Up All Night. Joanne Rock

clutched the stupid napkin in a death grip.

      “Loser.” Punching the elevator button, she told herself she would simply enjoy the conference from a self-help guru who’d written a series of books on nurturing mental help through alternative therapies that she was attending this week. She’d even been chosen to participate in a special forum with a research group compiling data on agoraphobics, so she could help along other people with issues similar to hers.

      Although, it would have been nice to have indulged in some sensual therapy in addition to the mental coping strategies offered at the conference. Jenny had made an art form out of finding all her life needs online, but there were still a couple of crucial ones that couldn’t be procured on the Internet.

      A real relationship, for one.

      Real sex for another.

      Staring blankly at an ad for the hotel’s boardwalk casino, she smoothed out the napkin with David’s address as the elevator button chimed for her floor. He had said he was concerned about how slowly she’d wanted to take things. But surely that was a reaction to the fact that she’d confided her privacy issues with him via e-mail before they met in person. Maybe he’d just assumed she would want to move slowly after they met since she’d taken plenty of time to get to know him first.

      And if that’s what he thought, didn’t she owe it to herself to clarify his mistake?

      Loser or not, Dave Brady was a known quantity and Jenny wouldn’t let this prime candidate for a fling slip away without exerting a little more effort. She needed a transition man while she worked her way up to a real relationship, and Dave had “temporary” written all over him.

      Hot and lonesome and tired of worrying about her problems, Jenny unlocked her room and headed straight for her laptop on the king-size bed at the back of the suite. David might not be the most suave of guys, but he was a damn sight more fine than the men in her limited experience.

      db@shoreengineers was about to find out how quickly she could move when it came to scratching a sexual itch.

      DEVON BAINES loosened his tie as he slammed the hotel door behind him. Conferences sucked. Not because he didn’t enjoy engineering. On the contrary, the workshops kicked ass and the chance to school the new kids about real-world projects was a guaranteed good time. But the bs networking which amounted to listening to a bunch of long-winded geeks sing their own praises…

      Granted, he had low tolerance for people in general. An even lower tolerance for people who talked a big game and didn’t have the smarts to back it up. Thank God he’d brought his laptop so he could escape the social pressures of conference hell for a few hours. Cracking open the computer, he flexed his fingers and clicked the keys that would connect him to his message box.

      His watch said it was just past midnight as he slid into one of the Lucite chairs at the ultramodern wet bar just off the kitchen of his suite. Spotting the round of new e-mails, he scrolled over the mundane reminders from various project managers about inhouse responsibilities and a couple of notes from friends in the industry that probably contained good luck sentiments or possible job offers. Instead, his gaze lingered on an unfamiliar address, a personal note that didn’t suggest he’d won a foreign lottery or that he needed Viagra.

      As if.

      The note from “deluxegirl” read:

      I didn’t know what to say to you in the lobby bar tonight, but I came to the conference this week just to meet you in person. I’m not a woman who takes things slowly. When I see something I want, I go after it.

      And I want you. Naked, hot and ready for me.

      I’m in room 1016 if you’re interested in seeing where things lead tonight.

      Jenny

      Devon stared at the note, wondering who the hell Jenny could be. An engineering colleague from another firm? Obviously, the message writer was staying here at Quintessence so it made sense she’d be connected to the business if she was here for the conference. The time on the note read 11:55 p.m., shortly before he’d left the party full of windbags downstairs. He’d been in the fifties-style lobby bar a handful of times that night, mostly because the lines were shorter there than inside the welcome reception and he’d bought drinks for some friends he hoped to do business with as a freelance consultant.

      Finger hovering over the delete key, Devon tapped lightly on the button without actually pressing. He shouldn’t be interested in some sordid interlude with a woman he might possibly cross paths with again in his profession.

      And yet…

      How long had it been since he’d lost himself in sweaty, all-night sex? For a man who appreciated every nuance of amusement park rides in his gig as a mechanical engineer, he sure did deprive himself of the best thrill on earth.

      Lifting his hand away from the keyboard, he left the message intact but flipped down the screen. As if that would keep him from thinking about the mystery invitation and the potential adventure waiting one floor above him.

      Suddenly thirsty, he unbuttoned his pinstriped shirt as he headed for the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water at the black marble sink with slightly gaudy—but probably pricey—gold fixtures. He didn’t need this kind of temptation with his whole future career teetering on his personal reputation. But he never indulged himself, damn it. Why should he say no now when a primo opportunity landed in his lap?

      Here was an open invitation that had cost him zero effort when he’d never sleep tonight anyway.

      Downing the rest of the water, he buttoned his shirt back up except for the top one and left his tie on the counter. He could at least see who was behind the mystery e-mail. What would it hurt to have a look at Jenny to see if she was as tempting in person as her words had been in her note? After the last few months of having the rug pulled out from under him professionally, Devon figured he deserved to indulge a few pleasures wherever he could find them.

      Picking up his room key, he stepped out into the hallway, liking this idea the longer he thought about it. His feet carried him to the luxury spa that served the hotel’s suite guests where he’d seen a condom machine earlier in the day. He’d made time for a workout to sweat off three months worth of aggression toward Dave Brady, the ass-kissing nimrod who’d taken over Shore Engineers. Devon had never considered sex as an outlet for frustration, but he had to admit it sounded a lot more fun than mind-numbing reps with free weights.

      Scooping up a handful of prophylactics just in case, Devon left the deserted spa and took the elevator up a floor. Straight to room number 1016.

      Possibly he could have convinced himself to turn around and go back downstairs if the door had been shut. But the metal bar that served as a security bolt when latched from the inside had been swiveled on its hinge to prop the door open very subtly—a half inch at the most.

      An invitation to come inside?

      Lured by the implication of that open door, Devon didn’t stand a chance of walking away just yet. Every primitive instinct within him urged him forward to explore his options and follow this night wherever it led. He’d been so disciplined since his ex-wife had left, determined not to let another woman mess with his head until he got his life together again.

      But Lori had left…a year ago.

      A damn long time to go without sex for a man with enough drive to screw his way through the phone book—according to Lori in one particularly messy argument. Not that he’d ever cheated on her. She just hated that he wanted sex a lot and to her way of thinking, he could have kept half the women in Jersey occupied with his appetite.

      Shaking off bad memories and regrets, Devon told himself it wouldn’t hurt to tap on the door. Body tense with anticipation even though he probably shouldn’t have sex with whatever stranger waited for him inside, he knocked.

      Waited.

      Classical music drifted out into the hallway along with a floral scent from a burning candle he could see perched on a table to one side of the door. Beethoven