Her Secret Thrill. Donna Kauffman

eyes, who quickly stepped forward to catch the crystal stemware she almost bobbled to the floor.

      He rescued two of them, and Natalie managed to get the other three onto the counter intact.

      “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

      She shook her head, willing her pounding heart out of her throat. “I—I thought I was alone.” She meant to look away, regain her composure, but something about the direct, easy way he held her gaze prevented her from doing so. “Let me, uh, that is, I, um—” She broke off, suddenly feeling silly for being so tongue-tied. Like she hadn’t seen a hundred gorgeous blondes tonight. It was just that he looked, well…real. It was simply a shock after all those capped teeth and spa-pumped pecs.

      Taking a discreet, calming breath, she trotted out the pageant director smile one last time. “I’ll show you to the door.” She stepped forward, obviously expecting him to move back out of the doorway and follow her. Only, he didn’t do as she expected.

      She stopped, feeling the first tiny frisson of—well, not fear exactly, but definitely awareness that she was alone in this suite with a stranger. A stranger that had a good four inches and fifty or sixty pounds on her.

      Projecting the calm, cool wherewithal that had got ten her farther inside the boardroom than most women her age—hell, twice her age—she gestured ahead of her. “This way, please.”

      She knew the look she was giving him made it perfectly clear she had no intention of playing any games. It was a look she’d perfected back in boarding school. Boys, especially rich ones, thought all a girl needed was a sharp smile and a fat bank account to fall thankfully on her back and spread her legs. Boys, rich or otherwise, learned quickly that Natalie Holcomb, of the Connecticut Holcombs, was not impressed with vast wealth, much less a hot bod.

      As it turned out, men hadn’t proven to be any different from boys.

      By now the look was second nature to her. She didn’t mind the ice princess reputation it had earned her, either. In fact, she took pride in it. At the end of the day, she knew—as did they—that she’d gotten where she was by working hard. With her knees firmly in the closed position.

      She held his gaze evenly and motioned to the door.

      He smiled at her. Totally unaffected by “the look.” Before she could follow up with her patented verbal ice blast, he nodded to a point behind her.

      “My jacket. It’s in the other room.”

      Oh. Natalie simply refused to blush. Holcombs didn’t. She’d learned at her father’s knee to smooth over minor gaffes with unshakable calm. Therefore, the knowing twinkle in the man’s eye meant less than nothing. Not even a ripple. Really.

      “I’ll meet you at the door, then,” she said, all good grace and polished manners.

      “No need to bother. I can show myself out,” he said as he moved past her.

      She swore she could feel the heat emanate from his body. Probably a flashback to the tightly pressed throng of bodies she’d been wedged into all night. Nothing more. She resisted the urge to fan her face. At least he wasn’t doused in some designer scent. Whatever he was wearing was very subtle. And quite effective.

      She refrained from sniffing the air behind him, but barely. Obviously she was far more tired than she’d thought. Good breeding—nothing else, certainly—sent her to the front door. She’d see him out simply to as sure herself she was well and truly alone. No other reason.

      “I have a problem.”

      She started at the sound of his voice. Damn him for doing that to her. Twice. She turned. “What problem?” She’d sounded sharper than she’d meant to, almost snappish. Calm and controlled, Natalie. Never snappish. That he had her reminding herself of things that were normally automatic responses only proved how overtired she really was.

      She smoothed her features into a composed mask, although truthfully, she felt anything but. Certainly it was the fatigue, after all, it was after three in the morning—but there was no denying he unsettled her with that direct, amused gaze of his. What was it about this guy, anyway?

      He was nice enough to look at, if you went for the earthy, muscular type. Actually, she wasn’t sure what her type was. But it certainly wasn’t mountain man here. Not that he was all that huge when you stopped and really looked him over. Rugged. Yes, rugged was the right way to describe him, now that she thought about it. He definitely filled out his black jeans and that amber knit pullover pretty damn convincingly—

      Dear God, she was ogling. She jerked her gaze up to his face. He spared her the knowing smile, but somewhere behind those eyes of his she knew he was feeling smug.

      “What is the problem?” she asked again, just wanting him gone. The hell with being polite. He’d found his jacket, so that wasn’t it. The well-worn brown leather jacket made those shoulders look even wider, his arms bigger, his chest broader. Whoever created his look had definitely chosen well.

      Liza had told her plenty of the stories about casting directors who discovered guys in the unlikeliest of places and, with a personal trainer, personal shopper and good dentist, turned them into daytime gods. Mechanic, she thought. Construction worker. UPS delivery guy.

      “My wallet,” he said, breaking into her reverie.

      Caught again. What was wrong with her, anyway?

      Never mind the sunken bath, she was going right to bed.

      “I gave it to Con to tip the limo guy.” He shrugged and smiled. “Guy just signed a seven-figure contract but never has money on him.” Those blue eyes twinkled quite charmingly. “Probably why he keeps me around.”

      “Con? As in Conrad Jones?” She groaned inwardly. She’d been ogling a groupie. At least she could have consoled herself if he was a working professional, instead of a…a sycophant, a hanger-on.

      “We grew up together. Lamont, Wyoming.”

      A childhood groupie. Even worse. He’d made a life out of standing in his pal’s spotlight. But this was none of her business. “Let me get my purse, I’ll be glad to loan you—”

      “I don’t need the money,” he said quickly. “It’s just that Con—”

      Right then, a loud thumping reverberated through the room at the end of the hallway, followed shortly thereafter by someone screaming, “God, yes!”

      That someone sounded suspiciously like Liza.

      “What the—?” Natalie went to move past him down the hallway.

      The blond stranger reached for her arm. “You might not want to—”

      His warning wasn’t even completed before another, far more masculine, shout echoed around the room. “Ooooooooh, yessssss. I’m coming, baby!”

      Natalie froze as an incredibly primitive and impossibly loud groan followed that pronouncement. Shrieks of undeniable rapture accompanied said groan. Liza’s.

      Well. Okay, then. Natalie was pretty sure that in her entire twenty-eight years she’d never once covered this particular social gaffe. At least she now knew where Liza had gotten off to, after all. Gotten off. Dear Lord. Her face flushed and no amount of social breeding was going to stop it.

      “I’m sorry,” he said from behind her.

      She turned to face him. Best just to brazen it out. “Well, I guess I’m really not alone, after all.” She wanted to smile brightly, make light of the whole thing, but she couldn’t pull it off.

      “Yeah.” He did have the grace to look a little uncomfortable. “Listen, maybe I will just head downstairs and see if the bar is still open or…or something. I’m staying with Con and I don’t have keys to his place,” he added by way of explanation. Then he gave up and grinned. “This is really embarrassing, isn’t it.”

      And just like that, she