“But...why here? Don’t all the major league teams have contracts with other Chicago hotels?”
She’d worked at the Black Star Hotel for two months, ever since leaving the resort that had hired her right out of college. It was upscale and would someday be a destination for the rich and shameless. But having opened recently, they hadn’t captured that clientele yet.
“I just got a call from his assistant. She said he was making a last-minute trip to attend tonight’s animal welfare fund-raiser, and wondered if we could find a room for him. The place where he usually stays is booked because it’s New Year’s.”
“Who’d want to leave California for Chicago in December?”
“Guess he’s an animal lover,” Dawn said. Smirking, she added, “And how did you know he lives in California? Sounds like you’re a fan.”
Not even close. “Hardly.”
“Whatever the reason, he is coming to Chicago and he’s staying here.” Dawn sounded as excited as a tween at a Bieber concert.
“Have you forgotten we’re booked solid, too?” Emily asked, her head spinning—though not for the reasons Dawn’s was. No, her feelings about this news couldn’t be called excitement. Nausea? Worry? Humiliation? Hurt? That’d sum it up.
“I put him in the owner’s suite.”
That made sense. The owner of the hotel was almost never here, so the penthouse was seldom used. It might be big enough to contain Rand McConnell, his entourage and his ego. Or at least him and his entourage. His ego was another matter entirely.
“Housekeeping is already there. I want you to supervise.”
“Why me?” she squeaked.
“You’re the daytime floor manager, and the best employee I’ve got. If Rand McConnell has fun at this hotel and spreads the word, maybe his team will decide to give us their business.”
Oh, yay. More sexy athletes to turn young women into fools.
“Make sure everything is perfect for Mr. McConnell.”
Emily gritted her teeth, thinking of the other guests whose money should gain them as much attention as a spoiled jock.
A spoiled jock who was your very first lover.
Well, almost.
That memory didn’t set her heart fluttering the way it would Dawn’s, or the way it would the heart of any woman here. Heck, if all the women here knew Emily had come within a hymen’s-width of losing her virginity to Rand, one of People magazine’s Sexiest Men of the Year, their hearts wouldn’t just flutter, they’d spasm into arrhythmia and then explode.
The thought didn’t give her any kind of cocky pleasure or ego boost, and she certainly didn’t want anyone to know about her history with Rand. Not just because someone would probably try to scratch her eyes out due to sheer penis-envy, but also because she didn’t want to remember the stupid mistakes she’d made because of that penis. And the man attached to it.
No, Emily’s heart wasn’t fluttering. She no longer had any romantic ideas about Rand or his—impressive, she had to admit—penis. As far he was concerned, her heart had closed up shop.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Dawn asked.
“Shouldn’t the head of housekeeping check the room?”
“Am I not making myself clear?” Her boss’s voice grew frosty. “Your entire job is to look after Rand McConnell. Everything else is on the back burner this weekend. Everything. Or else you might not have a job.”
Emily certainly was not the person to glad-hand Rand, but she couldn’t explain why. She just had to suck it up and pray she didn’t run into the jerk.
How hard could that be? The hotel had hundreds of rooms. Avoiding one man should be a piece of cake. Surely lady luck would be kind enough to let her get through the weekend with her heart and her pride intact.
Of course, Emily had never been lucky. But there was a first time for everything. She hoped.
* * *
RAND HAD WALKED into hotel rooms and found women waiting for him before. Not often, since he wasn’t the womanizer the press made him out to be. But when it happened, they were usually women he’d invited. Once, though, he’d had an unwanted female visitor who’d finagled her way into his room and waited for him in his bed. Naked. She’d been counting on his reputation—and her ample charms—to smooth over his anger at the invasion.
It hadn’t worked.
This wasn’t going to, either.
Though, he had to concede, the, uh, rear approach was an interesting one. Very interesting.
The sight of a woman’s curvy ass pointed up at him as its owner dug for something under the bed had been enough to stop him in his tracks right inside the penthouse bedroom. Judging by the way she was muttering, she hadn’t yet realized that she was no longer alone. Maybe she’d dropped whatever bit of tempting lingerie she’d intended to don as part of her seduction.
Honey, if I were that kinda guy, you wouldn’t need it. That skirt is doing a fine job on its own.
Especially given the blatantly sensual way it clung to her thighs, emphasizing the cleft between them.
He forced that thought away and focused on the situation. That a sports groupie had gotten into his room didn’t say much for this hotel. Of course, he wasn’t about to move to another one, not until he’d done what he came here to do.
Smothering a curse, he wondered if he should call security or try to deal with her himself. He’d been looking forward to a quiet room-service dinner before heading to the fund-raiser downstairs. He had his reasons for coming here, and being a soft touch when it came to animals in need was only one of them.
But this trip had also been about tying up loose ends from his past. Though, frankly, the idea of coming face-to-face with the person he hadn’t been able to get out of his head for seven years made him a lot more stressed than the fund-raiser appearance. Or the intruder.
The trip from the West Coast had been tiring, and the cold Chicago weather had hit him the moment he’d stepped out of the airport. He wanted a hot shower and a hot meal, not necessarily in that order. It appeared, however, that he was going to have to deal with Miss Perky Butt before he got either of those things.
She mumbled something again. Rand stepped a little closer, unable to resist dropping his gaze to that wriggling backside again as she wedged herself deeper under the bed. Now, standing almost directly above her, he was able to appreciate her...assets...further. He also noted her luscious legs, which were prominently displayed beneath the short navy skirt as she twisted and fidgeted.
Another shimmy. The skirt flipped a little—high enough that he could see the top hem of her thigh-high stockings.
He gulped. Not tights or pantyhose. Stockings. Hottest thing any woman could ever wear. Well, nothing was the hottest thing any woman could ever wear—but stockings were pretty close.
“What kind of kinky pervert leaves handcuffs attached to his bed?” she muttered.
Rand’s jaw dropped and his eyes widened. Handcuffs? Kinky?
The butt, the thighs, the warm, womanly voice, the handcuffs, the mental image of all things wild and kinky....
Hell. He had a hard-on.
He shifted from foot to foot, not wanting to hand the strange—if curvaceous—woman on the floor that kind of weapon. When she managed to pry herself out from under the bed and sit up, she’d be eye level with some major-league wood. And he wouldn’t be able to send her away by claiming he wasn’t interested.