6
“WHAT KIND OF SEXY food did you have in mind for the room-service menu?” Mitch asked the people around the board table. This was their first group brainstorming session on the resort’s new theme and he wasn’t doing so well. It was a struggle to use the same tone he’d employ to discuss the type of artwork they’d carry in the lobby or how many brands of scotch the bar should have on hand. In other words, to keep this discussion at the level of pure business.
Damned hard, too, seeing the woman sitting across from him who had cried out as he brought her to an orgasm in a towel closet three days before. The look she was giving him, pure flirtatious amusement, told him she was waiting for a repeat performance.
“Probably just two or three items,” Belle said, her delight at the conversation, and probably at his apparent discomfort, clear in her tone. “The trick is going to be choosing the right ones. You might want to tie into your revolving-guest-chef theme with these. Keep a standard on the menu at all times, say oysters, since their reputation is so tried in food.”
Mitch exchanged confused frowns with his manager, then asked, “Tried and true?”
“Exactly.” She shot him a grin before leaning over to dig through her satchel and pull out files for everyone at the table. Their current discourse on sexual turn-ons was being shared with two of his managers, his head chef, Jacques, and Miles, the resort’s head of security. A nice, intimate group with which to brainstorm kink.
Belle had put them all at their ease, though. From the minute she’d walked into the room in her demure black skirt and red sleeveless turtleneck, she’d had his staff in the palm of her delectable little hand. A couple of jokes, a personal comment to each guy to let him know she’d done her research and appreciated the job he did, and they’d all relaxed.
And, given the topic, relaxation was key. At first, nobody had wanted to jump in with an opinion, so it’d been just Mitch and Belle talking sex. But after a quarter of an hour or so, the group hadn’t been able to hold back. Now the opinions and ideas were flowing fast and furious, which gave Mitch time to sit back and watch Belle at work.
He glanced at the list she’d handed out. Title: Aphrodisiacs. He couldn’t help but laugh. Belle winked at him.
“The room-service menu should otherwise be standard, of course.” She glanced around the table and all the men nodded in agreement. Mitch suspected they’d have nodded if she’d suggested adding popcorn and Popsicles to the menu, they were so equally fascinated and out of their element. “But for the restaurant menu we can get more creative. Maybe cultural or thematic—Mexican chocolate, oysters Rockefeller, Greek honey cakes. That kind of thing.”
“Graphic desserts?” offered Larry.
“Too bachelorette partyesque,” Belle rejected with a grimace. “Think classier. Something that convinces people this isn’t a gimmick, that it will really work.”
“Asparagus and arugula salad?” he offered.
“There you go,” she said, pointing her pen at him in approval before making note of his suggestion.
Mitch snickered when Larry preened as though he’d just been given a gold star.
Damn, she was good. She definitely knew what she was doing. Her society-princess title had been well earned. She orchestrated the meeting like a cocktail party, introducing this idea and that, making sure everyone had a chance to interject their comments before rearranging and serving the concepts back to them on a platter.
Who knew watching a sexy woman using her brain to work a room could be such a turn-on. Mitch wasn’t a chauvinist pig; he respected women for more than their bodies. But he’d had no idea Belle had so much more going on.
He thought back to their engagement. He’d never seen her as a real person, just a princess to be won. And then there was their towel-closet encounter. While she’d obviously enjoyed the end results, he doubted she was impressed with his finesse and gentlemanly behavior.
Mitch grimaced. Maybe he was a pig.
“Now that we’ve covered the menu, let’s see if we can nail a few of the special amenity details,” Belle suggested, launching the discussion in a whole different direction.
Since most of those details were sexually explicit, Mitch had to work to keep his expression neutral.
“Do you really think handcuffs are necessary?” he asked as Diana brought in a tray of coffee and snacks. Apparently Belle had left word that she needed a midafternoon pick-me-up and his assistant was only too happy to oblige. Mitch couldn’t say he blamed Diana, since he’d willingly do quite a few things, most cheap and kinky, to see Belle’s smile of gratitude flash his way.
“Of course you need handcuffs,” Belle said, her green eyes flashing wicked delight at odds with her matter-of-fact tone. “The key to having this work is to keep the sexual offerings classy by making them a standard amenity. If a guest has to call down to the concierge and ask for sex toys, it ruins the spontaneity.”
