Her Perfect Stranger

2

Corrine stared at her perfect stranger, shocked. Although it was dark all around them, she could feel his searching gaze on her, like a caress. In the depths of his warm, blessedly dry jacket, she shivered.

Not from the cold now, but from something far more complicated.

Another woman joined the nervous young receptionist behind the desk. "I'm the manager," she said to Corrine. "We're terribly sorry for the inconvenience, but as you can see, with no power and the generator not operating properly, we're in no position to get you a room or help you find another place. You can wait the storm out here in the lobby or make your own arrangements."

Wait the storm out? In this cold, dark, noisy room with all these other unhappy people?

Or she could hike back out there and try to catch a cab.

Some choice.

The man behind her stirred, just enough to have his thigh brush the back of hers, and everything inside her went still, then hot.

He'd offered his room.

And his bed.

Probably his body, too.

Please, her own body begged her brain. Oh, pretty, pretty please.

"Ma'am?" The manager looked at Corrine, impatience shimmering. She had other people to cater to at the moment, to smile at and try to appease.

What to do?

Corrine had been born to rule. Just ask her parents, who'd called her Queen Bee since day one. Her mom, a biochemist, and her father, a cardiologist, joked that it was in her genetic makeup to be the boss.

Corrine had to admit she'd lived up to their predictions.

Maybe if she'd been raised by people who hadn't understood her, who hadn't encouraged her to do whatever she wanted to do, be whatever she wanted to be, she might have turned out to be a holy terror, but truthfully, she wasn't spoiled at all. Shortly after her family had moved to Houston when she was a child, she'd dreamed of becoming an astronaut. She worked damn hard for what she wanted, and never gave up until she got it. No matter if it was being high school valedictorian, or graduating from college a year early, or entering the Manned Space Flight Program at NASA because she was determined to fly space shuttles. She'd not only entered, but had succeeded beyond everyone's expectations.

Except her own, that is.

Thanks to unwavering tenacity, sheer stubbornness and damned hard work, she'd risen through the ranks, flown on a record four missions to date as pilot, and was now going to be only the third woman in history to command a mission.

So maybe she was confident. And okay, a little tough. But to make it in space and aeronautics, traditionally run by men, she had to be. Corrine knew she used that toughness to purposely scare and intimidate the people around her, but she'd never have made it so far if she hadn't.

In that spirit, she considered demanding a staff room, but something happened. The man's fingers, still on her waist, spread wide now, his thumb skimming over her side, then her belly, making the muscles there quiver like crazy.

"I have a room," he said again quietly, her perfect stranger. Her perfect, mouthwateringly gorgeous stranger, who had an unbelievably sexy voice, with sexy eyes, sexy hands and an even sexier body to go with it.

What his fingers were doing to her system should have been illegal. She could no longer even see straight, she was so consumed with lust for this man, who was more handsome than the devil, thrillingly rough around the edges and full of promised sin. He had a slow, sensual smile that lit up the night. He was intelligent, humorous, and he wanted to share his room with her.

"What do you think?" he asked.

That she was crazy. That she had an intensely structured, controlled schedule for the next months. She was too mature for this.

Too…busy.

Oh damn, but that sounded pretentious. Why couldn't it be simple? Why couldn't she be as entitled to one night of frivolity as anyone else? She'd been too long without this sort of connection, and she deserved it, deserved one night of pure selfishness and pleasure, where no one would bow to her, kowtow to her commands or try to brownnose. She was entitled to be a woman once in a while.

Wasn't she?

As calmly as possible, she turned back to the manager, on the off chance this had all been some mistake.

But the woman was shaking her head. "I'm sorry."

The relief Corrine felt surprised her, but she was always honest, maybe to a fault. In light of that, she had to admit, at least to herself, that she didn't really want a way out of this. She'd flown into Huntsville to deal with an emergency. Whatever it was, it was big, and it would affect both her and the space-shuttle mission she'd lived and breathed for a year and a half now.

For these remaining months she wouldn't have any time to herself. None. This was it. This one last night.

It scared her how much she wanted it.

Turning in the dark, she bumped into his chest, and could tell by his quick, indrawn breath that she affected him every bit as much as he affected her. Silly, she wanted to tell him. Juvenile. We're acting like hormonal teenagers.

His fingers played again at the base of her spine. And all those hormones unleashed by her own hunger leaped and jerked within her. Breathing became optional. She wanted to melt to the floor in a boneless heap of jelly.

It should have been embarrassing. Awkward, at the very least. There should have been fear and doubt, for a million different reasons; that she didn't even know his name should have led the pack.

