At 6:15 she stormed to the TV and slammed a palm against the off button. She didn’t give two hoots what tomorrow’s weather would be like in Denver. All she wanted was to get out of this miserable city!
When a knock finally sounded, Lee’s head snapped up and she stopped pacing momentarily, then stormed across and flung the door open.
Sam Brown stood on the sidewalk with two identical suitcases in his hands.
“You’re late!” she snapped, glaring up at him with black, angry eyes.
“Sorry I had to run off like that. I got here as soon as I could.”
“Well, it’s not soon enough. I’ve already missed my flight, and my boss is going to be livid!”
“I said I was sorry, but you’re the one who caused all this by grabbing the wrong luggage at the airport.”
“Me! How about you! How dare you run off with my suitcase!”
“As I said before, you ran off with mine.”
She gritted her teeth, knowing a frustration so overwhelming it turned her vision blazing red. “I’m not talking about at the airport. I’m talking about after the bid letting. You left me here to sit and stew and not even a brush to brush my hair with or clean clothes so I could take a bath or . . . or . . .” Disgusted, she yanked a suitcase from his hand and flung it onto the bed. Again she spun on him and ordered, “You’ve got some explaining to do. I’d suggest you begin.”
He stepped inside obligingly, closed the door, set the other suitcase down, glanced around, and asked, “May I?” Then, as unruffled as you please, he carefully tugged at the crease in his impeccable pants before easing down in one of the two chairs beside the small round table.
With her hands on her hips, Lee spat out, “No . . . you . . . may . . . not!”
But instead of getting up, he spread his knees, leaned both elbows on them, and let his hands dangle limply between them. “Listen, Miss Walker, it’s been a helluva—”
“
Ms
. Walker,” she interrupted.
He raised one brow, paused a moment, then repeated patiently, “
Ms
. Walker.” He flexed his shoulder muscles, kneaded the back of his neck, and continued, “It’s been a long day and I’d like to get out of these clothes.”
“You opened my suitcase,” she stated unsympathetically, scarcely able to keep her temper under control.
“I what?”
She leaned forward and riveted him with snapping, black eyes. “You opened my suitcase!”
“Why, hell yes, I opened it. I thought it was mine.”
“But you did more than just open it! You looked through it!”
“Oh did I, now?”
“Are you denying it?”
“Well, what about you? Are you saying you didn’t open mine?”
“Don’t change the subject!”
“The subject, I believe, is suitcases, and women who are sore losers.”
“Sore losers . . .
sore losers!
” She stepped closer, towering over him. “Why, you lying, cheating . . . crook!” she shouted.
“What the hell are you driving at,
Ms
. Walker?”
“You opened my suitcase, found my unsealed bid, saw that it already had all the necessary signatures, looked it over, and undercut me by a stinking four thousand dollars, then played the benevolent Good Samaritan by turning in my envelope at the bid letting . . .”
In one swift motion Sam Brown came up out of his chair, swung her around, and stabbed two blunt fingers in the middle of her chest. The poke sent her reeling backward till she landed with an undignified bounce on the bed.
“That’s a mighty serious allegation, lady!”
“That’s a mighty narrow margin . . .
man!
” she sneered, leaning back on her hands as he stood above her, one of his knees pressing hard against hers. His face wore a thunderous look, made all the more formidable by the swarthiness of his skin and brows. Suddenly, though, he backed off, hands on hips as he cast a deprecating glance along her length.
“Oh, one of those,” he intoned knowingly.
She rebounded off the bed, planted a palm on his chest, shoved him back two feet, stepped around him, then faced him squarely.
“Yes, one of those. I’m sick and tired of men who think a woman can’t compete in this all-male sewer and water industry of theirs!”
“That’s not what I meant when I called you lady, so don’t put ulterior meanings on it.”
“Oh, isn’t it? Then why did you make the distinction? Isn’t it because once you realized that suitcase belonged to a woman, you also realized the bid must have been prepared by a woman and you couldn’t face getting stung at a public bid letting by losing to her?”
He pointed a long brown finger at her nose and leaned at a dangerous angle from the hip.
