Hush

She walked into Erotique, the gorgeous bar, to the accompaniment of cameras, laughter, talking. People having a good time. She pasted on her best smile, and went into the fray. This was her specialty. Getting attention. Making the headlines. No one did it better than her, and dammit, neither Trace or his news was going to spoil things now.

She’d figure a way to get her father to accept Hush. She would. She wasn’t a Devon for nothing.

THE REST of the night went on in a blur of interviews and champagne. Trace was never completely out of her sight. She’d turn, and there he’d be. Sipping the Cristal, talking to some hottie, laughing it up. And when his eyes met hers, he smiled. Smiled like he was on top of the world.

The prick.

What had she ever, ever seen in him? He was duplicitous, underhanded and a whole bunch of other evil things that if she hadn’t had that last glass of champagne, she could think of.

Doing her a favor. Ha. He just wanted a front-row ticket. He couldn’t wait to see her take a fall. “Well, you know what, Mr. High-and-Mighty Winslow? Screw you.”

“What?”

Piper looked front. To the confused gaze of some guy from the Enquirer. “I’m sorry, what was your question?”

The guy, who was swaying just a little more than he should have, gave her a salacious grin. “So you tried out those toys in the cupboard upstairs?”

Piper kept smiling. “Not those, no.”

His face fell but his next sip of champagne seemed to soften the blow.

“Would you excuse me?” She made a quick tour of Erotique; it was so beautiful it made her ache. Most of the press had congregated around the black circular bar, the pink overhead lighting flattering and sexy. She loved the high black bar chairs with the inverted triangle backs. She headed toward the ladies’ room, running her hand over the only empty round-backed leather armchair, admiring the sea foam-green that matched the lobby carpet exactly. It was a killer bar, and it would be packed nightly. No doubt at all.

She nodded, grinned, waved like a damn parade-float princess all the way to the bathroom. She pushed the door open, saw the crowd, and made a hasty retreat. Hurrying as quickly as possible in her heels, she went through the lobby to the first elevator. No one came after her, and the moment she was inside the cab she hit the button for the spa floor and collapsed against the mirror.

She closed her eyes and let out a howl that while loud, was surprisingly unsatisfying. The elevator came to a stop and she went right for the bathroom.

The whole room smelled faintly of lavender. Peace, quiet and beauty surrounded her, a balm to her soul. She sat on one of the stools by the long pink marble sink, wishing she’d brought her bag. She needed to fix her lipstick.

Instead, she faced herself in the mirror. No photo-op smile, no tricks of the light. Just her. She had a problem, a big one. She knew Hush was going to make it, that it could be one of the hottest hotels in Manhattan. But she also wasn’t a fool. She wanted her inheritance. Who wouldn’t? It was one hell of a lot of money, and while it couldn’t buy happiness, it could get her real close. Even though it would be a fine and dramatic gesture to tell her father to go jump in a lake, it would be strategically unsound.

The thing was, she didn’t have enough time. She felt sure her father would eventually get over his problem with Hush. It would take a few years for Hush to be completely in the black, and she’d been counting on his help to get through until the cash flow was steady, but if he was going to be this stubborn… Damn, she only had a week. A week with Trace Winslow on her ass, which not only didn’t help, it made things exponentially worse.

Trace knew exactly how to push every one of her buttons, and had no hesitation in doing so. He was a vile man, a hateful man. And good God, he turned her on like a light switch.

She dropped her head in her hands. This should have been a triumphant night, a glorious victory. She looked up again, met her eyes. It still was a victory. She’d make it work. She’d figure it out. But first, she’d go back to the bar and she wouldn’t even glance at Trace.

HE WATCHED HER work the room, and even he had to admit she was doing one hell of a job. Gliding from one reporter to the next, she never missed a beat or an opportunity to make nice. Quite a change from her usual shenanigans.

How many times had he passed a newsstand to find Piper’s photo plastered on the tabloids in some compromising position? Drunk or disheveled, hanging on some guy, at this party or that. The woman lived for notoriety. And here she was, playing the hostess, acting as if she were a responsible adult, when the whole world knew she was still a wild child. Who did she think she was fooling?

