Joanne Rock - Up Close and Personal

“I’m your waiter for the evening and I’d be happy to help.” He didn’t offer an arm to either woman, knowing that wouldn’t be a waiter’s style, but damned if the old cougars didn’t each grab an elbow and cling to him like white on rice.

Not that he minded. Their friendly disposition would make it all the easier to wrangle his way into Jessica’s turf. Feel out her business practices.

She’d bought an Escalade from his father’s car dealership six months ago and had spent an hour in the office dishing about her work and her years in San Diego, treating the old man like a long-lost friend as she casually signed a contract she hadn’t made good on. In the normal course of Rocco’s business as a recovery agent—the PC term for a repo man—he would have simply repossessed the vehicle. But given that his father’s personal trust had been violated by a woman who’d blatantly charmed him into not running an extra credit check, Rocco had decided to give this repossession his personal attention.

Arriving at the suite, the blonde opened the door. Rocco didn’t know what to expect exactly from the title of the Winslow woman’s workshop: Better in Bed: Reclaiming Your Sensuality. What the hell did that mean? Did she consider herself some sort of sex expert? Bad enough she’d applied feminine wiles to deceive his dad. Now she wanted to teach the art to new disciples?

Less than a dozen people sat around the spacious room as his two new female friends led him inside. The place had been redecorated like some sort of ritzy club. The normally reserved color scheme of the Hotel del Coronado had been smothered in scarlet material while white candles flickered all around. For a minute he wondered what kind of demonstration these chicks had in mind as they all stared at him. The unanimous predatory glances made him wonder if they’d been hunting for some kind of ritual sacrifice victim.

“Well done, ladies.”

A woman stepped through the circle to the center of the room, her conservative black suit and messy updo in no way detracting from her blatant sex appeal.

He recognized her face—no, make that her hair and her kick-ass bod—from his father’s surveillance cameras, a routine safety precaution at the dealership that had helped Rocco locate more than one debtor.

“I’m Jessica Winslow.” The instructor nodded politely without offering her hand. Loose pieces of her auburn hair swayed around the chopstick device she’d used to impale some sort of twist at the back of her head. “We really appreciate you helping us out tonight for our demonstration.”

Rocco had a habit of sizing up people in no time, a practice that predated his days in the Navy, although it was one that had come in handy during some tight situations overseas. But the female in front of him didn’t lend herself to quick conclusions with her designer suit and her shoes, carefully polished, to hide scuff marks.

A completely remorseless defaulter would have charged new shoes while on her spending spree, so he couldn’t figure out those scuffs.

“No problem. I’m Rocco Easton and—”

Whatever he was going to say died in his throat as Jessica unbuttoned her suit jacket with quick efficiency, her French-manicured fingers moving easily over flower-shaped rhinestone buttons.

What the hell? The jacket fell away to reveal a crimson-colored lace camisole that disappeared down into the waistband of her black skirt.

While a few of the women whistled as Jessica removed her jacket, she simply tossed the garment aside and wrapped a hand around his bicep. Apparently unconcerned about the eye-popping visual her breasts made in the molded lace and satin of her fitted camisole, she gestured toward a chaise longue that had been dragged into the center of the sprawling Victorian suite.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She tugged him briskly forward, as if getting half-naked with a stranger was all in a day’s work for her. “If you’ll just join me right over here, Rocco, I’d like to show my guests a few instructional tips on massage.”

“That’s erotic massage, gorgeous,” the brunette who’d brought him into the room stage-whispered from her post at a freestanding bar where a dozen white candles flickered. “I think you’re in for a treat.”

He stopped so fast, Jessica’s feet stuttered as she pitched forward slightly. He steadied her automatically, his instinct to physically protect a woman—even from a stumble in high heels—overriding his personal beef with her.

The whole group went silent for a moment as if gauging his reaction. Then one woman laughed. Another snorted. And then the whole crew busted a gut over his hesitation.

Everyone but the fearless workshop leader, that is, who appeared to falter. She bit her lip with sudden indecision, a row of perfect white teeth sinking into the soft fullness of her lower lip.

“You’re kidding.” He didn’t drop his attention from her face, but the desire to run a quick fact-gathering mission on the particulars of her body was so strong he had to take a step back.

“Are you uncomfortable being touched by a stranger, Rocco?” Her sandy eyebrows scrunched in worry over the idea.

He wondered if the moment of thoughtfulness was real or a well-acted performance. Sometimes people who preyed on others survived by developing an uncanny level of insight and empathy for the people they targeted. Was she playing him now?

“Not necessarily.” He lowered his voice to slide under the cackle of excited conversation all around them. “But could you clarify what you mean by erotic massage?”

He had no intention of stripping for entertainment value tonight. Even in the headiest of his glory days with the teams, he’d never found the SEAL groupie thing appealing.

“I’m instructing them on how to give a massage that generates sexual interest, but without touching in an overtly sexual way.” She proved as skilled at talking under the hubbub as him, her manner straightforward and direct in spite of conversational material that literally made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

And what was that about? He was here to feel out the woman’s character, yet she seemed to be the one finding all his weaknesses and surprising him at every turn.

Jessica released his arm while the rest of the room quieted.

“I don’t want to put you on the spot. If you’d rather not test your sensual willpower in front of a bunch of strangers, we’ll certainly understand.”

Possibly it was his imagination, but he could have sworn all the other women in the room leaned forward in their seats.

And he’d have to be completely lacking a pulse not to experience at least a twinge of male interest at this scenario. Even with a potential adversary doing the stroking.

But he hadn’t come to Coronado Island and faced memories of his former career—the SEAL team that had been his whole life—only to get scared off by a sensual distraction. He would deal with whatever temptation lurked in Jessica’s touch in order to learn more about her. He couldn’t walk away until he found out if she was the kind of woman who could purposely swindle an old man.

“Not a chance.” He sat down on the chaise. “I’ve got a good fifteen minutes before I have to get back to work. Do your worst.”

JESSICA HELD her breath along with every other woman in the room when Rocco Easton shrugged out of his white jacket.

What was it about a set of great shoulders that commanded attention from even the most aloof feminine observer? And damn it, Jessica considered herself the queen of detached. She could provide a good deal of male testimony that would agree.

Yet something about the waiter’s expressionless compliance suggested he could turn off his personal desires even faster than she could. Wasn’t that an odd quality in a man who couldn’t be a day over thirty? There was something strong and unyielding about him, something that reassured her he would never be overcome by an attack of lecherousness after a bit of massage.