Page 20 of Sleeping with the Frenemy

“The hotel manager.” I glanced around the ordinary room. “She said you were staying in a suite.”

“That’s because I told her as much.” He put his hands on his waist. “If you want to know how the average guest is treated, you have to sleep in a regular room.”

“Very noble of you.”

“This is ridiculous, Victoria. You can’t work here.”

I concentrated on keeping my gaze north of his hips. “I don’t have a lot of options. In case you haven’t noticed, Virginville isn’t exactly a thriving metropolis. Oh, and there’s the little problem of my family owing yours almost two hundred thousand dollars.”

“I said we’d figure something out. You have options. Maybe partition the land and sell a dozen acres—”

“I’m not selling the land!” God, was that why he showed up at the lodge today? To fuck me into agreeing to sell my property? Rage fired in my veins like someone lighting a pilot switch.

“Keep your voice down.” He said it in an infuriatingly masculine way—the kind of tone men used when a woman disagreed with them and they wanted to pretend she was crazy instead of owning up to being wrong.

“Go to hell, Valenti!”

A muscle leapt in his jaw, and he muttered, “Trust me, I’m already there.”

I drew myself up. “Well, then, let me make things easier for you. This room is occupied, so I can’t clean it, anyway. I’m going to finish my shift. You can finish”—I ran a dismissive look down his body—“whatever it is you were doing.” Before he could respond, I turned on my heel and went for the door.

A hand caught my arm and spun me around.

“Hey!” I shoved away from him, the bottle of cleaner dropping to the carpet. We stood less than a foot apart, our gazes clashing. The scent of soap and aftershave reached me. Dammit, why did he always smell so good?

He sucked his lower lip into his mouth for a brief second, his eyes flicking down my body. “What color panties are you wearing?”

Immediately, a rush of desire swept me.

Which just pissed me off more. Did he honestly think he could turn this into another tabletop session?

I drew on the anger. “Fuck off, Valenti.”

“I’d rather fuck you.” His green eyes gleamed. “Are they black, Vicky? If I yank those jeans down, am I going to find the black panties I ordered you to wear?”

“You don’t order me to do anything,” I shot back, but the words came out weak and sort of breathless.

“Yes, I do. You work for me, remember?” He smiled, clearly delighted with this turn of events. “If you want to keep your job, you have to do what I say.”

My heart raced. “I have rooms to clean.”

“Answer my question.”

“Do the Valenti Hotels have a good sexual harassment policy? I don’t remember seeing one when I filled out my paperwork.”

“Tell you what.” He tightened his towel, and my heart rate kicked up a notch. “Show me what you’re wearing. If they’re not black, you leave. If they’re black, you stay. If they’re black and wet, you stay and I lick your pussy until you scream my name.”

Jesus.

I stood rooted to the floral hotel carpet, the steam from his shower swirling around my head. I should turn around and walk away. Walk right out the door and never look back.

But my feet weren’t cooperating. And my sex throbbed, more than willing to go along with his games.

He closed the distance between us, giving me an up-close-and-personal view of his damp chest. His tan skin glowed, and little drops of moisture clung to his muscles. For a wild moment, I imagined myself dipping my head and catching one on my tongue.

Smiling, he reached out and wound a stray lock of my hair around his finger. “Well, Vicky,” he murmured, “which is it? Door A, B, or C?”

Suddenly, the air seemed charged—like electricity gathering before a storm.

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