License to Thrill Page 18

  “Noooooo,” she wailed.

  He blinked at her. “What?”

  “It’s a black widow!”

  “No, it’s not. See.”

  He opened his palm and she reacted as if he held a live hand grenade, covering her head with her arms in the fatalistic manner of a soldier in a fox hole.

  “Charlee,” he coaxed. “It’s okay to look.”

  Tentatively she lowered her arms and peeked over the side of his palm.

  “See, sweetheart,” he spoke softly. “No red hourglass.”

  “Really?” Her eyes were wide and he spotted a tear glistening on her cheek.

  He had never seen her like this, cowering defenselessly. Her unexpected weakness tugged at something inside him. He got up, walked to the window, opened it, and deposited the spider on the outside ledge.

  When he looked up and glanced over the parking lot, he winced to see the Chevy Malibu parked across from the hotel. At some point he would have to deal with that threat.

  But for now, Charlee needed comforting.

  After closing the window, he came back, reached down, and tugged her gently up off the floor.

  She cringed in his arms, trembling like a rabbit trapped in a coyote’s lair. “I was so scared, Mason.”

  When she whispered his name, he realized it was the first time she had called him by his given name rather than Gentry.

  What did it mean? More importantly, what did he wish that it meant? That she was drawing closer to him? Letting down her guard? Starting to trust him?

  “I thought for sure it was a black widow. I admit I’m jumpy when it comes to spiders. I’ve been bitten and I know how bad it hurts.”

  He rested his chin against the top of her head, rubbed his hands up and down her arms. “Shhh, shhh. It’s all right.”

  The sound of the phone off the hook buzzed its obnoxious message, but Mason ignored it. He held her close, comforting her, easing her fears.

  The sweet smell of her invaded his nostrils and he marveled at his body’s immediate response to their close contact. What was it about her that invariably brought out the horned, pitchfork-carrying devil in him?

  If he kissed her, she would taste of expensive champagne, peanut butter, and ripe, delectable sin.

  He wanted her.

  Badly.

  And it was all he could do to keep from carrying her to the bed and making love to her.

  Before Charlee, he’d always been attracted to cool, detached petite blondes with an elegant style and impeccable breeding. But somehow, he found himself completely enchanted by this long-legged, black-haired dynamo with a tart tongue that covered up her tender heart.

  She was the total opposite of everything he’d ever thought he wanted. She was bold when he’d thought he wanted demure. She was tall and muscular when he thought he wanted dainty and soft. She was sassy when he thought he wanted accommodating.

  Charlee challenged him in ways he had never dreamed possible. She called to the wildness he’d buried along with Kip. She resurrected his lost sense of adventure and she had him questioning his blind insistence on following the straight and narrow path his parents had laid out for him.

  For that gift he would be forever grateful.

  He found her exciting and dramatic and totally captivating. He adored that she knew unequivocally who she was and what she wanted out of life. He admired the way she courageously stood up for what she believed in.

  Most of all, he loved the fact that together they were an electric combination of will, drive, and determination. With her, he felt like more of a man.

  And there was absolutely no way she would ever fit in with his world.

  He struggled hard to imagine her entertaining his high-society friends or sipping tea with corporate wives, dishing idle chitchat or chairing charity auctions, and failed miserably.

  He tried to envision her in designer outfits and diamonds instead of her neon blue cowboy boots and a battered straw Stetson. No. He couldn’t see it. Not that she couldn’t wear finery and jewels, those things just did not suit her.

  In the soft cushion of his privileged world, safely cocooned from the realities of the rest of humanity, Charlee would either wilt like a hothouse flower or grow to hate herself for the compromises that life with him would force her to make.

  Mason would rather die than risk ruining her zest for life.

  No matter how much he wanted to have sex with her, to taste those delicious lips, to run his hands all over her naked body, to hear her whisper his name in the throes of ecstasy, he would not give in to his urges.

