Nobody Does It Better (12 page)

"You mean someone like me?" A hard edge laced his voice.

He seemed defensive, and her guard went up, parrying his thrusts with sarcasm. "You think I'm worried about unscrupulous scoundrels learning my secret and blackmailing me? No. I figure that's probably a once-in-a-lifetime kind of thing."

Paris
thought she saw hurt flash in his eyes, but it was gone before she could be sure.

She took a breath. "Look, that's not what bothers me. I realize it may be a pain, but the fact is that Alexander's never been on tour before. No one's ever
seen
him before, at least not until the party. What if someone sneaks into the room? Follows us? Peers in a window? At the very least, you need to always look Alexanderish, even if you talk Devin. Don't you see? I can't risk the truth. I need this contract."

Some of the tenseness seemed to melt from him. "Fair enough. I guess we start with hair dye." He leaned over and rummaged around in his battered canvas bag, eventually pulling out a box. He held it out to her. "Bold and Brilliant Chestnut. Got it on sale. Permanent this time. Want to do the honors?"

* * *

She should have said no,
Paris
realized later, as she ran her fingers through his damp hair, massaging in the conditioner that had come in the package. Without thinking, she'd walked smack into a predicament designed to test her resolve.

Devin balanced on the edge of the bathtub, bare feet inside, his tan shoulders and sinewy back naked except for the small, white towel draped over him. At least his legs were covered by the ratty blue sweatpants he'd changed into before they'd started this whole hair thing. The last thing
Paris
needed was the distraction of seeing his well-muscled thighs extending under a pair of shorts or straining against tight denim.

From behind him,
Paris
couldn't see his chest, but she remembered the smattering of hair that matched the still-golden locks gliding over her fingers. His hair seemed silkier tonight, probably because he'd washed out the color. Her fingertips recalled the coarse strands she'd stroked the night before.

Had it only been one night?

Paris
remembered the pleasure of his hands on her skin, touching and stroking. His kisses, hot and wild. She barely realized that her fingers were grasping tighter, pulling his head back. He followed with his body, leaning against her until his bare back pressed against her stomach, and his head rested against her breasts. She could see the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. Closing her eyes, she could feel the rhythm of her own heartbeat, its tempo increasing, pounding.

"
Paris
." Devin's voice was low, almost inaudible, but the way he said her name cut straight to her core. "I think you're supposed to add the gel sometime before my hair dries."

With a start, she opened her eyes. "Oh. I … um … I was just thinking." Biting back a curse, she scolded herself for getting sidetracked so easily.

"You're supposed to pull your own hair out when you think. Not someone else's."

She looked down and saw her fingers knotted in his hair. "Sorry. I was—"

"—thinking. I know." He twisted at the waist until she could see his face. "What were you thinking about?" His cockeyed grin suggested he had some idea already.

A little white lie flew to her lips. "The publicity tour. Details. You know." That was half-true, after all.

"Really."

Why did she get the feeling he didn't believe her? She stepped back, and her hands automatically went to her hips, as she adopted her little-used, I'm-in-control-here courtroom stance.
Your Honor, just because my client has millions socked away in the Caymans doesn't mean he embezzled it. Yeah, right.

She forced a smile. "Yes, really. I've been thinking about a lot of things. Planning, you know? Stuff to do." She waved nonchalantly in his direction, as if he was just one of a dozen tasks awaiting her. "We have to rehearse you, for example."

"Uh-huh."

"You don't believe me?" She immediately regretted the question.
Of course
he didn't believe her. And he was right. Not that it mattered. Thinking and doing were two entirely different things.

His smile started slow, but soon dominated his face. "Oh, I believe you."

"You do?"
Paris
stared at him, amazed she'd pulled off
that
coup.

"Sure. I believe you were thinking about your ground rules." The smile changed, losing some innocence, gaining some seductive appeal, and becoming ever-so-much-more interesting in the process.

Interesting and kissable.

Paris
yanked the thought away. "Right. Ground rules."

"I was doing a little thinking about rules myself." He pointed at the small plastic bottle sitting on the edge of the bathtub. "If you're finished conditioning, maybe you should rub that in now."

"Sure. Before your hair dries." His shift in topic had distracted her, and she was left wondering what rules he had come up with. She snipped the tip of the bottle off with nail scissors, then slipped on the flimsy plastic gloves that had come in the package. "Turn around," she ordered.

His back to her again, she frowned, unable to shake the feeling that he was toying with her. She massaged the gel through his hair, pulled off the gloves and set the alarm on her watch for fifteen minutes.

Not a word from Devin. He still hadn't clued her in on his rules.

Paris
cleared her throat and spoke to the back of his neck. "So, what is it you were thinking about? Rules, I mean." She hoped her voice came out casual. At least it hadn't cracked.

Silence. Then he bent forward and turned on the tap, running his wrist under the water and fiddling with the controls until the temperature was right. Only then did he turn his head and look back at her over his extended arm.

His eyes beckoned, and her body warmed in response.

"There's an attraction between us." He straightened up and stood as he spoke, crossing the small space in one step, ending up so close that she could feel his breath on her face.

She opened her mouth to deny it, but no words came out.

"Don't you think so?" he added.

Paris
squared her shoulders. They needed to be talking rules. Business. Now was not the time for her insides to get mushy.

He tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. The erotic caress made her dizzy.

