Chapter One

      She had just cracked the top on a bottle of water from the minibar when the workstation phone in room 720 lit up and chimed. She took a swig from the bottle, placed it on the credenza that housed the minibar, then strode to the phone.

      ‘Yes?’

      ‘Miss Tallery?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Your guest has arrived,’ Nick said. ‘He’s waiting in the bar.’

      ‘Would you please ask him to come up?’

      ‘Certainly.’

      Molly supposed she could have arranged for him to come to her office, but she wanted as much discretion as she could. It wouldn’t do to have a male prostitute sitting in her office. Someone might recognise him. Someone might think he was actually in the hotel’s employ.

      There had always been the option of doing the cowardly thing by having a front-desk clerk tell the man he wasn’t welcome on the property again, but she couldn’t do that even to Nick, who would have been the best candidate for the job.

      What if he caused a scene? She didn’t think he would, though. He thought far too much of his appearance. It was better to meet him on his territory and explain it herself.

      A quick look in the mirror satisfied her. When she’d left her office shortly after five, she’d gone to a nearby café for supper and changed from her uniform to a sweater-dress, then left it on to keep him at ease. With crimson lipstick refreshed and glossy brown-black hair neatly combed, she looked like she was ready for date night.

      Molly didn’t want to intimidate; she wanted to reason. When he walked through that door, she wanted him to think she was just another client eager for his special skill set.

      She quickly rolled her tongue in her mouth to work up some of the saliva she had lost between answering the phone and now, then pressed her ear to the door and listened.

      Through the rush of blood in her ears, she heard it: the faint chime of the elevator car reaching its destination, and then his footfall, growing louder.

      It seemed to take for ever. She knew it was his and not some other guest’s. The thump-thump-thump matched the rhythm of his gait when he strolled across her lobby.

      Molly stepped back and sucked in a deep breath, then ran her sweaty palms over her thighs.

      The sound stopped, but nothing happened. He was there on the other side of the door, but he wasn’t doing anything.

      He’s probably patting down his hair and checking his breath for freshness, she thought, and was tempted to stand on her toes to look through the peephole.

      Finally, he knocked: a slow, rhythmic knock. Even that sounded seductive, and Molly’s breath swept from her body in a gale. She was actually nervous to meet this person who probably made more in a night than she did in a week by selling that gorgeous body.

      Her hand was once again steady as she grasped the door handle. She took another moment to refill her lungs, then opened the door.

      The man’s hand was raised mid-knock, wrist turned and long fingers curled into his palm. He held it there as he met her gaze, then cocked his head.

      ‘Sonia,’ he said, using the name she had given him.

      It wasn’t a question. She knew it by the way her blood sang with the word. This was the first promise.

      The things I’ll do to you, it said.

      Molly held open the door and stepped aside. ‘Come in, please.’

      She might as well have answered the door in nothing but her panties. He gave her one long, sweeping look and stripped her bare.

      As she burned up, the man strode into the room and trailed the whiff of expensive cologne that had been his trademark since he first approached the reception desk. She touched her tongue to the roof of her mouth, and couldn’t tell whether it was the scent or his magnetism that made her mouth water.

      With every step his dominance of the space became more oppressive, and the thought of closing that door, of closing herself in with him, brought back the pounding in her head.

      She stood, frozen, and watched his movements. He draped his coat over the arm of the sofa and reached for the tartan scarf, then turned.

      He was stunning in profile, a marble bust of Apollo given life, but as he glanced back at her and his mouth twisted into a smile he became the rogue.

      ‘Are you expecting someone else?’ he teased. ‘I prefer to work alone, but if you insist …’

      Molly raised her chin and gave him a smile. ‘No, it’s just you and me.’

      He sucked in a sudden sharp breath, then swivelled around. ‘I’ve seen you before. You work here.’

      ‘Yes,’ she admitted, and followed in his wake on wobbly legs. ‘That’s how I got your number.’

      ‘Nick.’ He chuckled and slowly tugged the scarf from around his neck. ‘Am I in trouble? Have I been a bad boy?’

      She gave herself a mental high-five for not reacting to such a baiting question and folded her arms over her chest. ‘You know I’m the front-desk manager here, don’t you?’

      ‘I do.’

      ‘And you’ve been operating right under my nose for how long?’

      He gave her a hundred-watt smile that made her wonder how much it cost him. ‘Nick and I’ve worked together. Did you know that he moonlights at a hotel a couple of blocks from here? We’re not in direct competition, you see, so we can scratch each other’s backs from time to time.’

      ‘I know. Nick has no secrets once you put a scare into him, and he has a very large network of … people who do what you do, I’ve discovered.’

      He lowered himself into the armchair and sat in a variation on his trademark pose from the bar, with legs stretched out and forearms propped against the chair’s arms.