Debbi Rawlins - Hot Spot

“Let’s skip the pool.”

“It’s just right there.” She pointed. “Have you seen the bottom? It’s a mosaic of black and pink tiles and the same Plexiglas roof—”

He didn’t look happy as he glanced at his watch. “I have only twenty minutes.”

“Right. Okay. Let’s go look at one of the suites.” She knew what he was doing. Warning her not to waste time with the pool because he wouldn’t be removing his shirt. Fine. There was always the spa.

The elevator trip down to the eighteenth floor was short and silent. His mood had definitely shifted, and Madison decided it would be wise to give as little information as possible for now. Once they started the shoot, she’d get him relaxed and more amenable to her suggestions.

Using the card key, she opened the double doors to the penthouse suite, three thousand square feet of sheer decadence. One night in this pleasure palace would cost her the equivalent of five months’ rent.

The foyer alone was huge, massive, and the floor an incredible Italian marble that made her want to tiptoe across so she wouldn’t leave a single mark. On the walls hung Warhol originals that Madison had already drooled over when Janice Foster, the hotel’s manager, had graciously given Madison the tour yesterday.

“Not bad, huh?” She grinned at Jack. “They call this the Pop Suite. Two bedrooms, three baths, with butler service.” She sighed. “I suppose I could have my arm twisted.”

He smiled and strolled over to look at the artwork. “I didn’t see this one during the opening.”

“I’ve only seen two other penthouse suites. One being the bridal suite, so I don’t think we’ll be doing a photo spread there.”

“I’m surprised.” Amusement tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I figured that would be your first choice.”

“You’re supposed to be the city’s most eligible bachelor. The last thing I want to do is dispel the fantasy.”

He turned away, the smile gone. Clearly he hadn’t considered that angle, and like a damn fool, she’d pointed it out. He went to the window and stared out at the skyline, and she quietly went to stand beside him.

“Amazing city, huh?” she said, glancing sideways at him. Great profile. Straight nose. Strong jaw. Her heart foolishly skipped a beat.

“That it is.”

“Are you from here?”

He looked at her, briefly, probably wondering if she’d read his bio…which she had, but now with his gaze on hers, she couldn’t remember detail one as he turned his attention back to the glittering symphony of lights. “Nebraska.”

“No kidding.”

“No kidding,” he repeated. “Know where that is?”

“Midwest.”

A hint of a smile lifted his lips. “Close enough.”

“Do you miss it?”

He turned back to her again, an odd look on his face.

Oh, no. Now what had she said wrong?

“I had to think for a moment,” he said. “That’s not a typical question.”

“And here I thought I was being so cliché.”

He really smiled, causing that flutter in her chest again.

She silently cleared her throat. “So? Do you?”

“You’d make a hell of an interviewer. You don’t give up.”

“I’ve been accused of persistence on occasion.”

“Not a bad quality.”

“Depends on who you ask.” She shrugged and moved away from the window, becoming increasingly aware of his nearness. Of the way his chin was starting to shadow…of the attractive crease in his cheek when he smiled. “If you don’t want to talk about your family that’s fine.”

“They’re all still in Omaha and I go back to see them about once a year. My parents and I have a great relationship, so there’s no dirt to dig up.”

Nothing in the world annoyed her more than to be associated with paparazzi in even the tiniest way. “Frankly, I don’t care if you sleep with your sister. I take celebrity photos. The only thing that interests me is capturing your sex appeal on film.”

His jaw tightened, and at the moment he looked a lot angrier than he did sexy. He consulted his watch, probably to keep from shooting daggers at her. “I think we’ve had enough fun for one evening.”

Regret restored her common sense. “Don’t you want to look at the rest of the suite?”

“Not particularly.”

“Then you have no objection to shooting in here?”

He glanced toward the bedroom. From their vantage point, they could glimpse the cherrywood four-poster bed.

“Come see in here,” she said, heading for the bedroom door. “It’ll just take a minute.”

“Why?” he asked even as he approached her. “How many settings do you need? How many shots will you be taking?”

She wasn’t about to tell him how many rolls of film she’d been known to take to get just the right shot. Instead she shrugged and continued toward the door. “This room is unreal. We’re already here. You should at least see it.”

Reluctantly he followed her into the huge bedroom that was bigger than her entire flat. The deep burgundy walls and velvet chaise should have made the room look more traditional, but somehow didn’t. It helped that the crystal chandelier was totally modern, a work of art, in fact, and that the room offered every convenience known to man.

And then some.

Her gaze automatically went to the armoire—a virtual treasure chest of adult toys, some of which even eluded her rather broad knowledge. She quickly looked away, not eager to point out that particular asset of the suite.

“Watch this.” She found the panel on the side of the sleek bedside table and pushed a button. In front of the chandelier, facing the detailed headboard, a slim screen lowered from a hidden recess in the ceiling. “Plasma. Awesome, isn’t it?”

Jack smiled and moved beside her to look at the panel. “What do the rest of these buttons do?”

His shoulder brushed hers, his faint woodsy scent so intoxicating, it took her a second to regain her senses. “Uh, lots of things.” She cursed herself for the inane comment. “Everything in the suite is controlled from here—the television, of course, the temperature, the drapes, the sound system, the lights…”

“Impressive.”

“You don’t sound impressed.”

He smiled again, and she realized that he probably already had a plasma TV, a comparable sound system, everything he needed at his fingertips. And if he didn’t, it wasn’t because he couldn’t afford it.

“Ah, well, it beats having to slap the side of my ten-year-old twenty-inch to clear the reception.” She sighed. “So what do you think? Good backdrop, huh?”

His gaze narrowed, he surveyed the room. “Anything else in here I should know about?”

“Such as?”

His frown deepened, lingering on the armoire. “This hotel is known for more than its luxurious rooms.”

“Oh, you mean the sex stuff.” She grinned at his grimace. “I didn’t think you were interested.”

“I’m not.” He gave her a long stern look. Which didn’t faze her. He had the most incredible hazel eyes. She could stare into them all night. “I don’t like surprises.”

“I totally get it. No surprises.”

“I have your word.”

She tried not to laugh. “Yes.”

He glanced at his watch. “Today’s Wednesday, when do you want to start shooting?”

“Saturday?” She noticed his hesitation and quickly added, “Whatever suits your schedule. I know you don’t do the weekend shows so I figured—”

“You watch my show?” Amusement gleamed in his eyes.

“Of course. Doesn’t everyone?” Too perky. He had to know she was lying.

He smiled. “I’ll have to check my calendar to confirm Saturday, but I think that’ll work.”

“Great.”