Just Toying Around...

If that wasn’t enough motivation, her mother would have a stroke.

But her mother wasn’t here, and this was the perfect opportunity, a little-heeded voice persisted. She could do it. There was nothing here to stop her, nothing to prevent her from giving Desiree this week and giving Meg a little excitement in the process. Throw caution to the wind, so to speak. Meg stopped outside her room and fumbled around in her purse for the key card.

“Looks like we’re neighbors.”

Meg looked up. Him. Lust kindled, then detonated, burning her up from the inside out.

It was a sign, Meg decided.

“So we are,” she said, the first truly articulate thing she’d managed so far.

Perhaps trust and discretion had nothing to do with her reluctance to engage in a no-strings affair, Meg thought as she watched her mystery man let himself into the room next to hers. Perhaps she’d just never been presented with the proper motivation.

And, as every good pastry chef knew, timing was every bit as important as the ingredients. This week, combined with Mr. Next Door, certainly looked like a recipe for romance to Meg. She’d just bet he’d be delicious.

2

WHAT was she doing in there?

And what the hell was that noise? To Nick’s supreme consternation, Desiree had been in her room for hours. He had heard the unmistakable sound of packages being delivered and enthusiastically opened. She’d oohed and ahhed excitedly at one point, so he assumed she’d gotten something that really pleased her. In addition, room service had been by and her phone had rung at least half a dozen times.

But of all the various noises filtering through the wall, the most intriguing—the most infuriating—had to be the ominous low buzzing hum which now emanated softly from her room.

Nick grimly suspected it was a vibrator.

Exhaling mightily, he shoved away from the connecting door and paced the small area between the foot of his bed and the wall. He speared his fingers through his hair. Irritation and, yes, dammit, lust hurtled through him at the thought of her lying over there doing…things to herself.

Despite the fact that he’d only gotten a vague impression of what she might look like underneath that garb, his imagination nonetheless filled in all the other necessary images, tantalizing him—torturing him—with visions so graphic, so depraved it was all Nick could do to keep from bursting through the door and showing her what the real article could do.

At present, his article was about to explode, and all because he suspected her of using a vibrator. One of the toys he detested.

It galled him to no end.

With little effort, Nick could imagine himself being slowly driven insane by presumed acts of carnality. Visions of her naked, lithe, dewy body writhing in ecstasy on that king-sized bed sent his personal mercury into the triple digits. Nick gritted his teeth. And the hell of it was, he didn’t even know if she possessed a lithe, dewy body. The unknown combined with his suddenly fertile imagination had turned his brain to mush. He couldn’t stand another minute of this, much less a week.

But he had to. The alternative wasn’t acceptable.

The infernal buzzing hum suddenly stopped and Nick found himself straining toward the door to listen harder. Several seconds passed, then the sound of running water filled the empty silence. Nick smiled wryly. Atta girl, he thought. Keep the toys clean. At least she practiced good hygiene.

Nick growled under his breath and opted for a shower. A cold one. He needed perspective and listening to every move Desiree made next door and attaching some sort of sexual connotation didn’t facilitate clear thinking.

Nick disrobed, then stalked, naked, to the shower. He adjusted the spray, then stepped in. The frigid water stole the breath from his lungs, resulting in a litany of anatomically impossible expletives. He muttered one final oath, then determinedly steered this thinking back to the task at hand.

Before he’d gotten sidetracked by eavesdropping all day, he’d had a perfectly acceptable plan. Nick had decided to put her under surveillance, then stage a few coincidental meetings. To corroborate his in-town-on-business lie, those meetings would have to take place at night. He’d have to quietly hibernate in his room during the day, and plan to see her in the evenings.

According to Ron, the trade show would keep nine-to-five hours, freeing everyone up in the evening to examine the products. Nick chuckled darkly. After five this posh high-rise would turn into Hotel Fornication.

Nevertheless, he sincerely hoped that Desiree would keep to that schedule. It would make his job considerably easier. He assumed that she’d go down to the hotel restaurant in the evenings. Nick would simply turn on the charm, and the rest would be history.

Or so he hoped.

