Hell, he’d be a fool not to show up at eight. And he’d be an even bigger fool to walk into some unknown woman’s fantasy.
“Jack? Jack. I asked if you plan to confront Paul Lederman.” Mallory asked, obviously confused by his inability to concentrate. She stared at him openly behind those damn black-rimmed glasses.
He had the absurd urge to confide in her and that in itself told him what a bizarre frame of mind he’d been in since starting this trip. Now this. He lifted the note and held it to his nose.
Floral? Oriental? He couldn’t place the scent, though he had the sense he’d smelled it before. In his dreams, Jack thought.
“Maybe we ought to do this some other time. You’re obviously distracted.” Mallory rose from her seat.
“Wait.”
“Why? Nothing I do or say seems to hold your interest. Why don’t you take care of personal matters and we can meet up again later.”
He let out a long groan. “Have a seat, Mallory. You asked if I plan on confronting Lederman. The answer is no. This is how the man operates. He likes to build trust slowly. That’s why we’re here, for him to assess us, to build trust. The firm still handles most of his business, but this…this is personal. When he’s ready, he’ll confide.”
“And in the meantime?” She tapped her foot against the white concrete.
“We wait. Enjoy the beach. The view.” Come on time. And come hungry. “The food,” he muttered.
“Excuse me?”
He shook his head. She was right. No way in hell could he concentrate on business now—whoever sent this invitation could be watching him. Assessing him. Appraising him. His body shook in reaction.
Mallory grabbed for her pad. “Maybe you’re coming down with something. You’ve got the chills.”
More like he was burning with anticipation. “You’re right. Let’s meet up again later.”
She nodded. “Get some rest first. How does eight tonight sound?”
He sucked in a breath of ocean air and forced a grin. “I thought I told you to consider this a semi-vacation. Take the night off and we’ll talk in the morning.”
“Suit yourself.” She turned and walked away.
He followed the sleek way she moved and the sway of her legs in her sensible sandals. Wasted potential, Jack thought, and it was a pity.
But he couldn’t think about Mallory now. He waved the note in the air, savoring the lingering scent and the arousing effect the perfume had on his senses. All of his senses, and no doubt that was the intention.
Whoever had sent the invitation meant to stimulate and arouse. Well she’d done a damn good job. So good he couldn’t get up from this table yet, and probably not for a long while. At least he’d have time to think about whether or not he’d show up as requested.
Who was he kidding? Jack knew damn well he’d be there. Whoever had gone to the trouble of seeking him out deserved to at least have him respond. In person. And his tingling flesh and burgeoning erection left no doubt he wanted to make an appearance as well.
TWILIGHT ENVELOPED the beach as night settled in. With burning anticipation, Jack watched the digital clock in his hotel room inch closer to the hour. He had to hand it to the anonymous sender of that note, she’d managed to set the stage for a seduction and keep him aroused the entire afternoon.
A soft breeze swept in through his open terrace door, traveling off the ocean. And his body throbbed in time to the lapping sound of the waves hitting the shore. His heart pounded frantically inside his chest. Desire flowed fast and furious.
Yet he had no idea who he was about to meet.
Did anonymity heighten the sense of anticipation? The excitement? Mystery was a potent aphrodisiac, that much was certain. The need to know, the desire to act out the fantasy, had him ignoring his self-imposed rules against one-night stands. Whether he’d regret making an appearance later, he didn’t know. But right now, nothing could keep him from inhaling that intoxicating scent in person. Nothing could prevent him from arriving on time. And as he locked the hotel door behind him and made his way outside and into the dark night, the frenzied fire, already ignited, burst into a potent, powerful flame.
The resort boasted ten secluded cabins, dotted along the beach. Thanks to the map in his hotel room, Cabin 10 wasn’t hard to find, even well-hidden beneath lush foliage. But keeping his cool was difficult and by the time he arrived, he’d actually broken into a sweat.
Jack Latham, the self-proclaimed playboy, the man who thrived on challenges and the women who provided them, was jittery and impatient. And also self-conscious, he admitted as he recalled the instructions he’d committed to memory after one reading.
Following those detailed instructions, he closed his eyes, raised his hand and knocked on the cabin door. In the darkness, sounds became magnified and his knuckles rasping against the door pounded inside him as well. Crickets chirped around him and the breeze rustled the neighboring branches. Seconds passed and then he heard creaking hinges as the door opened.
His stomach churned in anticipation and the urge to look was overwhelming. But the instructions had been clear. If he wanted his desires granted, he had to follow the rules and so he kept his eyes shut tight.
Without warning, a soft hand grabbed his wrist. His breath caught in his throat and his mouth grew dry. He found himself locked in a warm and gentle, yet firm and determined, grip. Not a word was spoken but an insistent pull propelled him ahead, probably inside the cabin.