Instead, the strangest feeling of…rightness flooded her.

In the dark she craned her neck, trying to see his face clearly. She couldn't, and she felt more than actually saw his slow, easy smile.

Everything inside her reacted, helplessly.

Oh yeah. She was absolutely in the right place with the right man. "Yes," she said.

"Yes?"

She inhaled deeply. "Yes, I'd like to share your room."

The receptionist and manager had both leaned close to hear her answer, and then looked like maybe they wanted to cry in relief. "His key will work," the manager said. "The electronic keying system is on emergency power and is one of the few things actually operating right now. You'll have no problem getting into the room."

Behind them, the crowd was growing impatient.

Her perfect stranger, who smelled like heaven and had a touch nearly as divine, didn't say a word, just took her hand, lifted it to his lips and then, still holding on to her, took the lead.

And for the second time that night, and for only the second time in her entire life, she followed.

More than once in his life Mike had been accused of being cocky and confident, yet laid-back and easygoing. Sometimes downright lazy.

But as anyone who'd ever worked with him could attest, he was actually a very controlled man. It wasn't often he lost that control, but he nearly did now. He had an incredibly beautiful woman by the hand and was taking her to his room, and he had no idea what she expected.

The guys would laugh hysterically at that, he knew, for Mike had quite the reputation, especially when it came to women.

But the truth was, much of that bad-boy rep was hype, at least in the past few years, when he'd been far too busy to live up to it.

Through the dark, he glanced at her over his shoulder and found her watching him. He squeezed her hand and smiled.

She returned both the squeeze and the smile, and his body actually twitched with excitement. With any luck at all, his fantasy and reality were going to commingle tonight.

They crossed the large, noisy lobby carefully, winding their way through the unsettled crowd.

"Are all these people stranded?" she wondered aloud.

Mike didn't stop, but squeezed her hand again. "Looks like it."

"This is terrible."

It was, and he felt badly, too, but not enough to invite more up to share his room. In the midst of work, work, work, he'd somehow found a little something for himself. Frivolous. Dangerous even, considering the day and age and all the problems associated with recreational sex, but there was something about this woman that told him she was different.

A soft glow from various lanterns and candles lit the way to the elevators, which of course weren't working. There were people there, too, staring with dismay at the closed doors.

Mike's room was on the sixth floor.

It could have been worse, far worse. "We have to take the stairs," he said regretfully, pulling her up beside him. He felt bad, though not for himself. Given the physical demands of his job, not to mention the rigorous training he was constantly put through, he could take the stairs in two minutes without breaking a sweat.

But she wouldn't find it so easy. Her wet skirt, while not skimpy by any means, had to be confining, and those heels…well, they showed off her mouthwatering legs, but they couldn't be comfortable. In the dim light, her damp hair shone. Her skin did, too, along with her eyes, which were filled with deep, dark mysteries. "Six flights of stairs," he added apologetically.

She murmured noncommittally.

"We'll take it slow," he assured her, and could have sworn she laughed. But when he peered through the dark at her face, she was smiling slightly.

"Ready when you are," she said.

When he opened the door to the stairwell, an inky blackness greeted them. To reassure the woman next to him, he once again took her hand. "Don't worry," he said, pulling from his pocket a pen that was also a flashlight. When he flicked it on, she looked at him in surprise.

"You actually carry a flashlight? In your pocket?"

Yes, he carried a flashlight. And a hand-held electronic organizer. And a state-of-the-art cell phone that could download from the net and retrieve his e-mail. He was a techno-geek and couldn't help himself, but in his defense, he'd spent years and years in Russia, far from his home country. His toys somehow made him feel closer.

"You must be an engineer," she decided.

"I am not."

Her lips were curved, her eyes lit with humor, and she was so beautiful she took his breath away.

"Are you sure?" She was still teasing. "Now that I think about it, you look like one."

"Do you really want to know?" he asked softly, suddenly wanting to tell her about himself, wanting to hear all about her in return. It was silly, dangerous even, because with that additional emotional connection, he knew whatever they shared this night was bound to be the most powerful affair he'd ever had.

She stared at him, searched deep in his eyes for God knew what. And then, finally, she shook her head. "It's tempting," she whispered regretfully, lifting her hand to gently touch his mouth. "But no. I don't want to know."

For a long moment he didn't move, hoping, wishing she'd change her mind, but then the moment passed and he forced a smile. "I like to be prepared," he said, directing the flashlight ahead of them. And please, God, let me be "prepared" with a condom in my shaving kit.

"Prepared." She let out a little laugh, again a slightly rusty sound, as if she didn't do it often, and he smiled back.

