Jacquie D’Alessandro: Your Room or Mine?

“I heard a joke today,” she said, her eyes still closed. “What’s the definition of an accountant?”

“Just what I want-an accountant joke. Like I haven’t been hearing them since the day I declared my major in college. Any chance you won’t bother to tell me?”

A smile pulled up one corner of her mouth. “Nope. An accountant is someone who solves a problem you didn’t know you had in a way you don’t understand.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s a side-buster. Do you know the definition of a consultant?” Before she could answer, he said, “It’s a person who you will never hear say, ‘Everything looks okay to me.’ ”

To his surprise, she chuckled. “Guess I asked for that. What’s the difference between an accountant and a vampire?”

“A vampire only sucks blood at night. Believe me, I’ve heard them all. Here’s something else you’ll never hear a consultant say-”

“ ‘You’re right, we’re billing way too much for this.’ ” She opened her eyes and their gazes met in the brass reflection. “I’ve heard them all, too.”

The elevator stopped and the doors slid open. He extended his arm, indicating she should precede him, and she raised her brows. “So polite,” she murmured as she exited.

He followed her, noting that she left a subtle hint of something that smelled really good in her wake. Something that smelled like… cookies? Damn. He loved cookies. His stomach rumbled.

“Just because I’m a bloodsucking vampire doesn’t mean I don’t have any manners.”

“At least you admit it.”

“That I have manners?”

“That you’re a bloodsucking vampire.”

His gaze settled on her neck and he was suddenly seized with the unwanted and inappropriate urge to nibble on that soft-looking skin to find out if she tasted as good as she smelled. “Says the consultant who admitted she’d never say ‘You’re right, we’re billing way too much for this.’ ”

He checked the sign on the wall that indicated the room directions and headed to the right, noting she fell into step beside him. Great. Same hotel, same floor, and now rooms apparently near each other. He stopped outside room 314. “Well, good night. See you in the lobby at six.”

She stopped directly across the hall, outside room 315, and looked at him over her shoulder. A tendril had escaped her severely pulled back hair and rested on her cheek, a slash of brown against pale skin that somehow made her look almost human.

“ ’Night.” She entered her room and the door closed with a quiet click.

The instant Jack’s door closed behind him, he let out a sigh of relief. First stop was the minibar, where he helped himself to a bottle of water and a bag of peanut M &M’s. After popping several candied nuts into his mouth and washing them down with a long, cool drink, he picked up the phone and ordered room service. He could almost taste that cheeseburger, fries, cole slaw, and chocolate brownie already. The turkey sandwich he’d eaten for dinner hours ago was but a memory.

The bellhop had already delivered his suitcase-talk about fast service-and he simultaneously toed off his shoes and shrugged his suit jacket from his shoulders. After tossing the jacket on the nearest chair, he slipped off his already loosened tie and flicked open the buttons on his dress shirt, all while looking over the room. Muted earth tones, brightened by attractive framed prints depicting nautical scenes, tasteful cherrywood furnishings. The best part was the king-sized bed that beckoned him like a siren with promises of a comfortable night’s sleep.

Still working on his shirt, he clicked on the financial news channel, noting that the stock market had enjoyed an upswing. At least something good had happened today. Keeping one eye on the TV, and still popping M &M’s, he zipped open his suitcase. Might as well unpack while he waited for his meal.

With his attention on the TV, he reached into the suitcase to pull out his favorite Braves T-shirt, which he’d packed right on top. When he looked down, he halted midchew and blinked. Instead of his T-shirt, he held a bit of black lace that looked like a… thong?

What the hell? He held up the wisp of material that definitely wasn’t his T-shirt and frowned. Definitely a thong. Definitely sexy. Definitely not his.

He looked at the suitcase and reached for the next item. Instead of his sweatpants, he pulled out a lacy black bra that matched the thong. As if in a trance, he replaced the bra and checked out a few more items on the top. Some sort of sexy corset-looking thing. A slinky see-through number in fire-engine red. A bottle of massage oil. And a box of thirty-six condoms. A book entitled Fifty Ways to Please Your Lover . On top of the book was a note. Without even meaning to, his gaze scanned the brief message. Don’t you dare lose your nerve! Be brave! Be daring! Have your one-night stand with a sexy fireman and ENJOY yourself. You’ll feel soooo much better. I’ll want all the details at lunch on Monday. Go get ’em, girl! XOX Emma

Wow. Somebody was expecting a sex-filled weekend. He looked closer at the bag and realized that it was identical to his, right down to the same brand name. Realization struck and he froze. The bellhop had only had two bags on his cart. His and…

Mad Dog’s.

Holy crap. No freakin’ way did this assortment of sexy goodies belong to that frosty dragon. No way.

He stared at the thong dangling from his fingertips. His suddenly active imagination shifted into overdrive, filling his mind with a picture of those curves hinted at beneath her prim, mud-brown skirt filling out the wispy bit of black lace. Which snapped everything male in him to attention.

This is what the icy consultant pest wore underneath those prim, boring suits? Whoa. And people thought Victoria had secrets. His gaze shifted back to the open suitcase, and before he could stop himself, he reached out and ran a single fingertip over the cup of the black lace bra.

His conscience coughed to life. Okay, dude, hands off. Touching her underwear is just… wrong. What are you, some kind of perv?

He snatched his hand away as if her lingerie had suddenly spurt flames. Of course he wasn’t a perv. At least he hadn’t been until he’d opened her suitcase. He was just… curious. And surprised. He sure as hell wouldn’t have equated someone so prim with a one-night stand seeker. He’d read about the fireman charity golf tournament taking place at the resort this weekend. Clearly she had, too. Still, he would have bet his entire 401K that Mad Dog wore sensible, white cotton granny panties beneath her schoolmarm clothes. Not that he’d ever pondered her underwear or thought of her in that way. Hell no.

Oh, c’mon, admit it. You’ve thought about her in that way more than once since you made your stupid bet. You were thinking of her in that way not twenty minutes ago when you ogled her legs.

Okay, fine. But he hadn’t known they were her legs when he’d ogled them. Or her ass.

You knew they were her lips when you ogled them , his inner voice whispered slyly.

Damn pesky inner voice. Why couldn’t it lie? Just once in a while? He went to rake his hands through his hair and realized her thong still dangled from his fingers. He stared at the sexy bit of lace and groaned. He did not want to know this about her. Did not want to think about her wearing this under her prim and proper clothes. Think of her wearing it to entice some fireman into a one-nighter. Hell, he didn’t want to think about her at all. Time to replace the panties, zip up the bag, and give her back her incredibly sexy lingerie. Yup, that was absolutely the only thing to do. Certainly better than standing here staring. And fantasizing.