Privacy Policy

Tempting The CEO
by Angela Claire

Copyright © 2014 by Angela Claire. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Chapter One

I was pretty sure the guy in the hotel suite next to mine hadn’t been upgraded. He belonged on this penthouse floor. The dark blue suit he wore was tailored, fitting his broad shoulders and long legs precisely, not a seam or pleat out of place. As for me, I’d checked in after an endless drafting session and benefited from a midnight-shift clerk who was eager to please me. Although I’m sure I looked like a wreck—my blonde hair was like straw after a day of pulling it out to stem my frustration at the arrogance of New York lawyers—the clerk was very friendly, and before I knew it I’d scored a lavish penthouse suite when my Midwestern law firm would only foot the bill for an economy double.

But the guy in the suite next to mine had to be paying for it with a suit like that. He turned in my direction, pulling his door shut, and I saw that money wasn’t the only thing he had going for him. The guy was gorgeous. Six feet three at least, with black hair. The only indication of the lateness of
the hour was the slight shadow on his steely jaw. Otherwise, he looked as fresh as if he were stepping into a morning meeting.

Since I didn’t—naked and wrapped in a towel as I was—I ducked quickly back into the alcove with the ice machine. In my defense, I didn’t expect anybody to be around at this time of night in the two minutes it took to shoot down the hall for ice. I hoped he hadn’t seen me.

No such luck, though. I’d barely put the bucket under the chute when I looked up and found Gorgeous Guy standing right in front of me.

He smiled and my heart beat a little faster.

Whoa. He was even better looking when he smiled.

“Sorry. I couldn’t see a girl in a towel dart out of the way as soon as I spotted her and not come to investigate.”

“Oh. Yeah, well, I took a chance nobody would be around. I guess I lost.”

“And I won. But I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I’ve got to ask, though. Why the towel? Why didn’t you put on one of the robes in the closet?”

“My suite didn’t have one.”

“I’ll have to leave Housekeeping a nice tip to thank them for that.”

“I was getting some ice,” I said stupidly, nodding my head toward the bucket I was filling up without looking away from the eye candy.

“I think you’ve got enough.”

My ice bucket floweth over. I yanked it away from the stream of cubes, losing a few on the carpet and kicking them under the machine.

“They can bring you ice, you know,” he pointed out.

I was so truly not supposed to be on this floor.

“I didn’t want to wake anybody.”

Again with the smile. “I think you’ll find room service is twenty-four hours in this hotel, especially for this floor.”

“Of course. Yep.”

Despite having a mother who could flirt as effortlessly as she could breathe, I had not inherited her knack for it. Consequently, nervous as I was, I didn’t try to crack a joke or make conversation. I just stood there staring at this hottie. Which was okay, I guess, since he was staring at me, the smile a little dimmed as his eyes dipped down to check me out.

I hadn’t gotten my figure from my rail-thin mother, either. She was a former model, and when I filled out in my teens, I couldn’t have been more relieved. Among other things, it saved me from having dear old Mom shove me out onto the runway, breasts not being conducive to Paris fashions. But these days, my curves were a little more trouble than they were worth, and usually I wore a suit jacket and sturdy bra to disguise them.

A towel wasn’t much of a disguise, and they strained against the white cotton in all their glory.

It was still kind of rude of him to look so blatantly. Sexy as hell, but rude.

The feminist in me wanted to tell him, “Eyes up here,” but I was in a towel and he was, well, human…and a guy. I guess I couldn’t exactly be surprised. Although what was it with guys and breasts anyway? They were like true north to a compass. Would I check out a guy’s package like that? I took a quick glance down.

Well, maybe, but that was beside the point. And his pants weren’t that tailored.

In any case, the feminist in me had been pounded down by hours of concentrating on merger contract minutiae. I just wanted to take a hot bubble bath and paint my toenails or do something equally girlie. Like maybe hook up with my gorgeous overnight next-door neighbor who, notwithstanding how his sex parts might stack up, was yummy from everything else I could get a look at.

Sadly, that wasn’t going to happen. Not my style. Spontaneous wild fun and all. And I had a meeting to get to in the morning.

I’d have to settle for a bubble bath.

Adopting as formal a manner as I could in a towel, I brushed past him to get back to my room. “Have a good night.”

I carried it off pretty well if I do say so myself—shoulders back, nose in the air, ice bucket held against my chest like a shield—right up until I slipped my key card into the door lock and it blinked red.

Red.

Uh-oh. I tried again. Nothing. I turned the card the other way and swiped it a few more times as if that would help.