The sooner he got this over with, the better. If things went according to plan, he could be home as early as Wednesday, back to his regular routine, which consisted primarily of work. It had occurred to him that it might not be necessary to stay the entire week. He’d find out if she was a fraud—which he sincerely doubted—then report his findings to Ron. Then he could get back to his productive life at the office. Though he knew Ron needed him, Nick felt off-kilter when he was out of his element. He liked being in the boardroom, closing deals, finalizing mergers, reviewing contracts. Spying on a sex-toy critic, for heaven’s sake, was simply not his area of expertise. Still, he’d prepared for this week as best he could.

Nick had read Desiree Moon’s critiques and could easily see why she’d become so popular. To begin with, it was obvious that she was educated. She wasn’t the stereotypical bored lower-class housewife looking to add a little excitement to her life.

Though Desiree used explicit terms to convey her meaning, she managed to do it in a classy, yet sexy way. She was witty, used a self-deprecating humor that engaged the reader, kept them scrolling the tool-bar until she’d said what she wanted to say. Simply put, she not only critiqued, she entertained. In addition to that, her conclusions were thorough and insightful.

Nick couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps her assessments of Ron’s products weren’t right on the money. He certainly hoped not. Nick still had to help him, and by default, protect his mother. His mother had sacrificed enough on her children’s behalf—her health—and Nick couldn’t let her waste one more penny.

Nick’s mother had worked in a sewing factory for twenty years. She suffered from carpal tunnel syndrome and arthritis, and could barely hold her toothbrush as a result of that labor. His father had been a first-rate mechanic who had worked himself into an early grave.

Like most parents, the Devereaus had wanted a better life for their children, and though they’d had their problems, they’d succeeded, and more. His father had been a wily businessman and had squirreled away enough money to put both Ron and Nick through college, and to see to it that his wife had been provided for.

Nick had used his funds as his father had intended—education. Ron, in another misguided attempt to earn his father’s approval, had taken his college fund and opened his own garage. The decision had been a poor one—not Ron’s first—and the business went belly-up within a year. Ron had been on a quest to prove himself ever since.

Nick stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around his waist and stared into the mirror at his foggy reflection, the familiar guilt settling around him again. He blew out a resigned breath. When this was over, he planned to sit down and have a long talk with his little brother. Ron needed to let go of the past, to forgive their father for his mistakes, and he needed to quit relying on his family for financial support.

To Ron’s credit, this particular business had been operating profitably right up until Desiree Moon began to bash his product line on the Internet. Nick had looked at the books, seen a direct correlation.

And, if what Ron suspected were true—if Desiree Moon was a fraud and lacked the experience to critique these products—she needed to be stopped. Right was right and wrong was wrong. If she was making fraudulent claims, then someone needed to put an end to her online career. Nick sighed. Those were a lot of ifs and he preferred to deal with certainties. Too bad there weren’t any.

Nick heard a door open, then close. Her door.

Shit.

Without the hat and glasses, he didn’t know quite what she looked like. Damn. How the hell would he put her under surveillance if he didn’t know whom to look for?

Towel still wrapped loosely around his waist, Nick rushed to his own door, pulled it open and stepped out into the hall. He’d taken three steps into the corridor when he realized two things. One, the person in the hall was an old man, and therefore, couldn’t be Desiree Moon. Two, he didn’t have his key.

A hot oath hissed through his clenched teeth.

To Nick’s immense mortification, hotel patrons began to seemingly burst from their rooms like horses from the chutes at the Kentucky Derby. No fewer than five people passed him, giving him curious, look-at-the-pervert stares.

Nick nodded politely to each, heat creeping up his neck. “Stepped into the hall, forgot my key,” he muttered inanely.

Given the situation, he had two choices. He could board an elevator and go up to his brother’s room, pray that Ron was in and not with the check-in clerk. His stomach knotted in revulsion. Or, he could knock on Desiree’s door, then get back into his room via the connecting door.

Ah, hell. He supposed this was one way to speed up the farce. Showing up in nothing but a towel should spark some sort of reaction. Hopefully, the right one.

“I’LL BE CAREFUL. I know all about the undertow. Yes, I brought my sunblock. It’s not generic, Mom, it’s the good stuff.” She could hear the familiar drone of the football game in the background, indicating her father was home from the office. She smiled, thankful that some things in life never changed. “I don’t know the number offhand, but I have my cell. Call me on that if anything comes up.”

