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She froze, refusing to acknowledge the thin vein of hope taking root deep within her. ‘And why would I need to do that?’
‘I have a proposition for you. Open your door.’
‘What?’
‘Open your door. I need to look into your eyes when I outline my plan so there can be no doubt on either part.’
‘You’re here?’ Her eyes darted to her door, as if she could see his impressive body outlined through the solid wood.
‘I’m here. But I’ll soon be a figment of your imagination if you don’t open your door.’
Sasha glanced down at herself. No way was she opening the door to Marco de Cervantes wearing a vampire T-shirt that declared ‘Bite Me’ in blood-red. And she didn’t even want to think of the state of her hair.
‘I … Can you give me two minutes?’ If she could get in and out of a race suit in ninety seconds, she sure as hell could make herself presentable in a fraction of that time.
‘You have five seconds. Then I move on to my next call.’
‘No. Wait!’ Keeping the phone glued to her ear, she rushed to the door. Pulling it open, she stuck her head out, trying her best to shield the rest of her body from full view.
And there he stood. Unlike the casual clothes of yesterday, Marco was dressed in a bespoke suit, his impressive shoulders even more imposing underneath the slate-grey jacket, blue shirt and pinstriped tie, his long legs planted in battle stance. His hair was combed neatly, unlike the unruly, sexy mess it’d been yesterday. The strong desire to see it messy again had her pulling back a fraction.
Eyes locked on hers, he lowered his phone. ‘Invite me in.’
‘Why? Are you a vampire?’ she shot back, then swallowed a groan.
Frown lines creased his brow. ‘Excuse me? Are you high?’
Sasha silently cursed her morning brain. ‘Hah—I wish. Oh, never mind. I’m … I’m not really dressed to receive guests, but I didn’t want you to leave, so unless you want to extend that five-second ultimatum this will have to do.’
His frown deepened. ‘Are you in the habit of answering your hotel door naked?’
Heat crawled up her neck and stung her face. ‘Of course not. I’m not naked.’
‘Prove it’ came the soft challenge.
‘Fine. See?’ Belatedly she wondered at her sanity as she stepped into his view and felt the dark, intense force of Marco’s gaze as it travelled over her.
When his eyes returned to hers, the breath snagged in her lungs. His hazel eyes had darkened to burnt gold with dark green flecks; the clench of his jaw was even more pronounced. He seemed to be straining against an emotion that was more than a little bit frightening.
She stepped back. He followed her in an
d shut the door. The luxury hotel suite that had seemed so vast, so over the top, closed in on her. She took another step back. He followed, eyes locked on her.
Her phone fell from her fingers, thankfully cushioned by the shag-pile carpet. Mouth dry, she kept backing up. He kept following.
‘I make it a point not to credit rumours, but it seems in this instance the rumours are true, Sasha Fleming.’
The way he said her name—slowly, with a hint of Latin intonation—made goosebumps rise on her flesh. Her nipples peaked and a sensation she recognised to her horror as desire raked through her abdomen, sending delicious darts of liquid heat to the apex of her thighs.
‘What exactly do you think is true about me?’
‘Sex is your weapon of choice,’ he breathed, his eyes lingering on the telltale nubs beneath her T-shirt. ‘The only trouble is you wield it so unsubtly.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ she squeaked as the backs of her legs touched the side of the bed. ‘Did you just say—?’
‘You need to learn to finesse your art.’
‘What in heaven’s name are you blathering about? Are you sure you’re not the one who’s high?’ she flung back.