From the bemused looks on the faces of his staff as Belle passed around a tray of cookies, Mitch figured they were as speechless at that image as he was.
“And our goal is spontaneous sex?” he finally asked, giving up all pretense that he wasn’t completely out of his element.
“That is precisely our goal,” Belle said, her eyes hot and intense as she nibbled at a chocolate cookie. “The more spontaneous, and the more sex, the better.”
Mitch went from intrigued to rock-hard in two seconds flat.
“You’ll need to specially train your front desk and your concierge,” Belle continued, talking to Larry. “Given the target demographic, you want to support the high-end thrill and excitement of a sexual getaway. Few people looking for the privacy to indulge their sexual fantasies care to explain to a concierge whether they prefer their handcuffs fur-lined or solid metal.”
“Good point.” Mitch frowned as he made a note on his report and muttered, “Apparently I’m going to need to find a supplier of kinky toys.”
Belle pulled a paper from her file and handed him a complete list of companies, color-coded by fetish.
Helpless to do otherwise, Mitch snorted with laughter. Damn, she was good. Belle shot him an impish smile that said she knew what he was thinking and looked forward to proving just how good she could be.
* * *
BELLE LEFT MITCH’S BOARDROOM, doing a little happy dance as soon as the door swung shut behind her.
“That went well, I take it?” Diana asked, a hint of something Belle didn’t understand in her tone.
“It was fabulous,” Belle returned, too curious about the other woman to feel embarrassed. “I think this is going to rock. Everyone had great ideas. It’s got success written all over it.”
From Diana’s grimace-faking-it-as-a-smile, Belle figured the other woman might have some issues with the sex stuff. Leave it to Mitch to hire a prude as his assistant, Belle thought affectionately. But she’d brought him around, and she was sure she could bring Diana to accept the concept, as well.
With that in mind, she pulled a chair up close to the woman’s desk and leaned forward with her friendliest look.
“This must be fascinating,” she said conversationally. “Being in on the ground floor of opening such a great place. I mean, you’re surrounded by luxury, an incredible view and a hot boss. And once the place is open, it’ll be like free cable. The inside scoop on famous people and clandestine sex. Not a bad job, huh?”
Diana looked at her as if she was a two-headed dog and both sides were missing a brain. Uptight and no sense of humor? Poor Mitch.
“Or not,” Belle muttered, wondering if she had any common ground with this woman. She surveyed Diana’s polyester blouse, navy slacks and flat pleather sandals. Probably not.
Belle glanced at her watch and sighed. How much longer was Mitch going to be?
“So tell me, Diana, how’s the resort shaping up?” she asked after a few minutes of miserably uncomfortable silence. She didn’t really care about the answer but was desperate for some conversation.
“Falling apart is more like it,” the other woman mumbled into her computer screen.
“Beg pardon?”
Diana slanted her a sideways look and shrugged. “You know, it’s just one problem after another. I’ve never been in on the—how did you say it?—ground floor of a resort opening before. But I’d imagined it’d be a little smoother, if you know what I mean.”
Belle’s brows shot up. “You mean things like the sprinklers and construction hitches?”
Diana winced. “Sure, those and the gophers and the computer crashes and the laundry mix-up and the lost supplies and, well, I could keep going but you get my drift.”
Funny how the woman lost her quiet reserve when she was reciting all the resort’s issues. Belle frowned and gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I’m sure that’s all part and parcel to opening a new venue.”
At least, she assumed it was. Her father’s hotels had never hit so many hitches, but then he’d been at it a long time. This was Mitch’s first hospitality venue, so maybe he just hadn’t found his stride yet?
“Maybe,” Diana agreed doubtfully. “I mean, I’ve heard such amazing things about Mr. Carter. He’s got a reputation for being such an expert.”
Diana’s tone made it clear that she wasn’t buying the rep any longer. Doubt washed over Belle. Was Mitch the guy to help her dad? She’d been so sure. As Diana said, he had a stellar reputation for being Mr. Amazing when it came to business. She frowned. Was that rep wrong?
“Can you excuse me for a minute?” she asked Diana. “If Mitch comes out, just let him know I had a call I forgot I have to make.”
“You can make it here,” Diana said, pointing to the phone.
“Um, no, thanks.” Belle waved her cell phone and gestured toward the hallway. “It’s...private.”
