Playboy's Ruthless Payback: Playboy's Ruthless Payback. Laura Wright
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a ridiculous kind of cold that sank deep into your bones and could only be relieved by a hot bath. She didn’t know what that handyman did around here, but first thing tomorrow, she was calling in a professional heating technician. Forget all the warm, family friendly furnishings. If the house felt like an igloo, the DeBolds were going to head straight for the nearest five-star hotel.
Olivia thought about lying down and trying to sleep, but when nature called, she threw off the comforter and dashed into the master bathroom. And there she saw it—surrounded by beautiful pale brown tumbled stone was a massive box of glass with a rain showerhead above and four body sprayers along one wall. Oh, she wanted to cry it looked so inviting.
Did she dare? Maybe just a quick one? Just to get warm.
Feeling a sudden burst of happiness at the thought, she flipped on the water and turned the temperature knob to the equivalent of “hotter-than-hell.” After closing the door to keep all the beautiful heat contained, she got undressed. She was just about to step inside the shower when she heard a knock on the bedroom door.
Her heart dropped into her stomach. No, no, no. Not now. Why was he here? Did he have radar or a sixth sense that told him when there was a naked woman in his room or something?
She snatched a huge white bath sheet and wrapped herself in it, then she opened the door and walked out into the frigid air.
He was knocking again. “Olivia?”
She opened the door just wide enough to accommodate her head, but hid the rest of her from his view. “Yes?”
“So you took the room?”
“Yes. I took the room. Can we not make a big deal out of it?”
“Of course.” He grinned. “Are you okay?”
“Fine. Just tired.” And cold. “What’s up?”
He didn’t look convinced. In fact, he was trying to assess the situation as he spoke. “I put a frozen pizza in the oven if you’re interested.”
She shook her head. “Thanks, but I’m not very hungry. Just tired. Very, very tired.”
“All right. Good night, then.” Olivia thought that he was about to leave, that she was about to finally get warm, but then he paused and cocked his head to one side. “What’s that?”
“What’s what?” she asked innocently, as if she didn’t know.
“Is that water running?”
“No.”
His mouth twitched. “Are you taking a shower?”
“Not at this precise moment,” she said with irritation, which caused him to grin, full-on and slightly roguishly.
“Taking advantage of my steam shower, are you?”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, for God’s sake.”
“Hey, I don’t blame you, the thing is awesome.”
“Well, good…then I’m going to go—”
“Have all the towels you need?” he asked.
“Yes.”
She looked expectantly at him. Time to leave, Mr. Valentine. What more was there to say? After all, he’d humiliated and humbled her, what could be left? But he didn’t leave, he just stood there looking sexy in his black sweater and pants.
Olivia let out a frustrated breath. “I’m freezing, okay? I need a way to warm up.”
His grin widened, his gaze dropped. “No, too easy.”
“Good night, Mac,” she said through gritted teeth. “Enjoy your pizza.”
He chuckled and pushed away from the door frame. “All right. Enjoy your shower. But,” he said as he turned to walk away, “if you find that you can’t sleep or you get hungry, you know where to find me.”
“That, I can promise you,” she called after him, “will never happen.”
Mac put another log on the fire, then rescued his bottle of beer from the rutted mantel before dropping back into his chair. The book he was reading was pretty dull, but he was halfway through it and he wasn’t a quitter. Just as he was about to find out why early man and an anthropoid ape had almost the same number of cranial bones and teeth, he heard footsteps behind him.
“You suck, Valentine.”
Mac chuckled and turned around. “Now why would you say something like—” The words died on his lips as he caught sight of her, practically glowing in the firelight. From the moment he’d seen Olivia Winston, serving up brownies and attitude in her office kitchen, he’d found her incredibly attractive. Tonight, however, she was breath-stealing.
Her white blouse was untucked and rumpled, and resembled a man’s shirt with the cuffs falling loose about her hands. Her long, black pants seemed a little too big without the heels and belt, but it was her face and hair that had his pulse running a race at the base of his throat. With no makeup, she looked fresh, delectably soft, her flawless skin glowing a pale peachy color. Her long, damp, dark hair swung sexy and loose, and reminded him of a mermaid. It took every ounce of control he had not to take her in his arms and kiss her until she realized just how perfectly their bodies would fit together.
She walked over and dropped into the chair beside him. “My hot shower wasn’t so hot.”
“No?”
She tossed him a look of mock reproof. “And it’s all your fault.”
“I did inadvertently ask if you wanted me to join you,” he reminded her, taking a swallow of his beer.
“That’s not what I mean.”
“No?”
“You made me stand at the door talking to you so long the hot water was almost gone by the time I got in there.”
“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. “Let me make it up to you with a never-ending fire and a cold slice of pepperoni.”
She looked unconvinced at first, then she shrugged. “Okay.” She took a piece of pizza from him and practically attacked it. “Oh, the fire feels so good. Your room is freezing, Valentine. This house is freezing.”
“It can get a little cold, I guess.”
“You sound like you don’t mind turning into an ice cube every time the sun goes down.”
“I hardly notice. I’m really only here to sleep.”
“Well, first thing tomorrow I’m calling a heating technician. The DeBolds may sell ice, but they don’t want to sleep in it.”
He grinned at her. “That was funny, Liv…clever.”
She shrugged. “I have my moments,” she said, reaching for a second slice of pizza.
Mac grabbed another bottle of beer from beside his chair, opened it and tipped it her way. “Something to drink?”
“Sure, why not?” She took the cold bottle from him. “Thanks.”
“You bet.”
“Sitting in a freezing house in front of a fire eating cold pizza and even colder beer—this night couldn’t get any stranger, could it?”
He sipped his beer, then said, “How about if I tell you that when I was around nine or ten I thought—well, I’d hoped—I’d grow up to be a comedian.”
She turned to stare at him. “That would be stranger.”
“Hard to believe, I know. I’d put on one of my foster father’s suits and tell incredibly awful jokes to these three crazy dogs they had. I was really into toilet humor at nine.”
“You grew up in a foster home?” Her tone had changed from cute sarcasm