What is it they say about insanity? It’s doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. Sometimes I felt that way about my whole life.

“Those things are finicky,” a deep voice said behind me. “They can get demagnetized.”

It was hard to carry off the nose-in-the-air thing at this point. This was so what I didn’t need. In a towel with the hottie right behind me.

“Do you want to use my room phone to call the front desk?”

I sighed, shaking my head. “No thanks. I’ll go down there.”

“Good idea. That way a whole bunch of guys, everybody at the lobby bar, will see you in a towel instead of just me and whoever they send up with the new key.”

I turned around, prepared to do battle—hey, that was what I did, whether I was paid for it or not—but the logic of his argument deflated me as he stood there all innocent.

“You’re right. Thanks. But I don’t want to hold you up. You were going out.” I gestured with the arm that wasn’t holding the ice bucket and keeping the towel secure.

He slipped an iPhone out of his pocket and tapped away. “I was planning to meet my lawyer in the bar to be debriefed on some meetings, but I didn’t want to anyway. There. Done.” The cell went back in his pocket. “I’d rather help a damsel in distress.”

I considered asking to borrow his cell and avoid going to his room, but he was already walking down the hall and sliding a card key into his door, which magically unlocked, like it was supposed to. He held it open, beckoning me, and I didn’t want to look paranoid.

A peek inside his suite showed it was even fancier than mine with a mirrored bar, floor-to-ceiling windows and plush leather sofas. I must have the junior digs or something. Maybe that was why I didn’t get a robe. He shrugged out of his jacket, laying it on a chair by the door. He loosened his tie, too.

I stood in the foyer, a faint sense of unease rearing its head. I may be in a towel, but no need for him to go undressing.

“Phone’s right there,” he said.

Once I gave my room number and explained to the hotel operator that I was locked out, she told me she’d send somebody up, warning that it was a shift change and might take a few minutes.

I hung up, tightening my towel, and his eyes followed the movement.

“Thanks for the use of the phone.”

“Sure. I don’t bite if you want to sit down. Have a drink while you wait.”

“I want to be outside when they come up.”

Besides, I wasn’t sure I could sit down without flashing him.

He didn’t close the door behind me as I went to take my post and I was grateful for it when he poked his head out a few minutes later and called down, “Not here yet?”

“Shift change, I guess.” I set the ice bucket on the carpet. “Can I come to your room for a minute though?”

“Couldn’t resist my charm?” he asked as I hurried past him.

“No. I have to use the bathroom.”

“You’re not very good for my ego,” he said, pointing the way.

When I came out, the door to the hallway was still open. “Nobody yet. I’ve been watching.”

I was beginning to feel as if fate were conspiring against me, or with me. Tie off, shirt open, black hair ruffled, my neighbor was getting comfortable for the night, and it didn’t take much imagination to picture myself getting comfy with him. Since I was already undressed and everything.

Reflexively, I tightened my towel again.

“You know doing that makes me focus on how I wish it
would drop, right? I doubt that’s what you’re trying for, but hope springs eternal.”

He took two beers out of his minibar, smiling slightly, and popped one open, kicking off his shoes. “Don’t worry. If your cold shoulder at the ice machine didn’t do it, the doe- in-the-headlights look you’re giving me now would.”

“Doe in the headlights?”

I’d been called a shark before, but a doe? And as for my towel dropping, even if I wanted to take my malfunctioning card key as a sign and throw caution to the wind—which I didn’t, I reminded myself firmly—I’d been in a sweaty law firm conference room all day and hadn’t cleaned up yet. I was getting ready to when I went for the ice. In the shape I was in, I probably smelled and wasn’t fit for a hookup with a guy like this. But though I may not be good with flirting, even I knew not to mention my own body odor to a guy.

“I think I’ve been insulted,” I muttered instead.

“Yeah, you’re right. Doe doesn’t capture it. It’s more of a frosty aura.” He took a swig of his beer. “Anyway, I get the message. When a guy has a horrible day and a beautiful girl runs by him in a towel and gets locked out of the room next door…sure, he might think things were looking up. But when he gets the brush-off, he realizes it’s part of the universe’s plan to torture him.”

I finally laughed, unable to help myself. My mouth, wide enough as it was in idling mode, stretched from ear to ear. My mom had always tried to get me to perfect a more subtle smile, as she called it, more ladylike, more mysterious. Fuck that. After the day I had, it felt wonderful to grin for real and not just to drive the knife in when I was making a killer point for my client.

It really was a ridiculous situation—the towel, the hot guy, my not having been laid in longer than I can remember, and his looking like he could get a woman any time he crooked his little finger but acting like he was crushed by my “brush-off.”

