Seduced In Seattle

“What am I doing?” she muttered to herself when she realized she was thinking about Brock again. Focusing her attention back on the computer screen, she hit the send button before she had time to talk herself out of it. Todd Winslow was the right man for her.

He had to be.

The sound of the bathroom door opening made her turn around in the chair. Brock emerged, wearing only a pair of plaid cotton pajama pants tied low on his waist with a drawstring. The dark hair on his chest still glistened with tiny droplets of water. The scent of soap and male permeated the air. His short hair was slicked back on his head and his feet were bare.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt you,” he said, moving toward the sofa.

“No, I’m all finished here.” She stood up, her mouth suddenly dry. Okay, so maybe Brock did have solid broad shoulders, a tight washboard stomach and bulging muscles in his arms. It’s not like she’d never seen a man’s naked body before. Maybe none quite as spectacular as Brock’s, but with all the same basic parts. Images of those parts flashed in her mind, sending a wave of heat through her.

She watched as he pulled back the blanket on the sofa bed, then lay down and settled back against the pillow. He pulled the sheet up to his waist so that all she could see was his bare chest. It gave the illusion that he wasn’t wearing anything. His flat nipples were a dusky pink and the cords of his neck stood out as he folded his hands behind his head.

She swallowed. “How was the shower?”

He hesitated. “Refreshing.”

Kate turned and switched the computer off. Maybe sharing a hotel suite with Brock wasn’t such a great idea after all. It put all sorts of crazy notions in her head. “I think I’ll go to bed. It’s been an exhausting day.”

“Good night, Kate.”

“Good night.” She practically ran for the bedroom. Closing the door behind her, she leaned against it and took a deep breath. Then another. Why did Brock Gannon have to show up in her life again? Why did he have to make her start doubting the perfect future she had all planned out for herself?

“Two weeks,” she said softly, slipping out of her pantsuit and hanging it in the closet. Then she took her favorite nightshirt out of the dresser drawer. It was a man’s striped pajama top that hung three inches above her knees.

She pulled back the quilted comforter and climbed into bed. “In two weeks, Brock will be gone and I’ll forget all about him.”

If she was lucky, in two weeks she’d be planning a wedding. Mrs. Todd Winslow. It had a nice ring to it. But when she closed her eyes, she still saw Brock Gannon standing at the altar.

BROCK WINCED as he turned the doorknob leading to the bedroom. He hoped the slight squeak hadn’t awakened Kate. Moving stealthily into the room, he paused until his eyes adjusted to the darkness. After a few moments, he could make out Kate’s long slender form on the bed. He could hear the steady rhythm of her soft breathing. See the shadows of her silky curls spilling over the pillow. She lay on her side, both hands tucked under one cheek. Her pink lips slightly parted—looking so very kissable.

He turned toward the closet before he forgot the reason he’d come in here. It was time to get the skirt and get the hell out of Kate’s life. Putting over three thousand miles between the two of them would be better than a cold shower. At least, he hoped so.

Brock padded silently to the closet, then slowly pulled open the accordion door. He quickly sifted through the row of dresses and pantsuits hanging there, searching for the skirt. He froze when he heard Kate roll over in bed, a soft, breathy sigh escaping her lips. The sound made his body instantly harden. It was a sound a woman made when he touched her in just the right place.

A sweat broke out on his forehead as he turned back to the closet. Where the hell was that skirt? He sorted through the clothes again, more carefully this time. At last he stepped back and closed the closet door. It wasn’t there. Hell.

He turned to look at Kate, wondering if she’d hidden it. But where? At that moment, she opened her eyes, then gasped aloud when she saw him. She bolted upright in bed, struggling with the tangled bedcovers.

“It’s all right,” he whispered, realizing this was the second time he’d scared her in less than twenty-four hours and hating himself for it.

“Brock.” Her voice was husky from sleep. She twisted to switch on the table lamp. Light flooded the room, making them both wince at the brightness. “What are you doing in my bedroom?”

“I heard you cry out,” he improvised, moving closer to the bed. “I thought you might be having a nightmare.”

“Oh.” Another blush suffused her cheeks and she didn’t quite meet his eyes. “No, it wasn’t a nightmare. It was just a dream.”

Torture. That was the word for this mission. Kate lay in bed, not two feet away from him. Her hair was tousled and her cheeks rosy. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. His entire body throbbed.

Brock sat down beside her on the bed to conceal his uncomfortable, and no doubt visible, condition. He reached out one hand and tipped up her chin with his finger. “Are you sure?”

She stared into his eyes, then licked her lips. “Positive.”

“I’m glad,” he said huskily, then he leaned forward, unable to help himself. He was already in this far. And a man could only take so much temptation. He closed the distance between them until his lips met hers.

She tasted even better than he had imagined. Like a spring rain on the parched earth of his soul. His hands found her waist as he deepened the kiss, nipping lightly at her lower lip. She made that sound again, that soft sigh that instantly sent his body into high alert.

At last she pulled back and stared at him, her beautiful brown eyes wide and confused. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

He completely agreed, but asked the question anyway. “Why not?”

“I’m involved with someone,” she said, then cleared her throat. “Sort of involved. I don’t want any complications in my life right now.”

“The man you told your parents about,” he guessed. “The one who is supposed to see you in that skirt.”

She nodded. “I think he’s the one.”

Brock wanted to change her mind. And he knew a dozen ways to do it. Ways that could bring them both to the pinnacle of satisfaction. Ways that could induce her to tell him anything he wanted to know. But something made him pull back. A nagging sense of integrity that he’d never let affect his work before.

He straightened and stepped away from the bed. “Then I’ll say good night.”

“Good night, Brock.”

He walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. He wanted the skirt. He wanted Kate. But he didn’t have his hands on the former and couldn’t have his hands on the latter. This mission was becoming more complicated by the moment.

He headed into the bathroom for a second cold shower.

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