  Charlee deserved far better than being a sexual conquest. She deserved someone who could love her for who she was and not expect her to compromise to meet some predetermined standard. She deserved the freedom to be herself.

  And he simply could not offer her those things.

  Reaching down deep inside him, he summoned the strength to ignore his driving biology. He could control himself. He would.

  Tenderly, he brushed his lips across her forehead and then stepped back.

  “I better finish making those phone calls,” he said and turned away without meeting her gaze because he knew one look into those compelling green eyes and he was a goner.

  CHAPTER 14

  Still light-headed from champagne, the adrenaline rush of spider freak-out, and the disturbing effects of being held in Mason’s arms, Charlee had to take several long, slow, deep breaths before her pulse rate decelerated and her heart plunked back down into its regular place in her chest.

  Easy. Steady. Calm.

  Breathe deep from your diaphragm. Let it out through your mouth.

  Her shoulders relaxed and she could hardly feel the lingering imprint of Mason’s fingers on her skin.

  Okay, good. Shake it off. Things were getting back to normal.

  While Mason went to complete his telephone calls, Charlee inched over to the window and gazed out to study the black spider who was already busily spinning a web.

  She admired the creature’s capacity to adapt to her sudden change in environment and go about business as usual even though she had been rudely displaced. Bloom where you’re planted.

  Maybelline’s insistence that they live in a travel trailer had taught Charlee the importance of that lesson. If you wanted to last in this world you had to be ready, willing, and able to square your shoulders, pull yourself up by your bootstraps, and relocate whenever circumstances changed.

  Her lifelong motto: Dust yourself off. Pick yourself up. Move on.

  But she was tired of moving on. Tired of fighting her desire. Tired of being good. She was afraid of losing control of her feelings, not of sleeping with him. Actually, sex sounded really fabulous. It had been such a long time for her. Could she throw herself into physical pleasure while keeping her emotions at bay? Was she willing to roll the dice, take the chance for a night of exquisite pleasure?

  Oh, yes, yes, yes.

  You can do it, Charlee. You can keep your emotions out of the fray. Go for it. Have wild circus sex and then discard him like those rich, handsome men have always discarded you.

  The idea excited her so much that she turned and raced into the adjoining bathroom with the intention of splashing her face with cold water to cool her ardor. She was startled to find a Jacuzzi tub big enough to hold an entire wedding party.

  Plush, white matching his and her bathrobes were laid out on the mauve marble steps. More scented candles burned in gold and silver candle holders, scenting the air with Jasmine perfume. Another basket sat on the elaborate dressing table. This one was filled with toiletries, toothbrushes, toothpaste, and…ulp…were those Trojans?

  A luxurious heat swept through her body along with the dreaminess of the champagne lingering in her bloodstream and she had an almost irresistible urge to strip off her clothes, settle right into that tub, and call for Mason to come join her.

  Her yen for sin scared the bejesus out of her and Charlee back-pedaled from the bathroom.

>   Fast.

  Mason was hanging up the phone. A frown creased his brow. “I couldn’t get hold of anyone.”

  “What’s up?” she asked nonchalantly, doing her damnedest to quell the erotic thoughts circulating through her brain with absolutely no success.

  “According to the housekeeper my parents went to Paris for the weekend.”

  “What about your brother?”

  “Hunter wasn’t home and when I called his cell phone I got his voice mail. I left the number here. I’m hoping he’ll check his messages and call back soon.”

  Her treacherous body throbbed, agreeing completely with the pleasure center of her brain.

  Yeah, yeah, go for it.

  Standing so close to him in this stylish suite, hearing him speak in that forceful businessman tone, smelling the tangy aroma of his cologne made Charlee’s knees loosen.

  She was terrified her lips might join her knees in rubberdom and she would say something truly frightening, like, “Let’s get it on, you long-legged, brown-eyed, handsome, matinee-idol-smiling, beard-stubble-sporting stud you.”

  Oh, she was weak and stupid.

  And she was more turned on than she’d ever been in her entire life.

