One Wild Wedding Night_ No Way Out - Leslie Kelly [8]
He forced a smile at the night manager, an efficient, if obsequious, guy. “Interesting. It was…interesting.”
“I assume you got your key?”
Stan paused, lifting a curious brow.
“When you came by earlier—with the shoe—you left your key on the counter. I sent it to you with one of the bellmen.”
Stan checked his pockets, realizing his key was, indeed, missing. “He must not have found me.”
The man’s face reddened. “That’s unacceptable. I am terribly sorry.” He strode to one of the computer terminals. “I will rekey your room this instant, Mr. Jackson. Please accept my apologies. You may be assured the employee will be dealt with.”
“Hey, it was my fault for losing the thing.” He’d obviously had other things on his mind—like finding the owner of that sexy shoe. “As long as the guy didn’t use it to break into my room and steal my drawers, I’m not gonna pitch a fit about it.”
The relief on the other man’s face said some other, more pampered guests might indeed have “pitched a fit” about it. He smiled weakly. “Thank you, very much.”
Pocketing the new key, Stan headed for the elevator. No sexy red shoe waited inside it. No sexy black woman, either.
Forget her. You can’t undo the past. There are plenty of other women out there just as sexy, just as exciting. He was still telling himself that—still forcing himself to believe he could put Vanessa McKee out of his heart and his lustful thoughts for good—when he walked into the bedroom of his suite a few minutes later. But when he glanced toward the open bathroom door, and saw an utterly amazing sight, he began to doubt it was true.
He wasn’t going to be able to put Vanessa McKee out of his lustful thoughts anytime soon. If ever.
Because the woman was standing in his bathroom, wide-eyed with shock, dripping wet and completely, gloriously naked.
Chapter 3
Vanessa couldn’t make a sound, couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe. Because standing a few feet away, looking like he’d stumbled into a Penthouse fantasy, was Stan Jackson. The very man she’d been thinking about—intimately—as she washed her body with slippery soap in the luxurious shower of her suite.
Remaining in the bedroom, he didn’t move, either. Well, not much. The man definitely moved his eyes. His hot gaze traveled from Vanessa’s head, clear down to her toes, with a few pauses for deep murmurs of appreciation in between.
Even from here she could see the way his soft, expensive-looking trousers tented over what she remembered was a very generous package. Why the realization that he wanted her should send every bit of feminine moisture in her body rushing between her legs, she didn’t know. Especially since she hated the man.
Especially since he’d invaded her room.
“What in the holy hell do you think you’re doing?” Snapping out of her daze, she grabbed a white, fluffy towel off a rack—the one she’d forgotten to move closer to the shower when she got in it—and wrapped it around her body. “Get out before I call the cops.”
His brow shot up. “Excuse me?”
“You might be Mr. Rich Superstar, but you can’t just bribe your way into a woman’s room. Whoever let you in here is going to be short a job tomorrow.”
“You’ve got it wrong…”
“Get out!” she repeated.
“Vanessa…”
She stalked out of the bathroom, dripping water on the carpet, but not caring. Carried on by righteous anger, she got right in his face. “You might be Mr. Superstar to everyone else, though God only knows why, it’s not like you cure cancer or fight for world peace.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You play a game for a living and people pay you millions of dollars for it.”
The jaw clenched.
“But just because everyone else is used to giving you whatever you want, that does not give you the right to buy your way into the room of a woman who hates you.”
She saw the exact moment he lost it, the very instant she’d pushed too far. It was at that word. Hate. Because without a sound, Stan hauled her into his arms, ignoring the wetness of her skin. He captured her mouth, forcing her lips apart,
plunging