He thought about her latest in a long string of idiot men. Logan Barrister, for God’s sake. His band might be at the top of the charts, but the guy had the brains of a trout. If anything he was more of a press slut than Piper. They’d been kicked out of more Manhattan bars than anyone else he could think of.

The tragedy was, Trace had a strong suspicion that Piper was bright. Really smart. If she hadn’t been so busy trying to shock her father, she could have made something of herself. She knew the business inside and out. Hush had all the potential to be a first-class hotel, but no. She had to go and make it a haven for the kinky. It was a very expensive way to act out, and the consequences were far reaching. But would she listen to him?

He put his empty glass on the bar. He still had to take his luggage upstairs, get settled in his room. It was almost two, and the place had cleared out considerably, but there were still some die-hards left.

Piper looked as fresh as she had when he’d first walked in. How she’d managed that, he couldn’t say. She must have been nervous as hell at this first sneak peek, but it didn’t show.

He wouldn’t bother her. Not tonight. Let her get some rest. She’d need it. So would he. Tomorrow was going to be…interesting.

PIPER WAS as exhausted as a person could be and still be upright. She made her way through the dwindling crowd looking for Janice.

There she was, standing by the leaded glass doors, and oh, Mick, her hunky boyfriend, had finally made an appearance. Seeing them together, Piper smiled. They’d met here, at Hush. Janice had moved in a few weeks ago, when Piper herself had taken up residence. There had been so much to do to get the hotel ready for the opening date. And Mick, he’d been here, too. He was a master carpenter, and he’d worked on several of the penthouse suites. He and Janice had hit it off right away, even though she was eight years his senior. It looked like love to Piper.

At least someone was happy. That was a good thing. Her gaze swept the room but she didn’t see Trace. He must have slipped out while she’d been busy. He was probably upstairs right now, slipping between the sheets.

She could’ve given him one of the penthouses, but she hadn’t. He was in a regular suite, which was still incredibly wonderful, but he didn’t have all the bells and whistles. Petty, but screw it. He didn’t deserve a penthouse.

She, on the other hand, did. She had taken the Gaul-tier suite, and she’d kill to be up there right now. Only half an hour to go until she could shoo everyone out to the taxis on Madison. Till she could collapse. At least until 6:00 a.m. tomorrow.

THE SUITE was huge by Manhattan standards. It wasn’t in the deco style of the hotel, instead it was Asian with shoji screens, a low California King bed with a deep scarlet comforter, Ikebana flower arrangements and Asian prints on the walls. There was an elegance in the materials that made Trace sigh as he put his suitcase on the bed.

As he unpacked, he noticed more details of the room. The sunken Jacuzzi bathtub with inset candles climbing the wall. The shower with three showerheads. The video camera and blank tapes standing in the corner of the bedroom. And then there was the selection of adult DVDs in the television armoire.

He had to laugh when he realized the book in the bedside drawer was the Kama Sutra, nestled next to a fur glove and a selection of flavored oils.

Not surprisingly, the bathroom cabinet housed a box of condoms and several varieties of lubricant. The whole suite was designed for decadence, built for two.

He walked over to the window by the desk and opened the drapes. There was the city, brilliant and shiny in front of him. What would his life have been like if he’d gone into family law, instead of joining his father’s firm? As if he’d had a choice. He’d been brought up in the fold. The expectations had been there since birth. Probably since conception. On the plus side, he made lots of money. Lots and lots. Travel across the globe. All the prestige a man could want. Yet, here he was, babysitting.

The whole episode was a farce, a father-daughter drama with expensive toys. Piper wasn’t going to change, God knows Nicholas wasn’t going to budge. So what was the point? The hotel would be a sensation for a while, then the luster would fade and instead of booking the headliners, they’d get the wannabes from Jersey and honeymoon couples from Wisconsin.

If she was lucky, she wouldn’t lose all her money. But even if he was wrong and the place was the hottest ticket in New York history, Nicholas was still going to cut her off. He’d never met two more stubborn people.

The important thing to remember was that the outcome wasn’t his problem. He’d do what he was paid to do, and let nothing else get in the way. Not his contempt for Nicholas’s dictatorial ways, not his amazement at the circus that was Piper’s life. Not even the way he got hard every time he looked at her.

