As Hot As It Gets (2 page)

While the Fantasy Ranch, his first venture, was a success, it hadn't been his dream resort. The ranch setting had already existed when he'd taken over the failing business and turned it around. Profits from it had given him the capital to build his second adults-only resort from scratch, exactly the way he wanted it.

The tropical setting, the hedonistic atmosphere, the lush, well-appointed resort—they all combined to make people set aside their inhibitions, let their hair down and have a good time while they were at Escapade. Mason was determined to make this business a success, too, and if their grand opening weekend two months ago had been any indicator, he was well on his way.

He passed through the administrative area and made his way to the reception desk, where he caught his breath at the sight of a woman in the lobby with flaming red hair. Only when he realized it wasn't Claire did he breathe easy again.

“Hi, Mr. Walker,” the desk clerk greeted him.

“I need to leave a message for a guest who may be arriving today. Can you check the reservation system to see if Claire Elliot has booked a room?”

The desk clerk checked the computer, then nodded. “She's scheduled to arrive this afternoon, actually. What's your message for her?”

Tension began to build in his temples, and he willed himself to relax again. Mason relayed Lucy's message, then stalked across the lobby to the entryway.

“Mason,” a man's voice called from behind him.

He turned to see Carter Cayhill, his friend as well as the resort's entertainment director, striding toward him.

“Hey, Carter.”

“You look angrier than those storm clouds outside.”

Mason shook his head. “It's nothing. What's up?”

“I just wanted to let you know I may cancel the beach party tonight or move it to an indoor location, depending on when the storm hits.”

“Okay, you going to work out tonight?”

Carter glanced at his watch. “I doubt it. Too much stuff left to do.”

“I'll catch you later then.” They lifted weights to
gether at the gym most nights, but Mason wasn't much in the mood for talking, so it was probably best if he worked out alone tonight.

Carter took off out the door. Outside, palm trees strained against a merciless wind, and the sky had taken on an angry, bruised look. A tropical storm was raging to the southeast, and weather reports yesterday had warned of it turning into a hurricane before it hit the islands.

Definitely not good for business, but Mason wasn't going to let a little foul weather get him down. After all, a hurricane was nothing compared to Claire Elliot blowing into town.

In the distance, a propeller plane was descending toward the island, where it would land on the airstrip Mason had had built for arriving guests. The pressure in his temples became a full-blown headache at the thought that Claire might be on that very plane, that his calm, idyllic existence on the island might soon be spinning out of control thanks to one uncontrollable female.

He headed back to his office, determined to banish Claire from his thoughts. But he couldn't concentrate on work. He sat at his desk, staring at the resort's budget and seeing numbers that made no sense. He tapped his pen on the desk, then decided to try reading e-mail.

He opened his e-mail program and watched as thirty messages downloaded, adding to the hundred
or so already waiting in his in-box to be read. He scanned the list of messages, hoping to see a personal one amid the mass of work-related mail, and he was happy to find a message from his brother near the bottom of the list.

Judd had been busy lately with his new marriage and his private investigation business, but he still managed to write or call regularly. His messages were usually brief, but it comforted Mason to know his little brother was out there in the world, doing his thing and getting by just fine. There'd been a time when he'd worried about Judd, but now that Lucy was on the scene, he knew his brother was in good hands.

He opened the message and read Judd's account of his and Lucy's recent weekend getaway to Sedona. The message closed with the usual “what's going on with you” question, and Mason sat staring at it, feeling a vague sense of discontent.

He should have been thrilled for his brother's life, and he was. Pretty much. But he also felt a little thrown off balance by the fact that Judd was a married guy, and every one of his messages underlined that difference between them in some way. It wasn't like Judd did it on purpose. Being married was just a dominant fact of his life.

A small part of Mason missed the years when they'd had bachelorhood in common. Every time one of his friends—and now his brother—got mar
ried, it meant there was one more guy on the other side of the fence, and one less running free in the pasture.

Mason had found himself wishing lately that he and Judd lived closer so that they could play basketball together, hang out, do guy things—and so that he could just shoot the breeze with him. But whatever. They could talk on the phone, at least, though it wasn't the same.

