What The Millionaire Wants...: What the Millionaire Wants... / Spencer's Forbidden Passion. Brenda Jackson
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to fill a man’s hands.
As though sensing his presence, she opened her eyes. For the space of a heartbeat, she didn’t move. She simply stared at him. Then suddenly she straightened and reached for the stereo remote. The music died midnote.
“You didn’t have to turn it off. That CD is a favorite of mine,” he told her and stepped into the room.
Ignoring his comment, Laura’s voice was cool as she said, “If you’re looking for your room, Mr. Hawke, it’s on the top floor.”
“Thank you for pointing that out, Ms. Spencer,” he said. So she had discovered he was a guest in her hotel. He’d known that she would. A good general manager made a point of reviewing the hotel’s guest list. She had apparently reviewed hers and found his name on it, which, judging from her expression, had not pleased her. He walked over to her desk and set down the bag with his coffee and éclair.
“The business office is closed.”
“And yet you’re still here,” he pointed out. “I didn’t realize being the hotel GM meant working day and night. I’m surprised your boyfriend doesn’t object to the long hours.”
“Was there something you wanted, Mr. Hawke?”
He paused a moment, considered the loaded question and the woman. Evidently from the way she narrowed her eyes, Laura realized what he was considering had nothing to do with business. Deciding it was best not to go there, he finally said, “Actually, I was taking the stairs up to my room when—”
“Why were you using the stairs?”
“Because the elevators aren’t working.”
When she grabbed for the phone, he reached across the desk and caught her wrist. Gently removing the telephone receiver from her hand, he replaced it on the cradle. “The front desk has already alerted maintenance.”
Laura pulled her wrist free. “I’m sorry you were inconvenienced,” she told him. “I’m sure maintenance will have the problem fixed shortly. In the meantime, if you need to get to your room, you can use the service elevator. I’ll show you where it is.”
“That’s okay. I’m in no hurry. I’ll just wait for the elevator,” Jack told her. Deciding to take advantage of the fact that he had her one-on-one, he sat down in the chair in front of her desk. “But since I’m here and you don’t appear to have any pressing meetings scheduled at the moment, maybe now would be a good time for us to talk about the hotel. I’m assuming you’ve spoken with the bank and confirmed my ownership position of the hotel.”
“Actually, I haven’t confirmed anything other than the fact that you purchased my mother’s note. And until I speak with my attorney and find out what your legal claim is on the property, I see no reason for us to have any discussion about the hotel.”
“All right. We won’t discuss the hotel. But I would like to drink my coffee before it gets cold. That is, if you don’t mind,” he added even as he removed the large foam cup from the paper bag. He took out the chocolate éclair that was wrapped in a thin white pastry sheet. Looking over at her, he noted that her eyes were trained on the treat. “Maybe you’d like to join me? I bought the large-size coffee.”
“No, thank you,” she said.
“Some of the éclair, then?”
“No, thanks,” she told him, but Jack didn’t miss the way she looked at the pastry.
Ignoring her protest, he divided the éclair in two and placed half of the chocolate pudding-filled confection on one of the napkins, then set it in front of her. When she simply stared at it, he said, “Go ahead.”
“I’m not hungry,” she told him.
“What’s hunger have to do with it?” he asked and bit into his half. He didn’t bother to hide his enjoyment. The rich pudding inside the chocolate-iced pastry shell was delicious. “Alphonse was right. Bernice does make the best éclairs.”
“This came from Bernice’s Kitchen?”
He nodded, took another bite, swallowed. “I was looking for a cup of coffee and wasn’t exactly dressed for the dining room,” he said, indicating the casual slacks, sweater and bomber jacket he wore. “Alphonse recommend Bernice’s.”
“Bernice is a genius when it comes to baking.” The wariness in her expression faded, giving way to a look of anticipation as she dragged her fingertip through the chocolate pudding spilling from the torn pastry. “I tried to hire her as a pastry chef for the Contessa, but she turned me down flat. Said she didn’t think it was a good idea for her and Alphonse to be working at the same place, that it might take some of the mystery out of their relationship.”
Jack arched his brow. “I got the impression they were in a…um…long-term relationship.”
“They’ve been dating for fifteen years, engaged for the last four. They don’t want to rush things,” she told him, the hint of a smile curving her lips.
“After fifteen years, I’d say there’s little chance of that happening.”
“It seems to work for them,” she said and brought her finger to her mouth.
There was something inherently sensual about the sight of Laura licking her finger, Jack thought. He found himself wondering what she would look like while making love. Would those green eyes darken with need and heat? Would her lips part, her breathing quicken? Would that smooth, cool skin feel as soft as it looked?
The direction of his thoughts annoyed him, but it didn’t surprise him, he admitted. He was a healthy male who enjoyed the opposite sex and the pleasures to be found in a woman’s body. But when it came to women and sex, he had no delusions. Plain and simple, he believed in lust, not love. And right now he was experiencing a serious case of lust for Laura Spencer.
She scooped another finger full of pudding and as though sensing his gaze, Laura looked up. Her body went still. Her eyes locked with his as awareness sizzled like electrical currents between them.
Jack watched as Laura’s lips parted and when he heard the slight hitch in her breath, he felt another stab of lust. The pudding on her fingertip fell with a splat onto the napkin on her desk. But her eyes remained locked with his. Not bothering to think about what he was doing or how it might impact his business, Jack pushed back his chair and started toward her. He had just reached the side of her desk when he heard the tap at the door.
A disapproving male voice came from the doorway asking, “Am I interrupting something?”
Three
For a moment, Laura couldn’t breathe. The air seemed to have backed up in her lungs as Jackson Hawke stood at the side of her desk looking at her as though he wanted to swallow her whole. And heaven help her, for a moment, she had almost wanted him to.
“Laura?”
Shaking off the moment of insanity that had gripped her, Laura yanked her attention to the doorway where her attorney, Daniel Duquette, stood looking both concerned and curious. “Daniel,” she said, her voice sounding more breathless than she would have liked. She cleared her throat. “What are you doing here?”
Daniel strode from the doorway into the office, slanted a glance at Hawke before shifting his focus back to her. “I’ve been tied up in depositions in Baton Rouge all day and just got back. When I picked up my messages, there was one saying that you needed to see me, that it was urgent. The front desk said you were still here, so I decided to stop by on my way home. Is everything okay?”
Everything was far from okay, Laura thought. But now was not the time to go into all that was wrong—not with Jackson Hawke standing there, measuring Daniel with his eyes and on the heels of whatever madness had stricken her. Because it certainly had been sheer madness that had caused her to react to Hawke as she had. The man was her enemy, she reminded herself. “Not exactly. And I do need to talk with you,” she said, hoping Hawke would take the hint.