Kitabı oku: «Up All Night»

“Don’t tell me you’ve never been on a roller coaster.”

Devon couldn’t imagine someone depriving themselves of the experience.

Jenny shook her head. “Never.”

He’d gladly share his take on the ride. This was one woman he planned to convert. He leaned forward. Closer. Firmly into her personal space.

“It’s an adrenaline rush.” The kind he sought out whenever possible. “A slow build that climbs with anticipation until you can barely hold still for what’s going to happen next. Then a heart-flipping moment where you feel like you’re going to fall over the biggest ledge of your life and your whole nervous system goes ballistic with erratic impulses. You can’t breathe. You can only scream and hold on for dear life.”

Unable to resist the lure of her hazel eyes hanging on his every word, he reached out to stroke a finger down her soft cheek.

In a breathless voice she said, “Sort of like sex.”

Dear Reader,

THE WRONG BED is a favorite ongoing miniseries from long before I started writing romance. I loved reading books with this fun and sexy premise and was thrilled when my first attempt to write my own proved to be a bestselling Harlequin Temptation novel. Now that the miniseries has moved to Harlequin Blaze, the creative options for this steamy miniseries have multiplied and it is with great pleasure that I bring you my first WRONG BED Blaze novel.

When Jenny Moore sends an e-mail containing a distinct proposition for sex to the wrong man’s inbox, she finds herself undressed with a captivating stranger. A good girl would probably clear up the misunderstanding and call it a night, but Jenny has played it safe for far too long. Besides, she soon discovers she’s not the only one in the mood for bedroom games.

All the fun, twice the sizzle…welcome to THE WRONG BED in Harlequin Blaze!

Happy reading,

Joanne Rock

Up All Night
Joanne Rock

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Heather Beaufait, Amelia Hernandez and all the readers on my BlazingFans loop who encourage and support me. Thank you so much for your willingness to always talk about romance, to answer spur-of-the-moment crazy questions that help me with my works-in-progress, and for being a part of my life!

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

1

“I DON’T THINK we should see each other anymore.”

Jenny Moore blinked through her first date nervousness to stare at the heartbreak hero who’d made the unexpected pronouncement. The clank of bar glasses and buzz of a hundred conversations faded in the face of her abject mortification in a back booth of an Atlantic City nightspot. Surely she’d misunderstood him.

“Our drinks haven’t even made it to the table yet and you’re breaking up with me?” Jenny knew she wasn’t every man’s fantasy date, but she’d done everything right with this executive of a Jersey engineering firm she’d met online a few weeks ago. She’d gotten to know him through an Internet dating service first. Exchanged e-mails through the private addresses supplied by the company. Tonight she’d been careful to play it cool with him even though she battled a few personal phobias about being out in public. Meeting David Brady in person was half the reason she’d come to the conference in Atlantic City—a city she’d never liked in the first place, even if she didn’t suffer from mild agoraphobia that made it tough to leave her apartment under any normal circumstances.

Today was fast becoming far from normal.

“I’m sorry, Jen, but I just don’t think I can take things as slow as you’d like me to.” He gave her a lopsided grin that might have been endearing if she hadn’t wanted to box his ears for not giving her a chance to jump his bones—loser or not. “I just think we need to be open and honest with each other about our expectations, don’t you?”

In an e-mail, she could have handled that question. She’d built up a million-dollar empire selling luxury goods online through De-Luxe, her successful brainchild run from the isolated safety of her home office. But now, face-to-face with a man in a situation that made her nervous to begin with, she was more likely to break out in hives than form an intelligent response.

“H-honesty?” Her breath caught in her throat while she tried to ward off a bout of hyperventilation sure to come if this man—a man who’d finally seemed like her chance for intimacy—truly dumped her in the retro lobby bar of Quintessence Hotel and Casino ten minutes after their first live meet.

She’d never been a fan of dating, but this encounter was off the charts in the hideous department.

