“No!” she said quickly. Then she ducked her head shyly and swallowed her disgust. “I want to surprise him.”
The concierge grinned lustily. He was a true romantic. “The elevators are to your right,” he whispered, as though they were conspirators.
“Thank you,” she said over her shoulder, for she was already crossing the lobby with hurried footsteps. After what must be the slowest elevator in the world finally ground to a halt, she stepped into it and pressed the button for the fourth floor. As it ascended, she rehearsed the aspersions she was going to heap on him.
When the doors slid open, she barged out and stormed down the hallway, realized she was going the wrong way, spun around, and struck off in the opposite direction until she stood outside his room.
Her knock was none too gentle. It echoed down the long narrow corridor. She’d be lucky if no one else peeked out their door to see who was behaving with such noisy rudeness so early in the morning.
The occupant of Room 429 hadn’t stirred, so she knocked again with more emphasis. There was a rustling of covers and suddenly Jordan realized that he might not be alone. Her heart lurched sickly at that thought, but she stubbornly raised her chin. She had come to tell him just what she thought of him, and she didn’t care if she had an audience.
Resolution made her next knock on the heavy wooden door thunderous. This time she heard a mumbled curse and the squeaking of a mattress. Soft footsteps brought him to the other side of the door.
“Yes?” It was more a belligerent growl than a word.
“Open the door,” was all she said.
There was a momentary hesitation, then she heard the lock being flipped up and the door swung open. He was standing behind it, out of sight.
She pushed past the door, her eyes going immediately to the bed. They found it empty, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Her back was rigid as she stamped further into the room.
“Come in,” he said dryly from behind her.
She swiveled around and confronted him, armed with righteous indignation and intent on dressing him down until he begged for forgiveness.
But Reeves didn’t fight fair. He was naked.
Tousled strands of mahogany-colored hair hung on his forehead. His hands were planted firmly on his hips in an arrogant pose. To a woman who was fighting for her life as well as combating a strong attraction to the man, he was a formidable foe.
She hadn’t considered that she might find him this way. She knew he would probably be asleep, but she hadn’t thought beyond that. Now her motivation drained from her under the destructive force of his arresting masculinity. The hair on his chest grew in a mesmerizing pattern that she traced with her eyes. It tapered to a thin silky line that disappeared into…
His legs were long and lean and hard. He exuded virile power. What a frail exercise her attack would be. How could she possibly win? To him she must appear foolish, charging in as she had done.
Even as she glared at him, he yawned broadly and politely covered it with his hand. That insouciance angered her as nothing else had and her rage came back in full force. But before she had a chance to vent it, he said, “Don’t you think you’re being rather forward? Didn’t your mother ever tell you that men like to be the aggressors?”
“Damn you!” she threw at him. “How could you do such a despicable thing? Never in my life have I known anyone with less sensitivity.”
He stared at her a moment with something akin to amusement lighting his green eyes. He walked past her, picked up his wristwatch from the bedside table, checked the time, and then sat down on the edge of the bed. “What could I have possibly done this early in the day to make you so angry?”
“Oh, please, spare me the innocent act. You know what you’ve done. Your deceit is surpassed only by your grasping ambition. I spilled my whole life story to you—” As she launched into her tirade, he leaned back against the pillows and raised one knee, resting a dangling hand on it. She averted her eyes quickly and asked unsteadily, “Would you please put some… clothes on?”
“No.”
She whirled her head back to him. “You’re wretched.”
“I?” he asked. “I? You’re the one who came barging into my bedroom at this ungodly hour. You routed me out of bed. I don’t sleep in my clothes. This is the way you found me, and I don’t feel inclined to dress at the moment.”
“You’re indecent.”
His eyes toured her figure and a lewd grin spread across his face. “So is what I’m thinking.”
She gritted her teeth, but wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of honoring his provocative words. Willing her eyes away from his nakedness, she restructured her thoughts and asked, “Do you know a man named James Parker?”