Meg inwardly groaned, regretting the whopping lie she’d fabricated to account for her week-long absence. Her mother, The Chronic Worrier, would fret until Meg arrived safely home from her trip to the “beach.”

Still, she could hardly tell her the truth.

Hey, Ma. Headed into town for a sex-toy trade show. By the way, have I mentioned that I’m a sex-toy critic now? Multi-talented, your daughter is. Meg chuckled, and then shuddered. Her mother would call an emergency meeting of her prayer group quicker than she could say “Amen.” It wouldn’t be pretty.

“I don’t plan on going to any bars to pick up men, Mom. Yes, I’ve heard all about the date-rape drug. Listen, Mom—” Meg paused as a knock sounded at her door. Probably another vendor, she surmised. Half listening to more of her mother’s concerns, Meg crossed the room, flipped the lock and opened the door. “I’ll avoid…strange men, Mom. Bye…” Meg trailed off weakly as her eyes landed on the wet, glistening wall of a spectacularly muscled chest.

She instinctively knew whom the chest belonged to, so she didn’t waste any time by allowing her gaze to be drawn upward to confirm an identity.

Instead, she took the lucky opportunity to slowly scan and commit to memory each and every golden inch of his impressive torso and all areas south. The chest gave way to a rock-hard, splendidly sculpted abdomen. The desire to learn those ridges, to play them like a harp and listen to the music of his groans of pleasure, the hissing of his breath, was so strong Meg’s throat went dry. She wanted to wet her finger, slowly drag it down his belly and swirl it around his navel.

The towel barely clung to lean, narrowed hips, and dipped lower in the front, revealing a gilded treasure trail Meg itched to explore. An impressive bulge created an intriguing terrain across the front of his towel, leaving little doubt that what lay underneath was just as well proportioned as the rest of him. A slow simmer commenced between her thighs and Meg absently licked her lips.

He cleared his throat, forcing her preoccupied gaze to the northern territory of his face. A slight flush reddened his cheeks and a sheepish grin tugged the corners of his beautiful lips. “I’m locked out of my room,” he told her. “Do you mind if I get back in through the connecting door?”

Still bedazzled, Meg blinked. “Connecting door?”

“Our rooms have connecting doors. Haven’t you noticed?”

No. She hadn’t. Meg glanced behind her to confirm what he said and, sure enough, they did indeed share a connecting door. She didn’t know quite what to make of that, and decided to sort the conundrum out when a half-naked man wasn’t standing less than two feet from her.

“Would you mind if I came in out of the hall?” he asked, gesturing behind him as a couple of teenagers tittered past. “I’m attracting quite a bit of attention. The kind that could get me arrested.”

Meg started. “Oh. Sure. Sorry.”

He murmured a thanks as Meg stepped back and allowed him to come in. A clean, masculine fragrance bathed her as he passed, making her knees go weak. Gathering her scattered wits, she hurried to the bed and drew the coverlet over the newest batch of products awaiting her critique, then she doubled back and unlocked her side of the connecting door. She could feel his observant gaze following her.

“Is your side locked?” she asked.

He shoved an impatient hand through his damp hair and swore hotly.

Meg took that as a yes. “Er, why don’t you call down to the front desk and ask someone to come up and open your door? You can wait in here until they arrive.”

“Thanks.” He rubbed the back of his neck, then lifted the receiver and dialed the front desk. “I’m really sorry about this. I hope I’m not keeping you from anything.”

Meg pretended to check her watch. “I’ve got a few minutes.”

What she really had was a bad case of lust. The man had the best ass she’d ever seen. The damp terrycloth clung to the hard muscles of his butt like butter over warm bread. The finely sculpted muscles of his back glistened with wet droplets and, strangely, Meg found herself consumed with a peculiar urge to nibble a path from his sinewy shoulder up the curiously vulnerable side of his neck.

Heat swamped her, made her breasts heavy, her sex moist. She’d never been more attracted to a man in her life.

“They said they’d send someone up in a moment,” he told her. He tightened his towel, glancing about the room as though unsure of what to do or say next.

Making an attempt to be some sort of hostess, Meg hastily scooped up her discarded clothes from the back of the only desk chair. While she’d unpacked all of her things and arranged them to her satisfaction, she’d yet to clear away her dirty clothes. “Have a seat,” she offered, summoning a weak smile.