What would he have told Judd if he were here, anyway? That he was beginning to resent that so few of his friends were still single? That his normal passion for beautiful women seemed to have waned recently, leaving him alone more nights than he would have preferred? That he was beginning to understand women were more interested in the size of his private island than they were in him as a man?

It struck him then that yeah, he did sort of wish he could tell his brother those things in person. He rolled his eyes at the smarmy turn his thoughts had taken and closed the e-mail program, then stood up from his desk, grabbed his laptop case and headed for the door. He'd definitely let stress affect him, and it was time to head for the gym. Feeling sorry for himself was nothing a good workout couldn't cure.

An hour and a half later, he was in his private suite, feeling invigorated and free of the headache he'd developed earlier. He'd just gotten out of the shower, and if he could figure out where the hell
housekeeping had put his clean laundry, he'd be able to get dressed and relax in front of the TV with a beer.

Mason had designed his own space at the resort, where he could oversee business and still escape from harsh reality when he needed to. He tried to keep its location private, so he was surprised to hear a knock at the door as he was peering into the closet, still unenlightened about the whereabouts of his clothes. It was five-thirty, and he hadn't ordered room service, nor had he invited anyone to stop by.

He went to the door and looked through the peephole. The redhead he saw on the other side caused his headache to return instantly. His sense of relaxation evaporated and his body took on the tense, ready-to-pounce feeling he'd come to associate with Claire's presence.

He glanced away, muttered a curse, and looked through the peephole again to make sure he wasn't hallucinating.

God help him, she was here.

She would have had her ways of finding out where he stayed, of course. Claire's hair was tousled from the storm outside, a riotous mess of waves that tumbled over her shoulders. Damp strands clung to her face around her baby-doll blue eyes, reminding him in a flash of the first time he'd known he wanted Claire, when he'd seen her dancing onstage in a wet lingerie contest at the Fantasy Ranch.

She looked just as irresistible tonight, but now he
knew what a pain in the ass she was. He contemplated not answering the door, but his sense of morbid curiosity won out.

After tugging on his work clothes again—not bothering to button the shirt—he opened the door, and Claire flashed him a smile similar to the one Eve must have worn when she offered Adam the apple. Mesmerized by the contrast of her blue eyes and her dark red hair, he was only vaguely aware of her unfastening the belt of her raincoat.

And then she let the front of her raincoat fall open, drawing Mason's gaze downward. She was naked under the coat, except for a pair of black strappy heels.

“I hope you don't mind unannounced visitors,” she said.

Mason let his gaze meander from her sexy heels up the length of her thin, shapely legs, pausing at the triangle of hair that made his forehead break out in a cold sweat, then moving up farther, admiring first the delicious plane of her belly, then the silken curves of her breasts. Her pink, puckered nipples gave him an instant erection, and the take-me look she gave him when he finally met her gaze again didn't help matters.

“What the hell are you doing?” he managed to croak.

“Trying to seduce you?”

“Nothing's ever that simple with you.” Or that easy.

“I need to get you out of my system, okay? One night, you and me, no strings attached.”

Not that he was interested, but Mason couldn't help asking, “No strings attached?”

“No morning after, no follow-up phone calls, nothing. We don't ever have to see each other again. I promise.”

Intriguing.

Mason forced himself not to look her over any more, for fear he'd lose all common sense. “What if it doesn't work? What if you do want to see me again?”

“Don't flatter yourself. It
will
work.”

Mason smiled. “I've been told I'm addictive.”

Claire looked him up and down. “I don't have an addictive personality.”

It struck him that this was one of the more civil conversations they'd ever had. So, presumably it just took getting naked to make Claire mind her manners. Mason decided not to explore that thought any further.

“Tempting offer, but you'd better go before I call security.”

Claire's jaw dropped, and for the first time since he'd met her, she was speechless.

He almost felt guilty for not inviting her in, but then he reminded himself that this was Claire Elliot, the woman who'd stolen his Porsche and abandoned him in the desert to hitchhike home, and his impending guilt vanished.

