and hanging them on the door to dry, she knew she couldn’t hide out in here forever. Sooner or later, Rhys would want a shower, too.

Snatching up the pink running suit, she took a deep breath as she reached for her friend’s sneakers. Lucie. How could she have let herself forget all about her?

Here Trae was obsessing about a brief—not to mention insane—attraction, while her friend remained missing. A friend, by the way, who happened to be engaged to the man in question. If Rhys were right, if Lucie did inevitably mean to marry him, then the current direction of Trae’s thoughts couldn’t possibly be more inappropriate.

Awash with guilt, she pushed open the bathroom door and entered the bedroom. Trying not to look at Rhys, who was hanging up the phone, she crossed to the closet. Talk about awkward. The kiss they shared might have been phenomenal, but now the aftermath could only be uncomfortable for them both. Where the devil was that cot, anyway? Didn’t those people understand what could happen if they forced two able-bodied adults to share a bed?

Her flushed face stared back at her from all six mirrors.

While over by the bed, a perplexed Rhys dominated the background.

“He’s done it again,” he said to no one in particular. “One simple phone call, is that too much to ask?”

Apparently.

“Jack got ‘distracted’ and forgot to call Mary,” he went on, getting worked up. “That’s why there was no reservation. Nor have my cards been reported yet. I’d do it myself but all the numbers are with my PDA, in my missing luggage. I swear, I can’t remember when I’ve ever had so many things over which I had absolutely no control.”

He sounded so confused, so frustrated, she spoke without thinking. “Is it such a bad thing to lose control?”

“Of course it is.” He frowned at her in the mirror. “Sometimes it can be downright catastrophic.” Turning away, he strode to the bathroom and slammed shut the door behind him.

Blushing to the roots of her hair, Trae caught the double entendre. No doubt Rhys was blaming their kiss in the casino on
her
lack of self-discipline. The worst of it was, she had a sneaking suspicion he might be right.

Not about the kiss itself—she knew only too well how it took two to dance that particular tango—but how could she possibly deny how much she’d put into it? One minute she’d been flying high on the excitement of winning, and then there Rhys was, smack dab in her face, and the need to respond had all but overwhelmed her. Telling him no had never even entered into the equation.

Rhys Paxton,
for crying out loud. Her best friend’s fiancé. Could it get any more out of control than that?

She had to get out of this room, she thought frantically as she finished hanging up the pink running suit. Get some fresh air, clear her head, make sure they delivered that cot. Whatever, as long as she was somewhere else when Paxton got out of the bathroom.

Not that he was about to lose his head again any time soon, but if he did…

Someone had to retrieve their damp clothing, she decided, still in the trunk of the car. They hadn’t wanted to drag a trash bag across the lobby, but she couldn’t leave Lucie’s designer jeans to rot, and his suit must have cost a small fortune. If Trae didn’t rescue the clothes now, no doubt they’d be sprouting ten different kinds of mold by morning.

Behind her, the water came on in the bathroom. She had the sudden vision of Rhys stepping into the shower, naked, and lathering up…

Grabbing the car keys, she made her escape.

But he hadn’t been thinking, of course. Only feeling. Kissing Trae had felt like the most natural thing in the world.

Which was crazy. Sheer insanity. All other considerations aside, the woman was too…too…everything. Including unpredictable. Oh, tonight she might have kissed like an angel possessed, but the next time he was foolish enough to give way to temptation, she was just as liable to slap him hard in the face.

But he wouldn’t. Be tempted, that was. He was Rhys Allen Paxton, head of Paxton Corporation. Logic steered his course; this was no time to abandon it.

Hell, he was going to marry her
best friend,
for heaven’s sake!

Turning the faucet to cold, he frowned. Maintaining a discreet—and safe—distance would be difficult given their current surroundings. He could only hope that Trae would have the good sense to be tucked in bed.

At the sudden, unbidden vision of her sprawled across the red satin, his entire body went hot with need. So much for the cold shower.

With more force than necessary, he shut off the water and climbed out of the tub. Rasping the towel over his skin, he told himself that it was only natural to feel such urges. He was a healthy male, alone in the room with a beautiful woman. A sexy, vibrant woman. Of course he’d fantasize about jumping her bones.

But that’s all it was, fantasy. For a dizzying moment, Trae had shown him an alternate universe, one where he could think and act however and be whatever he wanted. And, yes, he’d enjoyed it immensely.

It did not mean, however, that he could continue to indulge himself. He had responsibilities, an image to protect. At heart, he was just an old-fashioned gentleman with a finely honed sense of honor. He was about to get married, for crying out loud.

Even though his bride had left him at the altar and remained nowhere to be found.

He felt a surge of anger, but strangely enough, the source wasn’t Trae this time. Instead it was Lucie. All these years, always expecting him to rush to her rescue, to pick up the pieces, never once stopping to consider that he might have troubles of his own. Needs of his own.