“Thanks.” Firmly holding the towel in place, he folded his big frame into the chair.

“So how did you come to get locked out of your room? Like that?” she asked meaningfully, gesturing toward the towel. Her gaze lingered just a fraction longer than necessary.

“I thought I heard someone knock on my door, stepped out into the hall, and the door closed before I could get back in.” He lifted one shoulder in a negligent shrug and grinned. “Bet it happens to everyone.”

Meg’s lips quirked. “I’m sure it does.”

“Has it ever happened to you?”

“Nope.”

He chuckled, the sound a rich, deep rumble. “You could have lied. I was almost feeling better.”

“Sorry.” Meg laughed. “Sucks to be you.”

His eyes widened at that comment and an outright laugh burst from his chest, making the muscles dance across his abdomen. “Yes, right now, it does sorta suck to be me,” he admitted. He extended his hand. “I’m Nick Devereau, by the way.”

“Desiree Moon.” Meg didn’t even hesitate. The lie rolled off her tongue before she’d even realized she’d said it. She didn’t know what exactly had possessed her to do that, but it felt incredibly liberating. Wicked. That settled it, Meg decided. For this week only, she would be Desiree Moon and all that persona entailed. A delightful quiver eddied through her.

She took his hand, felt the warm masculine palm dwarf her smaller one. A zing sparkled up her spine at the contact. Swift. Tingling. Hot.

An intriguing grin claimed his lips and an equally intriguing glint stewed in his sexy, heavy-lidded caramel gaze. “It’s a pleasure,” he murmured.

Oy. Indeed it was.

A brisk knock sounded at the door, breaking the charged silence.

Meg withdrew her sensitized hand and straightened, reluctant to see him go now that she’d decided to pursue the life of her alter ego. “That’ll be for you.”

He stood as well and followed her across the room. All the while she was aware of his scrutiny. She could feel that hot stare. It made her all shivery inside.

Meg opened the door so that he could meet the bellhop in the hallway. He paused, then leaned toward her, bringing his tantalizing scent with him. “Thanks, again.”

Meg resisted the urge to chew her nail. To bite her fist. “You’re welcome.”

He turned to go, but seemingly thought better of it and swung back to face her. “Look, could we get a drink later?”

Delight bloomed in her chest, resulting in a small smile. “Sure. Just knock.” She gestured toward the connecting door.

He grinned. “Until then.”

Meg leaned against the open doorway as he left, once again mesmerized by his sheer physical beauty. That back. Mercy. Hmm-hmm-hmm. That ass.

Meg straightened, horror dawning.

That ass…had her bra dangling from it.

The hooks had gotten caught in the cloth.

Meg darted out into the hall just as the bellhop planted the key card into the lock. Nick started at her abrupt appearance, then smiled. “Desiree?”

“Nick, uhhh…”

He frowned. “Is something wrong?”

Meg tentatively moved toward him, her gaze darting to where her bra swung drunkenly from the towel. “I, uh…just wanted to let you know I’ll be back in my room by eight.”

He smiled. “Okay.”

The bellhop opened the door and Nick moved to go in. Meg lunged and attempted to covertly snatch her bra. The hook hung stubbornly, and to Meg’s slack-jawed astonishment, she not only managed to snag her bra—she snagged his towel as well.

Mortification momentarily burned her cheeks, robbed her of speech. Her gaze was riveted to the only part of his anatomy she’d been unable to properly peruse. Unable to control herself, her lips curled into an appreciative smile.

She’d been right.

He was definitely well proportioned.

3

“FLASHING HER, that’s a direct approach. Little forward if you aren’t going to seduce her.” Ron licked his forefinger, leaned forward and smoothed his eyebrows, then stood back and admired his Fonzie-like reflection. “Myself personally, I like to woo a woman.”

“Woo?”

“Yes, woo. It’s all part of the chase, the thrill of the hunt.”

“This is a woman, Ron. Not an elk, for chrissakes.” Dropping into the desk chair in his brother’s room, Nick exhaled wearily and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He shuddered to think of what Ron considered wooing. A trip through a drive-thru, then back to his place to show off his lava lamp collection?

“So what’s she look like? She a hottie?”

