One Naughty Night. Joanne Rock

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СКАЧАТЬ watched him expectantly as she held the door open with her slight form, her blue eyes communicating silent invitation.

      Maybe as long as he kept his distance, maintained an arm’s length between them at all times, he could at least check out the room and make sure this Hugh character wasn’t lurking in the closet or anything. His aunt had paid for the room, after all. What if the guy thought he was entitled to help himself?

      Convinced he needed to go inside for just a minute, Renzo whispered a swift prayer for restraint and followed her into the suite.

      FOR A MOMENT, Esme had feared she might have to break out a crane to transport the man into her suite. Was it that big a decision to come home with her for the night?

      Feminine pride stinging just a little, Esme realized she would never be cut out for the club-hopping and manhunting that other South Beach women engaged in with ease. She liked getting to know people before she invited them back to her hotel room.

      For that matter, there would be real safety issues at stake here tonight if her date hadn’t been given the thumbs-up by her friend and neighbor. At least Esme could feel comfortable knowing Hugh Duncan wasn’t a wanted criminal or anything.

      His low whistle of appreciation jolted Esme back to the moment. A whistle intended for the exotic room decor and not her, she realized with dismay as his dark eyes swept the width of the suite and the rainbow of earth tones someone had thoughtfully woven into all the furnishings.

      Touchable silk and damask pillows littered the dark mahogany furniture while a huge swath of embroidered taupe linen lined the ceiling with a tentlike effect. And if the decadent tent weren’t impressive enough, the Sensualist’s Suite also boasted a small brook winding through the room.

      At least the beautifully appointed room was a comfortable topic. She could spend a little while distracting him with small talk that genuinely interested her before she ambushed him with another kiss.

      Assuming she didn’t lose her nerve.

      Judging by how long it took him to make that final step into her hotel room, Esme guessed he would walk away if she kissed him too soon. For some reason, fate had laughed at her attempts to be bold and brazen tonight by handing her a date with values as traditional as hers had always been.

      Just her luck.

      “It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?” Having no idea how to behave while seducing a man, Esme scoured her brain for role models.

      Her mother had raised her alone, content to make Esme the center of her world when Esme’s father had walked out on his pregnant girlfriend. And Esme’s deep love of antiques and art had absorbed her for so many years she barely kept up friendships enough to know how any of her casual acquaintances would go about picking up a man.

      The seductive women in the Pre-Raphaelite paintings she loved were often reclining objects to be adored, not active seductresses themselves. No help in that quarter either. The lone source of inspiration she came up with were her screen idols. And if her matinee memory served, Esme thought Bette Davis would have already been mixing the drinks by now.

      She hurried to the wet bar and eyed the myriad of offerings in the room service cooler. Too bad they didn’t prepackage Good Fortune Potion. She could use a healthy serving right about now—the good luck as much as the potion.

      Emerging from the cooler with a miniature bottle of brandy and two snifters—wouldn’t Bette be proud?—Esme found Hugh stooping to dip his fingers in the narrow waterfall that trickled gently from one wall in the living area.

      “The details are genius.” He picked up a smooth river stone from the base of the waterfall where a cleverly crafted brook wound its way through the room. “I’ve seen something like this in Caribbean resorts before, but the finishes are usually more obviously prefabricated. The polished rocks are a nice touch.”

      Esme flicked on the stereo located under the bar. She had no clue where the speakers were actually located, but the strains of Brahms seemed to surround them. She hoped classical music wasn’t off-putting, but it would be too much of a lie for her to flick over to some hip-hop station and pretend to be a happening chick.

      Besides, how could anyone not love Brahms? The music hadn’t been around for centuries because it was no good.

      “The furniture is what gets me. Whoever designed the room didn’t just pick up the furnishings at the local discount warehouse.” With a little awkward fumbling but no major spills, Esme managed to remove the packaging around the top of the brandy bottle and pour two glasses.

      Hugh released the pebble he’d been holding and shook the water off his fingertips as he moved toward a small table where she’d set her keys. “Neoclassical reproductions. Nice stuff.”

      Esme nearly dropped the brandy snifters as she stumbled over her feet. How had he known that? “That’s quite an eye you have. A lot of people wouldn’t know an antique if they lived with one, let alone be able to name the period.”

      “But we both know an up-and-coming South Beach singles resort wouldn’t exactly have the funds to decorate their rooms with French Empire period mahogany, so I don’t think guessing this is a reproduction was much of a stretch.” He lifted the small table off the floor and peered underneath the silk panel inset that decorated its surface. “It’s not signed but it ought to be. Good replicas are hard to find.”

      She promptly lost her heart to the man who spoke her language. As he set the table down, she handed him his glass. “You’re interested in antiques?” Did it make her a total geek that her heart pounded harder at the thought? “Because I deal in them as a sideline to my museum job. Well, my former job. I used to funnel a lot of antique finds to clients of the museum.”

      She’d been an art historian by trade for the last five years, but her hobby had always been antiques. Every weekend of her adult life had been devoted to haunting local flea markets and garage sales in an endless quest for precious finds.

      “I guess I’ve learned a few things about antiques through woodworking. I do some carpentry.” He tossed back a gulp of his brandy and pointed to the ceiling draped with embroidered linen as if eager to focus the conversation away from himself. “The tent effect is cool.”

      “And very in keeping with the sensualist’s theme.” After sniffing the brandy, Esme couldn’t bring herself to actually try it. Ack. Maybe she would become equally intoxicated by inhaling the fumes. “Everything in the room just makes you want to reach out and touch, doesn’t it?”

      Hugh’s gaze snapped to hers as if he suspected her words for the blatant come-on that they were meant to be.

      But damn it, he seemed to willfully ignore all her subtleties. Almost as though he’d backed off getting any closer to her since they had kissed.

      Yet she knew the kiss had been good. Better than good, in fact. Her body still sang with the want of him.

      “The fabrics are all top-of-the-line,” he agreed, wandering farther away to admire the babbling brook tripping through the room again. He put more distance between them at the same time he put himself closer to the door.

      And didn’t that say a lot about her charms?

      Then again, she had read somewhere in a magazine that in this era of political correctness, men were more careful not to proceed physically with a new woman unless the female was very clear that was what СКАЧАТЬ