“It’s not that I don’t like you. I’ve had a great time e-mailing with you the past few weeks.” The object of her online affection rose from the table and snagged a pen off the nearby bar, dodging the flirtatious waitress who brought Jenny’s drink—a pink halo—and his double shot of scotch. He passed the server a twenty with a wink and proceeded to scribble on a turquoise-colored cocktail napkin with his pilfered pen, a fat ruby winking on what looked like a university ring around his finger. “I closed my e-mail account with the dating service, but feel free to contact me at this address if De-Luxe ever gets in those platinum nameplates we talked about. Gotta be the first in town to have one for my desk.”

With a quick kiss to her cheek, David grabbed his drink and sailed out of the bar, taking his khaki-clad cute butt and her only opportunity to score this weekend—maybe this whole flipping year—along with him.

Damn it.

Jenny couldn’t even look at the fizzy pink halo she’d ordered when she first sat down. Her drink order had been an optimistic choice. How much more upbeat could you get than pink and fizzy? David’s retreat had put her in more of a Bloody Mary mood.

“Can I get you anything else?” The busty waitress with long, dark hair peered down at Jenny’s untouched cocktail once she finally yanked her gaze off of Jenny’s departing date.

Thank God the server was a woman, even if the dishy chick had flirted outrageously with David when she’d taken their order. In general, Jenny did better face-to-face with strange women. Strange men were normally more intimidating. But between the online photo of David and their exchanged e-mails, she’d actually thought she had a chance of making it through a dinner with him. Possibly more.

“My friend’s a doctor and he just got called away,” Jenny lied in a face-saving effort, embarrassed to her toes to have a bar server feeling sorry for her. “I guess I’ll just head back to my room.”

Scooping up the napkin with David’s e-mail address, Jenny rose from the table and headed for the elevator, her silky skirt that felt so sexy against her legs an hour ago now reminding her with each swish what a failure the night had been. She would not let herself contact a man who wasn’t even patient enough to sit through drinks with her, so she didn’t know why she clutched the stupid napkin in a death grip.

“Loser.” Punching the elevator button, she told herself she would simply enjoy the conference from a self-help guru who’d written a series of books on nurturing mental help through alternative therapies that she was attending this week. She’d even been chosen to participate in a special forum with a research group compiling data on agoraphobics, so she could help along other people with issues similar to hers.

Although, it would have been nice to have indulged in some sensual therapy in addition to the mental coping strategies offered at the conference. Jenny had made an art form out of finding all her life needs online, but there were still a couple of crucial ones that couldn’t be procured on the Internet.

A real relationship, for one.

Real sex for another.

Staring blankly at an ad for the hotel’s boardwalk casino, she smoothed out the napkin with David’s address as the elevator button chimed for her floor. He had said he was concerned about how slowly she’d wanted to take things. But surely that was a reaction to the fact that she’d confided her privacy issues with him via e-mail before they met in person. Maybe he’d just assumed she would want to move slowly after they met since she’d taken plenty of time to get to know him first.

And if that’s what he thought, didn’t she owe it to herself to clarify his mistake?

Loser or not, Dave Brady was a known quantity and Jenny wouldn’t let this prime candidate for a fling slip away without exerting a little more effort. She needed a transition man while she worked her way up to a real relationship, and Dave had “temporary” written all over him.

Hot and lonesome and tired of worrying about her problems, Jenny unlocked her room and headed straight for her laptop on the king-size bed at the back of the suite. David might not be the most suave of guys, but he was a damn sight more fine than the men in her limited experience.

db@shoreengineers was about to find out how quickly she could move when it came to scratching a sexual itch.

DEVON BAINES loosened his tie as he slammed the hotel door behind him. Conferences sucked. Not because he didn’t enjoy engineering. On the contrary, the workshops kicked ass and the chance to school the new kids about real-world projects was a guaranteed good time. But the bs networking which amounted to listening to a bunch of long-winded geeks sing their own praises…

Granted, he had low tolerance for people in general. An even lower tolerance for people who talked a big game and didn’t have the smarts to back it up. Thank God he’d brought his laptop so he could escape the social pressures of conference hell for a few hours. Cracking open the computer, he flexed his fingers and clicked the keys that would connect him to his message box.

