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Retreat Hell! She Just Got Here(3)

By:Heatlerh Long


Forty-five long minutes later, the food waited patiently under silver lids. The staff had rolled in a no-frills table with a simple white cloth covering the portable surface. Zach could damn near taste the steak, but at least Logan wasn’t pacing anymore. A pair of light staccato raps on the suite door echoed through the sitting room. Muting the game, Zach headed for the door. He didn’t miss the hard tension stiffening Logan’s posture.

Not letting himself dwell on the dozen ways this could go wrong, he opened the door to the sexiest pair of legs he’d ever seen. Zach’s entire body went taut, his cock thrumming into an erection between one heartbeat and the next. The long tan legs were attached to a pair of flared hips. Flat tummy, curvy waist and higher still to the firm, full breasts threatening to spill out of the plunging V neckline that ended at her belly button. Her skin was a rich golden sheen, kissed by the sun, but not quite tanned.

A winsome face, smoky black eyes and a pixie cap of curls completed the package. If not for the silk sheathe, she looked like she’d just tumbled out of bed.

Fuck me…please….

The thought echoed through his brain, locking his tongue.

“Mr. Evans?” The woman’s—Jasmine’s—brows lifted, her sexy mouth tilted up into a half smile, the patient kind women used when a man behaved like an ass.

“Zach, ma’am.” He pulled the door the rest of the way open. “Would you like to come in?”

His position gave him the full view of her first hesitant step inside and the way the dress swished around her ass. His attention rebounded to Logan, whose eagerness warred with satisfaction. He stood frozen, in mid-rise from his position at the table, his stare fixed on their date.

And he’d wanted to go play blackjack.

Closing the door, Zach blew out a long breath. His cock already ached with the idea of the next few hours, but his soul managed a fist pump. Hard-as-nails-and-down-on-himself Logan watched, transfixed, at the goddess striding into the room as though she owned it.

Hell, she already owns me. And Logan is a goner.





Chapter Two





Knocking on the door took more willpower than walking down the long, carpeted hallway from the elevators in the black Christian Louboutins with their fuck me red bottoms. The four-inch heels added a sharp definition to her already muscled legs. She’d been damn grateful for that uncomfortable wax job after she’d slipped on the satin and silk number that hugged every curve with just the slightest flare over her hips before it dropped down her thighs. The skirt’s slit left very little of her right leg to the imagination.

The heels forced a hip-rolling saunter and despite a brief moment of discomfort, every step increased the aura of the illusion she’d sought to create. She felt almost desirable by the time she knocked on the door to 2106. One deep breath and a roll of her head later, she smiled when the door opened to a heart-stopping blond man in a white dress shirt and black pants.

Holy crap.

The four top buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned, revealing a well-muscled chest decorated by sprigs of white-blond hair. His sun-kissed face broadened into a hesitant smile, but no words came out.

“Mr. Evans?” She had little to go on beyond a brief physical description of each man and their names. The blond was Evans. The brunet would be Cavanaugh. But she hadn’t caught sight of him yet.

“Zach, ma’am.” He found his voice and pulled the door the rest of the way open. “Would you like to come in?”

Ordering the butterflies in her stomach to don battle gear, Jazz slid past him, almost wishing he hadn’t stepped so far back. She wondered if he was as solid as he appeared. But whatever hesitation she experienced imploded when the second man in the room rose to his feet. A scar turned the left side of his mouth downward, but the right side tipped up. If she didn’t know better she would have read surprise in his expression.

“Mr. Cavanaugh.” She extended her hand, wanting to see if he would meet her halfway. Thankfully, he did. The weight of his hand closed on hers and a thrill skated up her arm to spread a wildfire through her insides. The mottled skin puckering his jaw and stretching down the side of his neck suggested an ugly burn, but did nothing to detract from his tanned, handsome face. If anything, it added gravitas to what might otherwise have been a sculpture of perfection.

“Jasmine.” The husky intonation of her name detonated liquid heat between her thighs. Force of will kept a quiver of need from stretching down her legs. Instead, she shook his hand, enjoying the solid force of strength in his grip, but he released her too soon. Her palm itched with the urge to take his hand again.