Decadent. Suzanne Forster

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      Ally swept the sitting room area, going through the drawers of the entertainment unit and the desk. She found nothing except the usual hotel stationery and sightseeing guides.

      Next, she went through the entry closet, checked the guest bath and wet bar, and then lifted all the furniture cushions. As she worked, she noticed that every light in the place was burning. Sinclair hadn’t bothered to turn them off. She made a mental note to keep her hands off the switches—she didn’t want to give away that someone had been there.

      Another thing she noticed as she moved through his suite was that other than a few toiletries and the expensive clothes hanging in the master closet, the place was as spartan and spotless as if unoccupied. That didn’t make sense. You couldn’t stay for any length of time in a hotel and not leave some trace of your presence—a scribbled note by the phone, an appointment book on the desk, pictures of family by the bed, a pay stub in the trash can. Something!

      Unless you didn’t want anyone to know who you were.

      The maid had told her Sinclair’s name, as well as ferreting out a few other details, like his profession. Ally needed more information. Much more.

      She checked her watch as she entered the bedroom. The closet door was open, the light burning inside. As she darted over there, she had the craziest thought. Was this man afraid of the dark? Or was he expecting someone?

      She fished through the pockets of the suit jackets that hung in the closet. Her efforts produced two sticks of Dentyne and the princely sum of forty-eight cents in loose change. She felt an odd tingle in the pit of her stomach and realized it was the gum. She would have thought it was nerves, except that the scent of cinnamon always reminded her of Red Hots candy, which had the strangest effect on her. Her first summer crush had been eating the candies when he kissed her mouth and a few other places, too. He’d left hints of the spicy scent on her breasts, and it had sent shivers through her days later. She’d refused to shower.

      Ally figured that had to be the reason, but whatever it was, Red Hots made her hot. She held the gum to her nose and breathed in. Quickly she put the gum and the money back and cleared her thoughts. There was still work to do here. Her time was almost up, and she needed to know who Sam Sinclair was. In the most basic terms, was he a good guy or a bad guy? Could he be trusted? Would he help her or would he rat her out to Aragon? Those were the questions. But there were no answers in this suite. She stepped out of the closet, jerking her hand back seconds before she touched the light switch.

      Her first criminal act was a bust, she realized as she returned to the living room. Worse, she didn’t know where to go from here. She couldn’t approach Sinclair knowing so little about him. But right now, she had to get out of the suite unseen. With the maid acting as lookout, that should be the easiest part of the night.

      Voices? Ally crept into the foyer to listen. It sounded as if the maid were talking to someone outside. Ally hoped it was another hotel employee.

      “How are you, Mr. Sinclair?” the maid said, speaking loudly enough for Ally to hear her. “I was just going to turn down your bed. I’m afraid we forgot to do that this evening.”

      “Thanks,” Sinclair said, “but I’m exhausted.”

      “It’s no problem, Mr. Sinclair. Really.” The maid was nearly shouting now, and Ally had already backed out of the foyer.

      “No thanks. I’ll take care of it myself.”

      Ally’s heart lost a beat when she heard Sinclair’s reply. A second later the doorknob jiggled…then turned.

      

      SAM DETECTED a faint scent the moment he opened the door to his room. Not perfume exactly, but intuition told him it was feminine essence. Light floral tones with a note of something else. Cinnamon? Maybe that determined little brunette who’d been following him for days had finally decided to sneak into his room. He’d left the lights on for her—that was a courtesy. He’d also moved his documents and his laptop computer to a safe place. That was a necessity.

      As he slipped his key card into his pocket, it occurred to him that he could flush her out in ways that would probably blow her mind. But she wasn’t a pro, he was certain of that, and there didn’t seem any reason to scare the hell out of her. He’d already done that in the cemetery. Nor would he retrieve the small-frame 9 mm automatic he’d taped under the coffee table. It was there if he needed it.

      Sam glanced around the living room as he headed for the bedroom. The lamp on the desk sat a few inches off, one of the sofa cushions was out of place, and he could see the indentation in the carpet where the trash container had been moved and resettled. Not bad for an amateur. It was a reasonably clean and thorough search, but a search nonetheless. But what was she looking for? And more importantly, who did she work for?

      It was possible Aragon had sent her in to check him out. She might even be the reason Sam had been stalled in his access to the lower level, although Aragon wouldn’t have been likely to use an amateur. Sam could feel his neck tightening at the thought of this woman in Aragon’s employ. And it wasn’t pleasure burning in his gut. No woman should be at the mercy of that bastard, and this woman didn’t strike him as the type who’d let herself be at anyone’s mercy. Maybe that’s what drew him. Her nerve.

      Hell, she was stalking him. That alone was pretty gutsy.

      He couldn’t think who else might want to investigate him at the moment, so the odds were with Aragon. This might be another test of Sam’s suitability for membership, and he couldn’t take the chance that it wasn’t. Other than his uncle, no one knew about his personal reasons for being here, so she couldn’t possibly be connected with that mess. If nothing else, he would get some answers out of her tonight.

      Sam removed his leather jacket, threw it over the back of a chair and walked into bedroom. “Well, well, well,” he said, eyeing his visitor.

      Finding her had never been in question. Finding her draped across his king-size bed, her shoes kicked off and her chin propped up in her palm…now that was a bit of a surprise.

      “Mr. Aragon sends his regards,” she said, allowing a seductive pause before adding softly, “and me.”

      “Does he now?”

      She nodded, her dark eyes sparkling as seductively as the tiny smile on her luscious lips. “I found my contact lens, thank you.”

      Sam made his way slowly to the side of the bed. “I’m glad to hear it.” When he looked down, he spotted her high heels lying on the carpet, where she had kicked them off. “And just what am I supposed to do with you?” he asked. He leaned against the dresser and crossed his arms over his chest. He gave her his best disarming smile as he cocked his head appraisingly.

      “Anything you want.”

      “Now that’s what I call a generous offer.”

      His focus narrowed on her face as he searched for something that he had seen a thousand times on a thousand different faces. It was called a tell, and every one had one. It could be anything—a tick, a cough, a certain glance, a gesture.

      The woman on his bed locked stares with him. He wouldn’t have called it a poker face, but she wasn’t giving anything away. Or was she? His gut caught the nuance more than his eye. It wasn’t much, a slight challenging rise of her left eyebrow.

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