Just Toying Around.... Rhonda Nelson

he preferred to deal with certainties. Too bad there weren’t any.

      Nick heard a door open, then close. Her door.

      Shit.

      Without the hat and glasses, he didn’t know quite what she looked like. Damn. How the hell would he put her under surveillance if he didn’t know whom to look for?

      Towel still wrapped loosely around his waist, Nick rushed to his own door, pulled it open and stepped out into the hall. He’d taken three steps into the corridor when he realized two things. One, the person in the hall was an old man, and therefore, couldn’t be Desiree Moon. Two, he didn’t have his key.

      A hot oath hissed through his clenched teeth.

      To Nick’s immense mortification, hotel patrons began to seemingly burst from their rooms like horses from the chutes at the Kentucky Derby. No fewer than five people passed him, giving him curious, look-at-the-pervert stares.

      Nick nodded politely to each, heat creeping up his neck. “Stepped into the hall, forgot my key,” he muttered inanely.

      Given the situation, he had two choices. He could board an elevator and go up to his brother’s room, pray that Ron was in and not with the check-in clerk. His stomach knotted in revulsion. Or, he could knock on Desiree’s door, then get back into his room via the connecting door.

      Ah, hell. He supposed this was one way to speed up the farce. Showing up in nothing but a towel should spark some sort of reaction. Hopefully, the right one.

      “I’LL BE CAREFUL. I know all about the undertow. Yes, I brought my sunblock. It’s not generic, Mom, it’s the good stuff.” She could hear the familiar drone of the football game in the background, indicating her father was home from the office. She smiled, thankful that some things in life never changed. “I don’t know the number offhand, but I have my cell. Call me on that if anything comes up.”

      Meg inwardly groaned, regretting the whopping lie she’d fabricated to account for her week-long absence. Her mother, The Chronic Worrier, would fret until Meg arrived safely home from her trip to the “beach.”

      Still, she could hardly tell her the truth.

      Hey, Ma. Headed into town for a sex-toy trade show. By the way, have I mentioned that I’m a sex-toy critic now? Multi-talented, your daughter is. Meg chuckled, and then shuddered. Her mother would call an emergency meeting of her prayer group quicker than she could say “Amen.” It wouldn’t be pretty.

      “I don’t plan on going to any bars to pick up men, Mom. Yes, I’ve heard all about the date-rape drug. Listen, Mom—” Meg paused as a knock sounded at her door. Probably another vendor, she surmised. Half listening to more of her mother’s concerns, Meg crossed the room, flipped the lock and opened the door. “I’ll avoid…strange men, Mom. Bye…” Meg trailed off weakly as her eyes landed on the wet, glistening wall of a spectacularly muscled chest.

      She instinctively knew whom the chest belonged to, so she didn’t waste any time by allowing her gaze to be drawn upward to confirm an identity.

      Instead, she took the lucky opportunity to slowly scan and commit to memory each and every golden inch of his impressive torso and all areas south. The chest gave way to a rock-hard, splendidly sculpted abdomen. The desire to learn those ridges, to play them like a harp and listen to the music of his groans of pleasure, the hissing of his breath, was so strong Meg’s throat went dry. She wanted to wet her finger, slowly drag it down his belly and swirl it around his navel.

      The towel barely clung to lean, narrowed hips, and dipped lower in the front, revealing a gilded treasure trail Meg itched to explore. An impressive bulge created an intriguing terrain across the front of his towel, leaving little doubt that what lay underneath was just as well proportioned as the rest of him. A slow simmer commenced between her thighs and Meg absently licked her lips.

      He cleared his throat, forcing her preoccupied gaze to the northern territory of his face. A slight flush reddened his cheeks and a sheepish grin tugged the corners of his beautiful lips. “I’m locked out of my room,” he told her. “Do you mind if I get back in through the connecting door?”

      Still bedazzled, Meg blinked. “Connecting door?”

      “Our rooms have connecting doors. Haven’t you noticed?”

      No. She hadn’t. Meg glanced behind her to confirm what he said and, sure enough, they did indeed share a connecting door. She didn’t know quite what to make of that, and decided to sort the conundrum out when a half-naked man wasn’t standing less than two feet from her.

      “Would you mind if I came in out of the hall?” he asked, gesturing behind him as a couple of teenagers tittered past. “I’m attracting quite a bit of attention. The kind that could get me arrested.”

      Meg started. “Oh. Sure. Sorry.”

      He murmured a thanks as Meg stepped back and allowed him to come in. A clean, masculine fragrance bathed her as he passed, making her knees go weak. Gathering her scattered wits, she hurried to the bed and drew the coverlet over the newest batch of products awaiting her critique, then she doubled back and unlocked her side of the connecting door. She could feel his observant gaze following her.

      “Is your side locked?” she asked.

      He shoved an impatient hand through his damp hair and swore hotly.

      Meg took that as a yes. “Er, why don’t you call down to the front desk and ask someone to come up and open your door? You can wait in here until they arrive.”

      “Thanks.” He rubbed the back of his neck, then lifted the receiver and dialed the front desk. “I’m really sorry about this. I hope I’m not keeping you from anything.”

      Meg pretended to check her watch. “I’ve got a few minutes.”

      What she really had was a bad case of lust. The man had the best ass she’d ever seen. The damp terrycloth clung to the hard muscles of his butt like butter over warm bread. The finely sculpted muscles of his back glistened with wet droplets and, strangely, Meg found herself consumed with a peculiar urge to nibble a path from his sinewy shoulder up the curiously vulnerable side of his neck.

      Heat swamped her, made her breasts heavy, her sex moist. She’d never been more attracted to a man in her life.

      “They said they’d send someone up in a moment,” he told her. He tightened his towel, glancing about the room as though unsure of what to do or say next.

      Making an attempt to be some sort of hostess, Meg hastily scooped up her discarded clothes from the back of the only desk chair. While she’d unpacked all of her things and arranged them to her satisfaction, she’d yet to clear away her dirty clothes. “Have a seat,” she offered, summoning a weak smile.

      “Thanks.” Firmly holding the towel in place, he folded his big frame into the chair.

      “So how did you come to get locked out of your room? Like that?” she asked meaningfully, gesturing toward the towel. Her gaze lingered just a fraction longer than necessary.

      “I thought I heard someone knock on my door, stepped out into the hall, and the door closed before I could get back in.” He lifted one shoulder in a negligent shrug and grinned. “Bet it happens to everyone.”

      Meg’s lips quirked. “I’m sure it does.”

      “Has it ever happened to you?”

      “Nope.”

      He chuckled, the sound a rich, deep rumble. “You could have lied. I was almost feeling better.”

      “Sorry.” Meg laughed. “Sucks to be you.”

      His eyes widened at that comment and an outright laugh burst from his chest, making the muscles dance across his abdomen. “Yes, right now, it does sorta suck to be me,” he admitted. He extended his hand. “I’m Nick Devereau, by the way.”

      “Desiree Moon.” Meg didn’t even hesitate.