No Regrets. Cindi Myers

slyer, knowing expression. She rose and looked him up and down. “All right, Nick. You’ve made up your mind and I respect that. For now.” She turned and moved to the door.

      Fear that this might be the last time he saw her gripped him. “Wait,” he called. “Will you be in Monday morning?”

      She looked over her shoulder at him, that same self-assured smile still in place. “I’ll be here. And just so you know, I’ll be making every effort to convince you to change your mind.”

      He swallowed hard. “You don’t need to do that.”

      “Oh, but I do.” The smile broadened. “Six months is a long time, Nick. I hate to think of spending all that time alone, don’t you?”

      When she was gone, he sank into his chair, the strength in his legs deserting him. He was breathing hard, as if he’d just run up four flights of stairs, and his head was spinning. So much for his blasted self-control. He’d attempted to lay down the law and all he’d done was wave a red flag in front of her. Now she was determined to change his mind.

      What man stood a chance against a determined woman like Lexie Foster?

       3

      NICK TOLD HIMSELF he’d turned down the promise of a temporary affair in the interest of keeping a good assistant, which in his previous experience, had always been more difficult to find. But as he worked side by side with Lexie during the following week he wondered at the wisdom of his decision.

      She was still an excellent assistant, charming his clients and keeping the office running smoothly. But now, in addition to lusting after her in silence, he was constantly reminded of what could be his if he could only ignore common sense and convention. The struggle made him irritable and surly, which she pretended not to notice.

      Instead, she smiled and made pleasant, intelligent conversation. She continued to dress in a variety of professional yet stunning outfits. Each seemed to have been designed expressly to call his attention to her shapely curves and long legs, all topped off by a silky scarf tied around her neck, like the ribbon on a package, tempting him to unwrap her.

      She made no mention of their conversation that Friday afternoon, but he was aware of her watching him—studying him, really—as if she were formulating a plan of attack.

      And was it his imagination, or her ingenuity, that led to the most innocent activities taking on a sexual connotation? Was it necessary for her to lean quite so far over his desk when she delivered letters for his signature? Had she meant for him to see the erotic black satin and lace lingerie peeking out of the bag she left in the restroom after a lunchtime shopping trip?

      And speaking of lunch, he couldn’t believe mere coincidence had led her to return from lunch with an ice-cream cone, which she proceeded to consume in full view of his office, her tongue slowly encircling the cone, her lips making gentle sucking noises until, in agony, he’d gotten up from his desk and slammed the door.

      Today it was lipstick. When he came out of his office at midmorning she was sitting at her desk applying lipstick. Slowly. The tube caressed her lips and stained them berry-pink. Who had decided women’s lipstick should have such a definitely phallic shape?

      “I hate to interrupt your toilette, but I need you to call the Magnolia Hotel and make reservations for me for tonight.”

      She slowly twisted the lipstick back into its tube and tucked it in her purse. “The Wittier investigation certainly has you out of sorts, doesn’t it?”

      If she wanted to think he was feeling this way because of Stan Wittier and his wife, let her. The case certainly was contributing to his frustration. He’d followed Ellen Wittier all over town for a week and come up with absolutely nothing. If she was meeting another man she was being incredibly discreet about it.

      “Tell the hotel I’d like a room on the west side of the fourteenth floor. Preferably either 1422 or 1424.”

      “Why those particular rooms?” she asked as she flipped through the yellow pages.

      “Those rooms look directly onto the Wittiers’ loft. Stan Wittier told me he’s going to be out of town on business for a few days, so I figure his wife will use the opportunity to meet her lover. When she does, I’ll be watching.”

      “What if she draws the curtains? You won’t see anything.”

      “No curtains. I already checked. They apparently hired a decorator who’s into minimalism. Or they don’t want to block the view they paid big bucks for.”

      She found the number for the hotel and put her finger on the page to mark the spot. “Who is this boyfriend of hers, do you know?”

      He shook his head. “I haven’t seen a sign of him. So far, Ellen Wittier has lived a stupefyingly dull life that seems to consist mainly of shopping, having lunch with friends and attending various beauty appointments.”

      “I don’t think she’s cheating at all,” Lexie said. “I think her husband’s paranoid because he married a pretty young thing and doesn’t spend enough time with her.”

      “If she’s not cheating, it will be the first time in my experience that a client’s been wrong about something like this. By the time somebody hires me to get the evidence, they already have a good idea what’s going on.”

      “There’s a first time for everything.” She picked up the phone. “Any preference as to what kind of room? Double-double? King?”

      “I don’t care as long as it gives me a good view of that loft.”

      She looked him up and down, her gaze traveling over him deliberately. He felt his temperature rise when her vision focused on his crotch and she smiled. “I think you’re more of a king-size man,” she said, and punched in the number.

      He turned and retreated to his office. It was either that or snatch the phone out of her hand and do all the things to her he’d been dreaming about. Fantasies of Lexie were keeping him awake nights anyway.

      Every day that passed, he was having more trouble remembering why those fantasies couldn’t come true. Logic was apparently the first thing to go when the sex drive started running the show.

      LEXIE HUMMED ALONG with pseudo-pop hits and waited for the hotel reservations agent to come on the line. Nick’s gruffness didn’t fool her one bit. She knew she’d shaken him up with her suggestion they become lovers. Though he’d done his best to keep his distance from her this week, she sensed he was weakening.

      Who wouldn’t melt a little in the heat of the attraction that crackled between them? Her senses stayed on hyper-alert whenever they were in the room together and when they accidentally brushed against each other it was all she could do not to moan. Ever since she’d conceived the idea of taking him as her lover she’d been able to think of little else, like a woman stranded on a desert island in need of a chocolate fix.

      If Nick were chocolate, he’d be the most expensive, darkest kind, sinfully rich and sweet, with a hint of bitterness.

      Now that she’d set her sights on him, no other man would do. She’d been patient so far, reminding him at every opportunity of what he was missing. But so far he hadn’t taken the bait. Maybe it was time for more drastic action.

      “Hello, reservations. How may I help you?”

      She started as a man’s voice replaced the music. “I’d like to reserve a room for tonight.” She explained Nick’s requirements and was assured that room 1422 was available, and that it had a king bed.

      “Will there be anything else?”

      She smiled, struck by a brilliant idea. If Nick wouldn’t come to her, she’d simply have to go to him. After all, it would be a shame to let that king-size bed go to waste. “Yes, could I go ahead and order dinner for two to be sent up? Say, about seven o’clock? Something simple—steak and baked potatoes, with a nice salad and a good bottle of merlot.”

      “Very