“Have a good evening, and I expect you'll be checking out tomorrow,” he said, glancing down one last time at her glorious chest, then shut the door in her face.

Mason foresaw the rest of his night then: him, alone in his suite, images of Claire bombarding him, and nothing but a cold shower to keep him company.

C
LAIRE STARED
at the door that had just closed in her face, then remembered from the breeze it created that she was standing there naked with her coat open. She jerked it closed and fumbled to retie the belt at her waist. This door-slamming-in-her-face thing had not been part of the plan.

Her cheeks burned, and Claire knew if she could have looked in the mirror she'd have seen embarrassment and anger splashed across her face, clear as a newspaper headline. She might have been a pretty good actress when she needed to be, but these were two emotions she'd never been able to hide.

She turned away from the door and thanked heaven no one was around. With a few deep breaths and a bit of distance from Mason's suite, she felt relatively calm again.

Of course Mason wasn't going to welcome her with open arms, not after the way they'd left things in Hawaii, and in Arizona before that. She'd been an idiot to show up here naked, thinking her breasts
alone would be enough to make Mason forget their differences for a few hours. Which just proved how addled by sexual desire her brain was.

But she would not fail in her mission. No, before she left Escapade, she'd get her man and rid herself of all those unrealistic fantasies—fantasies no man could live up to, let alone a self-obsessed control-freak like Mason Walker.

Yep, once she got him in bed, she was sure her fantasies would be stopped cold by reality. Cold, flaccid, probably-sleeps-with-his-socks-on reality.

Claire smiled to herself as she walked back to her room to come up with a new strategy. The rain had mercifully stopped, though the late-afternoon sky was darkened with storm clouds that looked as if they were going to burst forth with another downpour sometime soon.

Along the way, she couldn't help noting what a great job Mason had done with the new resort. The grounds were lush, landscaped with spiky tropical plants and voluptuous flowers, and filled with meandering pathways that invited long, intimate walks with a lover. The buildings, done in white stucco with Spanish-influenced Caribbean architecture, were pretty and serene, and the quick survey she'd done of her room after arriving earlier had revealed it to be an elegant, well-appointed private retreat.

Escapade was a great concept for a resort, one that catered to hedonistic vacationers who had money to
burn. Claire had come there sort of hoping not to like the place, but she grudgingly admitted that Mason was, if nothing else, a very smart businessman.

Halfway across the resort, the rain picked up again, and Claire found herself pelted by fat raindrops. Overhead, the storm clouds were moving fast, and the wind whipped at her hair and threatened to blow her coat open and reveal to the world just how hedonistic she was feeling. But rather than being put off by the inclement weather, the guests she'd seen so far at Escapade seemed to be having a good time regardless. Knowing the laid-back crowd Mason's resorts attracted, she could imagine people coming outdoors for the storm rather than retreating.

In her room, Claire took off the raincoat, dried her hair and dug around in her suitcase for clothes. In her sex-crazed stupor, she'd managed to pack mostly lingerie and nothing suited for curling up in her room alone.

But curling up in her room alone was the last thing Claire felt like doing right now, anyway, so she grabbed her trusty little black dress with the crisscrossing spaghetti straps and tugged it on without bothering to put on a bra. She slipped into a pair of panties and decided to head for the bar she'd spotted earlier. From there, she'd think about finding some dinner. After Mason's rejection of her offer, she needed a little distraction to get herself thinking creatively about how to solve her problem.

She opened the door to her room and was stopped in her tracks by none other than the control-freak himself, standing in the doorway with his hand poised to knock. His physical appearance always made her catch her breath, and now was no exception.

With his dark good looks, his sensual green eyes and his made-for-pleasure body, it was easy to see why she'd been driven to unrealistic fantasies about him. When he kept his mouth shut, he was a total hottie.

“Did you change your mind?” she asked, forcing herself to sound like she didn't care one way or the other.

“No, but I thought we should talk.”

“Slamming your door in my face isn't exactly the best way to start a conversation.”