His watch said it was just past midnight as he slid into one of the Lucite chairs at the ultramodern wet bar just off the kitchen of his suite. Spotting the round of new e-mails, he scrolled over the mundane reminders from various project managers about inhouse responsibilities and a couple of notes from friends in the industry that probably contained good luck sentiments or possible job offers. Instead, his gaze lingered on an unfamiliar address, a personal note that didn’t suggest he’d won a foreign lottery or that he needed Viagra.

As if.

The note from “deluxegirl” read:

I didn’t know what to say to you in the lobby bar tonight, but I came to the conference this week just to meet you in person. I’m not a woman who takes things slowly. When I see something I want, I go after it.

And I want you. Naked, hot and ready for me.

I’m in room 1016 if you’re interested in seeing where things lead tonight.

Jenny

Devon stared at the note, wondering who the hell Jenny could be. An engineering colleague from another firm? Obviously, the message writer was staying here at Quintessence so it made sense she’d be connected to the business if she was here for the conference. The time on the note read 11:55 p.m., shortly before he’d left the party full of windbags downstairs. He’d been in the fifties-style lobby bar a handful of times that night, mostly because the lines were shorter there than inside the welcome reception and he’d bought drinks for some friends he hoped to do business with as a freelance consultant.

Finger hovering over the delete key, Devon tapped lightly on the button without actually pressing. He shouldn’t be interested in some sordid interlude with a woman he might possibly cross paths with again in his profession.

And yet…

How long had it been since he’d lost himself in sweaty, all-night sex? For a man who appreciated every nuance of amusement park rides in his gig as a mechanical engineer, he sure did deprive himself of the best thrill on earth.

Lifting his hand away from the keyboard, he left the message intact but flipped down the screen. As if that would keep him from thinking about the mystery invitation and the potential adventure waiting one floor above him.

Suddenly thirsty, he unbuttoned his pinstriped shirt as he headed for the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water at the black marble sink with slightly gaudy—but probably pricey—gold fixtures. He didn’t need this kind of temptation with his whole future career teetering on his personal reputation. But he never indulged himself, damn it. Why should he say no now when a primo opportunity landed in his lap?

Here was an open invitation that had cost him zero effort when he’d never sleep tonight anyway.

Downing the rest of the water, he buttoned his shirt back up except for the top one and left his tie on the counter. He could at least see who was behind the mystery e-mail. What would it hurt to have a look at Jenny to see if she was as tempting in person as her words had been in her note? After the last few months of having the rug pulled out from under him professionally, Devon figured he deserved to indulge a few pleasures wherever he could find them.

Picking up his room key, he stepped out into the hallway, liking this idea the longer he thought about it. His feet carried him to the luxury spa that served the hotel’s suite guests where he’d seen a condom machine earlier in the day. He’d made time for a workout to sweat off three months worth of aggression toward Dave Brady, the ass-kissing nimrod who’d taken over Shore Engineers. Devon had never considered sex as an outlet for frustration, but he had to admit it sounded a lot more fun than mind-numbing reps with free weights.

Scooping up a handful of prophylactics just in case, Devon left the deserted spa and took the elevator up a floor. Straight to room number 1016.

Possibly he could have convinced himself to turn around and go back downstairs if the door had been shut. But the metal bar that served as a security bolt when latched from the inside had been swiveled on its hinge to prop the door open very subtly—a half inch at the most.

An invitation to come inside?

Lured by the implication of that open door, Devon didn’t stand a chance of walking away just yet. Every primitive instinct within him urged him forward to explore his options and follow this night wherever it led. He’d been so disciplined since his ex-wife had left, determined not to let another woman mess with his head until he got his life together again.

But Lori had left…a year ago.

A damn long time to go without sex for a man with enough drive to screw his way through the phone book—according to Lori in one particularly messy argument. Not that he’d ever cheated on her. She just hated that he wanted sex a lot and to her way of thinking, he could have kept half the women in Jersey occupied with his appetite.

