Triple Threat. Regina Kyle

Чтение книги онлайн.

       4

      HOLLY CHECKED THE card in her hand once more before knocking on the door: 1008. Good. She was in the right place.

       Or the wrong place.

      She exhaled loudly, shaking off her doubts, and knocked. She was there to talk. Just talk. She was a grown woman, for goodness’ sake, not a hormonal teenager. She wasn’t going to be distracted by...

      The door swung open and any thoughts of talking—not to mention her ability to talk at all—deserted her. Nick stood framed in the doorway, a skimpy hotel towel wrapped loosely around his waist. He was still damp from the shower, those washboard abs she’d speculated about earlier on full display.

       So much for not being distracted.

      He leaned against the doorjamb. “You’re not Garrett.”

      “I-I’m sorry for barging in like this,” she stammered, finding her voice and trying not to ogle the firm, wet flesh of his bare chest and arms. She swallowed. Hard. “Guess I should have called first.”

      “No, it’s...it’s fine.” He stepped back to wave her in and the towel slipped to his hips, giving her a view of the trail of fine, dark hair leading from his navel to the promised land. She licked her lips. “Just give me a minute to put something on.”

       Don’t bother on my account.

      “You can wait in here.” He led her into a sunken living room, complete with not one but two plush sofas and a Steinway piano, and disappeared into what she presumed was the bedroom.

      Heart pounding, she wandered to the piano, setting her clutch down and fingering the keys. “Do you play?” she called out, desperate to fill the awkward silence.

      “No,” he answered from the other room. “Garrett insisted I have the Presidential Suite. I’d have been happy in a regular guest room, but Garrett’s a top-of-the-line kind of guy.”

      She left the piano and moved to a wall of windows overlooking Times Square, absorbing the spectacular view. Almost as spectacular as the view of Nick’s butt in that towel...

      “He can be a jerk when things aren’t going his way, but I trust him,” Nick continued as he came back into the lounge. “He’s got my best interests at heart.”

      Holly turned from the window to face him. Holy hotness, Batman! He’d zipped himself into another pair of jeans, just as snug as the ones he’d had on before but even more faded and ripped at one knee, and was buttoning a light gray sports shirt. He padded toward her on bare feet with the easy grace of a man comfortable in his own skin.

      If she could bottle that self-confidence and sell it, she’d be a millionaire. Or maybe he could give her lessons....

      He lowered himself onto one of the couches and motioned for her to join him, but she shook her head. She could barely think straight with him all the way across the room. She didn’t stand a chance up close and personal.

      “So what brings you here?” he asked. “Ted and Judith send you to change my mind?”

      She wanted to tell him the truth. Really, she did. But when she opened her mouth, something entirely different came out. “Not exactly. I, uh, wanted to apologize. For my behavior today in the conference room. I was inexcusably rude.”

      He glanced at the platinum Rolex on his left wrist. “You came all the way across town at rush hour to apologize?” He leaned back and crossed his arms behind his head. His biceps bulged beneath his shirt sleeves.

      Her mouth went dry. Good Lord, the man was unsettling. “Well, yes. It was such a surprise, seeing you. I reacted...poorly.”

       Right. And Shakespeare just scribbled down a few poems and plays.

      “So you don’t want to strong-arm me into auditioning?” He fixed her with a piercing stare that she did her best to meet head-on.

      “Do I look like I could strong-arm anyone?”

      “You look...” the same eyes that had just tried to intimidate her with their intensity raked her up and down, leaving her tingling and breathless “...stunning.”

      She shivered and stepped back, leaning against the piano for support. One word—one look—and she was ready to throw off her clothes and beg him to do her in every yoga position imaginable.

      This was wrong. All wrong. She never should have come. How did Ted and Judith and especially Ethan expect her to keep her pants on when faced with a force of nature like Nick? She wasn’t exactly a femme fatale. More like a poor man’s Cinderella, all dressed up for the ball, waiting for the stroke of midnight to reveal her as a complete fraud. Certainly no match for the charm and sophistication of Nick Damone.

      “Thanks.” She wiped her clammy hands on the legs of her linen pants. “But all this—” she indicated her new hairdo, makeup СКАЧАТЬ