The other woman gave her an ohhh-one-of-those-calls look and shrugged.
Once alone, Belle punched a button and paced impatiently while waiting for Sierra to pick up.
“We might need to rethink a few things,” she said as soon as her partner answered.
“Which few?”
Belle explained the resort issues she’d discovered, both on her own and the ones Diana had shared. “So now I’m wondering if Mitch is really the right guy to help daddy.”
“What about the Eventually Yours gig? Do we need to pull out?”
Pull out? Belle considered the question. They couldn’t. They’d tied up a lot of time and energy in this project. If it went belly-up, they would definitely hurt. But not enough for her to consider ditching Mitch. He believed in the resort and had so much more at stake. She wanted to give him her support, even if he didn’t realize it. The only thing she was risking was her time and energy. Yes, Eventfully Yours might take a hit, but as long as she came up with some other idea to help her dad, she could handle it.
“I gave my word, I can’t back out.” Her fear of failure faded a little as she made the statement.
At Sierra’s snort she pulled the phone away from her ear and rolled her eyes.
“I’ve matured,” she claimed, talking into the speaker again.
“Matured my ass. You just want to get in his pants.”
“That’s beside the point,” Belle mumbled. So what if she did? Was that the only reason she wanted to stick with the job? No, of course not. She believed in it. She’d had a great time in their brainstorming session and the ideas they’d all come up with were awesome.
With that in mind, she squared her shoulders, shook off her nerves and claimed, “This is business and we signed a contract. Besides, I really haven’t seen any hard evidence to make me believe Mitch isn’t all his reputation says. Just little things that could easily be chalked up to normal start-up woes.”
“You wouldn’t have called me if you weren’t worried.”
“Not worried. Cautiously concerned about the big picture, you know?” And she hadn’t wanted to voice her doubts about Mitch’s success aloud. It seemed so disloyal.
“You mean you don’t want to let your lust for this guy blind you a second time.”
Belle pulled a face and, feeling like a slug, mumbled, “I’d rather just depend on us, if you know what I mean. As long as you’re okay with the decision.”
Sierra was silent for a second. Belle heard the cellophane crinkle of a candy wrapper. Then, “Eventfully Yours can handle whatever happens. The real question is, what do you want to do about your dad? Find someone else to help him? Like who? You’re the one with all the hotel experience.”
Blinking away tears of relief at her friend’s understanding and support, Belle paced and considered. “Let’s just see what we can come up with ourselves, okay? I don’t want to make any decisions yet. I just, you know, needed a sounding board and to get your brain in on the action.”
“What are you going to do while my brain works?”
Mitch strode out of his office just then. Unlike the businessmen her daddy worked with, who always did the suit-and-tie thing, Mitch seemed to have left that phase behind him. Other than their meeting at the restaurant when they’d signed the contracts, he always wore jeans.
As Mitch turned to respond to something Diana had said, Belle sighed. Damn, she loved a guy in jeans.
“Continue with plan A,” Belle said as her eyes met Mitch’s when he turned around.
“Jump his bones?” Sierra confirmed.
“You know it.” With that, Belle pushed the disconnect button and slid her phone into her bag.
“Ready?” Mitch asked, referring to their plans to tour the golf course and wooded picnic area.
“I need to change,” she said, waving her high-heeled sandal-clad foot his way. “Let’s stop by my room and I’ll get some flats, okay?”
They headed outside toward her cottage.
“I don’t think I ever saw you in jeans when we were dating or engaged,” she commented.
Mitch’s look of surprise must be due to her bringing up the past, Belle figured. But while she wasn’t about to play the blame game, it was silly to pretend they didn’t have a past. Maybe if they melted the ice with easy chitchat, she’d be able to work up the nerve to apologize for abandoning him at the altar before her job here was done.
“Six years ago I had too much to prove to let myself wear jeans,” Mitch finally said.
Intriguing. “And did you?”
“Did I what?”
“Prove your point? And what was it? That denim makes your ass look great, but you wanted to be taken seriously so you denied the world the sweet sight?”
He snorted and shook his head. They’d reached her cottage, so he gestured for her to precede him to the door. Belle glanced back to see if he was going to answer and caught him checking out her ass. She grinned. Well, tit for tat and all that.
“Hardly,” he said, shrugging an apology for the ogling. Belle just winked back to let him know she didn’t mind. “I wanted to play with the big boys. Hotels, entertainment. I figured nobody would take a hammer-swinging kid seriously so I went the businessman route.”