  High-caliber folly, rolling the dice and taking a chance that she could seduce him and then just walk away with her heart in check.

  Charlee realized then she was breathing heavier than a greyhound after a race.

  “You’re panting,” he said.

  “No, no, I’m not,” she denied.

  “Still upset over the spider?”

  “I already forgot about that.”

  “Charlee, you sound like you just ran up six flights of stairs. If you’re feeling faint or something let me know. The last thing I want is for you to pass out and crack your head on the floor.”

  “Well, that’s a sexy thought. Not.”

  “Sexy?” He gave her an odd look.

  Oh, crap! Why had she said that? She didn’t want him knowing she was thinking sexy thoughts. Not when she was still so conflicted about said sexy thoughts.

  “Did I say sexy? Not sexy. I didn’t mean sexy,” she babbled.

  “How much champagne did you have?” Mason narrowed his eyes.

  She held up two fingers. He glanced at his watch. “Two glasses in under forty-five minutes. You’re drunk.”

  “I’m not drunk,” she insisted, leaning in closer to get a better whiff of his Mason smell. “Just feeling a little…”

  “Amorous?” he suggested with a raised eyebrow when she ran a finger over his collar.

  “I was going to say horny, but yeah, okay, amorous will do.”

  “You’re letting this honeymoon stuff go to your head, sweetheart,” he said gently. “And although I find you sexy as hell, we both know this is neither the time nor the place to lose control.”

  “We’re in the honeymoon suite of the Beverly Hills Grand Piazza. We have no idea where to start searching for our grandparents. And besides we can’t go anywhere because the media and a Twilight Studios assistant are virtually camped outside our door, not to mention those two goons in the Malibu across the street.”

  She paused and studied his face. Stone wall. Nada. Zip. He was giving her nothing to go on. She took a deep breath and went on.

  “We don’t have any money or a car and we have no idea when your brother will call. Name a better time and place.”

  “I can’t take advantage of you.” He disentangled her arms from around his neck and stepped away. “I won’t. You’ve had too much to drink.”

  “Such a gentleman.” She clicked her tongue.

  “You wouldn’t think I was such a gentleman if you knew the thoughts spinning through my head, lady,” he growled. “Some of them are downright illegal.”

  “Oooh. I like the sound of that.”

  “I can’t do this,” he repeated, although the distinct bulge in his pants argued otherwise.

  “Open that bottle of champagne and catch up with me.” She waved a hand at the bucket of Dom Perignon and lost her balance. “Oops.”

  He reached out and grabbed her before she fell and she smiled up at him.

  “You did that on purpose,” he accused.

  “Who? Me?” She blinked innocently.

  “Charlee,” he said. “Please don’t give me the full court press. I’m only human.”

  The look in his eyes sent her temperature blasting into the danger zone. Did she dare force the issue? Did she dare seduce him?

  Was she brave enough to face her fears right here, right now? Stab the vampire of her past rotten romantic experiences squarely in the heart and live to tell the tale?

  Was she really as tough as she pretended or deep down inside, when push came to shove, was she all talk?

  She leaned in close and kissed him, but because she was tipsy and wearing Violet’s ridiculous stiletto ankle straps, her lips bounced off his mouth and skidded headlong into a dimple.

  God, she was woefully inept at this sultry seductress stuff.

  Luckily, Mason turned his cheek, removing the gouge of his dimple and presenting her with a second opportunity to capture his mouth.

  He kissed her back, grabbing her shoulders in his hands and holding her steady on her shoes.

  Eagerly, she ironed her body against his, reveling in the hard line of his muscles and bones.

  Okay, this wasn’t so scary. No big deal. Just hormones, right? Hormones and moving body parts and making each other feel good.

  But a few minutes later, Mason pulled away, his breathing hot and spiky, a “what just happened” expression on his face. His hair was a sexy, disheveled mess, his lips damp with her moisture.

  “That’s enough, Charlee. This can’t go any further.”

  Seeze who ? She blinked at him.

  “I can’t. I won’t do this.”