“I’ll give in to your charm and hang out here until I’m forced to go downstairs and get the key myself.”

I shook my head no at his wordless offer of the other beer and risked perching on one of the barstools, relieved to see that all my appropriate parts were still covered by fluffy white.

He took the seat next to me. “I’m flattered. How old are you?”

“Twenty-seven.” I was never going to be one of those women who lied about her age. At least until I was thirty.

“No hookups with strange guys in the hotel room next to you? Which you have to know,” he added quickly, “was what I or any other dumb jerk would be hoping for in this situation.”

“No comment.”

He nodded at the beer. “And no drinking either, huh? You’re way too serious for twenty-seven.”

“So they tell me. And I do drink, but not beer. Why? How old are you?”

“Older.”

“What was so bad about your day?”

“You keep giving me the brush-off.”

I laughed again and he shook his head. “No. It was nothing. Business. Whatever.”

He seemed about to say something else, taking another sip of beer instead, and I prompted, “You don’t seem like
the kind of guy who would let business get you that down.”

He shrugged, running a thumb along the condensation on the can. “Just a kid I know. Not doing too well.”

“Sick?”

“Kind of.”

Which was my cue to stop prying.

He passed a hand over his face, as if wiping whatever was bothering him away, and I thought we could probably both do with some relaxation. Some fun.

The fantasy was more dangerous than when we’d exchanged a word or two in the corridor. I could feel the towel slipping. Not for real. In my mind. I could imagine his hand sliding under it, cool and sure on my inner thigh.

Parting my legs…

“What about you?” he asked. “How was your day?”

I jerked myself back to the moment and thought of the stuffy conference room and all those high-priced obnoxious lawyers. “Worse than yours, I bet.”

He paused. “It could get better for both of us.”

His eyes were a deep blue, darker than his tailored suit. It was hard to look away from them.

“So I’ve been dying to ask you.” His voice had a little hitch in it but he kept his hands to himself. “Were you about to take a shower or something when you went for the ice?”

I put a hand self-consciously up to my half-undone ponytail. “Yes. I’m a mess.”

He scanned me from head to toe, and I felt it along every inch. “If this is how you look when you’re a mess, I’d love to see you when you’re all cleaned up.”

A shiver ran through me.

“On the other hand,” he added, in a low chuckle,
“sometimes I like it dirty.”

That proposition went right to my tender bits. I swallowed hard, and he set his beer down on the counter, edging a little closer.

Right as I heard a grumble in the hallway outside. “What lady? I don’t see no lady.”

I scrambled off the stool. “Hey!”

Gray-haired and with a complexion that spoke of something harder than beer, a handyman stood at my door, adjusting his tool belt. Doing a double take at my towel, he was gentleman enough not to make some crass remark. “Your door’s stuck, miss?”

“Stuck? No, the key didn’t work.”

“They said it was stuck.”

“You’re not going to have to go back downstairs to get my key, are you?”

He glanced over at Gorgeous Guy leaning against his doorjamb. “Not unless you want me to.”

“I do,” my neighbor called, getting a laugh from the handyman.

“I bet you do.” He produced a card key and thankfully waved it through to a green, opening the door to my suite. “I brought an extra key for when I got it unstuck.” He handed it to me.

“Thanks.”

“For nothing,” Gorgeous Guy added, as the man went by him and responded with a comment too low for me to hear, and they both laughed. A male bonding moment before he headed back to the elevator.

I stooped to pick up the ice bucket, its contents watery now. My neighbor really had been sweet. And hot. And sexy.

He was still standing there, waiting in his open doorway as I stood in mine.

“Go ahead,” he taunted. “Make my day.”

I felt more lighthearted from the last few minutes with him than I had in a long while, and because of it he didn’t seem like so much of a stranger now. Things were looking up. If I’d let them. Maybe it was time to “stop the insanity” and do things a little differently.

“I’ll take a quick shower and pop back for that drink,” I called down to him.

Hell, I was entitled to a little fun, wasn’t I?

I closed my door and dropped the towel.

If I was really going to do this, I should consult my best friend, Cassie, who knew all about the proper etiquette of hooking up. I grabbed my cell, tempted to call her, but she’d keep me on the phone too long. So instead I texted: Gorgeous guy next door asked me into his suite for a drink. What do you think I should do?

Cassie texted back right away, Go, you idiot! At least she put a smiley face at the end to soften her real point, which was that I was a little slow on the uptake when it came to situations with men.

Don’t worry. I’m going, I responded.

