Nobody Does It Better (15 page)
"Well," she finally retorted, "at least bellboys won't snub me, and I won't have to travel the globe with racetrack happy, casino-loving con artists." He flinched a little at that, and
Paris
almost apologized, but he'd started it, and
technically,
what she said was true. Besides, she was on a roll.
"Also, I can have a nice house and a study. Do book tours where I'm the one doing the signing and giving the interviews. I can visit my family without lying about my job, and, and…"
Paris
stopped, sure that there was more, but not sure what it was. Right here, right now, none of her spiel sounded all that appealing. Certainly not as appealing as the prospect of the upcoming weeks with Devin. With his wacky sense of humor and laidback manner, he was turning out to be a lot of fun.
Not to mention the added benefit of the way her heart skipped every time he looked at her. A perk, true, but still torture since his gaze was the only thing she intended to let caress her.
"Well, it sounds like you've got the whole thing worked out. I suppose you're right. I mean, what more could you want?"
There was nothing argumentative about his words, but
Paris
couldn't shake the feeling that he thought she wanted a lot more. Maybe he was right.
Paris
was beginning to think she didn't know what she wanted anymore.
"I'm sorry about earlier," she conceded. "Really. I was out of line. I hired you, and you're doing a fabulous job." She skimmed over every luscious inch of him and couldn't help but smile. "Truly fabulous." She cleared her throat. "So, are you going down to the bar?"
He flashed his killer grin. "Actually, I don't get to stay in hotels very often. I was thinking about doing something a little wild and crazy." In one motion, he pushed himself off the chair and held his hand out to her. "Care to join me?"
* * *
The end credits rolled, and
Paris
sniffed and wiped a couple of tears away. They were sitting next to each other on the bed, their backs against the headboard, the remains of cheesecake and apple pie littering the foot of the bed.
Devin passed her a tissue, an amused smile tugging at his mouth. "It was an action flick, not
Terms of Endearment.
Why are you crying?"
She shrugged. "I always cry. I cry at long-distance commercials. And those soup commercials," she clutched her chest, "those get me every time." She sniffled again.
"The perfect consumer." He passed her the entire box, then slid closer.
She leaned against him. "Thanks for a perfect afternoon." They'd done nothing except hang out in the room, but lazing around with Devin ranked as one of the best times she'd ever had.
"You're welcome." He urged her closer until her breasts pressed against his chest, and she realized her nipples were hard. Her body warmed as Devin's hands drifted along her back, and she noticed with mild surprise that her hands were exploring his shoulders, his neck, his back.
Her head screamed that she shouldn't be doing this, but she didn't care. All she wanted was Devin, the touch of his skin against hers, his breath mingling with hers.
"
Paris
?"
One glance up was all it took for the flames to ignite. She knew what he was thinking. What he wanted. She could hardly believe that he could need her as much as she needed him. But the desire was there in his eyes, and she pressed her body closer, longing to be a part of him.
She moved her lips up to meet his, then tasted the fire of his mouth. His lips parted and his tongue explored the soft corners of her mouth before demanding entrance.
A slight tug, and her shirt came untucked from her jeans. His hands stroked her back and up the sides of her body until his fingers were sliding under the thin material of her bra and cupping her breasts. She moaned, and his tongue thrust deeper, warm and wild and tantalizing. She greedily returned the kiss, her fingers running through his coarse, thick hair as she pulled his head down to force his kiss deeper and deeper.
She wanted more. So much more. She wanted all the things she knew she couldn't have with him.
Knowing she'd hate herself for it, she broke away. The hollow feeling in her stomach expanded the farther away she moved. But she needed to get away, needed to clear her head. She slid off the bed, moving to stand near the window.
"Guess we broke some ground rules, huh?"
Disappointment laced his voice, and she silently thanked him for not urging her to change her mind. "Guess so. Your hugs are lethal."
"Registered weapons."
But what a way to die.
He was still sprawled on the bed, and she fidgeted. This was one of those moments Emily Post didn't cover.
"Well," he said, standing, "I guess I'll…" He cocked his head toward the connecting door.
"Right. It's almost five, anyway. We should get changed."
Pushing the connecting room door open, he said, "I'll be in here if you need me. Holler when the car comes for us."
As soon as the door shut behind him,
Paris
flopped backward onto the bed and pulled her pillow over her face. Then she let out a howl of frustration that could shake the heavens. With just a little concentration,
Paris
was sure that she could hear Rachel laughing on the other side of the continent.
Admit it. The only thing that's going to make you feel better is a roll in the hay with Devin.
Maybe so. But that still didn't mean she had to act on it. He was a guy she had no business even thinking about A guy who'd almost blackmailed her. Who wandered around the streets of
She rolled onto her stomach, clutching the pillow under her. Except, she admitted, he didn't really seem the type. He owned a pub, after all, and from what she could tell, he spent a lot of time working there. So when did he find time to pull cons on blind Girl Scout leaders?
And he did walk away from what he'd planned for you.
She glanced at the closed connecting room door. As far as she could tell, he hadn't bothered to bolt it. Maybe…
Don't even think about it.
Frustrated and hollow, she got up and paced. A week ago, she'd been perfectly content with the way her life was panning out. She had her fantasy in one corner, complete with the man of her dreams. In the other corner, she'd kept reality. A suitable man, a solid career, respect.
But now Alexander had walked into her life. Or at least the closest thing to Alexander in a living, breathing human. And everything had changed.