  “Okay.” She shrugged and stepped away from him. “Suit yourself.”

  Then she slowly started undoing the buttons on her blouse as she turned and headed for the bathroom.

  “What are you doing?” He sounded panicky.

  “Taking matters in hand. If you catch my drift,” she called to him over her shoulder and dropped Violet’s black blouse onto the tiled floor.

  With a flick of her thumb, she unsnapped her bra and tossed it beside the blouse.

  She shot a quick glance toward the mirror. In the reflection she could see into the bedroom. She could also see that Mason was craning his neck, getting a good view of her backside.

  She bent at the waist to turn on the Jacuzzi and then wriggled her hips as she inched the skirt down over her thighs. She heard him inhale sharply and then cough as if he’d swallowed his tongue.

  Pretending that she wasn’t watching him watching her, she used her hair as a curtain to shield her face from him and sat down on the edge of the marble tub wearing nothing but thong panties and the scarlet high heels.

  Her heart thumped against her chest gone tight with mounting anticipation. The whirlpool gurgled and churned and a fine mist rose to enshroud her.

  With trembling fingers, she reached down to unbuckle the ankle straps. She heard footsteps and her pulse accelerated.

  She thought she heard heavy breathing as well but she couldn’t be certain over the noise of the hot tub.

  Cocking her head to one side until a sheaf of hair slanted forward, she peeped cautiously through the opening and peered out at him with a coy look.

  Mason stood in the bathroom doorway. His face had reddened and his chest rose and fell with hard, jerky movements.

  Most definitely heavy breathing.

  And he wasn’t the only one.

  The way his gaze caressed her skin made her tingle with excitement. To think that she was responsible for that wild, lusty gleam in his eyes sent goose bumps bivouacking along her forearms.

  She kicked off the stilettos. Then, with her head down and blood racing, shimmied out of her panties.

  He made a noise of pure masculine arousal.


  Charlee slid over the edge of the tub and into the hot, effervescent water. She leaned back against the headrest and closed her eyes tight but she was too tense to relax, too darned aware of Mason’s blatant gaze roving over her body.

  “That’s not such a good idea,” he said hoarsely.

  “What’s not?”

  “Getting into the hot tub when you’ve been drinking.” He clicked his tongue.

  “I didn’t drink that much.”

  “You drank enough to make you strip naked in front of me.”

  “If you hadn’t been peeking ‘round the corner you wouldn’t have seen me naked.”

  She kept her eyes tightly closed. One look at him would send her scrambling pell-mell for that monogrammed bathrobe.

  “You wanted me to see you naked. Otherwise you would have shut the door behind you.”

  “So how does that make you feel?”

  “Angry.”

  “Angry?” She opened one eye at the testy note in his voice.

  “Angry for not being able to resist you.”

  Oh my, oh my, oh my.

  His fist grabbed for the front of his shirt and he pulled hard, sending buttons pinging off the tile floor. Charlee gasped and sat up straight, her eyes rounding in surprise at the feral, untamed look on his face.

  Gone was the polished, controlled businessman. In his place stood a chest-thumping caveman, stripped naked of everything except the bare essentials.

  Man. Woman. Biology.

  Her pulse hammered.

  He heaved his shirt flying and then his fingers went to his zipper.

  She sucked in her breath as she watched the zipper slide down.

  In one smooth move, he dropped his pants and a soft sound of pleasure popped from her lips. Ah, a silk boxer man. It figured.

  His gaze was hot on her face and she felt her skin flush. She knew he was watching her breasts bob jauntily atop the water.

  And when the silk boxers followed the pants and she got her first good, up close and personal view of him, Charlee just about choked.

  Here stood a broad-shouldered, blueblooded Texas businessman with chest hairs the color of dark Belgian chocolate and a very serious gleam in his eyes.

  The sight of him left her nearly speechless.

  “W-w-well,” she stammered before getting hold of herself. “Are you going to strut like a proud turkey all day or shake your tail feathers and get in here with me?”