pleasant evening and, other than that last dance, she’d managed to keep from launching herself into his arms. Or into his lap. Or at his mouth.
Which would have been entirely too easy.
Meg paused outside her door and turned to face him. Lashes at half-mast, those butterscotch orbs had darkened into a warm caramel. Meg suppressed a shiver. Her mouth dried…watered. Her gaze strayed to his full, firm lips and, with effort, she swallowed. “I’ve had a really good time tonight. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” His gaze dropped to her mouth. Lingered. He cleared his throat. “Are you leaving tomorrow?”
Meg shook her head. “I’ll be here all week.”
He released a small breath. “Me, too. Can I see you again?”
A bud of pleasure unfurled in her chest. “Sure.”
The space between them had mysteriously lessened, Meg noted as her gaze once again returned to his lips.
“Same time tomorrow night?”
“It’s a date.”
“Then let’s seal it with a kiss.” He framed her face gently and his mouth descended to hers. His lips were firm, yet soft, and deliciously warm, and the taste of whiskey still clung to them. Meg moaned with pleasure, sank more firmly against him and angled her head to grant him better access.
Mamma-mia. This man knew how to kiss.
He knew precisely how to alternate pressure, how to suckle, how to explore the ultra-sensitive recesses of her mouth. His tongue curled around hers, plundered in and out, back and forth, and while his mouth laid siege to hers, his hands had started an equally thorough expedition.
But that was okay, because hers had too.
Meg mapped his chest with her palms, felt the hard muscles bunch beneath her hands, vibrate at her touch. When she’d gotten her feel for those areas, she moved north, to his massive shoulders, then on to his nape, where she curled her fingers into the silky tawny locks.
Nick’s hands were equally eager. He palmed her ribs, barely thumbing the undersides of her breasts. Up! Up! Meg wanted to scream. Her nipples ached with need, puckered for attention. She longed to feel his mouth anchored there, feeding on her as his lips fed now on her mouth.
His big warm hands traveled round the small of her back and settled on her rump. He squeezed her there, drew her upward and aligned her so that she came navel to zipper with the evidence of his arousal. Desire flooded her sex, moisture drenched her feminine folds. Nick swallowed her groan of want as she moved impatiently against him. Need clawed at her, consumed her, made her wiggle shamelessly against him. She wanted—
“Didn’t we get you a room?”
The vaguely familiar humorous male voice shattered the sensual fog and Meg and Nick broke apart guiltily. Meg turned…and came face-to-face with Ann and a man whom she could only assume was Marcus Kent.
Mortification glued her tongue to the roof of her mouth. “I—uh.”
The man extended his hand. “Marcus Kent. You’re Desiree, right?”
Meg nodded, still bewildered. “Right.”
“I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.” His gaze bounced to Nick, glinted with something strangely akin to hunger. “And your significant other, Antonio.”
Nick frowned. “An—”
“It’s so nice to finally meet you, Mr. Kent,” Meg rushed to impart before Nick could finish.
Mr. Kent reluctantly returned his attention to Meg. “I know that you have a busy day tomorrow, Desiree. But at some point over the next week, I’d really like to meet with you and your partner. I’ve been anxious to get a hetero male opinion of some of those new products we’re reviewing.” He eagerly turned to Nick. “For instance, those new penis jelly rings. Man to man, Antonio,” he confided, edging closer to Nick, “do they really prolong an erection?”
Nick’s eyes bulged. “Wh—”
“We’ll have to get back to you on that, Mr. Kent. It was a pleasure meeting you.” Meg crammed the key card in the lock, shoved the door open and herded Nick inside. “See you tomorrow,” Meg trilled amiably. She sagged against the door, then turned to face Nick.
Meg winced at his thunderstruck expression. “Sorry about that.”
“Penis jelly ring? What the hell is that man talking about?”
“Dunno,” Meg lied, studiously avoiding his gaze. She opened her side of the connecting door and nimbly guided Nick to it.
Gone was the jovial charmer. The shrewd attorney had taken his place. “I suspect you do. And why did he call me ‘your partner’?”
Inwardly, Meg sighed. There was no way around it. She had to level with him. Especially if she thought he might be persuaded to don the role of her partner while they were here. She’d considered it. What choice did she have now that they’d been seen together? The he’s-gone-to-donate-a-kidney story certainly wouldn’t fly now—they’d see him around the hotel.
Honestly, who would have thought that one cocktailed trip through cyberspace in search of a vibrator to remedy her perpetually aroused state would result in this chaos?
Meg nervously cleared her throat. “Okay, here’s the truth. I am a pastry chef.” The rest she spewed out in a rush. “I’m-also-an-online-sex-toy-critic-in-town-for-a-trade-show-and-that-man-in-the-hall-was-my-editor-and-he-thinks-that-you’re-my-partner-Antonio-whom-I’ve-been-sleeping-with-while-I’ve-been-critiquing-various-products-over-the-past-several-months. Understand?”
If possible, his dumbfounded expression intensified. “No, I—” Meg leaned forward and captured his lips with hers. She threw every bit of her yearning into the kiss—every ounce of want—then abruptly drew back, making him stagger forward. “G’night,” she murmured breathlessly. “We’ll discuss this later.”
Then she closed the door on his gorgeous, thoroughly bewildered face.
4
ASTOUNDED, NICK BLINKED as the door closed in his face. Blinked again. It took a moment to realize that Desiree wasn’t going to open the door and offer any other explanation for the bizarre episode in the hall. Numb with shock, Nick entered his own room, crossed to the bed and collapsed onto the mattress. His breath left him in a whoosh.
What in God’s name had just happened? Since he’d agreed to this maniacal plan of Ron’s, Nick’s predictable, uncluttered life—which he, for the most part, enjoyed—had made a left turn at Strange and exited onto Bizarre.
If he’d heard and interpreted Desiree’s hurried soliloquy correctly, that man in the hall was laboring under the incorrect assumption that his name was Antonio, he and Desiree were lovers—had been lovers for several months—and that, he, Nick Devereau, enjoyed kinky sex and had used something called a penis jelly ring to prolong his erection.
A band of tension tightened around Nick’s skull. The hard-on he’d enjoyed as a result of that mind-blowing kiss promptly wilted.
How had this happened? Nick wondered. How had his plan gone so totally awry? Admittedly, it had never been the best plan. Nick knew that. But, in the end, what choice had he had? Guilt had gotten the better of Nick and had propelled him into action once again on his brother’s behalf.
He’d had to help Ron.
And while his “charm her” strategy wasn’t exactly the noblest cause of action, the woman in question was an adult. She could refuse to be charmed, he’d reasoned when his conscience had howled its disapproval. She didn’t have to even give him the time of day.
But all of that had been when the woman had simply been a target—not a person.
Not her.
Unbidden,