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“Do not call me that!”
“You are here by mistake. Yours. Your agent’s. Frankly, at this point, all I know is that you’re here and you’ll be here until the storm ends. Trust me. I don’t like it any more than you do.” Unplanned, his gaze dropped from her eyes to her mouth. Her lips were slightly parted; she was breathing as if she’d run a race.
Or as if she were lying, sated, beneath a man. Beneath him, in the big, cold, empty four-poster upstairs…and what did that have to do with anything?
Tomorrow night, once she was out of his way, he’d take the truck into town. Go to one of the bars that clung to the mountains near the couple of big resorts, resorts like the one she’d hoped to find here. He’d shave, tame his dark hair with some goop, put on the kind of outfit dime-store cowboys wore—tight jeans, polished Tony Lamas, Western shirt, clean Stetson—and find himself a woman who’d be happy with a one-night fling.
And if she said what he’d already heard a couple of times—Hey, you look like Nick Gentry—he’d grin and give her what had become his standard answer, that the real Nick Gentry only wished he looked like him…
And then what?
How good could he be in bed?
One leg that dragged. Hell, that gave out when he least expected it.
More to the point, one leg that looked as if it had been made by Dr. Frankenstein. What woman wouldn’t find that a turn-on?
Nick straightened up and took a quick step back.
“Here’s the deal. I’ll put you up for the—”
“Dammit, I know why you seem so familiar! You’re Nick Gentry!”
“No,” he said coldly. “I’m not.”
“Of course you are.”
“Listen, Duchess, I’ve been told that before. It doesn’t impress me.”
She raised her eyebrows.
“Why would it?”
Nick blinked. “Well, Gentry’s an actor. A star.”
“And?”
“Well—well, he’s—he’s famous.”
Lissa folded her arms. “Wolfgang Puck is famous.”
“Who?”
“A chef. Wolfgang Puck. He’s famous.’
“Is there a point to this?”
“I’ve dealt with a lot of actors. Stars,” she said, with a curl of the lip. “Believe me, I’m long past the point of being impressed, Mr. Gentry.”
“I told you, I’m not Gentry. Hell, Gentry would be happy if he looked like me.” The line fell as flat as it sounded. Her fault, goddammit, for making him use it. Nick covered his irritation by lifting up her suitcase. “Take one of the spare bedrooms upstairs.” His smile was all teeth. “Unless you’d rather bunk with the boys. I’m sure they’d be delighted.”
Lissa flushed. “Fine. I’ll stay in one of the upstairs bedrooms for the night.”
He wanted to laugh. She made it sound as if she were doing him a favor. Well, she owed him a favor, all right, after all the trouble he’d gone to getting her out here.
“And since you’re so determined to convince me that you know how to cook, you can repay my hospitality by making supper.”
“Not on your life.”