“Trying to be a wolf with silk ears?”
He frowned, then after a second corrected, “Wolf in sheep’s clothing? Or silk purse out of a sow’s ear?”
“Both.” She smiled up at him as she pushed open the door. “But I heard talk before you showed up in those fancy suits. Nobody thought of you as a kid or as less than a driving force. They were looking forward to working with you. You had a great rep.”
At least he had before she got ahold of him. Belle winced and, before he could respond by pointing out that exact fact, she gestured to the bowl of fruit on the small kitchenette table. “Help yourself to a snack while I change, hmm?”
And off she scurried, like a scared little mouse, guilt pounding at her like a sledgehammer on speed. In the bedroom, she dropped to her bed and stared at the ceiling while reciting all the reasons she’d screwed up and why he had the right to hold them against her. Then, once they were out of her system, she shot up and tugged open the plantation-style closet doors to grab a denim skirt and casual blouse for their tour.
* * *
MITCH BLINKED AT THE closed door, wondering what the hell had just happened. One second he and Belle had been having a friendly jaunt into the past. The next she was offering him a banana and running away.
Apparently that was the theme of their relationship, that running thing.
He sighed and glanced around the cottage. California casual was the term the decorator had used—light woods, soft fabric, bare tile floors. The space was open and airy with a few plants here and there to make it welcoming. As comfortable as it had started out, in less than a week, Belle had made it her own.
Colorful scarves over the chairs added rich splashes of green and turquoise. A wooden bowl filled with engraved stones sat on the coffee table. Mitch walked over to pick one out. Perseverance, he read. Motivational sayings? Belle?
He noticed a small framed poster on the wall. Stone in hand, he stepped closer to read about the ABCs to Achieve Your Dreams.
Wild. He frowned at the closed door and tried to adjust his image of her, a flighty sexpot with great planning skills, with the idea that she bought, let alone used, motivational tools.
It was then that he saw it. A small, fluffy, pink, stuffed bunny rabbit. As spotless as the day he’d won it for her at a corporate fund-raising carnival, it sat in the rocking chair looking fat and content.
Mitch grinned at the sight and, tossing the stone back in the bowl, lifted the bunny for a closer look.
“Don’t mess with Mr. Winkles,” Belle said, coming out of the bedroom. Her tone was light, but there was still a lingering frown around her eyes.
“I can’t believe you still have this,” he said with a laugh, holding up the stuffed animal. “I never took you for the sentimental type.” He considered, then added, “I never thought our time together was something worthy of sentiment, to tell you the truth.”
As soon as the words were out, Mitch winced. He sounded like an ass. But, well, the truth was, he’d never allowed himself to think about their time together as anything but a business deal gone bad. It hurt less that way.
She gave him the glare of death, but in a blink, the look was gone. Had he imagined it? Maybe.
Then she snatched the toy from his hands as if he’d stolen it. That’s when it hit him.
“Are you embarrassed?” he asked with a grin. “There’s no reason to be. I think it’s sweet.”
Her porcelain skin flushed crimson and the death glare returned in full force. She gripped one hand so tightly around the rabbit’s neck, it’d be stew meat if it wasn’t a stuffed toy. Mitch winced. From the look on her face, she was imagining his throat between her fingers.
“Sweet, my ass,” she shot back. “I’m not sentimental over our time together. Believe me, the last thing I need is a constant reminder of my mistake.”
Mitch’s spine snapped straight, his amusement fleeing at that one word. Mistake.
Oh, yeah, there had been mistakes. But they were his. It’d taken him six years to make up for the business ones, and damned if he needed his personal ones thrown in his face by the woman at fault for all of them.
“Mistake? Care to clarify that?” he asked, his tone the one he reserved for embezzlers, liars and cheats. Icy-cold and precise.
“Oh, please, like you don’t know.” Her sneer was a work of art. Angry, but still disdainful enough to hide the hurt he’d glimpsed earlier. And he’d called her sentimental? “You can pretend all you want that we’re business buddies here, but we both know damned well what happened.”
“Us and a couple of hundred guests,” he shot back.
Belle rolled her eyes. “That’s your own damned fault,” she declared. “If you hadn’t put such an insane price on your body, we’d never have ended up in that mess.”
