Just Trust Me…

7

WEARING Brett’s Hawaiian shirt, which covered her to midthigh, Kayla stepped onto the small balcony of his hotel room. Echoes of music and an indistinguishable hum of voices floated over the cool night air from the nearby Plaza de Armas which was lined with numerous lively bars and discos. The moon shone in the sky, a luminous pearl against black satin. Stars twinkled like handfuls of scattered diamonds, the perfect backdrop for the grandeur of the Andes visible in their silvery glow. A breeze ruffled her hair, bringing with it the savory scent of food, and her stomach rumbled. They’d polished off the pizza hours ago.

Settling herself on the wrought-iron chair, she rifled through her canvas bag for her cell phone. She wasn’t sure how long Brett would be gone on his errand to hunt up some bottled water and snacks-what kind of hotel didn’t offer room service anyway?-and since it appeared that she was spending the night here, she needed to grab what would probably be her only chance to privately check her messages.

Flipping open her phone, which she’d set on Silent, Kayla noted she had eight voice mails and twenty text messages in her inbox. With a sigh, she opted to get the voice mails over with first. Three of the messages were from Meg regarding the wedding plans-no big surprise there. Two from Cindy, one asking how she liked the name Butterfly for a girl, the other complaining about Meg. Two calls were from her mom, one reiterating she was too young to be a grandmother, the other reporting that her hairdresser’s son’s divorce was final and that he’d be perfect for Kayla and should she set up a date?

The last message was from Nelson, left an hour ago, and she stilled as she heard his voice coming through the phone. “Hope the reason you’re not answering this call is because you’re somewhere with Thornton finding out everything you can about him and that damn formula. Keep me informed.”

She disconnected from voice mail and buried her face in her hands. Guilt weighed heavily on her, along with something else…something she was reluctant to name because she didn’t like it. Didn’t like the way it made her feel about herself and what she was doing. Shame, perhaps? her inner voice archly asked.

She blew out a long sigh. Yes, damn it, she was ashamed. Because she’d searched through his belongings as soon as he’d departed the room. Searched for something, anything that might offer the sort of clue Nelson expected her to find. But instead of feeling as if she were doing her job, she’d felt like a sneak. And she’d been disgusted with herself for invading his privacy. She’d had to force herself to do it, but that did little to assuage her conscience as she’d still done it. Her search had only served to tarnish the thrill and excitement of being with him with the crushing feeling that she no longer deserved to share such intimacies with him.

As soon as she’d discerned that he didn’t carry any folders marked Secret Formula or notebooks with scientific notations, she’d ceased her search, but the damage to her conscience was done. All she’d learned was that he packed light, had an obvious liking for Hawaiian print shirts, and clearly didn’t wear cologne. And that she didn’t like herself very much at that moment.

Since not liking herself felt uncomfortably close to the truth, Kayla shoved the notion aside and concentrated on the only slightly less palatable feeling crushing her-guilt. Guilt which was impossible to ignore as it was bombarding her from two directions.

One direction hinged on the fact that during the six hours she’d spent in Brett’s hotel room, she hadn’t once thought about La Fleur or the formula or Nelson or her reason for being here. The spying. The payback for the embarrassment and anger Brett’s rude departure from the La Fleur party had caused her with the board of directors. The bonus, perks and promotion Nelson had dangled before her like a diamond-encrusted carrot.

No, instead she’d thought of nothing but Brett. Of the incredible way he made her feel. How much she enjoyed his company. His intelligence and wit. His smile. His talented hands and mouth on her body. The single-minded concentration with which he explored and touched her.

His effect on her, her body and her senses, was nothing short of extraordinary. She’d experienced arousal and desire, lust and infatuation before, but this was like all those emotions tossed into a windstorm, then multiplied by ten. Which was ridiculous, considering she’d just met him. Yet her fierce attraction to him was undeniable.

Nor was it solely physical. Through the course of the afternoon and evening, she’d learned a great deal about him-all of which only served to confirm the favorable impression she’d formed when she’d first encountered him in the plaza.