A series of short back-and-forths, full of instructions from Cassie like “Go commando” and “Do not swallow,” convinced me yet again that she had a PhD in the subject of sex and I no more than a GED. I decided to ignore most of the advice. You had to learn to walk before you could run and all that.

Her final text reminded me of a rule I always made her follow. To send a picture of the guy so he would realize that
somebody knew who he was and that she was with him. Not that every guy was a serial killer. But there was that one in however many millions.

After assuring her I would, I took my shower in record time. Dripping in my towel afterward, I confronted my closet and realized that wardrobe was going to be a problem. Except for the grungy clothes I traveled in, I had brought only suits, one for each day I’d be here, three in all. Each one was as bland as the next. I settled for the knee-length skirt of the black suit and a neutral camisole that I usually put underneath a blouse, but would wear by itself for this occasion. Showing what a wimp I was, though, I still wore a bra and panties, plain old white since it was the only color I’d brought, although at least the bra was skimpy enough not to show through the camisole.

At the last minute, I grabbed my phone for the picture. When Gorgeous Guy opened the door—I really should get down to asking his name—I snapped the picture.

“What was that for?” he asked as I sent it to Cassie.

“Nothing. Just a precaution my friend and I take if we’re someplace alone with a guy. Since we’ll be closing the door and everything this time.”

He nodded, not seeming like a mass murderer at all— so he had that going for him. “That’s a smart idea. You can never be too careful. Especially in New York.”

He had gotten more casual, in jeans and a black pullover. I felt overdressed. Taking me aback a little, he leaned over and kissed my cheek. Light, almost nothing at all, but I must have jumped a mile. He stroked the curve of my elbow. “Sorry. Did I get the wrong message this time?”

I shook my head. I didn’t want him to keep his hands to
himself for this round. I wanted them on me.

“Then relax. You’re even more skittish than when you were in the towel. I’m not going to do anything you don’t want.”

Maybe that was the problem. What wouldn’t I want him to do? “I bet,” I said.

At the last minute, I realized I’d forgotten the condom I tucked away in my purse for just such an occasion. I hoped it hadn’t expired. “I have to go back to my room for a minute.”

“Not chickening out on me already, are you?”

“No. I just, er, forgot something.”

“I have condoms, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he said. “But if it was your lipstick or something, I feel like a sleaze for mentioning it.”

I laughed, not bothering to lie, but not going back for any lipstick, either.

He ushered me to one of the sofas facing the panoramic view of the lit-up city, and we sat side by side. He handed me a drink. “It’s champagne. You might not go for beer, but everybody likes a little bubbly, right?”

It was the cool, dry version, expensive of course, and I sipped while he watched me. “It’s good. But it’ll have to be stronger to take the buzz off the coffee I downed today.”

“So caffeine overload was behind all that tugging on your towel? I thought you were tormenting me.”

“Neither. I was nervous at being around a strange guy half naked and all.”

“I take it from that comment you’re not into this kind of thing?”

“No, usually I keep my clothes on and just nod politely in the hall to my next-door neighbor.”

He laughed and I scowled, continuing, “I’ve got to warn you I’m probably not your usual hookup.” It was sort of freeing to drop the pretense and discuss it so openly.

“Why? I find you very attractive.” He trailed his fingers along my jaw, causing a tingling sensation. “I have a weakness for gorgeous women with a good sense of humor, especially if they’re spontaneous. The combo makes me defenseless against their wiles. They always seem to be able to have their way with me.”

Something about his devilish smile made me think it was almost certainly the other way around.

And I guess I should have said thanks for the compliment, except I didn’t like to focus too much on external looks. Besides, I felt there was a big “but” just hanging out there.

“But—”

I coughed.

“And I don’t know how to say this without sounding like an asshole—but usually the women I’m with are a little more, well, eager, I guess you’d say. At this point anyway.”

“What point?”

“Alone in my hotel room after coming in for a drink. Especially if they start out in a towel.”

“Most women get right down to it, do they?”

The mocking tone between us felt mellow and worldly and kind of sexy.

His thumb brushed my lower lip. “Usually. But it’s totally up to you how fast we go. Or whether we do.”

Whether? Who was kidding whom here? I knew it was a foregone conclusion when I decided to come back for a drink. Unless he started drooling or pulled out a whip and chains—I don’t really mind a little fun on that front but I’d
taken all the spanking I could at work all day already—Mr. Gorgeous Guy was good to go.

He leaned in for a kiss, just the slightest bit of tongue, and I trembled a little, feeling it right between my legs.

“Maybe I should have gotten around to this before,” he whispered, “but what’s your name?”