Shaking off bad memories and regrets, Devon told himself it wouldn’t hurt to tap on the door. Body tense with anticipation even though he probably shouldn’t have sex with whatever stranger waited for him inside, he knocked.

Waited.

Classical music drifted out into the hallway along with a floral scent from a burning candle he could see perched on a table to one side of the door. Beethoven and gardenias. He was pretty sure he’d properly identified the smell since he could see a face of three exotic blooms just inside the doorway.

He recognized the Beethoven from a college course he’d taken online in a futile attempt to gain refinement for his wife. He might have resented the effort except that he’d discovered he liked what he’d learned and it helped him realize Lori only liked the symphony for the social cachet. She wouldn’t know Bach from Brahms if her life depended on it.

“Hello?” he called into the room, forging ahead despite multiple voices in his brain telling him he needed to back away now before he did something stupid like have sex with an uptight engineer who he’d have to sit across from in meetings some day.

“Come on in,” a soft voice called from deep within the suite…another room, maybe? “I’ll be out in a minute.”

Devon pushed the door open wider, wondering how the scent of gardenias and the soft music could have him seriously hot so quickly. He wasn’t the sex addict his ex had accused him of being. But the whole scenario of finding a titillating note on his computer in the middle of the night and then strolling into a stranger’s darkened hotel room was sending strong sex signals to his brain. He’d be walking around with a serious hard-on for days if he didn’t find a little relief tonight. Of course, his conscience told him to set a date with Rosy Palm and her five sisters in the shower tonight since he could not afford to mess with a total stranger.

“I’ll just be right here,” he called back, sticking close to the door but shutting it behind him for privacy’s sake. And her safety. No woman should prop her hotel door like that.

Very reckless.

And what would a reckless woman be like in the king-size bed on the other side of the living area that was—holy crap—already sprinkled with flower petals? Pink roses, this time.

The core question that had teased the edges of his brain ever since he received the note on his computer flashed into his head in neon letters now. Lori hadn’t wanted anything kinky, nothing wild and definitely no thrill rides while Devon had always liked to push things to the limit.

His skin heated as he heard a rustle on the other side of a door connecting to the living room and kitchen area where he waited. The suite was bigger than his, but the whole place was cast in shades of gray thanks to the light of three scented candles situated around the room. The one clear feature was the bank of windows overlooking the glittering Atlantic City strip and boardwalk with the ocean beyond. He took a step deeper into the suite, drawn by that rustling noise just before the door opened and revealed a half-naked woman he’d never seen before.

“Hi…” Her greeting halted in a breathless gasp, but Devon couldn’t think about that since his own breath had been sucked clear out of his chest at the sight of her.

Platinum hair fell just short of her shoulders in waves that swooped over one eye. He couldn’t see the color of her eyes in the glow of the candles, but then again, his male gaze couldn’t remain on her face since she wore a see-through, open wrap over a white lace bra and matching panties, her generous curves showcased to mouthwatering benefit.

Garters clipped to her outfit trailed down her thighs to hold sheer silvery white stockings in place on legs that ended in impossibly high heels. And holy hell, she was the hottest thing he’d ever seen in person or in print, and that included any beer commercial, Victoria’s Secret catalog or NFL cheerleader in memory.

But as his gaze tracked back up her body with considerable effort, Devon realized the ethereal angel with the body for sin wasn’t just breathing heavy for sexy effect.

The woman of his dreams was starting to hyperventilate.

2

THE HARDER Jenny tried to catch her breath, the faster it seemed to whoosh away from her in great gasping gulps. Who the hell was the guy in her room with the slightly rumpled dress shirt and no tie in sight? Had he seen her propped door and simply decided to wander in uninvited?

And where was David?

She wanted to ask the question, but no words would squeak out of a throat overtaxed with breathing. She’d never had androphobia before—fear of men—but there was a first time for everything, and judging by her vital signs, she guessed she was damn well scared right about now. Coming to Atlantic City had been too big of a risk. She should have just stayed home where none of this would have—

“Relax,” the stranger ordered suddenly, his voice surprisingly calm and authoritative for a man who could be anything from a killer on the prowl to a sex fiend lured by the candles and soft music she’d been playing for her rendezvous with David.