Mitch had fallen off a fifth-story girder once, his safety rope keeping him from serious injury. That was the only time he recalled ever being this close to speechless. He stared, mouth open. “My body?”
“I wanted sex,” she declared, pointing the bunny at him like a pistol. “Simple, uncomplicated sex. But no, you had to turn it into something else. Complicate it. You ruined everything, and for what? Ambition?” Disdain dripped from her words like battery acid, burning Mitch.
He clenched his jaw, struggling to find a response. Anger pounded at his temples: fury at the past and at the woman in front of him for reminding him that he’d never measured up.
He’d spent his entire career trying to prove himself. To prove he was man enough to take care of his mother after his dad had died. To prove he was worthy of the trust his stepfather had later showed in him. And then to prove that he wasn’t going to fall apart when he’d been left with the responsibility of his stepdad’s construction company.
And then he finally thought he’d found his perfect woman. The one he’d seen as proof that he was man enough for anything. And she’d walked out on him.
Mitch had never admitted, not to anyone but himself in the dark hours when it was just him and his thoughts, his fears that Belle had found him lacking. That she’d decided he wasn’t rich enough, wasn’t talented enough, wasn’t worthy enough.
It was the last one that really grated. All he’d wanted from the moment he’d set eyes on the sassy blonde was to sweep her off her feet.
Mitch glared at her, all grown up now and just as sassily sexy. He should have swept when he had a chance. Maybe if he’d knocked her feet out from under her she wouldn’t have run away.
Well, he’d blown his chance once. He wasn’t stupid enough to blow it twice.
“You wanted sex?” he ground out, anger and lust sharp and jagged in his system. “Fine, I’ll give you sex.”
Two steps was all it took to pin her between the hard, needy length of his body and the wall. Belle’s shocked gasp was lost against his mouth. Her sea-green eyes glared into his as she gave a low growl. Being a smart man, Mitch kept his tongue out of the game just yet. But he used his lips to full effect.
And his hands. Because, if he did say so himself, he was damned good with his hands. He skimmed them over her hair, a gentle glide down her shoulders then a quick, barely there flick along the sides of her full breasts, crushed against his chest. He gripped the gentle curve of her waist for just a second, then gave in to the need and scooped his hands under the sweet curve of her ass.
Mitch groaned as the move pressed her tighter to the throbbing length of his dick. God, he wanted her.
Tossing off all restraint, all the rules he’d tried so hard to live by, he let himself go. His hands gripped Belle’s butt, squeezing her soft curves one more time before he pulled her between his thighs. One hand slid up to cup the back of her neck, holding her head in place when she tried to jerk away from his kiss.
Feeling her heart pounding in her throat, he told himself it was passion and, desperately needing to taste her, he risked it all and slid his tongue along the seam of her full, soft lips.
Her shuddered gasp was barely discernable, but he felt it. Both against his mouth, and in the way she pressed herself tighter against his erection. Her wiggle was a tiny thing, but damn, it felt great. His grin was fast and triumphant before he took her mouth in a wild ride. Tongues dueled and tangled in a dance of passion. Quick, deep kisses that hinted at dark pleasures and intense emotion. He gave over to the power of tasting her, feeling her. Belle, the one obsession he’d never been able to shake.
A voice whispered in the back of his head to slow down. Mitch told the voice to shut the hell up. In pure defiance he shifted her, one quick move, to straddle his hips and gave a guttural groan when she wrapped those long, delicious legs around him. Mitch pressed, once, twice. Belle mimicked his rhythm, taking on the slow, intense undulation.
Desperate now, he released her hip and neck to cup her breasts. The heated warmth filled his palm. Her soft whimper turned to a moan when he flicked his thumbs over her pebbled nipples.
Need pounded now, a heavy dark beat. Mitch gave in to it, releasing her mouth as he pulled her blouse over her head. Seconds before he lost himself in the lush bounty of her breasts, he met her eyes. Head supported by the wall, her blond hair a cloudy pillow behind her, Belle stared back. Desire, power, pleasure all shone in her gaze.
Mitch’s ultimate dream, here in his hands, the taste of her rich on his tongue. The image he had of him and Belle—the poor kid in patched jeans and the princess—flashed through his head. You’ve come a long way, baby, that voice said. But, he vowed, not nearly as long as he planned to make Belle come.