He was a big boy. He wasn’t controlled by his gonads, and hadn’t been for a long time. That Piper could get to him like no one else was immaterial. Hell, she’d been a temptation forever.

They never spoke about that night. It had been her seventeenth birthday, and because she was Piper, she’d had too much to drink. The party had been at the Orpheus, and she’d asked him to come upstairs to her private suite. It had been late, he’d had a bit too much champagne himself. He’d been totally unprepared for what happened.

She’d offered herself to him. Told him in no uncertain terms that she loved him, wanted him. It had taken every bit of willpower he had to walk away.

She’d never forgiven him.

But they still had to work together. It was ten years now, and still, the repercussions just kept on unfolding. Every meeting, every phone call, every social engagement where he watched the flash of her eyes, heard the silk of her laugh, he paid again.

He closed the drapes and headed for the bathroom. He needed to sleep.

PIPER FINALLY CRAWLED into bed at three-thirty. Bone tired, she figured she’d fall asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

She was wrong. At four, she was still thinking. Not about her father, not about losing all that money, but about Trace. About his being here for a week. A whole week. How in hell was she going to get through this?

3

MORNING HIT with a vengeance. Trace cursed the lack of room service, but blessed the coffeepot in the suite. He waited until seven to call Piper. He’d forgotten to get her room number, so he dialed her cell. She sounded more hungover than he felt.

“What do you want, Trace?”

“Breakfast would be good.”

“Fine. When?”

“Half an hour?”

“Meet me in the employee cafeteria. It’s on basement two.”

“Fine.” He hung up, then went to the desk and plugged in his laptop. He checked his e-mail, and answered most of it. His secretary, Terry, knew he’d be at the hotel for the week, and she’d cancelled or postponed his meetings. Because he worked exclusively for the Devon corporation as one of their attorneys, Nicholas had had no qualms about sending him down here, even though he had an apartment on the Upper East Side. While Trace felt a week was excessive, Devon disagreed, and since he signed the checks…

A week with Piper. Shit. It was going to be hard enough getting her to go along with her father’s plans, but to have to eat with her, be near her. He should call Ellen. She was great. Smart. Pretty. A real-estate attorney he’d met six months ago. They’d gone out two, no, three times. He liked her. She had a great laugh.

He went to his briefcase to pull out his PalmPilot, but then it was time to go for breakfast. He ran his hand through his hair, and headed out.

Breakfast with Piper. Gee, how’d he get so lucky?

MEMORANDUM

To: Room Service and Housekeeping

From: Janice Foster, General Manager, HUSH Hotel

Date: Saturday

Re: Trace Winslow, suite 9006

Extra coffee!!! Check at noon and 3:00 to make sure he has enough.

Half and half in the fridge, replace daily!

New bottle of Stoli daily!!! Keep it in the fridge.

Fresh fruit and sparkling water at turndown!

VVVVVIP!!!!!!!!

PIPER SIPPED her coffee as she checked her watch. Trace was late.

There were only a few people in the cafeteria, but the number of employees was growing daily. Now that they were so close to the soft opening, they had to fill the ranks, finish training everyone from bellmen to housekeepers to dog sitters.

God, how many soft openings had she lived through in her life? It was the hardest time for a hotel. All the final bugs had to be ironed out, all the little things that only popped up after guests had checked in. Thankfully, the reviews wouldn’t start for another month, after the official grand opening, but still. She wanted everything to be perfect.

Janice had been fabulous putting it all together, but most of the credit for staffing went to Lisa Scott, the head of human resources and Piper’s oldest friend.

Lisa was the daughter of Jess Scott, who’d worked at the Orpheus for almost twenty years. Since they were the same age, Piper and Lisa had started hanging out when they were ten, and the friendship had continued. Deepened. Lisa and Piper’s ex-nanny, Bridget Pollard, knew everything about Piper. They’d stuck with her during the good times and the bad, and Piper had no idea what she would have done without them.

