Tori Carrington - You Sexy Thing!

There was no reason to think Grace would recognize him. Hell, he didn’t even recognize him. He couldn’t have looked more different from this morning had he tried. Which, of course, he hadn’t. But maybe Tanja’s bad taste had its advantages. The last thing he wanted was to engage in conversation with Gracie Mattias so soon. It was bad enough he’d have to appear with her tomorrow after what she’d said to him before leaving the elevator in New York. To have her see him here, alone…well, he could only imagine what she’d have to say about that.

“Why, if it isn’t the world’s most prominent sex expert.”

Dylan nearly crushed the overripe peach in his hand at the sound of Gracie’s voice. He fought the desire to play it off, glance around as if to question who she was talking to. But the way she’d addressed him left no doubt to whom she was speaking. And pretending otherwise would only make him look…more desperate.

He turned his head, managing surprise. Which wasn’t difficult because a scene from an Al Pacino movie suddenly sprang to mind. Pacino had met the heroine-slash-suspected-serial-killer at a small market just like this one. She’d also been wearing a raincoat…and had nothing on underneath it.

Something warm and wet dripped between his fingers. He glanced down to find he’d pulverized the peach.

To his chagrin, Grace’s smile widened. “Don’t tell me. You have a kitchen, too.”

“Kitchen?” he repeated dumbly, reaching for a handkerchief that wasn’t there. What good were so many pockets if they didn’t hold anything?

She handed him a paper towel she’d torn from an overhead holder. “Yes. My hotel room has a kitchen. Well, a kitchenette really, and I decided to cook. I naturally assumed that was the reason you were here as well. We must be in the same…hotel. Again. Which only makes sense if the show’s putting us up.”

She made a production of looking into his cart. Which made the fact that the only item in there was a frozen dinner that much worse.

“Sense. Yes.” Dylan wondered if sleep was going to be anywhere on his itinerary of things to do now that he knew Gracie would be showering…er, sleeping under the same roof.

She straightened, shifting her full basket from one hand to the other. “You know, since you’re obviously eating alone—” she gestured toward the cart “—and I have plans to…eat alone, why don’t we eat alone together?” Her smile had the strangest effect on him. “I’ll even let you get the wine. After all, it’s not like either of us has to drive home or anything.”

“Wine…”

It suddenly slammed into him that Gracie Mattias was actually inviting him to her place, her room, for dinner.

It also occurred to him that she was coming on to him stronger than Limburger cheese.

But why would she be coming on to him? Yes, there had been a certain provocative quality about their conversations thus far, but they’d seemed harmless enough. And when she’d suggested in the elevator that he needed a wild turn in the sack, she hadn’t indicated she saw herself as a player in that particular scenario.

She reached around him to sample the peaches, giving him an undiluted whiff of her subtle perfume. He found himself fighting a groan.

“Um, I don’t think that would be a very good idea.”

She turned her head to glance at him, putting her enticing mouth mere inches away from his. “What wouldn’t?”

He gestured helplessly, his words lost somewhere between his chest and his mouth. “The peaches,” he said finally. “They’re never as good as when they’re in season.”

Well, that didn’t make much sense. He’d meant to say he didn’t think it would be a good idea if they had dinner together. Alone. In one or the other of their hotel rooms.

He stood straighter. And why wouldn’t it be a good idea? Because Gracie was wildly attractive? Certainly even he was adult enough to keep his libido in check during something as innocent as dinner. He hadn’t been looking forward to spending the night alone. Over the past five days, he’d had his fill of alone. He could do with a little company. And if there was one thing he’d learned, it was that keeping company with Gracie Mattias was anything but boring.

Wasn’t this what he had signed on for when he’d decided to write his latest book? To sway people to his way of thinking? What better method to do that than by having dinner with his leading adversary? He’d certainly had his share of tough sells. She couldn’t be any tougher than those he’d encountered thus far. He’d tried to prove Gracie wrong on the public front. Perhaps a more private one would do the trick.

“My place,” he said, giving her a room number. “You bring the food, and I’ll supply the wine.”

“Isn’t it usually the other way around?”

He gave her a grin of his own. “Yes, well, I got the impression that you don’t like to do anything the old-fashioned way, Dr. Mattias.”

“Then your powers of observation are better than I thought.” She nodded. “Okay. But that means you have to supply dessert.”

Dylan’s stomach dropped to his groin. The way she said the word made him think all sorts of decadent thoughts that included—but certainly weren’t limited to—licking whipped cream off sexy Gracie’s mouth…and other more sensitive places.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea….

Grace began walking away. “See you in an hour, Dr. Dylan. Oh, and make that white wine, will you?”

DYLAN TORE OPEN the package of assorted cookies, cursing when they flung to the far corners of the counter, everywhere but on the plate he had put out to hold them. Cookies and milk, he’d decided, was as wholesome a dessert as ever there was. Gracie didn’t have to know it had taken him longer to chose the dessert than it had to find a decent bottle of wine. Anything involving strawberries, sticky chocolate, or that had a smooth consistency, he’d instantly ruled out. Day-old, crunchy cookies were the only thing that had fit the bill.

He piled the cookies onto a plate then angled into the dining area. He’d set the small table a little earlier but now stood staring at it. The whole setting looked somehow too intimate, too…suggestive. Too much like a scene for seduction.

Wrong.

He’d agreed to this little meeting solely to try to bring her around to his way of thinking. Placing the cookies on the table, he decided the overhead light wasn’t bright enough. He circled around the room, flicking on every lamp in the place, then flicked on the television and tuned in CNN. A quick trip into the kitchen found the wine he’d been letting breathe on the table resting instead on the counter. After he’d propped his briefcase along with his laptop onto the dining table next to the place settings, he stood back. There. Everything looked more casual. More businesslike. More like the last thing on his mind was sampling Gracie Mattias instead of her food.

He grimaced and rubbed his stubble-covered chin. If that was the last thing on his mind, then why did it spring forth so quickly?

The phone rang on the table in the corner, breaking his thought cleanly in two. He glanced at his watch, then stepped to pluck up the receiver.

“Dylan, it’s Tanja.”

He frowned, wondering at the sound of pulsating music in the background. “She lives.” And apparently better than he did, if the music was any indication.

“Look, I just got a call from your editor. Is your cell phone switched on?”

Dylan glanced toward his briefcase where the instrument in question lay silent on top of some papers. “I don’t think I turned it on after the flight. Why?”

“Because that Diana you’ve been trying to contact has been trying to call you, that’s why.”