Unfortunately the things she’d found out about him were not the sort of things Nelson wanted to know. He wanted to know if the formula really produced the anti-aging and aphrodisiac-like results Brett claimed, how it was able to do so, and what La Fleur needed to do to obtain it. Instead she’d discovered that Brett had played on his high-school tennis team. That he enjoyed a mean game of chess and singing in the shower, but he was completely tone-deaf and couldn’t carry a tune if you handed it to him in a gift box, which had led to much laughter…which had led to much kissing, which had led to the discovery that singing was only thing he didn’t excel at in the shower.

After their shower, while gorging on their pizza, she’d learned he’d been raised on Long Island, his parents still lived in the house where he grew up, he loved animals and museums, and disliked lima beans and noisy, trendy clubs. He always worked the New York Times crossword puzzle in ink, and his two closest friends were guys he’d known since grade school.

They’d discussed a wide array of topics, from movies-he liked old war films and new action-adventure flicks, anything where stuff was blown up, while she preferred romantic comedies-to books, where they’d discovered a mutual love of Agatha Christie and Harry Potter. They’d voted for the same candidate in the last election, and both loved Chinese food-although he preferred chicken with black bean sauce while her favorite was shrimp with broccoli. She liked attending the ballet while he preferred not attending the ballet ever, but they both enjoyed seeing Broadway shows.

She’d learned he was witty, intelligent and looked oh, so fine sitting cross-legged on a bedspread wearing nothing except a towel around his hips and a wicked gleam in his eyes. Never once had he bragged about what she knew from her file on him were his impressive professional credentials and affiliations. Nor had he mentioned his work, except to relate a couple of amusing laboratory disaster anecdotes.

She also knew he kissed better than any man she’d ever before kissed, that he was a skilled and generous lover, and that over the course of the evening, he’d brought her to orgasm six times. An image of them on the bed, the empty pizza box pushed to the floor along with their towels, her legs splayed wide and Brett’s dark head between her thighs, flashed through her mind, and she waved her hand in front of her face to dispel the heat that whooshed through her.

The man had magic hands, magic lips, a magic tongue. Magic…everything. And she fully expected that after he returned with food and drinks and they’d refueled, another orgasm or two lurked in their immediate future. Certainly she owed him at least one more-he’d only come three times.

She’d also learned that it was difficult to envision him as a fraud-Brett Thornton was nothing like the arrogant, reclusive, secretive, unfriendly, party-deserting man she’d expected-and that she liked him. Really liked him.

Of course, that could just be the six orgasms talking. There was nothing to dislike about that. Still, she’d be wise to remember that this giddy…infatuation or whatever it was, surely had something to do with the thin air and the cloud of post-coital bliss fogging up her receptors. It was fine to like him, but she couldn’t lose sight of why she was here.

Which brought another wallop of guilt from the other direction. Damn it, she didn’t like deceiving him, and although she hadn’t told him any outright lies, neither was she being honest with him.

But hey, he hasn’t been totally honest with you, either.

That’s right. He hadn’t mentioned his formula or the fact that every cosmetics company in the free world was wooing him. Or that he’d laid claim to an extraordinary product he’d yet to prove actually existed. No, he wasn’t exactly spilling all his secrets.

That knowledge assuaged her conscience a bit, and with a sigh, she turned her attention to her text messages. As with the voice mails, they were all from her mother and sisters, except two. One was from Nelson, repeating his phone message, and the other from her good friend Suzanne Freeland, an interior decorator, who simply asked, “How’s Dr. Thorn-in-your-side?”

She’d been surprised to realize that New York and Cusco were in the same time zone, which meant that it was after midnight at home. Given the late hour and the fact that she had no desire to get involved in any conversations about baby names or wedding disasters, she fired off a quick succession of text messages, the first telling Meg to relax and delegate-but not to her-after which she added a smiley face, the second informing Cindy that no kid would appreciate the name Butterfly, the third reassuring her mom that she didn’t look like anyone’s nana, the fourth to Nelson telling him she’d found Dr. Thornton and that she’d check in as soon as she knew anything, and the last one to Suzanne: He’s not what I expected.

After sending the messages, she tucked her phone back in her bag, then stood and curled her fingers over the intricately curved iron railing. Closing her eyes, she drew a deep breath, absorbing the unfamiliar sounds and scents of this place so far away and so vastly different from her New York apartment.

