found women waiting for him before. Not often, since he wasn’t the womanizer the press made him out to be. But when it happened, they were usually women he’d invited. Once, though, he’d had an unwanted female visitor who’d finagled her way into his room and waited for him in his bed. Naked. She’d been counting on his reputation—and her ample charms—to smooth over his anger at the invasion.
It hadn’t worked.
This wasn’t going to, either.
Though, he had to concede, the, uh, rear approach was an interesting one. Very interesting.
The sight of a woman’s curvy ass pointed up at him as its owner dug for something under the bed had been enough to stop him in his tracks right inside the penthouse bedroom. Judging by the way she was muttering, she hadn’t yet realized that she was no longer alone. Maybe she’d dropped whatever bit of tempting lingerie she’d intended to don as part of her seduction.
Honey, if I were that kinda guy, you wouldn’t need it. That skirt is doing a fine job on its own.
Especially given the blatantly sensual way it clung to her thighs, emphasizing the cleft between them.
He forced that thought away and focused on the situation. That a sports groupie had gotten into his room didn’t say much for this hotel. Of course, he wasn’t about to move to another one, not until he’d done what he came here to do.
Smothering a curse, he wondered if he should call security or try to deal with her himself. He’d been looking forward to a quiet room-service dinner before heading to the fund-raiser downstairs. He had his reasons for coming here, and being a soft touch when it came to animals in need was only one of them.
But this trip had also been about tying up loose ends from his past. Though, frankly, the idea of coming face-to-face with the person he hadn’t been able to get out of his head for seven years made him a lot more stressed than the fund-raiser appearance. Or the intruder.
The trip from the West Coast had been tiring, and the cold Chicago weather had hit him the moment he’d stepped out of the airport. He wanted a hot shower and a hot meal, not necessarily in that order. It appeared, however, that he was going to have to deal with Miss Perky Butt before he got either of those things.
She mumbled something again. Rand stepped a little closer, unable to resist dropping his gaze to that wriggling backside again as she wedged herself deeper under the bed. Now, standing almost directly above her, he was able to appreciate her...assets...further. He also noted her luscious legs, which were prominently displayed beneath the short navy skirt as she twisted and fidgeted.
Another shimmy. The skirt flipped a little—high enough that he could see the top hem of her thigh-high stockings.
He gulped. Not tights or pantyhose. Stockings. Hottest thing any woman could ever wear. Well, nothing was the hottest thing any woman could ever wear—but stockings were pretty close.
“What kind of kinky pervert leaves handcuffs attached to his bed?” she muttered.
Rand’s jaw dropped and his eyes widened. Handcuffs? Kinky?
The butt, the thighs, the warm, womanly voice, the handcuffs, the mental image of all things wild and kinky....
Hell. He had a hard-on.
He shifted from foot to foot, not wanting to hand the strange—if curvaceous—woman on the floor that kind of weapon. When she managed to pry herself out from under the bed and sit up, she’d be eye level with some major-league wood. And he wouldn’t be able to send her away by claiming he wasn’t interested. To be honest, his brain might not be, but his cock was trying to overrule the ump and call the play at the base.
“Pervy rich asshole,” she said. She tugged at something under the bed hard enough to make the whole thing jerk an inch away from the wall. “Ow!”
“Are you all right?” he couldn’t help asking. That thump had really sounded like it hurt.
“Oh, God,” the woman said. “Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God.” Then she did the strangest thing. Instead of sliding out—and pushing that skirt high enough for him to check out what else she was wearing beneath it—she went further under the bed. He heard her oomphing and grunting as she crawled deeper and deeper, until her navy-pump-covered feet disappeared.
He waited. Watched.
Finally, he murmured, “Uh, I think you went the wrong way.”
“Come back later, please. Your room’s not ready,” she said. Her voice was coarse and deep now; she sounded nothing at all the way she had when she’d been muttering about handcuffs, kink and perverts. Handcuffs and kink and perversions, oh, my.
“I’m not going anywhere. The room is as ready as I want it to be, and I really don’t need you planting yourself in my bed to surprise me, okay?”
“What?” she squealed. Thump. “Did you just...” Bang. “Ow!”
He sighed heavily then dropped to a squat beside the bed. Reaching under, he grabbed her ankles and began pulling her toward him, out into the open.
“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m helping you out myself and then showing you to the door. Would you rather I call security and let them do it?”
“Security? What? No, you don’t understand!”
He ignored her and continued to pull, tugging until her small feet emerged from under the bedskirt. She kicked at him, so he yanked the spiky-heeled pumps off her feet and tossed them over his shoulders across the room. “Stop kicking me. You’re outta here, lady. Your seduction plan didn’t work, and I want you gone. So just stop fighting me and come out.”
He resumed pulling, watching as shapely calves reappeared, followed by the soft crevices at the backs of her knees. That was one of his favorite spots on a woman’s body, and he steeled himself against wondering just how soft and silky this woman’s skin would be against his lips.
“Plan? Wait, seduction?” She stopped kicking at him and began shimmying out on her own, something in his words finally getting through to her. Rand crawled out of her way and stood up, watching first her thighs emerge—oh, God in heaven, those thighs—and then a sliver of blue fabric that was so not covering anything it was supposed to be covering.
Oh. Wait. Wrong sliver of blue fabric. No wonder the navy skirt wasn’t covering anything, it had apparently gotten caught on the underside of the bed and was now completely pulled up around her waist. Minuscule powder-blue panties did their best to cover the soft, round cheeks of her glorious ass, but their best wasn’t worth a damn.
He gulped, feeling like he’d inhaled a mouthful of sawdust, as his mouth went dry with want. He had the wildest urge to nibble at the elastic pantyline, and slide his tongue along the tender, sensitive spot where shapely cheek met slender thigh. She had to kneel a little to get up, and practically rose onto all fours. His eyes rounded and some seriously erotic ideas burst into his brain, because those thin panties did very little to conceal the secret place between her legs. But he forced the images away. At another point in his life, he might have been interested in what this stranger was after. But this trip was all about somebody else.
She tried tugging the skirt down, but it remained stuck around her waist. She forced herself the rest of the way out and rolled over, sitting on the floor beside the bed. He stared down at her, managing to jerk his attention off the lower half of her body, covered by nothing but stockings and panties, to look at a cloud of messy, light brown hair surrounding a heart-shaped face dominated by expressive, golden-brown eyes.
Then the truth hit him. Those expressive, golden-brown eyes were expressing nothing but anger and contempt. And that heart-shaped face was one he knew. Oh, Christ, did he know that face.
The room seemed to spin beneath his feet, and he groped for the back of a nearby chair to steady himself.
Because it was Emily Crowder.
Sweetly