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Muriel had a weird sense of humor for a seventy-five-year-old, but this was a little out of her scope.
Sam whipped out her cell phone and dialed from memory.
“Happy Trails Travel, this is Muriel.”
“Do you have any idea what I’m looking at right now?” Sam whispered into the phone, like someone might be hiding behind the walls watching her every move.
“Sam-wich, is that you?” Sam’s great-aunt hadn’t stopped thinking of her as a seven-year-old, which made this room an even more implausible choice. “Did you get in okay?”
“I am standing in a sex dungeon, Muriel.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“This suite you got me at the Hard Rock, it’s perverted.”
“I booked you a standard king with a view.”
“This is not a standard king. Though the view would be impressive if I could stop staring at the massive orgy bed.” Her voice hitched up, edging on hysterical as she tried not to start giggling nervously.
“Young lady, that’s inappropriate.”
“This room is inappropriate. And now I’m guessing it wasn’t your idea of a joke?”
“Why would I
book you a joke room? You know I already feel terrible about the date mix-up.”
The door beeped. Security must have figured out the mistake and was coming to wrestle her out of the room.
“I need to go, someone’s here. I’ll call you back.”
A male voice called, “Hey, you naughty girl, I’m here. Front desk said you already checked in, so I hope you’re ready for a spanking since you’ve been very bad—”
The words stopped short when a man walked into the room and saw Sam standing in front of the bed. He didn’t look like a security guard, and she sure as hell hoped the hotel staff didn’t greet guests in such a suggestive manner.
He was tall and solidly built, muscular in a way that looked damn good in a tight shirt, but not ridiculous. Curly dark brown hair and twinkling blue eyes paired well with the dimples in his cheeks that managed not to falter when he saw her.
“You’re not Samantha,” he announced, giving her a once-over that felt oddly intimate, like he was somehow able to touch her curves with his eyes.
“I am so Samantha,” she countered, weary of her identity being questioned, especially by strangers who had wandered into her personal space. “And who are you?”
“I’m Ethan Silver. And you’re in my room.”
Chapter Three
She wasn’t the kind of woman Ethan was used to.
For starters, judging by the cute little shirt she wore that was tight enough to give him an eyeful of her curvy figure, those sweater puppies were the real deal. They were small, but not too small, definitely a generous handful.
And boy would he like to get a handful.
But first things first, he needed to figure out why a pale, tall, auburn-haired woman with a striped polo shirt was standing in his room, when he’d been expecting a bleached-blonde, DDD-chested sex machine wearing nothing but an apologetic smile.
This woman wasn’t smiling at all, a reaction Ethan wasn’t used to. He could charm the panties off a Republican senator, so why was this chick looking at him like he’d jerked off in her Corn Flakes?
“So what’s your name?” he asked, trying to get a handle on her.
“Samantha Hart.”