Soft strains of guitar music floated upward, a slow, seductive rhythm that encouraged Kayla to sway her hips. Cool air brushed across her skin, and she breathed deeply, inhaling the delicious scent of some exotic food lingering in the clean mountain air. The view from her hotel room overlooked the plaza, but Brett’s faced the other direction, his view a vista of the majestic mountains and dotted lights from the outlying barrios of Cusco and distant villages.

She heard the door to the room open, and after a quick peek over her shoulder to make certain it was Brett, she remained where she was, enjoying the music, knowing he’d join her.

Seconds later she was proven correct when he came up behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and nuzzled her neck with his lips. “Hi,” he whispered against her ear. “Miss me?”

A hum of pleasure escaped her. Firmly shoving aside her shame and guilt and all thoughts of La Fleur and promotions and payback and formulas, she reached up and back to encircle his neck. “Hi, yourself. And yes, I did,” she said, and realized with a start that it was true.

“I missed you, too.”

“How did your food scavenger hunt go?”

“Very well. There’s a restaurant two doors down. Lucky for us sandwich is apparently a universally understood word. I bought us each two, seeing as how we’re working up such an appetite. I also scored us some bottled water and homemade brownies.” His hands cruised up to cup her breasts. “But seeing you wearing my shirt…suddenly I’m craving something other than food.”

Pleasure rolled through her as his nimble fingers unfastened the top three buttons then slipped inside the material to play over her nipples.

She leaned her head back against his shoulder and arched into his hands. “Amazing how great minds think alike.”

“I liked that little dance you were doing when I came in.”

“Oh? You mean this one?” She slowly gyrated her hips, brushing her bottom against him.

His low growl rumbled next to her ear. “That’s the one.”

“Hmmm. I can tell you like it…unless that’s an ear of corn in your pocket.”

He chuckled and skimmed one hand down, over her abdomen, then pressed her more firmly back against his erection. Kayla sighed and turned her head, her lips seeking his. He utterly disarmed her with a slow, gentle kiss, brushing his mouth over hers with featherlight strokes that teased and made her ache for more. Gentle nibbles turned into a lazy swirling of tongues.

He sank into the kiss with an exquisite lack of haste, deepening the intimate strokes of his tongue until her legs trembled and desire gushed through her, pooling low in her belly, leaving her body, which only moments ago had felt sated, tense with need.

While one hand continued to tease her breasts, the other hand coasted lower, inching up his shirt that she wore until his fingers curved over her bare mound.

He groaned. “No panties. And God, you’re wet.”

She opened her thighs and he thrust a finger inside her, dragging a long moan from her throat. Ensconced in darkness and the cool air, surrounded by the moon and stars and mountains, enclosed in the moonlit privacy of the small balcony, Kayla gave herself over to the seductive lure of his caressing fingers. The tempting persuasiveness of his lips trailing down her throat.

“If you keep doing that,” she whispered, sweet, hot pulses of pleasure jolting through her, “I’m going to…ahhh…” He slipped another finger inside and pressed his palm right…ohhh…there. Her breathing turned jerky and she bucked against him.

“Going to what?” he asked.

But she couldn’t answer. The combined stimulation of fingers tugging on her nipple and pumping inside her while his palm pressed upward to rub against her sex with an exquisite rotation, shoved her over the edge. Her mind and body spun away in a fast, hard climax that shot sparks of pleasure through her. Limp and still breathing hard, she mustered the strength to turn around. He wrapped his arms around her waist, supporting her weight.

Their gazes met and held. “Don’t let go,” she warned.

He held her tighter. “Not letting go.”

“Good. Because if you do, I’ll just melt into a steaming heap at your feet. Holding me up is the least you can do after turning my legs to the consistency of overcooked spaghetti.”

One large hand cruised down to slip beneath her shirt and cup her bare buttock. “Have I mentioned how much I like overcooked spaghetti?”

She huffed out a laugh. “No one likes overcooked spaghetti.”

He made a sound like a game-show buzzer. “Wrong. I do.”

“You realize the orgasm score is now seven to three. My honor demands that it’s your turn. You’re going to need to keep your hands to yourself for awhile.”

His fingers gently kneaded her bottom then coasted lower to glide over her sex, eliciting a gasp of pleasure from her. “I think you’re asking the impossible,” he murmured against her neck. “You’re just so incredibly…touchable.”