Trace walked in, and Piper had to put down her cup. God, he was a good-looking man. It wasn’t fair. He had a wicked body. Wide shoulders, slim hips, unbelievable abs. His hair was dark and thick, although it could have been longer. But it was his face that did the damage.

Perfect from his forehead to his chin. Expressive brown eyes that could communicate his every emotion or be a cold mirror. His nose was straight and fine, and his lips… He didn’t have much of an upper lip, but what was there, worked. His lower lip was delectable, and when the man smiled, there wasn’t a woman within shouting distance who didn’t get wet.

Too bad he was such a prick.

“What do we do here?” he asked, standing in his dark gray suit, his pale blue tie, his body oozing sex appeal as if he expected her to drool or something.

“We eat.”

He looked down at her cup of coffee. Her lack of food.

She sighed as she stood. “This way.”

He followed her to the breakfast bar. There was everything from fresh bagels to omelets and waffles. The employees could come in here to eat, to relax on their breaks, to take staff meetings. At night, when the restaurant, Amuse Bouche, was open, the chef made sure the buffet was stocked with excellent fare.

She grabbed a tray and picked up some yogurt, fresh fruit salad and grapefruit juice. Trace got a waffle, scrambled eggs and melon.

They went back to her table, and for a few minutes, they concentrated on eating. Her gaze kept going to Trace’s mouth, the way he chewed, his throat as he swallowed. But then he’d look at her, and she’d stare at her plate until she figured he wasn’t looking. Then it would begin again, until she couldn’t take it anymore. “So what’s the deal? Why is Nicholas being such a jerk?”

“Nice way to talk about your father.”

“I was being kind.”

Trace frowned. “He’s upset. You won’t listen to him. What recourse does he have?”

“Disinheriting me seems like a radical choice.”

“Oh? And what would you have him do?”

“Give me a chance. Give Hush a chance.”

“Piper,” he said, putting his fork down, “you’ve made the hotel into a bordello. You’re still a Devon, and the man has worked his whole life to make that name mean something.”

“It’s not a bordello. Jesus, Trace, you’ve seen it yourself. I’m not ashamed about one thing at Hush. It’s first-class, all the way. More so than most of the Devon chain.”

“Its main selling point is vibrators.”

She sighed. “I expect that from Kyle, not you. The main selling point of Hush is excitement. You and I both know that when couples come to Manhattan, that’s what they’re looking for. They want a rush, they want to feel cosmopolitan, exotic. I’m giving them everything they could ask for.”

“Vibrators.”

“Yes, and all the other wonderful things consenting adults like to play with. Look, all the boutique hotels have some kind of gimmick. The Muse has a dream maker on staff. The Library Hotel uses literature, including, I might add, erotica. Hotel Giraffe has the sweet-indulgence thing. Hush just does it better, with something more people want.”

“You said it yourself, Piper. It’s a gimmick. Gimmicks aren’t what Devon hotels are about.”

“No, they’re not. They’re about boredom. Look at the statistics, Trace. You know as well as I do that the average customer at any of the Devon hotels is fifty.”

“Fine, you want to bring in a younger clientele, go for it. But not with sleaze.”

“Sleaze?” She felt herself priming for a major attack, and reined her anger in. She couldn’t stop the death grip she had on her fork, however. “There is nothing sleazy about this hotel.”

“Excuse me?”

She stood up, afraid she was going to stab him. “I have meetings this morning. I have to go.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“No.”

“Piper, you’re not going to get rid of me. I’m here for a week. Get used to it.”

“Fine. We’ll meet later.”

“I’d like you to take me through. I want to see everything.”

“I’m sure you do. I’ll call you at noon.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.” She grabbed her tray and headed for the exit, wondering what she’d done to deserve this…this nightmare. She knew he was watching her as she left, and she hoped he’d choke on his waffle.

TRACE WATCHED her walk away. Specifically that splendid rear end of hers. Today she’d worn slacks, black, that fit just right. A red silk blouse that curved over her breasts like a caress. And an attitude that made him want to…

He could do this. He was a professional. He dealt with some of the most cunning businessmen in the world. One young woman with personality issues wasn’t going to undermine his purpose.

He’d make her see the light. Get her to accept her responsibilities. Or die trying.