Yet as quickly as it had come, his anger evaporated. That was just vintage Lucie, scatterbrained and careless, oh-so-contrite and eager to make it up to him when he finally found her. He’d known, going in, what life would be like with her, so how could he now justify his sudden resentment?

He glanced up to see his face in the mirror, not at all pleased with what he found in his reflection. His dark hair stood up every which way and his chin now sported a five o’clock shadow. He looked like a bum off the street. An angry, desperate bum, with little hope for the future.

He shook his head. He was frustrated, that’s all it was. Lucie’s leaving him had thrown his whole world off-kilter and now nothing was going as he had planned. No wonder he was looking for answers in all the wrong corners. Let him get a little control back into his life, and let’s see if he’d be kissing Trae Andrelini in the Snake Pit Casino.

Rubbing his hand along his jawline, he decided he needed a razor.

He glanced behind him. Usually, he could find no purpose for a phone in the bathroom, but it certainly seemed a convenience at the moment. Dialing the front desk, he asked them to send a razor and shaving cream to the room. And while they were at it, maybe a toothbrush and comb.

After he hung up, he realized he should have ordered two of everything. Though Trae probably didn’t need any toiletries. The way she kept pulling supplies out of that backpack, she must have packed enough to last a month.

While he had only Josh’s baggy shorts and well-used T-shirt. Shrugging into the shorts, he decided he could at least wash the shirt. It should dry by morning, and if not, he could give it a blast with the blow dryer.

Another first, he realized as he wrung out the shirt. Rhys Paxton, doing his own laundry. In a hotel sink, no less. Funny, but he actually felt proud of himself. Now look who could cope with adversity.

Glancing around the bathroom, he tried to figure out where to hang the shirt. The back of the door seemed good, until he discovered he wasn’t the only one coping this evening. Two wisps of lace, resembling a bra and panties, hung from the hook.

And there went his pulse again, leaping to all the wrong conclusions.

He had an uneasy moment, concerned with how strongly he’d reacted, but he shook off the worry, as well as his lust, with a healthy dose of self-discipline. Tomorrow he and Trae would find Lucie and that would be that.

He’d pretend Trae wasn’t even in the room, he decided as he dried his hands. If they didn’t talk, they couldn’t get into another heated argument.

To be safe, maybe he shouldn’t even look at her, either.

He opened the door, prepared to set the tone for the rest of their time together. Cool and aloof, he strode across the room, but when he risked a glimpse at Trae, he discovered she wasn’t there to witness his performance.

Now, too late, the click of the door registered.

Where had she gone? he thought with a sharp, chill spike of alarm. Who took a walk at two in the morning? Uneasily, he pictured her out there, a lone female wandering around in the dark. She could be mugged. Or worse.

Envisioning all kinds of dangerous scenarios, he hurried back to the bathroom for his shirt. Wet or not, he was putting it on and going after her.

He’d barely gone two steps when he heard the door. He spun around to find Trae shoving into the room, lugging the black plastic bag. Relief swept over him, swiftly replaced by anger when he noticed there was not a single scratch on her.

“Where have you been?” he demanded as he crossed the room to stand in front of her.

She blinked up at him, clearly startled. “Sorry, dad. I lost track of curfew.”

“Don’t get smart. You have any idea what could have…”

“I rescued your suit,” she said, cutting him off before he could get started. She held up the bag as a peace offering. “Another six hours in that trunk and it’d be a goner.”

Snatching the bag from her hands and dropping it to the floor, he grabbed her by the arms. “Are you out of your mind, going out at this hour?”

“Jeez, Paxton,” she tried to quip. “You missed me that much?”

“I worried that much,” he admitted, too rattled to pretend otherwise. “I pictured all sorts of…”

“I’m not an idiot, you know.” Green eyes flashing, she didn’t bother to hide her indignation. “I asked the bellhop to get the bag for me. If you must know, I spent the entire time in the lobby, nudging your good pal Lisa to get us a cot.”

“You scared the hell out of me, Trae.”

As he scowled down at her, Trae lost all ability to argue. He’d surprised her with his anger, but he’d darned near knocked her senseless with his heat. She could feel it in his probing blue gaze, burrowing down into the center of her body. It was there in his firm, strong grasp, in the tiny space between them.

The whole room was too warm, she thought distractedly. Steamy, almost, causing tiny beads of moisture to collect on his bare chest.

Just as in her dream.

As if she’d drifted back to the Amazon, Trae felt again that languid pull between them, an underlying current too strong to resist. She should fight the attraction, she knew it in some hazy part of her mind, but she could not remember how or why.