Good grief, he was doing it again, the erotic tease of his fingers over her swollen flesh sparking renewed interest in her every cell. She should be exhausted. Pulling away. Looking for “me” time. Instead all she could think about was how good he felt, how incredible he made her feel, and getting him naked again. And how much she wanted him inside her again. And again. She felt as if she could stay in this room with him forever-a crazy and totally unsettling thought.

Needing a moment away from his distracting touch, she shifted slightly and his hand cruised to her bottom-only a slight improvement as far as her concentration was concerned, but she’d take what she could get. Then she reached up to cradle his face with hands that weren’t quite steady. The stubble that shaded his cheeks lightly scraped her palms. She stared into his eyes and slowly shook her head, a tornado of confusing emotions whipping through her.

“I don’t understand what’s happening to me,” she whispered. “What you’ve done to me. I feel like I’ve been struck by lightning.” The instant the words passed her lips, she wished she could recall them. Surely it wasn’t wise to admit such a thing. Declarations like that did nothing but make men nervous.

But Brett didn’t look in the least bit nervous. In fact he was slowly nodding while regarding her through very serious eyes. “Struck by lightning. Exactly. Since the first moment I saw you this afternoon. Whatever’s happening to you is happening to me, as well. Which is good as far as I’m concerned-I’m not a fan of ‘unrequited.’”

Relief swept through her. Neither was she. Unrequited feelings sucked. But then reality slapped her. Nothing beyond their time together in Peru could come of this. He was a smart guy-once he found out she worked for La Fleur, he’d put two and two together. A thought that distressed her far more than she wanted it to.

Forcing the thought aside, she asked, “Do you think it could be this place? Maybe there’s some sort of magic in the thin air?”

He shook his head. Leaning down to nuzzle her neck, he drew several deep breaths. “No. Your scent…I’m certain you would have had this effect on me no matter where I met you.”

A frown tugged down her brows. “What do you mean my scent? My cologne washed off in the shower.”

“Not your cologne, but your scent. Of your skin. Your body. The unique smell that belongs to you alone. Sort of like DNA for the olfactory glands. I strongly believe that human scent influences sexual attraction.”

“So you like the way I smell?”

He leaned down and buried his nose against her neck. “Oh, yeah.” Then he straightened and said, “We all have an aromatic effluence of our immune system-a biochemical bouquet of pheromones.”

She frowned. “I thought pheromones were basically a bunch of phooey.”

“Some people believe that and don’t give scent half a chance. I think they’re wrong.” He hesitated, then said, “In fact, I know they’re wrong.”

“How?”

Again he hesitated. “My research. I’ve proved that pheromones aren’t, as you put it, a bunch of phooey.”

Her heart began to pound in slow, hard beats. Was this the secret to his formula? “How did you prove it?”

“After years of research in my laboratory.” One corner of his mouth lifted. “But most recently when I met you. There’s just something about the way you smell…” he leaned down, brushed his lips against her neck, then drew a deep breath. And groaned. “Delicious.”

She turned her face and, burying her nose under his jaw, drew a deep breath. “You smell…luscious.”

“You find my biochemical bouquet pleasing.”

She nudged her pelvis against his. “Among other things.” She returned his smile, then swatted aside her conscience and forced herself to do what she was supposed to do. Gliding her hands over his shoulders, she said, “So…tell me more about this pheromone research. I’m fascinated. Does it have to do with the breakthrough you mentioned this afternoon?”

He nodded. “It’s proven to be a double-edged sword. I’ll tell you more about it, if you’d like, but first how about something to eat?”

Relief swept through her at his suggestion, because in reality she didn’t want…reality. She wanted this cocoon of sexual splendor, where nothing from the outside intruded on their intimacy. Wanted this inexplicable magic to continue for as long as possible. He’d offered to tell her, and that was good enough. She was content to wait. Because once she knew, she’d need to contact Nelson and report her findings, and in spite of the promise of perks, a bonus and a promotion, right now that was the last thing she wanted to do. The mere thought made her stomach cramp in a very unpleasant way.

“Something to eat,” she murmured. “Excellent idea. And I know exactly what I’m in the mood for.”

“What’s that?”

For an answer, she rubbed herself suggestively against his erection. And watched his heat flare in his eyes. “Any complaints?” she murmured.

“Hell no, sweetheart. Not in this lifetime.”