The guard behind him coughed again.
Without turning, Nick stepped off the elevator and sent them away. “Please see that your staff keeps my room number private.”
Thus dismissed, the elevator door slid shut, followed by the mechanical whir of the descending cab.
“You want me to check out your room?” Samantha asked.
More than you know, he thought, marveling at this unexpected, invigorating attraction. She was not his type. For one, she spoke her mind whenever she wished. Women from his grandmothers to his cousin to his mother did exactly the same, without heed to his preference for feminine compliance and good old-fashioned peace and quiet. Second, she was too curvy. He preferred his women waiflike, willowy, even if they did threaten to break on any of the rare occasions where his passion flamed unchecked. Samantha Deveaux could clearly handle the unbridled, unhampered desire every man fantasized about.
“Actually, I thought I’d find Anita and determine when I could return to the Expo. You can coordinate the security plan before you leave.”
She laughed while following him down the hall. “After our little fiasco this morning, I don’t even know if I’ll be employed by this afternoon.”
“Tim seemed complimentary, when he thought I wasn’t listening.” He slid his card key into the gold box beside a double set of doors at the end of the hall.
She rewarded his covert eavesdropping with a sly smile. “Tim approved my hire, but he’s in charge of the Expo, not the Dome. Maybe he has a lot of pull and won’t let them fire me.”
The lock clicked softly and he pushed the door open. “Fire you? Because you saved me from a crazed mob?”
“That mob should never have formed in the first place.”
She dug her hands into her pockets, shuffling her feet, curling her bottom lip outward just enough to elicit exactly the correct amount of sympathy and guilt she obviously intended. Luckily for Nick, he’d dealt with more than enough scheming, conniving women in his lifetime to let her ploy work. And he’d thought her different from the women jumping onto the hood of his limousine or hiding in the mail cart at the office. Yet, here she was, attempting to play him for a sucker with her tiny little frown and averted eyes. He should be disgusted, even disappointed.
Instead, he couldn’t help but grin like a fool.
So she did want something after all. And for some reason completely at odds with logic or common sense, Nick couldn’t wait to find out what.
“You’re very good,” he said. “Very convincing. The little lip thing is a perfect touch. I suppose now is when I offer to make a call on your behalf? Demand your promotion? A raise?”
“That’s a bit much, but thanks. I have a better offer in mind.” Samantha stepped in front of him, casing the room as she walked. Windows lined the curved foyer, leading past a wet bar to a large room with a conference table, six chairs, two fax machines, an active laptop computer and stacks of papers and LaRocca Foods brochures and promotional materials. Behind the table, a sitting area—complete with twin recliners, an overstuffed couch, a coffee table bearing the remnants of a room-service breakfast and an entertainment center—occupied the largest part of the room.
“Nice digs.” She bit back asking if the door on the other side of the stored Murphy bed contained his bedroom or was just another exit into the hall. She’d already opened herself up to more than one sexual connotation this morning. Asking about his sleeping arrangements could prove unnecessary unless she convinced him to hire her as his private bodyguard.
“You don’t want a promotion, huh? Hmm, let me think.” He tossed his key onto the table and clicked the keyboard on his laptop, summoning the current stock-market statistics to flow across the bottom of the screen. “You did say this security job was temporary. Lay your proposal on the table, Samantha. I’m all ears.”
“You need personal security. That’s my gig.”
“I thought your boss was out of town.”
“He is. But we could still work out a mutually beneficial arrangement. You can hire me as your bodyguard—” she slipped around the entertainment center and glanced into the bathroom, which appeared to be empty “—at a discounted rate since I’m not yet fully licensed, and I’ll make sure no one gets close enough to rip your clothes off.”
“What’s in it for you?”
“A chance to get out of this god-awful uniform.”
He arched an eyebrow.
She frowned. She’d done it again. “You know what I meant.”
“Actually, Samantha, I don’t know. My grandmothers put more than my picture on that pasta label. In the small print, they listed my company position, the fact that I am still single and unattached, as well as a generous estimate of my net worth.”
She pressed her lips together to contain another grin at his expense. “What were they trying to do, marry you off?”
His grim expression told her she’d hit the nail on the head.
“You’re kidding!” And she thought her mother was bad, what with the gris-gris bags left on her doorstep and rows of candles lit at St. Louis Cathedral in hopes Samantha would finally find a man and settle down. “Very ingenious women, your grandmothers.” No hocus-pocus for them. Just good old-fashioned bribery. “They have a conduit to the general public, a product to sell—” she gestured toward him “—and at the same time, they increase sales by forty-six percent.”
“Forty-seven,” he corrected, not bothering to disguise his grouse as he tore off his striped tie and threw it on the couch.
“Forty-seven,” she conceded, her gaze riveted as he twisted open the buttons at his collar. When he stopped at his breastbone, she glanced away, disappointed. Suddenly, she wanted another peek at that full-size pasta label, live and in person. “I’d like to meet your grandmothers sometime. But let’s keep them away from my mother, okay? I don’t want them giving her any ideas.”
She motioned toward the bedroom door. He nodded his agreement to allow her search. No time like the present to demonstrate her diligence, especially when it would keep her from making a fool of herself by staring.
Flipping on the lights, she scanned the bedroom for unlawful entry and found none. The door to the outer hall, a secondary entrance so the room could be rented as a single when the suite was not in use, had an automatic lock. As far as she could tell, even the maid hadn’t yet arrived. The bed, a rumpled storm of sheets and pillows, appeared untouched by anyone but Nick.
A copy of Mario Puzo’s last hardcover lay on the nightstand, draped by a pair of thin gold, wire-rimmed glasses. Without much effort, she pictured the spectacles sitting on the bridge of Dominick’s regal Grecian nose as he lay in bed, propped up by the half-dozen silky shams that littered the bed in sensuous disarray. Bare-chested, with a sheet draping him from the waist down, just enough to make her wonder exactly what, if anything, he wore to sleep…
“I bet you would.”
She jumped at the sound of his voice. “Bet I would what?”
He leaned against the doorjamb, no less dressed than he was a moment ago, yet sinfully more sexy. “Want to meet my grandmothers?” He straightened, apparently misinterpreting the alarm on her face. “Do you see something out of place? Has someone been in my room?”
She shook her head, wondering if offering her services was a huge and horrible mistake. Here she thought she was immune to good-looking men like Dominick LaRocca. More like addicted, judging from her behavior so far. Standing in his bedroom, even one he’d rented for a few nights, heightened his presence. His cologne clung to the air. A damp towel, no doubt from his morning shower, was draped over a chair. A drawer in the dresser, not completely closed, cradled clothing that had once, or would soon, cling intimately to his skin.