Up All Night. Joanne Rock
He recognized the Beethoven from a college course he’d taken online in a futile attempt to gain refinement for his wife. He might have resented the effort except that he’d discovered he liked what he’d learned and it helped him realize Lori only liked the symphony for the social cachet. She wouldn’t know Bach from Brahms if her life depended on it.
“Hello?” he called into the room, forging ahead despite multiple voices in his brain telling him he needed to back away now before he did something stupid like have sex with an uptight engineer who he’d have to sit across from in meetings some day.
“Come on in,” a soft voice called from deep within the suite…another room, maybe? “I’ll be out in a minute.”
Devon pushed the door open wider, wondering how the scent of gardenias and the soft music could have him seriously hot so quickly. He wasn’t the sex addict his ex had accused him of being. But the whole scenario of finding a titillating note on his computer in the middle of the night and then strolling into a stranger’s darkened hotel room was sending strong sex signals to his brain. He’d be walking around with a serious hard-on for days if he didn’t find a little relief tonight. Of course, his conscience told him to set a date with Rosy Palm and her five sisters in the shower tonight since he could not afford to mess with a total stranger.
“I’ll just be right here,” he called back, sticking close to the door but shutting it behind him for privacy’s sake. And her safety. No woman should prop her hotel door like that.
Very reckless.
And what would a reckless woman be like in the king-size bed on the other side of the living area that was—holy crap—already sprinkled with flower petals? Pink roses, this time.
The core question that had teased the edges of his brain ever since he received the note on his computer flashed into his head in neon letters now. Lori hadn’t wanted anything kinky, nothing wild and definitely no thrill rides while Devon had always liked to push things to the limit.
His skin heated as he heard a rustle on the other side of a door connecting to the living room and kitchen area where he waited. The suite was bigger than his, but the whole place was cast in shades of gray thanks to the light of three scented candles situated around the room. The one clear feature was the bank of windows overlooking the glittering Atlantic City strip and boardwalk with the ocean beyond. He took a step deeper into the suite, drawn by that rustling noise just before the door opened and revealed a half-naked woman he’d never seen before.
“Hi…” Her greeting halted in a breathless gasp, but Devon couldn’t think about that since his own breath had been sucked clear out of his chest at the sight of her.
Platinum hair fell just short of her shoulders in waves that swooped over one eye. He couldn’t see the color of her eyes in the glow of the candles, but then again, his male gaze couldn’t remain on her face since she wore a see-through, open wrap over a white lace bra and matching panties, her generous curves showcased to mouthwatering benefit.
Garters clipped to her outfit trailed down her thighs to hold sheer silvery white stockings in place on legs that ended in impossibly high heels. And holy hell, she was the hottest thing he’d ever seen in person or in print, and that included any beer commercial, Victoria’s Secret catalog or NFL cheerleader in memory.
But as his gaze tracked back up her body with considerable effort, Devon realized the ethereal angel with the body for sin wasn’t just breathing heavy for sexy effect.
The woman of his dreams was starting to hyperventilate.
2
THE HARDER Jenny tried to catch her breath, the faster it seemed to whoosh away from her in great gasping gulps. Who the hell was the guy in her room with the slightly rumpled dress shirt and no tie in sight? Had he seen her propped door and simply decided to wander in uninvited?
And where was David?
She wanted to ask the question, but no words would squeak out of a throat overtaxed with breathing. She’d never had androphobia before—fear of men—but there was a first time for everything, and judging by her vital signs, she guessed she was damn well scared right about now. Coming to Atlantic City had been too big of a risk. She should have just stayed home where none of this would have—
“Relax,” the stranger ordered suddenly, his voice surprisingly calm and authoritative for a man who could be anything from a killer on the prowl to a sex fiend lured by the candles and soft music she’d been playing for her rendezvous with David.
Oh God. If she wasn’t frightened before, she sure as hell was scaring the pants off herself now. Not that she had any pants to speak of.
Her breath rushed in and out of her lungs so fast it made her dizzy. She had visions of overoxygenated blood making her light-headed. Or what if she fainted in front of this guy who could take advantage of her while she was unconscious?
Was there even such a thing as a sex fiend? God knows she’d met a few erotomaniacs at the counseling center her mother favored and they probably qualified. If the man in her room wanted something of a sexual nature from her, it sure didn’t help that she was wearing only a few scraps of do-me lingerie. She’d ventured firmly into Frederick’s of Hollywood terrain with this outfit. She resisted the urge to yank shut the curtains displaying the Atlantic City skyline. The last thing she needed was to turn her back on this guy and show him her thong-bared butt.
“Are you okay?” The stranger looked almost concerned for her, his straight brown eyebrows crinkling together as he studied her. “Should you sit down? Has this happened to you before?”
She couldn’t catch a lungful of air to answer one of those questions let alone all three. The room started to spin and she cursed herself and all her stupid issues—real and imagined—for putting her at risk with a strange man in her hotel room.
She’d been stupid to prop the door in the first place, but she’d been afraid she’d lose her nerve to prove to David he’d been wrong about her if she didn’t slip into the made-for-sex outfit. And since she would never have the guts to answer the door in a costume that was a staple in every porno queen’s wardrobe, she had hoped to make a sexy entrance once David was inside instead.
“You need to relax,” the man barked at her more strenuously this time as he moved closer.
The light-headedness kicked into overdrive, throwing off her balance and making her wobble on her feet, her toes curling reflexively inside the faux fur-lined white mules that her De-Luxe catalog sold as bedroom slippers. She thought for sure she would topple over and end up sprawled on the floor of her suite, but the stranger in the wrinkled dress shirt swooped in and grabbed her like some kind of superhero before she hit the ground.
A trespassing sex fiend superhero.
Jenny figured she would have passed out then and there except that she couldn’t bear to be the fainting phobic woman everyone would giggle about behind her back. Not that anyone would ever learn about this event unless the stranger turned out to be a killer and there was a write-up on her murder in tomorrow’s paper, but she would know she’d turned into a wilting flower at the first hint of adversity and she couldn’t live with that vision of herself.
The stranger’s hands tightened around her waist and her bare thigh as he cradled her in his arms. At that slight shifting of his grip, the panic inside her eased by a fraction. Surely if he wanted to kill her or make free with her person, he would have done it before now when she’d been utterly defenseless.
“You’re okay.” He told her as if she wouldn’t have the mental wherewithal to piece it together on her own. He spoke slowly. Articulating the words for exaggerated clarity.
Why bother reassuring her if he was in her room with evil designs? Some of the tension eased in her shoulders and her breathing slowed by aching degrees, her lungs burning.
Only then did she realize they were seated on her flower-covered bed. Or rather, the stranger with the straight brown eyebrows