Coming on Strong. Tawny Weber
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his head in question.
“What exactly are you proposing?”
“Private sex,” she said in the same tone she’d use to share a national secret.
“Huh?” He didn’t get it. The rooms had locks. There were no video cameras around.
“The paparazzi and gossip hounds have declared open season on celebrities. They have no degree of privacy anymore. Not only actors and musicians, but any big name in the industry. Before you relocated here, you were based in New York, right?” At his nod, she continued, “You probably see it, or would if you paid attention, on the east coast. But it’s nothing like the insanity here in southern California.”
“What does that have to do with sex? Or, how did you put it? Private sex?”
Belle arched one brow. “Everything. Haven’t you ever wanted some hot, wild getaway sex at a luxury resort?”
Hell, yeah. He wanted it now, as a matter of fact. Mitch did a quick mental tally of how many bedrooms were complete here at the resort. He could do Belle in fourteen hot, wild ways without using the same room twice. Even more if they went vertical. And that wasn’t even counting the private cottages scattered around the resort grounds.
“Your rich and famous are welcome to come have sex here,” he told her. “We’re an equal-opportunity resort in that regard.”
Her look made him laugh. Like a crack in her perfect image, she went from glossy sex kitten to cute and adorable in the wrinkle of her nose.
“I’m glad to know you have no restrictions on sex,” she responded, her tone husky and blatantly interested. “I hope that applies to your personal life as well as your resort?”
“The only restriction I follow is to avoid trouble.” His grin fell away as he remembered that Belle was pure trouble, inside and out.
She tut-tutted. “Safe sex? How boring is that? The only time those two words belong together is in reference to health precautions.”
Images of swings, leather and handcuffs—without the cushy fur lining—flashed through his mind. His body stirred in instant reaction. Damn, maybe he needed to rethink this keeping-Belle-at-a-distance thing? After all, she was here, he was here. They had no commitment beyond the moment, were free to do as they liked. Maybe instead of cursing the past, he should take her up on the offer of pleasure so clear in her eyes.
Fourteen rooms.
Wild sex.
Handcuffs.
And then show her on her way.
“I take it you’d rather have unsafe sex?” he asked with a slow, teasing smile. Mentally watching his caution trampled by lust, Mitch waved good-bye to good sense and gave Belle a look that said just how unsafe he’d like sex to get between them.
Her expression didn’t change, but a faint flush washed over her chest, letting him know she wasn’t unaffected. His mouth watered to taste her there, just above the curve of her breasts. The rational, ambitious voice in his head warned him not to get dragged down by his dick. She was trouble. She’d proved that by almost ruining him when she’d walked out. His dick didn’t give a damn.
“I like sex,” she corrected, “without rules and restrictions.”
“I like the sound of that. Tell me more.”
“What I really want is a chance to show you.”
Rock-hard and ready to sweep his desk clean for a hot, fast preview, Mitch bit back a groan. Principles fought lust. Need smothered angst.
Then Belle stood, took two short steps to his desk and leaned forward. One leg bent, she rested her knee and hip on the desk. Right there on the redwood surface where he’d just fantasized about stripping her bare.
Her scent, something that reminded him of a moonlit garden on a hot summer night, wrapped around him with long, delicate fingers. When she leaned closer, it was all he could do to keep from grabbing her. Better to let her make the move, he told himself. Less liability for going along than for doing the grabbing. He swallowed, his mouth ready to taste her, his tongue craving the feel of hers.
Inches away, she stopped. Mitch frowned. No kiss?
She arched one brow, then tilted her head to indicate the file lying on the desk between them. Of course. He snickered at himself, a mocking reminder that this woman was trouble.
A sardonic smile curving his lips, he took the hint and flipped open the file. Might as well give it a cursory glance so he could refuse her services before they got horizontal.
It didn’t take long for Mitch to take in the file contents. Event outlines, yes. But more than just party ideas, the proposal included a general marketing plan and focus strategy.
A chill ran up his back when Mitch skimmed the vision statement. Either she was a hell of a lot savvier than he gave her credit for or she had an inside track to his company’s information. Because this statement was the twin of his own, with a few tiny exceptions.
Vital exceptions in terms of marketing direction, focus. And, he had to admit, probable success.
Why couldn’t she be just a pretty face and hot body? Her proposal was outstanding. The risk was minimal, the possible benefits innumerable. Damn. Mitch ground his teeth in frustration as the businessman in him overrode the horndog.
“This is a great plan,” he reluctantly admitted. “By focusing on the paparazzi-hounded stars, we can provide the perfect getaway for the rich and famous. We’d amp up the security, spread the word that this is a photo-free zone.” As ideas started to flow, Mitch grabbed a pen. “Special training for the staff, non-disclosure agreements, legal repercussions.”
“Privacy is vital, but it’s just one benefit,” she cautioned. “Don’t lose sight of the bigger picture. Yes, you want to bring in the Hollywood crowd. Once word gets out that you’re offering a safe haven from the voracious press, combined with the buzz about how fab your resort is, I guarantee they’ll be interested. But that’s not going to be enough.”
Mitch barely heard her, he was so focused on getting his flying thoughts on paper. Then Belle slid another folder on top of his notes.
He should have known. She was an event planner, and her initial plan hadn’t mentioned a single party or gala. His eyes narrowed as he read the event outline.
“You do want to turn my resort into a sex club,” he exclaimed in shock.
“Not exactly,” she denied, with a shrug that reminded him that her breasts were less than a foot from his mouth. Luckily her words were enough distraction. Almost.
“I’m suggesting you focus on indulgence of the most decadent kind. Couples’ massages, chocolate baths, midnight champagne dinners by the lake. All romantic enough on their own, but you’ll offer a few extras. I’ve got tons of ideas, and I’ll share them if we go to contract on this. But basically, you’ll have to take your standard resort offering and sex it up. Make it hot and inviting with just a hint of depravity. You do that and I guarantee you’ll reel in the jaded Hollywood crowd.”
“Depravity? Like what? On-call hookers and pole-dancing lessons?”
“There’s nothing depraved about pole-dancing,” she chided. “I do it and it’s great exercise.” She gave him a heavy-lidded look that promised all sorts of pulse-raising benefits. “Someday I’ll show you.”
Did nothing faze her? Mitch had to laugh.
“The difference between a high-class sex club and a luxury resort offering decadent indulgence is vast, Mitch.” Her tone turned serious as all teasing flirtation left her face. “A sex club is cheap, base. It’s all about the pickup, the kink, the instant satisfaction. You’d be offering a safe haven for your guests to indulge themselves in all ways, including their sexual fantasies. Masquerade balls, a menu that includes reputed aphrodisiacs, a lingerie shop in the lobby. Pure