PIPER HUNG UP the phone, then turned to her desk calendar. At three she had an interview with a new bartender. Her CPA was coming at four-fifteen. She wanted Trace to be in on that one. Let him get a load of the projections.

She’d already made dinner reservations for the two of them at Amuse Bouche, but that wasn’t until nine, so if she could show him the hotel before her three o’clock, she’d have some time for herself after her last meeting.

She called down to the spa. “Caroline, can you fix me up with a massage at seven tonight?”

“Absolutely. What kind?”

“Whatever you think. I want to try them all.”

“How long do you have?”

“An hour.”

“Okay, you’re all set.”

“Thanks.” Piper put the phone down. Caroline was a real find to run the spa. She had years of experience at the Red Door in Beverly Hills, and she was serious about making the Hush spa the best it could possibly be. They’d hired five masseuses, and the equipment, except for the steam room, was all installed and working.

In perhaps one of the best perks of her job, Piper was trying every technique, every masseuse. Just like she was going to try everything on the menu at Amuse, go into every suite and room. There was nothing she wouldn’t do to insure that her hotel was perfect.

Not because her watcher was on the premises. Trace could go hang himself for all she cared. It was about pride. Making her own success.

Letting out a long slow breath, she picked up the phone again and dialed Trace’s room. He answered gruffly, as if she’d interrupted something important.

“Are you ready?” she asked, keeping her tone neutral despite the fact that just his voice was enough to provoke all kinds of inappropriate responses.

“I’ll be in the lobby in five minutes.” He hung up, not bothering to say goodbye.

She put the phone back in the cradle, and dropped her head to her hand. Why did she let him get to her like this? Every time she saw him, her thoughts went directly to sex without passing Go or collecting two hundred dollars. It was downright Pavlovian, and worse, it made her feel like a fool.

She stood up, pushing back her chair. She would not think of sex with Trace, not in any context. Too many memories there, too much history. What she needed to remember was how he’d rejected her, how her heart had been crushed.

She turned off her computer and headed to the hallway. With every step, she took a deep breath, picturing herself confident, uncaring, cool as a cucumber. All she had to do was show Trace the hotel. Once he saw it for himself, he’d get it. He’d see that it wasn’t sleazy in the least. Then he’d tell her father, and everything would be fine. It would.

She rode the elevator up to the lobby, and when the doors opened, there he was. He was staring at the painting at the end of the hallway, his hands in his pockets, the picture of debonair. She might hate him, but she couldn’t deny that his particular combination of looks, style and chemistry was her Achilles’ heel.

One last deep breath and she stepped to his side. “I thought we’d start at the top and work our way down.” Without waiting for a response, she led him back to the elevator, and put her key card in the slot above the floor buttons. This particular card would give them access to the roof. She had another that would take her to the penthouse suites.

The doors closed and the only sound in the cab was the soft music playing from the speakers. It was Norah Jones, and Piper focused on the lyrics instead of the man standing so close to her. The long seconds ticked by accompanied by a solo guitar and the briefest hint of his cologne. She kept her expression neutral, her back straight, even when she saw the reflection of his eyes staring back at her.

She blinked first, looking at the elevator’s progress as it went from the sixteenth floor to the seventeenth. Only a few more seconds and they’d be on the roof, and then it would be easier.

When they finally reached their destination, she held back a sigh, and simply led him outside. “This is the garden,” she said. “Mostly flowers, but some vegetables that they use in the restaurant.”

Trace took in the whole of the expanse in front of him, surprised at the size of the garden and how lush it was with a riot of colorful blooms. It was beautiful and calming, with scattered benches and standing fountains.

He remembered this building. A prime piece of real estate, most of Piper’s trust fund had gone to acquiring the space. It had been nondescript. A bunch of offices with a coffee shop and a dry cleaner, and something else he couldn’t remember on the ground floor. There was nothing nondescript about it now.

“In the winter, this whole area becomes a greenhouse, so the guests can still come up here and get away from it all.” She headed to her right, pointing out the retractable roof. “The pool, which I’ll show you next, has the same kind of roof, which we can put up during undesirable weather. But during the summer and spring, we’re going to keep it open.”