“Neither is stripping naked.”

“I think my method was the friendlier of the two.”

“I apologize. Now can I come in?”

Claire had to admit, she was intrigued by this turn of events. “I was just about to go out, but I suppose you can come in for a few minutes.”

There—casual as she pleased. She didn't sound like a desperate hormonal female at all.

She stepped aside and Mason entered the room, filling it instantly with his overbearing masculine presence.

“I'm hoping we can call a truce and part ways as friends. I feel bad about the way things have gone be
tween us, if for no other reason than our mutual friendship with Lucy.”

Claire thought of their first date—utter disaster—and their subsequent encounters—disasters every one. There was no denying she was partly to blame, especially if it meant she might get Mason into bed at last. “Okay, truce. I don't know if we can be friends, but we can at least be people who don't hurl sharp objects at each other.”

He nodded, a smile playing on his lips. “I think I can live with that.”

“Nice resort you've got here.”

“Thanks. It's great to finally see it up and running.”

“Must have been years of work getting this place built.”

Mason gave her a pointed look, as if he were fully aware of her buttering him up for ulterior purposes.

“It was worth it,” he finally said. “There's a strong market for upscale resorts.”

“Exactly.”

He ran one hand through his hair and made a move toward the door. “I should be going,” he said.

Claire calculated her next move. Clearly he wasn't going to just fall into bed with her, but then again, he might still be persuaded if she found the right enticement.

“Being at a place like this alone—it's a little odd, you know?”

“Lots of singles come here to meet other people.”

“But I don't want to meet just anyone.”

“I'm sure you have no problem finding men.”

Claire closed the distance between them. How far would she have to go to get him into bed tonight? Her stomach fluttered at the thought of having to humiliate herself again, but what was truly more humiliating? Being so distracted by sexual fantasies that she wrecked her car, or taking charge of the situation and doing what a girl had to do to get her way?

Claire would choose getting her way any day, even if a little begging was involved. “Are you really going to leave me in agony like this?”

“What agony?”

“I want you, Mason.” She slid one dress strap, then the other, down over her shoulders, until her breasts were revealed. “Please don't make me beg.”

If she wasn't mistaken, Claire would have sworn she could see the color rising on his neck.

“Us sleeping together would be a bad idea,” he said without much feeling.

“Or maybe it would be the smartest thing you've done in a long time.” She took a half step closer, and her breasts were nearly pressed against his chest.

She slid her hand up his arm and behind his neck. “Just kiss me, and then if you still think our sleeping together is a bad idea, you can walk away and I'll never bother you again.”

His gaze was locked on her mouth, and she knew she had him. “You're a wicked woman.”

“Wicked can be lots of fun,” she whispered, right before their lips collided.

Mason felt the satin texture of Claire's lips, and then her tongue, against his, and he knew he was lost. It had been bad enough that he'd allowed himself to come to her room—damned crazy that he was kissing her.

He slipped his hands around her narrow waist and pulled her against him. He wanted to inhale her, devour her. All her wild, high-strung energy was bound up in that one kiss, and Mason felt himself growing weak in the knees for the first time he could remember. An ache to have her spread from his groin to his fingertips, until he felt as if he were literally throbbing.

She felt better than he'd imagined, and as she clung to him and explored with her tongue, he realized just how much imagining he'd been doing. Claire had been the object of quite a few fantasies since he'd met her, and while he'd always written it off as no big deal, it was.

He wanted her as much as he'd ever wanted any woman—maybe more than he'd ever wanted anyone else, which proved that he had no common sense when it came to romance and no business engaging in serious relationships.

But serious wasn't what Claire wanted. She'd asked for one night only, and that, he could handle, right?

Her hands slid under his shirt, across the bare flesh of his back, and the skin-on-skin contact put his
senses on high alert. He hadn't felt so aroused since…since he couldn't remember when. Too bad she made him absolutely crazy every time they tried to get to know each other.

Crazy.