"
Paris
? The least you can do is admit the attraction. We were both there, remember?"

She nodded, poise and composure slipping away. "Of course. Yes. Yes, there's an attraction. Sure."

One breath. Then another. And another. Okay, maybe this wasn't so bad, where the conversation was going. This was good. Talking about this attraction, desire, lust, whatever. It was necessary. Her whole purpose was to lay their major ground rule. No repeats of last night. Nothing but work. So he'd led the conversation in totally the right direction. She just needed to tell him.

She cleared her throat. "Devin, I—"

"We'll have to fight it. We shouldn't let anything more happen." He stroked her cheek, a friendly gesture that left a trail of fire. "You know. Professional distance. I think that would be best."

"That's really what you think?" They were all words she had planned to say. So why was she so disappointed?

"Of course," Devin continued, his voice low. "Although I can see your point, too. You may be right. Yes, you just might be absolutely right on this one."

"I might?"
Her point? Did she have a point?
What kind of game was he playing?

He nodded. "It's difficult to tell which is the better route."

Paris
opened her mouth to ask what he was talking about, but her wristwatch alarm beeped, stalling the question. Thank goodness. She needed a moment to get her head together. This wasn't going at all like she'd planned.

She plastered on a professional smile. "Rinse time," she sang. "Do you want to just pop into the shower?"

He perched on the edge of the tub again, and slowly shook his head. This time his feet were on the outside, and
Paris
had a feeling she knew what was coming.

"It's just as easy for you to do it." As he spoke, he grabbed her hips, urging her forward, and
Paris
vaguely wondered if his fingers would singe her. "I'll just tilt my head backward," he added as he gently positioned her over him.

As she straddled him, one leg on either side of his knees, Devin passed her a cup filled with water.
Paris
forced herself to concentrate. She poured the water over his head, and it flowed down his hair and into the tub. They repeated the exercise, waiting for the water to flow clear instead of inky.

The intimacy of the position was undeniable. So was the danger,
Paris
realized, as she let another stream of water trickle over him. Not that she feared falling. The danger lurked in the heat they were generating, in the way
Paris
was aware of the spot inside her thigh just above her knee that kept rubbing against his leg.

Once again she reminded herself. Thinking. Doing. Two entirely different things. And
doing
was not on the agenda.

He passed her another cupful of water. But instead of retreating to the edge of the tub as before, his hand lightly gripped the back of her leg, his finger idly stroking.

Fighting her body's response,
Paris
grabbed a dry towel from the rack and ran it over his head, working the water out until nothing was left but damp curls.

As soon as she removed the towel, she sucked in her breath. Moments before, his appeal had been undeniable. But now he was larger than life. He was Alexander, a man straight from her fantasies. Straight from between her sheets on nights when she couldn't sleep and lay awake dreaming, wondering, hoping that someday he'd step into her life.

She shook herself. Alexander wasn't real, and it was Devin in her bathroom, half-naked and tempting her.

She realized what he was up to. He had said she was right, but he knew perfectly well she had no idea what she was supposedly right about. He wanted her to ask.

Paris
didn't want to play his game, didn't want to lose control of the situation. But she really did want to know.
And, girlfriend, you are already way out of control.
Besides, the torment of his finger drawing lazy patterns on the back of her leg was going to drive her mad.

Round one, Mr. O'Malley.

"Okay, what might I be right about?"

"Intimacy." His eyes didn't open.

"Excuse me?"

"Intimacy. Appearances. Comfort zone." He opened his eyes and they held no challenge. Just desire.
Paris
took a step backward, but his hand tightened around the back of her calf. He straightened his head, and
Paris
realized with mortification that he was eye level with her breasts. And she was wearing a T-shirt. With no bra. In a humid bathroom. So much for playing it cool.

"I don't know what you mean,"
Paris
said truthfully, hoping she didn't sound rattled.

"There's an intimacy between you and Alexander. An understanding. You're supposed to know each other so well. If we're fighting this … thing … between us, there'll be tension, nerves. People will be able to tell." His hand slid up the back of her leg, his fingers boldly caressing her inner thigh, until finally cupping the curve of her rear.

Paris
was pretty sure her kneecaps were melting.

"If there's an intimacy between us, people will realize," he went on. "They won't know what kind, of course, but they'll recognize the closeness and your scam won't be in jeopardy."

"Is that…" her voice sounded husky. She cleared her throat, conjuring her normal speaking voice, determined to fight against what was happening to her body. And to her head. "Is that the way to pull a scam?"

"Trust me on this one." He leaned forward, urging her toward him with his hand even as he leaned forward from the waist. His mouth closed over her breast before
Paris
could think, and then all she could do was react. Her nipple hardened under the attack of his tongue through the thin material. Her legs turned to rubber as warm honey flowed through her body. She had to sit before she fell, and she sank to the floor. His mouth and hand released her, and she ended up perched at his feet while he smiled down at her, warm and inviting and, oh, so tempting.

Thinking. Not doing.
Her new mantra.

"And I thought through all of that, huh?" she asked, when her voice worked again.

He nodded. "Oh, yeah. A brilliant piece of reasoning, actually." He leaned over and plugged the tub, readjusting the temperature on the still-running tap. Then he uncapped a bottle of hotel-supplied bubble bath and poured it into the stream.

"Three weeks, right?" He held out a hand to her and helped her up from the floor.