Make that a box of condoms, he thought.

They started up the stairs. At the top of the first flight, Mike paused. "Need a rest?"

"After one flight of stairs?" She shook her head. "Tell me I don't look that fragile to you."

She was petite but not frail, not with all those wonderful curves and a face so full of life. "You don't look fragile to me," he said after a good long look that stirred his body.

"Smart answer."

They climbed another flight, and when Mike again paused at the top, she lifted a brow. "Do you need to rest?"

He smiled and they started on the next flight, but at a burst of wild laughter ahead of them, he once again slowed to a stop. Sprawled across the stairs, two men were sharing a flask of what had to be pretty potent stuff, given their wide, slack, idiotic grins.

"Looksy there," one said, slurring his words as he nudged the man next to him. "Now that's the way to pass the time, matey." The drunk leered at Mike and gave an exaggerated wink. "Don't need to tell you to keep warm, huh? You've got your heating blankie right there with you."

Both men laughed uproariously, and as they did, slipped down a few stairs, to fall together in a heap. It made them laugh even harder.

"Feeling no pain, I see." Mike stepped over them and helped her do the same.

The next flight of stairs began the same way, but then they heard a strange, heated moaning, then rapid panting. Mike didn't know what he expected to find. A fight, maybe. Someone stabbed or shot, someone in labor…he couldn't tell from the frightening sounds. He was prepared for anything, though, and tried to keep the woman behind him to protect her.

But she refused to be kept there, even for her own good. She evaded his hands and stayed stubbornly by his side.

The sounds came from a couple, and it wasn't a fight or severe wounds, as he'd feared, but a wild mating. Clothes were half torn off both of them. They were writhing together against the wall, and given the scream of pleasure that tore from the woman's lips, they were also deep in the throes of orgasm.

Mike looked at "Lola," but she didn't close her eyes or seem embarrassed. She just stared at the couple in front of them, as if mesmerized.

They had a perfect view. The woman was wedged up against the wall; the man could touch and grab at will, which he was doing. Her breasts were bare, and bouncing wildly in the man's face, which elicited plenty of encouraging groans from both of them. His hands snaked up her skirt, where he held her hips so that he could thrust into her, time and time again.

"Now! Now!" she shrieked. "Oh, Billy, now!"

"Yeah," said Billy as he pounded into her. "Yeah, baby."

"Ohh." Breasts jiggled. Her bottom bounced. Skin slapped against skin. "Oh, Billy, I'm going to come again!"

"Yeah, baby. Me, too."

Together they let out more shrieks and cries, and then moaning gutturally, they slumped together.

The woman standing next to Mike let out a strangled sound of her own. "Can we get past them, do you think?"

She sounded…breathless, and her palm in his had gotten warm. Almost sweaty.

Mike knew the feeling. He had never considered himself voyeuristic, but witnessing this couple, with Lola beside him, his desire kicked up a degree. He was so hot, so hard and so unbelievably ready he could hardly nod. "Game on," he muttered, and together the two of them started running.

Up the fifth flight, then the sixth.

At the top, Mike stopped, certain he'd gone too fast this time.

"If you ask me if I need to rest," she said seriously, "I will smack you."

She wasn't even winded. Neither was he, but hell, they'd come a long way up.

"And if you marvel about what good shape I'm in," she continued, "when you're obviously in just as good a shape, I'll-"

"I know," he said. "Smack me. Don't worry, I'll restrain myself and admire your strength later. Come on."

They made it to his door. No one was around, and the hallway was pitch-black except for the light from his trusty flashlight.

Taking out his key card, he looked down into her face. She was watching him with an unreadable expression. Slowly he reached out and stroked a finger over her cheek, her jaw. "Are you sure?"

"Already sorry you asked me?"

"Are you kidding?"

"Well then, I'm not sorry I'm here." She lifted a hand, too, and touched his face, ran her finger over his lower lip, over his jaw so that his day-old growth of beard rasped loudly in the silent hall. When she rimmed his ear, he sucked in a harsh breath, every muscle tight and tense.

"Are we going to stand out here all night?" she asked. "Or go in and…"

"And?" he pressed, stepping closer and running his fingers down her neck now, delighting in the shiver that wracked her. He stroked his thumb over the pulse dancing wildly at the base of her throat.

"And finish this," she whispered, her eyes closing, her head falling back slightly to give him more room. "Let's finish what we started the moment we looked into each other's eyes. Okay?"

"Oh yeah. It's more than okay." And with his body-and heart-buzzing, he put his key card in the slot.