Oh God. If she wasn’t frightened before, she sure as hell was scaring the pants off herself now. Not that she had any pants to speak of.

Her breath rushed in and out of her lungs so fast it made her dizzy. She had visions of overoxygenated blood making her light-headed. Or what if she fainted in front of this guy who could take advantage of her while she was unconscious?

Was there even such a thing as a sex fiend? God knows she’d met a few erotomaniacs at the counseling center her mother favored and they probably qualified. If the man in her room wanted something of a sexual nature from her, it sure didn’t help that she was wearing only a few scraps of do-me lingerie. She’d ventured firmly into Frederick’s of Hollywood terrain with this outfit. She resisted the urge to yank shut the curtains displaying the Atlantic City skyline. The last thing she needed was to turn her back on this guy and show him her thong-bared butt.

“Are you okay?” The stranger looked almost concerned for her, his straight brown eyebrows crinkling together as he studied her. “Should you sit down? Has this happened to you before?”

She couldn’t catch a lungful of air to answer one of those questions let alone all three. The room started to spin and she cursed herself and all her stupid issues—real and imagined—for putting her at risk with a strange man in her hotel room.

She’d been stupid to prop the door in the first place, but she’d been afraid she’d lose her nerve to prove to David he’d been wrong about her if she didn’t slip into the made-for-sex outfit. And since she would never have the guts to answer the door in a costume that was a staple in every porno queen’s wardrobe, she had hoped to make a sexy entrance once David was inside instead.

“You need to relax,” the man barked at her more strenuously this time as he moved closer.

The light-headedness kicked into overdrive, throwing off her balance and making her wobble on her feet, her toes curling reflexively inside the faux fur-lined white mules that her De-Luxe catalog sold as bedroom slippers. She thought for sure she would topple over and end up sprawled on the floor of her suite, but the stranger in the wrinkled dress shirt swooped in and grabbed her like some kind of superhero before she hit the ground.

A trespassing sex fiend superhero.

Jenny figured she would have passed out then and there except that she couldn’t bear to be the fainting phobic woman everyone would giggle about behind her back. Not that anyone would ever learn about this event unless the stranger turned out to be a killer and there was a write-up on her murder in tomorrow’s paper, but she would know she’d turned into a wilting flower at the first hint of adversity and she couldn’t live with that vision of herself.

The stranger’s hands tightened around her waist and her bare thigh as he cradled her in his arms. At that slight shifting of his grip, the panic inside her eased by a fraction. Surely if he wanted to kill her or make free with her person, he would have done it before now when she’d been utterly defenseless.

“You’re okay.” He told her as if she wouldn’t have the mental wherewithal to piece it together on her own. He spoke slowly. Articulating the words for exaggerated clarity.

Why bother reassuring her if he was in her room with evil designs? Some of the tension eased in her shoulders and her breathing slowed by aching degrees, her lungs burning.

Only then did she realize they were seated on her flower-covered bed. Or rather, the stranger with the straight brown eyebrows and even browner eyes was seated on the bed. For her part, she was settled across his lap, her butt dipping slightly into the depression between his legs. And holy hysteria, her hip grazed his…maleness.

Not good. Not good. Not good.

Okay, fine for him. Impressive for him. Not good for her at all.

She wriggled on instinct until the soft scrape of his light wool trousers on her thong-exposed butt made her think the better of it. This situation of a stranger on her bed holding her half-naked body close to his…impressiveness…was completely absurd and inappropriate. But duh. What did wriggling do to any man sporting that kind of condition?

The problem increased in response.

As did her shaky, shallow breaths.

“Wait.” He squeezed her closer to his chest without really tightening his grip on her. Nevertheless, her breasts were a breath away from popping free of her scanty lace bra. “Sit still until you’re sure you can get up without hyperventilating. You scared five years off my life and I don’t even know you.”

“About that…” Her voice scraped awkwardly over her vocal cords, the pitch all wrong after her bout with too much breathing.

