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Anyway, the guy was damned cute.
She stuck her hand in the door. It closed on her fingers.
The scream that followed was broken only by the most vulgar expletives Abbey could think of. It wasn't entirely an act—jammed fingers didn't tickle—but it wasn't as painful as she made out.
It worked. The door flew open.
"Jeez, are you all right?"
Her hand was caught by two large ones and gingerly inspected. For a thrilling moment she thought he was going to kiss them better, but he didn't.
A girl could dream though couldn't she?
Now that the door was completely open, she could get a better look at him. He was a lot younger than his profile suggested, and he oozed masculine power. He was tall, with a chest built for manual labor and shoulders for leaning on. Dark stubble dappled his chin and his black, tousled hair needed a comb run through it.
Or her fingers.
"Come inside," he said quickly, ushering her in. "Run them under cold water."
He led her into the hotel room and she heard the door slam behind her, minus her fingers this time. He showed her into the bathroom, still steamy from his shower, and turned on the cold water tap. He gently guided her fingers under the cool rush.
"How's that?" he asked.
Abbey glanced up and caught him watching her reflection in the mirror above the sink. Their eyes locked for a long moment and Abbey saw something in them that she liked. Something mysterious, sensuous.
Warm tingles rushed down her spine and sent the blood pumping in her veins. Her entire body heated up under that stare. She was caught, mesmerized like a moth in a circle of light. It gave her a rush.
Suddenly, he let go of her hand, as if it had bitten him.
"Okay?" he asked, turning away and reaching for a towel from the rack.
Abbey blushed as she thought about taking off the one he wore. Something told her that his bottom half would be just as sexy as the top.
"Fine," she managed to say, accepting the towel. "Thanks for taking care of me."
"You know you should've been more careful. You could've done some serious damage."
I could've done some serious damage? Abbey wanted to say, but refrained. Arguing with Damien Vane wasn't going to make him want her. And she needed for him to want her.
Badly.
"You're right," she muttered.
"Are you sure your fingers are okay?"
Abbey wiggled them and nodded. "All attached."
"Good. Next time be more careful." He paused, still watching her. One eyebrow rose and he coughed politely. Her cue to leave.
She ignored it.
"How about that massage now?" Abbey cringed at the high pitch of her voice. She sounded like a bimbo, desperate to bed this man. It wasn't far from the truth. She did feel a little stupid today, especially after finding out about Tarken and Melinda, considering everyone in the office had known about their affair for weeks.
Damien Vane grinned. Actually, it was more of a smirk, but it did produce one cute dimple on his cheek. "Persistent aren't you?"
It wasn't a flat out refusal. Could he be wavering? If he was, it was time to go in for the kill.
"I just want to give you your prize from hotel management. They'd be most upset to find out I didn't deliver."
"I guess..." Damien glanced from Abbey to the doorway, as if realizing there was no escape.
"I won't bite." She grinned, and touched his bare arm. His skin was warm and smooth. "Come into the bedroom where you'll be more comfortable." She took his hand the way he'd taken hers a moment ago.
He snapped it away. "How about the lounge?"
"That'll be fine too."
She led the way out of the bathroom, using her best bottom-wiggling walk which she hoped looked seductive and not as ridiculous as it felt. In the lounge room of the Executive Suite she stopped by the window and opened the blinds.
He crossed his arms and glared at her as if she were a fool. "What are you doing?"
Great, his sympathy was drying up fast. Time to make her move. Abbey turned to him, leaned forward and lowered her lashes and her voice to a seductive whisper. "I like to do this by moonlight."
"Moonlight?" He peered out the window and up at the dark sky. "I think the moon's gone behind the clouds."
"It'll come out again soon. This is Melbourne. You Sydney-siders don't know how the weather can change down here." She snapped her fingers. "Like that."
His large, black eyes narrowed, watching her. Studying her. It was unnerving but thrilling at the same time. She hoped he liked what he saw. Why wouldn't he? She'd never worn an outfit so daring, so revealing, in her life and her body was quite good, if not supermodel hot.
From the way Vane looked at her, she got the impression he thought so too. Like a compass pointing to magnetic north, he couldn't keep his eyes off her.
"How did you know I was from Sydney?" he asked, suddenly focusing on her eyes.
"Um, management told me."
He nodded slightly. His gaze shifted down again, lingering around her breasts and Abbey suddenly wished she hadn't worn such a revealing top. She also wished she'd worn a bra because her nipples were puckering —and not because she was cold. In fact, she was far from it. Her body felt like it was sizzling and his intense gaze wasn't cooling her down any.
"You sure you're a masseur?"
His eyes traveled lower to her waist where a patch of flesh was revealed between top and skirt, and down to the hem of the mini skimming her thighs just below her butt.
"An official hotel masseur?"
His eyes flew to her face and Abbey swallowed.
"Of course," she said, walking over to the phone beside the couch. She picked up the receiver. "Call reception if you like."
Damien Vane strode over and for a sickening moment, Abbey thought he was going to call her bluff. But he reached for the receiver, took it from her fingers and placed it back in its cradle.
He looked down at Abbey with that stare which entranced her and heated her to boiling point. "I believe you." His voice was low, dangerous. "I don't know anyone in Melbourne. No one who'd send me a ... masseur, already paid for."
"Good," she said lightly, ignoring the implication that she was there to give him more than just a massage.
"Let's just get one thing straight," he said, his tone back to its deep hum. "I've never had a...massage...before and if this one isn't what I expect then I'll ask you to leave. Got it?"
Abbey nodded. Damn. The implication that he would refuse her if she gave him anything more than a massage came through loud and clear. So he thought he had willpower of steel, huh? She'd just see about that. Let him try to resist Abbey McPherson in full sensuality mode.
"Sit," she ordered. He sat on the couch and she knelt beside him.
Lucky for her the couch was facing the window, although there was another chair in the way. She stood and moved it.
"So I can see the moon when it finally appears," she said.
He eyed her as if she were a nut job then bent his head forward, waiting patiently for her to touch him.
She did, and the same tingle zinged through her as when he'd looked at her in the bathroom mirror. It started at her fingertips, where his flesh met hers, and rippled up her arms, into her breasts, her stomach and thighs.
Abbey sucked in air and willed herself to concentrate. She couldn't let passion take over—she had a job to do. Besides, he was a complete stranger. A sleazy one, so Lucy had told her, and married.
She kneaded his shoulders and neck, rubbing the muscle, enjoying the way it rippled beneath her fingers. Damien Vane had fabulous skin. Smooth, unblemished with a golden tan. She pressed harder and was delighted, and surprised, to hear a small moan. Surprised because she didn't have a clue what she was doing.
When it felt like his body was softening up and relaxing under her, her left hand roamed around to his chest and played with the tiny hairs. She pushed her own chest into his back and rubbed until her nipples peaked.
His body stiffened.
Abbey's heart rate doubled and she hoped he couldn't feel it. This was it. He was either going to throw her out or cave in. Most men would cave in, and going by his file at Lucy's office, this man should too. The list of mistresses, supplied by his really pissed-off wife, was too long to fit in the database.
But he didn't seem to be relaxing anymore. Quite the opposite, he seemed to be growing tense, and Abbey started to panic. A massage with them both fully clothed probably wasn't explicit enough for Lucy's purposes. She needed photos, the sexier the better, to send to his wife in Sydney.
Try again, Abbey.
Her hand returned to his back and continued kneading. She looked up at the window and mouthed the word "sorry" to Lucy who would be watching her through her camera lens from the office building across the road.