And then it was too late. Pulling her against him, Rhys took her mouth like a conquering hero, pure onslaught, no mercy, not even remorse. Trae might have whimpered a protest, low in her throat, but neither he nor she paid the least attention. Neither had the slightest doubt about her eventual surrender.

Opening her mouth to him, she could feel a quickening inside her, excitement pooling with need. She reached up for his neck, sliding her fingers into the wet strands of his soft, thick hair, clinging to him as if her very life depended on it.

As he explored her mouth, she could feel his low groan rumble through her. He held her so close she could barely breathe, but she wasn’t complaining. She wanted this. Wanted it so much her knees buckled with yearning.

As if her bones were indeed melting, Rhys shifted his arms beneath her knees to lift her up against his chest, never once breaking their kiss. Carrying her to the bed, he pulled away slowly, reluctantly, to place her on the red satin. It was all Trae could do not to reach up and tug his head back down to her own.

But then he, too, was on the bed, kneeling over her, yanking the tank top over her head. As he gazed down at her with fierce concentration, Trae could feel her nipples tighten, the air brushing against them.

Then his hands were on her, his wonderful, incredible, magical hands, trailing up her sides, stroking her breasts, squeezing them, making the nipples go rock hard with desire. Leaning down, he kissed them, devoured them, sending shock waves of pleasure rocketing through her body as his rough chin scraped the tender flesh.

Slipping his fingers under the waistband of the sweats, he slid them down over her thighs, her knees, her feet. Trae could feel her toes wriggling as he tossed the pants to the floor, could sense them curling with pleasure when he turned his attention back to her naked, trembling body.

“No fair,” she said, her voice as raspy as his beard. “These have to go.” With a flick of the wrist, she yanked down his shorts and flung them to the floor with her own clothing.

Visibly aroused, Rhys took her by the arms with a low, soft moan and rolled her on top of him. Kissing him, exploring every inch of his magnificent body with her hands as he caressed hers, Trae reeled with sensation. She threw back her head, reveling as he brought every nerve ending to sweet, throbbing life. She could feel herself soaring higher and higher with every stroke. Low, soft moans erupted in her throat, increasing with urgency, until with a moan of his own, he rolled her underneath him again and parted her legs.

Breathless with anticipation, eager to feel him inside her, she reached up to encircle his neck. As she did, she was knocked out of orbit by a firm, loud rap on the door.

Attuned to his every breath, she could feel Rhys tense above her, his every last muscle clenching, but it took another rude rap to bring him all the way back to his senses.

She watched it happen. First came denial, as he shook his head and closed his eyes. Next came regret, in the form of a long, slow sigh racking his body. And finally, acceptance, as with a low muttered oath, he leapt off the bed and scrambled into his shorts.

“The damned cot,” he muttered by way of explanation.

Halfway to the door, he paused to turn back to her. Still reeling, unable to recover, she waited for him to express his regret.

But all he said was, “I don’t suppose you have some small bills for a tip?”

And just like that, Trae came crashing back down to earth.

Gesturing at the bag holding their take from the casino, she watched him stride across the room to open the door. As Rhys calmly directed some guy he called “Juan” to set up the cot in the corner, she marveled at his ability to bounce back so easily. No, she resented it, especially considering she was nowhere near back to normal.

How could she be? She’d been a heartbeat away from giving herself—completely and totally—to Rhys Paxton.

Under the blankets, she wiggled into her clothes. Moments earlier, she’d delighted in her nakedness—reveled in it—but now, she couldn’t get dressed fast enough.

Closing the door behind Juan, Rhys turned back to her, holding up a small plastic bag. “Toiletries,” he said inanely. “I need to shave.”

All Trae could focus on were his hands. Even now, she could feel their magic as if they were still stroking her body. How could he act as if nothing had happened between them?

“What we just did…” she said, pulling her gaze away from his hands. “It was a mistake.”

He paused, running a hand through his hair. “You’re right, of course.”

She was right?
Not that she’d expected him to profess an undying devotion, but he didn’t have to be so eager to agree with her. Worse yet, did his blasé attitude have to hurt so much?

“A lapse in judgment,” she said primly, making a dismissive gesture with her hands. “Understandable, when you think about it, after the excitement of winning all that cash. Just as long as we make sure it never happens again.”

He nodded solemnly. “Point made, and point taken. Don’t worry, I’ll be a perfect gentleman from now on.” Placing the bag of toiletries on the desk, he strode to the door and checked the dead bolt. “Mind if I turn off the light?” he asked, flipping the switch before she could offer an objection.

Not that she would—she was just as happy to hide in the dark, thanks all the same—but after such a near miss, you’d think a so-called gentleman should offer a “Wow, that was great.” Or at the very least an “I’m sorry.”

She could hear him stumbling around in the dark, heard his low, muttered oath as he stubbed his toe on the cot. Serves him right, she thought. Here she lay, her body still quivering, and he thought he could just go to sleep?