As Hot As It Gets (4 page)

H
E STILL FELT NOTHING
like a cold fish.

He was all hot flesh and hard muscle, just like in her damn fantasies.

Claire was sure though that she only needed to get Mason into bed to prove that he was anything but fantasy material. One mediocre night—that's all she was asking for.

She tilted her head back, tugged him toward her, and he accepted the offer of a kiss. A long, hot, demanding kiss with a promise of so much more to come. Definitely not the kiss of a cold fish.

Her insides grew warm and tingly, and a spinning-out-of-control sensation overtook her. Nothing mattered except Mason's heat, his touch, his kiss. Even his five o'clock shadow scraping against her face felt good, and she was just about to rid him of his shirt and find out how his bare chest felt beneath her fingertips when he broke the kiss.

“How do I know you're not lying about this extra information?” he asked, a little breathless.

“You don't. Guess you'll have to trust me.” Claire realized a moment too late what a risky proposition that would be for him.

She watched doubt form in Mason's eyes, and she felt her chance to score tonight slipping away yet again. She had to do something.

Fast.

“This is crazy.”

He took a step back, but Claire tightened her grip on him and steeled herself for more possible humiliation. “Yeah, it is crazy. So do it, anyway, and I'll be gone tomorrow.”

“After you give me this mysterious information, right?”

“Of course.”

“If it's something you found out, then I can find out on my own, too.”

“You don't have time to play detective. You're a busy man, and this is a direct threat to your business.”

His doubtful gaze turned calculating, and Claire saw her chance. She shifted her hips so that her body molded to him, and she slid one hand down his chest, the other down his back and over the firm muscles of his ass.

He felt too good to let go of.

Then he gave in.

He wrapped his arms tight around her and devoured her with another kiss. As his tongue caressed hers and his hands burned trails across her backside,
Claire felt herself melting. He still bore an unsettling resemblance to the man of her fantasies, and she was having a hard time being upset about it.

She'd hoped he would at least have doggy breath or an odd body odor—anything to remind her that this was real life. But no, he smelled of soap and something faintly evergreen, and his scent only added to his sex appeal.

Damn it.

A gust of wind whipped through the room, and Claire imagined for a moment that they were creating their own storm. When Mason broke their kiss and looked over his shoulder at the real source of the wind gust, she noticed for the first time that he had a pair of French doors standing open.

Outside she could see a private oasis, a lush garden surrounding a large veranda, with what looked like a hot tub tucked into one corner. Palm fronds and other exotic plants whipped and swayed in the wind, and beyond them, the sky had taken on a foreboding darkness.

Yet all Claire could think about were her tropical fantasies of Mason taking her in some lush, wet place. Drops of rain pelting their naked skin, their own wild animal sounds mingling with the music of the storm….

What better way to nip her most annoying and recurrent fantasy in the bud than to act it out and rid it of its potency?

Yes.

“Let's go out there,” she said.

Mason gave her a look she was all too familiar with. “In the storm?”

“It's not really storming yet, just raining a little.”

Okay, the occasional bursts of heavy rain were bordering on torrential, but that didn't matter in the face of her determination. This close to the prize, she wouldn't stop running the race.

She was only one boring night away from ridding herself of Mason Walker for good.

He cast a skeptical look outside, then back at her. “I'm not going out there.”

“Fine.” It didn't have to happen outside. It just had to happen. “If you want to be a pain in the ass about it—”

“If anyone's a pain in the ass, it's you.”

“Has anyone ever told you you're overbearing?” Claire said, annoyance throwing a damper on her desire.

“I think you probably have.” He silenced her with another kiss, but Claire pulled back.

“That's the kind of thing I'm talking about.”

He exhaled a ragged breath. “What? You beg me to have sex with you, and now you don't want to kiss me?”

He made her sound crazy when he said it like that. “That's not what I mean.”

“I don't even think you know what you mean. How the hell am
I
supposed to understand you?”

“Are we going to do this or not?”

“In here. Not outside.”

“Fine, I wouldn't expect anything interesting from a control freak like you.”

“Excuse me? If you think I'm going to be a boring lover, you're wrong.”

Claire unzipped her dress and let it fall to the floor. “We'll see about that.”

His gaze dropped to her breasts, then her belly, then lower. He took his time studying her from head to toe, probably trying his best to make her feel uncomfortable. He was toying with the wrong woman.

“Your turn,” she said.

But he didn't make a move to get undressed. “Fine,” he said finally, unbuttoning his shirt.

“Try not to enjoy this too much,” she said.

“Believe me, I won't have to try.”

Claire's temper flared. She'd never been accused of being a lousy lover, and it occurred to her for the first time that she hadn't quite planned how she'd behave during their encounter. Would she put all of herself into it, try to act like she was enjoying it? Why would she?

This was definitely a problem she'd failed to anticipate.

She'd always taken pride in never faking it with any guy. And now what? Surely she'd have to fake something to get through having sex with Mason….

Except nothing about the burning inside her felt
fake. That much, she could be sure of. Maybe once things really got rolling, she'd have some trouble and have to summon her acting skills to get through the ordeal—or maybe for the first time in her life she'd just have to lie there and bear it.

Maybe, or maybe not.

Mason stalked over to her and grasped her waist, pulled her against him. “You're going to have to stop with the attitude if you want this to work.”

“You call this attitude? I thought I was being nice.”

“Haven't you ever heard that old gather-more-bees-with-honey saying?”

“Other guys think I'm plenty sweet enough,” she said, not exactly sure it was true. She could be fun, wild, interesting…but sweet? It wasn't a word she'd ever heard used to describe her. “Do I actually need any bees? Because I can think of far better uses for honey—”

“You know what I mean.”