That's exactly what he was if he let this go on for another second. He'd come to Claire's room because he'd been so full of nervous energy he hadn't known what else to do. And he'd truly felt bad about slamming the door in her face. He'd hoped—and still did—that he could send her on her way with no hard feelings. Maybe offer her a free week's stay at the Fantasy Ranch, which would put plenty of distance between himself and Claire.

Distance was desperately needed right now.

Mason summoned all his willpower and broke away from the kiss, then grasped Claire by the shoulders and put her at arm's length. He gently slid each of her dress straps back onto her shoulders, covering her delicious breasts as he did so.

She fired him a glare that could have leveled buildings. “I only came here tonight to prove to myself that you're a lousy lover.”

Now there was the Claire he remembered.

“Why would you need to prove that?”

Her glare turned calculating. “There's no denying a certain chemistry between us….”

Yeah, the sort of bad chemistry that left unsuspecting bystanders with third-degree burns.

“Let's just say I have a bit of an overactive fantasy life, and there's no way you can live up to my fantasies.”

Mason felt a burst of satisfaction that she'd fantasized about him. “If you're so sure of that, why do you need to prove it to yourself?”

Claire crossed her arms over her chest and expelled a sigh. “My mind and body are not in agreement on the issue.”

He had the same damn problem. “Like I said before, it's best if you leave. There's a tropical storm headed this way, and you might be able to fly out tomorrow morning before it hits the island full force.”

“If you want me to leave, you'll have to have me physically removed.”

Mason thought of Lucy, of how let-down she'd feel if he had her beloved best friend kicked out of Escapade, and he knew he wouldn't be able to do it. Not yet, anyway. Not until Claire gave him a really good reason to use when he had to justify his actions to Lucy.

“I'm sure you'll give me a valid reason to do that soon enough. Until then, try to keep your distance from me, and no more showing up at my door—or anywhere else—trying to seduce me.”

Mason turned to the door and opened it, then spun back to Claire to say goodbye. She wore the smug look of a woman who thought she'd won the battle. She was mistaken.

“You're afraid of me, aren't you?” she said.

“No, I'm just smart enough to recognize trouble when I see it.”

Mason stepped out into the hallway. As he closed the door, he caught a glimpse of Claire's self-satisfied smile, and for no apparent reason, his sense of victory evaporated into thin air.

 

M
ASON WAS PROVING TO BE
a harder target than Claire had anticipated, but she wasn't ready to give up. The kiss they'd shared had been more than a little disconcerting because rather than kissing like a dead fish, as she'd hoped he would, Mason's kissing technique was pretty impressive. Maybe even incendiary.

Or maybe she was just so out of her mind with wanting him that she'd become a poor judge of such things.

Yes. That had to be it.

Claire touched up her lipstick in the bathroom mirror, then once again headed for the Cabana Club. This time, she actually made it out into the hallway without interruption. She made her way outside, where the rain still hadn't resumed, but storm clouds continued to hover, and the wind whipped her hair into her face as it caused the plants and palm trees to flail about. She hurried along the path to the public area where she'd spotted the bar earlier, a sense of excitement and possibility filling her.

Maybe she'd see someone at the bar who'd make
her forget all about Mason. Maybe that was the real reason she'd flown all the way here today. She doubted she could settle for one man, anyway, so it was ridiculous that one man dominated all her fantasies. There's no way he could live up.

Claire's standards were too high, her appetite too insatiable, her sense of adventure too strong. Predictability was death, as her father had always said. She blinked away the sudden dampness in her eyes.

Her father, Wilson Elliot, had passed away six months earlier in a car accident, and she still hadn't gotten used to his absence. She'd been Daddy's girl—even if Daddy was usually away on business. He'd always been only a phone call away to offer advice or just a listening ear, and he'd always been there to remind her that no one was good enough for his princess.

Claire forced the melancholy thoughts from her mind when she spotted the glow of the Cabana Club sign. Once inside, she brushed her wind-battered hair out of her face with her fingers. She took a seat at the bar and caught the eye of the bartender, a hunky guy with bulging biceps and a blond buzz cut. He nodded a greeting as he poured a blender drink into a glass, and after he'd served it he made his way over to her.