A cloud of dark-chocolate hair, kiss-me mossy-green eyes, smooth skin and a mouth designed for sin flashed through Nick’s mind. The hair, the eyes and the skin were pleasing to look at, not remarkable on their own. But the mouth that tied it all together… Damn.

“She’s attractive,” Nick managed, feeling a telltale tightening in his groin.

Ron nodded, apparently satisfied with Nick’s assessment. “So, did you sense any interest? She hot for you yet?”

“She’s interested,” Nick said casually.

And though he had no intention of taking advantage of the situation, she was most definitely hot for him.

Out of all the uncertainties surrounding this scheme, Nick didn’t have a doubt about that one fact. She’d practically devoured him with her eyes. That bold green gaze had inventoried every inch of his exposed flesh…and then some.

Nick took care of his body, worked out regularly. He wasn’t ignorant of his build and the resulting effect it had on women. He’d been covertly studied before. But he’d never been so intensely scrutinized. Never felt a woman’s gaze like that.

Furthermore, when his towel had come off, she’d made no pretense of turning away. Her gaze had dropped to his male equipment, lingered, then she’d had the audacity to smile.

Appreciatively.

Nick found himself equally intrigued and baffled. Baffled because, while he’d gone into her room to set things into motion, he’d been the one knocked for a loop. He’d demonstrated an appalling lack of control, something he never permitted himself to do. Something that mustn’t happen again.

Ron grunted as he shoved a foot into his boot, pulling Nick from his reverie. “Listen, if you find anything out tonight that might be helpful, give me a call no matter what time. Keep me posted. I—I need to know what’s happening, okay? This is my future we’re trying to protect.”

“Sure,” Nick said, frowning at the desperation in Ron’s tone. Ron was very adept at playing him, Nick knew, but he seemed genuinely worried this time. Who knew with Ron? It could only be wishful thinking. “But I seriously doubt anything will happen tonight. We’re just meeting for drinks.”

Ron’s brow furrowed. “Whatever. Just call me. I’m meeting Cindy, but should be back by ten.”

“Cindy?”

Ron smiled. “The check-in clerk. I’m giving her some free samples.”

Nick’s brows rose. On that note, he decided to take his leave. He stood. Desiree had said she’d be back by eight, and it was pushing that now. “I’m gone,” Nick told him, heading for the door.

“Work your magic, big brother.” He paused, giving Nick a small glimpse of Ron’s more vulnerable side. “I’ve got a lot riding on this.”

That last statement lacked Ron’s trademark bravado and, for the first time, Nick detected a hint of fear in his brother’s voice. Ron was genuinely afraid of losing this business. Fear was the beginning of wisdom. Given that, perhaps the end would justify the means.

Nick fervently hoped so.

“MR. KENT will be arriving tomorrow. He rarely attends these trade shows, but he’s very anxious to meet you.”

“I’m looking forward to meeting him as well,” Meg murmured. Marcus Kent, the senior editor for Foreplay magazine, had recently decided to personally handle Desiree Moon’s reviews. They had communicated via e-mail and telephone, but had never met in person.

“Do you have everything you need?” Ann Dolan, Marcus’s assistant asked. “Everything in your room to your liking?” She smiled. “You’re our star, you know. I was told to keep you happy.”

Meg laughed. “I’m happy and I have everything I need, thank you.”

“Good.” Ann sighed. “Well, we’ve covered your schedule, outlined your workshop. I think we’ve done everything we were supposed to do.” She quirked a brow. “Would you like to go to the lounge and get a drink?”

Meg hesitated. She nudged up her sleeve and checked her watch. “Er, actually I’m supposed to meet someone.”

Ann’s eyes widened. “Oh, of course,” she said knowingly. “You brought Antonio. Naturally, you would. Duh.” Ann popped her forehead with the palm of her hand. “This is a trade show. You’re here to critique. How else would you…well, you know?”

“I, uh—”

She nodded approvingly. “Mr. Kent will like that,” Ann confided. “The majority of our critics are women. He’s been very interested in getting a fresh hetero male perspective. I’m supposed to call in tonight with a report. I’ll be sure and let him know that you brought your partner with you. He’s been anxious to meet the legendary Antonio,” she shared with a droll smile. “We all have.”