“Lady . . .” he began, but cut the word in half and tried again. “Ms. Walker, you’re an opinionated, egotistical . . . suffragette! What makes you think nobody else in the world can bid a job better than you?” He began pacing in the small space before the table and chairs. “My God, take a look at the economy, at the number of contractors who are folding every month. Count the number who showed up at that bid letting today. That job will keep crews working for an entire season! Everybody wanted it. The margin was bound to be narrow!”
“Four thousand on four million is too narrow to be accidental, especially from a man who had possession of my suitcase during the earlier part of the day.”
A look of pure disgust turned his features to granite. He stood before her, stalk still, jaw clamped tight. Momentarily his expression altered to a heavy-lidded perusal. His lips softened. His eyes traveled slowly down the madras shirt, not quite reaching her hips before starting back up again. His voice fell to a distasteful purr as he backed a step away and mused with strained male tolerance. “From what I saw in your suitcase, it’s to be expected you’d be testy at this time of the month, so I’ll chalk this up to female taboos and won’t take further issue over your ch—”
Crack!!
She smacked him across the side of the mouth with an open palm. It knocked him momentarily off balance, and he teetered back in stunned surprise.
“Why . . . you . . . degenerate,” she grated. “I might have expected something like that out of a . . . pervert who carried porno magazines in his suitcase on a business trip!”
Four red stripes in the shape of her fingers appeared to the left of his lips. His fists clenched. The cords along his neck stood at attention. His eyes glowered like chips of resin, and his lips were a thin, tight line.
Fear coursed through Lee at her own temerity. What had she done? She was alone in a motel room with a total stranger who was dishonest enough to cheat her in business, and she’d just knocked him clear into next week. He might very well decide to knock her clear into the one after that!
Her own trembling hand covered her lips, but he only straightened his shoulders, muscle by muscle, his anger held fiercely in check as he relaxed slowly, slowly. Without a word he retrieved his suitcase, opened the door, and paused, his eyes never leaving Lee’s face.
“Just
who
looked through
whose
suitcase,” he drawled, then added sarcastically, “. . .
lady?
”
He paused long enough to cause a warm flush to darken her cheeks before disappearing from the door, taking a smug grin with him.
In his wake Lee slammed the door so hard the mirror on the wall threatened to come crashing to the floor.
Chapter TWO
A
minute later Lee opened her suitcase only to stare, dismayed at its contents.
Oh no, not again,
she groaned. The distasteful magazine was still inside. It beckoned to Lee’s seamier instincts. She began to close the suitcase, but a bit of royal blue peeked from beneath a folded dress shirt, making something forbidden and prurient tingle her insides. She crossed her arms nonchalantly over her waist, covertly glanced at the closed drapes, then slipped an innocent forefinger between the magazine pages, running it up and down thoughtfully several times before finally flipping the magazine open and crossing her arms tightly over her abdomen again.
She stared, mesmerized by the undeniably stunning body stretched backward over a wide boulder on a riverbank. The skin was oiled, shimmering beneath drops of river spray with limbs laid open, hiding nothing. The model’s eyes were closed, the expression on her face a combination of lust and fulfillment. The sultry, open lips were parted, the tongue peeking out between perfect teeth. Her long, scarlet nails rested against the dark triangle of femininity.
Lee swallowed, blushed, but turned the page. There followed more of the same. Skin and sin, she thought—exactly what one might expect of a man like Sam Brown. Still, she turned one more page.
The blood surged to her face, to her toes, to the backs of her knees, as she stared at the pornographic film clip from a current movie. Her stomach went weightless. Her chest felt tight, and the short hairs of her arms and thighs stood at attention. The man and woman were intimately entwined, limbs and teeth bared . . .
Sam Brown, you are disgusting!
Abruptly she slapped the magazine shut, slammed the suitcase closed, and drew her hand back as if it had been singed, just as a knock sounded at her door.
Her head snapped up. She swallowed and pressed cool palms against hot cheeks before crossing the room and opening the door with much more control than she felt.
It was Sam Brown again. But this time his sport coat was gone and only one button held his shirt together at the waist. The shirttails were matted into a network of wrinkles, and in the deep V collar she again caught sight of the small silver cross set in turquoise. She dropped her eyes quickly from that bare chest only to find his feet bare too.
