You Sexy Thing!. Tori Carrington
made a production of looking into his cart. Which made the fact that the only item in there was a frozen dinner that much worse.
“Sense. Yes.” Dylan wondered if sleep was going to be anywhere on his itinerary of things to do now that he knew Gracie would be showering…er, sleeping under the same roof.
She straightened, shifting her full basket from one hand to the other. “You know, since you’re obviously eating alone—” she gestured toward the cart “—and I have plans to…eat alone, why don’t we eat alone together?” Her smile had the strangest effect on him. “I’ll even let you get the wine. After all, it’s not like either of us has to drive home or anything.”
“Wine…”
It suddenly slammed into him that Gracie Mattias was actually inviting him to her place, her room, for dinner.
It also occurred to him that she was coming on to him stronger than Limburger cheese.
But why would she be coming on to him? Yes, there had been a certain provocative quality about their conversations thus far, but they’d seemed harmless enough. And when she’d suggested in the elevator that he needed a wild turn in the sack, she hadn’t indicated she saw herself as a player in that particular scenario.
She reached around him to sample the peaches, giving him an undiluted whiff of her subtle perfume. He found himself fighting a groan.
“Um, I don’t think that would be a very good idea.”
She turned her head to glance at him, putting her enticing mouth mere inches away from his. “What wouldn’t?”
He gestured helplessly, his words lost somewhere between his chest and his mouth. “The peaches,” he said finally. “They’re never as good as when they’re in season.”
Well, that didn’t make much sense. He’d meant to say he didn’t think it would be a good idea if they had dinner together. Alone. In one or the other of their hotel rooms.
He stood straighter. And why wouldn’t it be a good idea? Because Gracie was wildly attractive? Certainly even he was adult enough to keep his libido in check during something as innocent as dinner. He hadn’t been looking forward to spending the night alone. Over the past five days, he’d had his fill of alone. He could do with a little company. And if there was one thing he’d learned, it was that keeping company with Gracie Mattias was anything but boring.
Wasn’t this what he had signed on for when he’d decided to write his latest book? To sway people to his way of thinking? What better method to do that than by having dinner with his leading adversary? He’d certainly had his share of tough sells. She couldn’t be any tougher than those he’d encountered thus far. He’d tried to prove Gracie wrong on the public front. Perhaps a more private one would do the trick.
“My place,” he said, giving her a room number. “You bring the food, and I’ll supply the wine.”
“Isn’t it usually the other way around?”
He gave her a grin of his own. “Yes, well, I got the impression that you don’t like to do anything the old-fashioned way, Dr. Mattias.”
“Then your powers of observation are better than I thought.” She nodded. “Okay. But that means you have to supply dessert.”
Dylan’s stomach dropped to his groin. The way she said the word made him think all sorts of decadent thoughts that included—but certainly weren’t limited to—licking whipped cream off sexy Gracie’s mouth…and other more sensitive places.
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea….
Grace began walking away. “See you in an hour, Dr. Dylan. Oh, and make that white wine, will you?”
DYLAN TORE OPEN the package of assorted cookies, cursing when they flung to the far corners of the counter, everywhere but on the plate he had put out to hold them. Cookies and milk, he’d decided, was as wholesome a dessert as ever there was. Gracie didn’t have to know it had taken him longer to chose the dessert than it had to find a decent bottle of wine. Anything involving strawberries, sticky chocolate, or that had a smooth consistency, he’d instantly ruled out. Day-old, crunchy cookies were the only thing that had fit the bill.
He piled the cookies onto a plate then angled into the dining area. He’d set the small table a little earlier but now stood staring at it. The whole setting looked somehow too intimate, too…suggestive. Too much like a scene for seduction.
Wrong.
He’d agreed to this little meeting solely to try to bring her around to his way of thinking. Placing the cookies on the table, he decided the overhead light wasn’t bright enough. He circled around the room, flicking on every lamp in the place, then flicked on the television and tuned in CNN. A quick trip into the kitchen found the wine he’d been letting breathe on the table resting instead on the counter. After he’d propped his briefcase along with his laptop onto the dining table next to the place settings, he stood back. There. Everything looked more casual. More businesslike. More like the last thing on his mind was sampling Gracie Mattias instead of her food.
He grimaced and rubbed his stubble-covered chin. If that was the last thing on his mind, then why did it spring forth so quickly?
The phone rang on the table in the corner, breaking his thought cleanly in two. He glanced at his watch, then stepped to pluck up the receiver.
“Dylan, it’s Tanja.”
He frowned, wondering at the sound of pulsating music in the background. “She lives.” And apparently better than he did, if the music was any indication.
“Look, I just got a call from your editor. Is your cell phone switched on?”
Dylan glanced toward his briefcase where the instrument in question lay silent on top of some papers. “I don’t think I turned it on after the flight. Why?”
“Because that Diana you’ve been trying to contact has been trying to call you, that’s why.”
“Oh, shit.” Dylan glanced again at the time. He firmly told himself that he hadn’t forgotten Diana. After all the day’s disasters, and last-minute change in plans, he’d just been…distracted, that’s all. And his state of mind had absolutely nothing to do with Grace Mattias. At least not on a personal level. His interest in her was strictly professional.
The sound of a brass horn through the receiver nearly deafened him. “Tanja, where are you?”
“At a jazz joint, of course. Have you never been to Chicago before, Dylan?”
Oh, he’d been to Chicago. Several times. But he’d never even thought about going to a jazz joint.
He found the idea strangely appealing now.
He raked his hand through his hair. “Shouldn’t you be preparing for tomorrow? Seeing as all this sprang up at the last minute—”
“Everything’s taken care of, Dylan. Leave it to me.”
He grimaced. He’d left more to her than he should have and look where that had gotten him. Holed up in a Chicago hotel room in clothes that made him want to turn on rap music. “Tell me why I’m not reassured.”
“Because you’re a control freak, that’s why.” Her laugh took some of the sting out of her words. “Have a good night, Doc. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Dylan began to tell her not to hang up, but couldn’t get the words out before the dial tone buzzed in his ear. Slowly he replaced the receiver in its cradle. A jazz joint? Any hardworking PR person would be mapping out a list of approved questions for tomorrow’s host to ask. Working on a briefing strategy so that he would come away from the interview looking his best. Oh, but not his PR rep. Tanja was too busy hanging out at a jazz joint to do something as tedious as her job.
Stepping to the dining table, he took his cell phone from his briefcase. He had, indeed, neglected to turn