She flopped back down on the bed and hugged the pillow tight against her body. He was in her blood. Coursing through her veins. He was everywhere. In her thoughts, her skin, her pores, her essence.
Like water on a rock, he kept eroding her defenses.
Rachel would tell
Paris
to quit torturing herself and sleep with the man. To go ahead and squeeze that Charmin.
Use him the way he'd almost used her.
Or realize he has a permanent place in your heart.
The little thought wormed its way into her head, and
Paris
pushed it away. That was one possibility she couldn't fathom. Not now.
But sleeping with him? Taking the proverbial bull by the horns? Maybe that wasn't such a bad idea. Her brilliant, professional-only plan had done nothing but leave her frustrated.
For three whole weeks she was going to be in close quarters with a man who'd come straight from central casting to play Alexander. He walked, talked and acted like her fantasy man, and she'd actually laid down no-touching ground rules. Was she nuts?
Most women would give up chocolate for the chance to spend three weeks traveling with the man of their dreams. Not her. Like an idiot, she'd made up rules. Rachel was right. She was acting like a martyr.
Well, no more. As soon as they got back from the interview, she'd make sure Devin realized the rules no longer applied.
* * *
"So, can I have your autograph? It's, uh, for my girlfriend." The twenty-something cameraman thrust a dog-eared copy of
Death in a Pretty Package
and a ballpoint pen toward Devin as he stepped off the slightly raised stage.
"Sure thing." Devin scribbled the signature he'd practiced in the hotel across the title page. "What's her name?"
The kid flushed as red as his hair. "Oh. Um, just make it out to Mark."
Devin looked down to hide his grin and added a personal note before handing the book back to Mark. "What did you think of the interview?" From Devin's perspective, it couldn't have gone any better. He'd come up with an answer for every question, managed to plug the current book quite a few times, bantered with the anchor-woman, and even hinted that a few fictional adventures were based on his experience as a secret agent.
He wanted to know what
Paris
thought, but since she was still in the control booth, he'd have to settle for Mark's opinion.
"Oh, man, you were awesome, Mr. Alexander. I mean, like, totally awesome. Just like your books." Mark clutched the paperback tight against his chest and looked down at the vinyl floor. "So, uh, can I, you know, ask you a question?"
"Of course," Devin said, remembering too late that a die-hard fan surely knew more about Alexander than Devin did.
"In
Angels and Assassins,
when Joshua's pretending to be the girl's long lost husband, what's his deal? I mean, is he really interested in her, or is he just trying to get close so he can steal the code from her boyfriend and disarm the bomb under the embassy?" The words spilled out, and when he was done Mark took a deep breath and looked up at Devin, apparently waiting for the famous author to spew nuggets of brilliant insight.
Devin kept a polite smile plastered on his face and tried not to grimace.
Angels
was one of
Paris
's older books, and he hadn't spent as much time studying her plot outline. But from what the kid had said, Devin was pretty sure he knew how
Paris
would answer. No, he corrected, he knew how he hoped she would answer.
"He was always interested. From the first moment he saw her. Even though he had to pretend to be someone else, his feelings for her were always true."
"Then it really sucked that she stayed with the boyfriend, huh?"
The arrival of the anchorwoman who'd conducted the interview saved Devin from having to explain why his reality didn't match the fiction
Paris
wrote. She stopped just long enough to shake Devin's hand one more time. "Fabulous interview, Mr. Alexander. We'd love to have you back when your next one comes out. Truly fabulous." With Mark at her heels, she continued toward the dressing room, leaving behind a wake of gardenia-scented air.
Awesome and fabulous. Devin grinned. These were adjectives he could get used to. Yes indeed, this celebrity thing was turning out better than he imagined. From the moment the interview started, Devin had to admit he'd actually missed the role-playing he'd done when he was pulling a con with is dad. He always knew he had a knack, but it never occurred to him that he might miss the creative rush that came with stepping into someone else's shoes.
And not only did he get to slide legitimately back into character, but he got to be a semi-famous author with a boatload of loyal fans. Not that the fans were really his.
Paris
was the real celebrity, and he was anxious for her verdict on his first solo flight as Alexander.
He glanced up toward the control booth and saw her step toward the glass. He waved, trying to stand out from the grips and gaffers cleaning up after the shoot. At first she didn't see him, but when her eyes finally met his she waved back, a smile springing immediately to her lips.
Unrehearsed, spontaneous,
real.
That one smile improved a day that Devin didn't think had any room for improvement. She pointed behind her, and Devin knew she was heading for the stairs. He stepped over the wires and cables and met her as she opened the control booth door.
"So how did Alexander do?" he whispered, slipping an arm around her shoulder.
"Alexander was amazing. Witty, charming, just a hint of mystery. I couldn't have asked for better." She smiled up at him. "Thanks. You were brilliant."
Of course, she hadn't expected any less than brilliant. From her perch in the control booth she'd fidgeted through the entire interview, and not because she was nervous about the media. No, she was just anticipating
later.
Crossing and recrossing her legs had done little to dull the sweet ache that had been building in her ever since she'd decided to sleep with him. She'd missed half of the interview just because her mind kept wandering to fantasies of what she wanted to be doing with Devin back in their rooms.
During their return drive to the hotel Paris was sure she would spontaneously combust at any moment. Devin sat in the front seat, amiably chatting with the taxi driver who had caught his interview on the news. Just as well. If he'd shared the back seat with her,
Paris
was positive she would ignite into a blaze that only he could put out.