“You're trying to boss me around again. Can you just not be in control for five minutes?”

“Babe, this is gonna take longer than five minutes.”

Claire gave him a once-over. “I'll bet.”

This was so much harder than she'd thought it would be, which only illustrated exactly how crazed she'd become.

Mason crossed his arms over his chest, and he said at the same moment as her, “This isn't going to work.”

There was an awkward pause.

“Right,” Claire said, her temper barely in check. “It's not. I'm leaving.”

How many more times could she actually get naked in front of this man without getting laid?

Furious, she snatched up her dress and hurried to put it back on and zip it.

Mason watched her without speaking.

“If you want to know any more about your little dominatrix problem, you can just track the information down yourself. I'm not helping you any more than I already have.”

She turned on her heel and headed for the door.

“I can find out whatever I need to know,” he said.

Claire opened the door, walked out and slammed it, realizing even as she did so that she'd just flown all the way to the Caribbean for nothing.

 

M
ASON GRIMACED
at the slamming of his door and stalked across the room, his head swirling with images of Claire standing naked before him. Snippets of conversation played over and over in his mind as he thought of all the things he should have said or done. He hadn't handled the encounter well.

He never handled Claire well, and now he saw the problem. She couldn't be handled or managed or controlled. Not the way he liked, and that was why she drove him to the brink of insanity every time she came near.

But she'd been oh so near, and oh so alive. Hot,
delicious, intoxicating… The way she'd kissed him had left him dizzy with desire, and now he was alone in his big, empty suite. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared out the window at the garden, lit by spotlights. As if his trouble with Claire weren't enough, there was this problem she'd brought to him.

A dominatrix-for-hire service operating on his resort? If it was true, it had to be stopped as soon as possible. The image he wanted for Escapade was hedonistic luxury, and he knew all too well there was a fine line to walk between hedonism and blatant sleaze. It was a battle he'd fought for years with the Fantasy Ranch, and he knew he'd face the same challenge with Escapade. He just hadn't realized how soon the challenge would arise.

Damn it.

He stalked into the bedroom and collapsed on the bed, too frustrated to think straight. Possibilities whirred through his head faster than he could consider their likelihood.

Mason rolled from one side to the other, punched his pillow, then tossed it aside altogether because it felt like a rock beneath his head. But that left him lying on the too-stiff mattress, his body tensed for action and aching for companionship.

Claire Elliot had driven him to distraction.

And he had to have her.

The thought came to him fully formed, as sure as if it were his own name.

But it was ludicrous. She'd just been here, naked and willing, and he'd sent her away. It had been the right thing to do.

Maybe if they could keep their mouths shut long enough to get it on…

He had to have her tonight.

It was time to stop playing musical doorways and get the deed over with, just as she'd proposed. Her idea wasn't nearly as warped as it had sounded at first, and now he was suddenly sure that the only way to get over her was to get in bed with her.

Before he could change his mind again, Mason shot out of bed, then took off for Claire's suite. He made it to the building where she was staying in record time, almost as if the wind from the brewing storm had lifted him and carried him to her.

He knocked on her door, but heard only silence on the other side. After a minute had passed, he knocked again.

Nothing.

Damn it. Where would she have gone, if not back to her room? Claire was a party girl at heart, and it didn't take a genius to figure out that if she wasn't here, she had to be at one of the resort's nightclubs or bars.

But which one? There were three bars and two nightclubs, plus a nightly beach party. Given the weather, he could assume the beach party probably wasn't a happening place right now or had been can
celed altogether. He decided to start with the nearest nightclub and headed that way.

Inside Carnivale, the decorating scheme was Brazilian and the music tended to inspire the dirtiest sort of dancing. Mason guessed it was Claire's kind of nightspot. He scanned the dimly lit bar and the crowded dance floor, but didn't see any redheads. Possibly the only convenient thing about Claire was that her fiery red hair made it impossible for her to blend into a crowd.

Mason wandered around the perimeter of the dance floor and was about to give up and head for the next closest club when he caught a telltale glimpse of red from behind a clump of people.

Bingo.

“Hey, Mr. Walker, how's it going?” a waitress asked as she wandered past.

The clump of people moved and he had a clear view of Claire now.

“Fine thanks.” He glanced at her name tag. “Diane, could you do me a favor and take a drink to that redhead over there?”

“Sure.”

“And a note, too.” He kept his gaze on Claire, who was oblivious to his presence as she sat at the bar.

She was sipping a nearly empty martini and scanning the crowd of dancers, bebopping casually to the beat of the music. His entire body was tensed, on alert, as he watched her. A woman who looked like
Claire couldn't spend more than a few minutes alone in a bar before some guy would swoop in.

He had no reason to feel like she was his to claim—he was crazy to feel that way—but he did.

“You want to send her another martini?” the waitress asked.

Mason nodded. “And if you could stop back here on your way to give it to her, I'll have the note ready.”

She smiled and gave him a knowing wink, and Mason felt like a fool for no particular reason.

He took a seat at the far end of the bar, where Claire wasn't likely to spot him right away. He requested a pen from the bartender, then grabbed a drink napkin and tried to decide what he would write. One thing he could be sure of was that if he just approached Claire, she'd storm away. He needed to send her a note that would appease her, make amends and lure her outside, where they could talk without an audience.

“I'm sorry,” he wrote. “Come back to my suite. Maybe if we just keep our mouths shut and get down to business, we can do what you came here for.”

That was about as close to groveling as Mason could get.

The waitress picked up his note, and he watched as she delivered it, along with the drink, to Claire. She read the note, a sexy little frown creasing her brow, then looked up and around the club.

After a few moments, she spotted him. Their
gazes locked, and while he didn't see a blatant invitation in hers, she wasn't running away, either.