“I’m serious, lady.” He relaxed his hold again, keeping a wary gaze on her. “It’s Jenny, right?”

She nodded automatically before she could consider the wisdom of confirming her identity for a man who knew more about her than most of the rest of the world between guessing her name correctly and cradling her bare thigh in his palm.

And while the sensation didn’t feel good per se, given the fact that he could still be in her hotel room for nefarious reasons, she had to admit that having his hands on her wasn’t an entirely unpleasant experience either. She hadn’t been touched intimately since—ugh—her brief affair with a takeout delivery guy she’d slowly gotten used to seeing without leaving the safety of her home turf. But that had ended a year ago when she’d refused to go out on actual dates with him and, sweet psychosis, had she missed the sex.

“How did you know my name?” Had he been rifling through her purse while she was in her room rolling on her sexy one hundred percent silk stockings—items also available from the De-Luxe catalog?

If she hadn’t been so busy trying to get David to change his mind about a relationship tonight she might have heard this stranger’s entrance into her hotel suite.

“You signed the e-mail you sent me,” he informed her, his hands sliding away from her body completely, silently giving her permission to walk away now if she wanted.

Except that her insides still shook and she couldn’t believe her ears even though her Beethoven CD remained pleasantly soft in the background. The Ninth Symphony provided welcome familiarity in an uncomfortable situation.

“What e-mail?” She racked her brain, wondering if she’d ever met him before. Could he be with the psych conference? There were enough borderline crazy people in the Quintessence Hotel this week to ensure she ran into one every time she turned a new corner.

Sliding off his lap with as much grace as she could muster and possibly a little unwanted thrill, Jenny concentrated on taking slow, deep breaths as she kicked off her mules and tucked her legs up underneath her on the bed. The movement released the scent of roses, another sensory anchor that helped her hold steady in unfamiliar surroundings.

The sheer white robe she’d worn provided little coverage, but she drew it more tightly about her and attempted to regroup long enough to figure out what this guy was talking about. If he was an escapee from some local mental institution trying to fix himself via a weeklong psych seminar, Jenny had more reason than ever to watch her back around him.

“The note you sent inviting me to your room tonight.” He stared at her as if she was the mental patient.

“You got a message inviting you here?” She knew he could be lying to justify letting himself into her hotel room, but she couldn’t help but think about her note to David an hour ago. Could she have hit a wrong key? “What’s your e-mail address?”

“D B at Shore Engineers.” He straightened his shirt cuffs beneath the sleeves of his jacket. “You told me you saw me in the lobby bar earlier so I assumed you were someone attending the engineering seminar at the hotel this week. Are you in the industry? I’m pretty sure I’d remember you if we’d met before.”

The tightness in her chest returned, but she forced herself to breathe slowly through the pinch. It had been almost two years since her last full-blown panic attack and she didn’t plan to put herself through that scary ordeal again any time soon. She’d keep her inhalations steady now. Even.

“You work for Shore Engineers?”

That was David’s firm. His e-mails had glowed with pride about the success of his company. His father’s company that he’d recently taken over, in fact. How could this man have intercepted her note to him?

Unless…could David have given her someone else’s address by mistake?

“I’ve already handed in my notice but I’m still technically with the company for a few more days.” His now straight cuffs provided an interesting contrast to the front buttons of his shirt, one of which had been undone from the first moment she’d spotted him in the room tonight. He looked equal parts slick corporate guy and negligent playboy. “Are you suggesting you didn’t mean to e-mail me?”

“I, um—” Wavering, she didn’t wish to insult him, knowing firsthand how fragile an ego could be. But then he also deserved to understand the reason for her panic attack. “Actually, I meant to e-mail David Brady. One of your colleagues, I suspect? I thought that address belonged to him.”

“This was for Wonderboy Brady?” Pointing toward her outfit, he shook his head. “Please tell me you don’t know him well.”

The expression of pure contempt on his face made her hesitant to tell the truth. Would she be lumped in his condescension category if he knew she’d been e-mailing David through the dating service system for the past two months? Then again, most people who weren’t agoraphobic might consider that kind of contact very limited.