“Seems we’ve done it again,” he ventured.
“Seems,” she said crisply, not smiling.
She found it impossible to confront his eyes right after having confronted his girlie magazine.
Don’t be silly, Walker, he’s not a mind reader
. But still she felt that if he got a closer look, he’d know what she’d been doing when he knocked.
“I was getting set to go for a run when . . .” He flipped a palm up. “Same song, second verse.” He peered past her to his suitcase which she knew was lying on the bed with the top closed but unzipped. Still she stood like a palace guard, holding the edge of the door with one hand, blocking his entrance.
“Listen, what I said before was inexcusable. I’d like to apologize,” Sam Brown offered.
“I should think you would,” Lee returned tightly, the image from the magazine still vivid in her mind.
He handed her the correct suitcase. “Is that any way to reply when I’m trying to bury the hatchet? The least you can do is be civil.”
“All right. I . . . I shouldn’t have slapped you either. I’m sorry. There, will that do?” But her voice was hard and cynical.
“Not quite.” He pointed to his belongings. “I’d like my stuff back, too. I want to take a run and work off all my recent anger and frustration, but my sweats are in there.”
He tilted a peace-offering grin at her, and she stepped back stiffly and motioned for him to come in and take what was his. She watched the wrinkles on his shirttails as he lifted the cover of the suitcase to check cursorily inside. The magazine lay on top. He studied it a moment, then spun to face her, a dark glower lowering his eyebrows.
“Look, just because a man buys a skin magazine doesn’t make him a pervert.”
“To each his own,” she granted, but her tone was undeniably judgmental.
“The rag’s got damn good interviews and movie reviews and—” Suddenly he turned sour-faced, slammed the top down, and zipped it with three jerks of the wrist. “I don’t know why the hell I should justify myself to you. And anyway, why do you think you have the right to convict a man according to what you find in his suitcase?”
She sighed with overstrained patience. “Listen, do you mind? I’ve been in these clothes all day, and I’d like a bath and some supper. It’s been a rough day.”
“Fine . . . fine.” He yanked the suitcase off the bed. “I’m leaving!”
She was waiting to close the door on his heels, but before she could, he wheeled to face her. Almost angrily he stated, “I
am
sorry for what I said. It was totally out of line, but so are you for not gracefully accepting my apology and letting me off the hook. Those eyes of yours are gl—”
“I said, apology accepted.”
“Then how about if I buy you dinner and we can talk about . . . whatever? Anything but suitcases.”
“No thank you, Mr. Brown. Not interested. I work for one insufferable sexist and can’t help being around him an unavoidable amount of time each week, but beyond him, I’m careful about who I spend my time with.”
Deep wrinkles appeared in his forehead as he scowled down at her. He looked ominous and ready to blow his cork again, but Lee held her ground, facing him squarely, one hand on the edge of the door. She was conscious again of how erect his posture was—even more so as he held his anger tightly in check—shoulders squared back, the inverted triangle of bare skin on his chest as taut as the head of a drum. He wore a tight-lipped expression as his dark eyes seemed to penetrate her for a long, threatening moment. Then he turned on a bare heel and stalked away.
With a shaky sigh of relief, Lee closed the door, leaned her forehead against it for a moment, then slipped the dead bolt home.
The tension of the day had keyed her up until her neck and shoulders felt stiff with fatigue. She leaned far back from the waist, slipped a thin hand to the nape of her neck, and kneaded. Eyes closed, hair trailing free, she wondered what had prompted Sam Brown to invite her to dinner. Then, recalling his choice of reading material, she thought she knew the answer.
Lee flopped tiredly on the bed, crossed her arms behind her head, and tried to rid her thoughts of Sam Brown. But his face intruded, as she’d first seen it at the bid letting when he was accepting handshakes—smiling, laughing, pleased with himself. She remembered the tiny wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and wondered how old he was? Mid-thirties? When he scowled, he looked older—and he’d done plenty of scowling today! But his look of displeasure also made his undeniably handsome face even more good looking.