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.”
Meg’s insides froze. Antonio? The fictitious Antonio? “Well,” Meg faltered, “I’m not sure that my, uh— That Antonio would be comfortable talking about our—”
“Oh, don’t worry about that. Mr. Kent will put him right at ease. He has a way of doing that.”
That would be fine, Meg thought, if she had an Antonio to put at ease! How on earth would she get out of this mess? She’d have to think of something, and quick. The man would be here tomorrow, expecting to meet her…and dear old Antonio. Dread mushroomed inside her. Her dinner—which she’d enjoyed—curdled in her stomach.
“Well, I won’t keep you,” Ann told her, standing. She drew her purse from the back of the chair. “I’m sure you’re anxious to get upstairs and, er, get started.”
Meg managed a weak goodbye. Her mind whirled. Actually, she had been anxious to get back upstairs so that she could wait for Nick. But now… Now, she had a mess to deal with. It had never occurred to her that she would need to bring a partner, that they would expect her to have him here with her.
But it should have.
This was a sex-toy trade show and she, a critic.
Meg absently worried her bottom lip. Well, she would think of something. She would make up a lie. She’d simply tell them that poor Antonio had been called home on an emergency. His mother was ill, his house had been hit by a tornado, his brother needed a kidney transplant and he was the only match. Something. Meg snorted at the extreme scenarios her desperate mind created. In for a penny, in for a pound, she thought. Might as well make it a good one.
Meg stood and refused to think about it anymore. She would handle it in the morning. Right now she needed to get back upstairs. To wait for Nick. A tingle of excitement bubbled through her.
Though the meal had been delicious, she’d barely been able to eat. It had been a long time since she’d had anything that remotely resembled a date—she’d been too busy double-timing it up her career path to enjoy any sort of social life—and something about this guy… Meg paused consideringly. Physical attraction aside, something about this guy seemed different. She didn’t know exactly what yet, but she intuitively knew that the potential for something extraordinary had been presented to her and she didn’t intend to waste it.
Besides, now that she’d decided to momentarily ditch her ho-hum life and trade it in for the week for an exciting one, she couldn’t wait to get started. Meg shuddered to think about what that said about the life she’d led to date, that she’d be so willing to abandon it. True, since the scholarship fiasco she’d forsaken all men and pursued her career with single-minded determination. But had it really been that bad? That boring? That empty?
Yes.
With that disturbing realization in mind, Meg hurried to her room. Rather than sit on the end of the bed and twiddle her thumbs while she waited for him, she took the opportunity to straighten up. Meg couldn’t stand clutter, liked her surroundings balanced, harmonized and color-coordinated. In her line of work, presentation was almost as important as the quality of the dish she prepared and that mentality had spilled over into other areas of her life. She’d been told she was maddeningly meticulous. Meg grinned. She just considered herself thorough.
Less than five minutes passed when a soft knock sounded at the connecting door. So he’d been just as anxious. Meg felt a grin tug at her lips. Taking a fortifying breath, she smoothed her jacket and opened the door.
“Hi,” she managed. He looked devastating. He wore khaki trousers, a white oxford shirt and a come-hither smile that melted Meg’s insides.
“Ready?”
“Sure.”
Meg slipped her key card back into her purse and allowed him to escort her from the room. The sheer size of him struck her again. Her head lay a good two inches below his shoulder. Though totally against her feminist nature, the thought made her feel safe. Protected. This was the sort of man that a cave woman would want to take as a husband. A big, tough, muscled warrior who would defend and protect.
A ribbon of heat curled through her. Need consumed her, made her knees momentarily go weak. Hell, they hadn’t even made it to the elevator and yet she found herself hit with the insane notion to skip the drinks altogether and drag him back to her room.
Which was ridiculous, of course, because Meg had never dragged any man to her bed, much less a complete stranger. And while this man happened to be the answer to her every carnal fantasy, he was still a stranger.
He was just a stranger she was impossibly attracted to.
But she didn’t have to consider what Meg would do, she reminded herself, only what Desiree would do, and this week she was Desiree. A sly smile curled her lips as she cast a sidelong glance at her companion. The possibilities were endless.
Nick guided her into the elevator with a hand at her elbow. The minimal contact nonetheless ignited a sparkler of pleasure low in her belly. “Did you enjoy your dinner?” he asked, pulling Meg from her mental musings.
“I did,” she replied. “What about you? Have you eaten?”
“I ordered room service.”
Well, that took care of that line of conversation.
Now what were they going to talk about? Meg wondered as the silence yawned between them.
“Fifty percent chance of rain tonight,” he remarked casually.
“Is that right?”
He rocked back on his heels. “So I heard.”
“I like rain,” Meg replied, her lips curling into a small grin.
“I do, too.”
“Makes me sleepy.”
The elevator glided to a smooth halt. He twined his fingers with hers and waited for the doors to open. “That covers the traditional pleasantries,” he murmured, his voice a smooth decadent rumble. “How about we move on to a more interesting topic of conversation.”
“Like what?” Meg chuckled.
His lazy, half-lidded gaze captured hers. “You.”
Oh, he was smooth. Definitely out of her league and she out of her element. What on earth was she doing? “You’d be sadly disappointed if you thought I’d be a more interesting topic of conversation.”
He gave her a sideways glance. “I doubt it.”
They strolled into the lounge and found a secluded table tucked past the bar. In a gentlemanly fashion Meg hadn’t witnessed in ages, Nick obligingly pulled out her chair.
“What would you like to drink?” he asked.
“Chardonnay.”
“It’ll be quicker if I go to the bar.” He squeezed her shoulder. “Don’t go away.”
Like hell, Meg thought as she watched him cross the room. Once again she found herself thrown into the grip of another bout of yearning. The man walked with an economy of movement, languid yet purposeful. Nick Devereau was obviously a man who felt comfortable in his own skin.
Meg had always prided herself on her ability to size a person up. She read confidence in the breadth of his shoulders, a smidge of arrogance in the tilt of his