Her Secret Thrill
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Donna Kauffman
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19.7K
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19
1
WHERE HAD LIZA DISAPPEARED TO?
Natalie Holcomb pasted a smile on her face and said good-night to another cluster of Liza’s glitzy guests as they left the penthouse suite. She closed the door behind them, wishing like hell she could slip out of these heels and go soak in that Olympic-size sunken tub she knew awaited her in her private bath.
She couldn’t deny Liza knew how to throw a party…and where to throw one. The Maxi was the newest hotel in New York City and Liza had reserved the entire penthouse level for her latest bash. Typical overindulgence— Natalie went for elegance over opulence—but Liza could definitely afford it. Or, more correctly, her newest client could.
At twenty-nine, Liza was the crème de la crème of the young Turks invading the public relations business. To night’s bash was a big coming-out party for the sexiest soap star to grace the set of the hottest soap, Steam. It was the party at which to see Conrad Jones, and to be seen by everyone else. Conrad’s surgically perfected face and buffed action-figure body didn’t do it for Natalie, but she’d quickly learned she was the only female under eighty who apparently felt that way. Then again, she didn’t recognize anyone here, so what did she know?
“Where’s Liza?”
Natalie spun around and automatically pasted on her hostess smile again. Now I know how a beauty pageant director feels. Inferior, with a good case of lockjaw.
“I’m not sure where she is at the moment,” Natalie said graciously to the chic couple. “But I’ll be certain to tell her you said goodbye. I know she was thrilled you could make it.” Whoever you are.
They gave her the “yeah, whatever” nod that clearly stated they realized she was a nobody and therefore not worthy of more of their time. Natalie didn’t stick her tongue out and slam the ten-foot-tall door behind them, but she thought about it. Which only went to show how late it really had gotten. She couldn’t care less what these people thought of her. Glitz and glam was Liza’s life. Corporate law was hers. She smiled, thinking it really wasn’t much different. Sharks and barracudas abounded in both arenas. Liza just swam with better-looking sharks.
They’d shared a dorm at law school for four semesters before Liza had dropped out to head for the Big Apple to realize her own dream. That was six years ago. Natalie looked around and had to smile in approval. They’d both done pretty well. It was probably their drive to succeed that had kept them close despite their crazy schedules. Natalie lived in New York City but traveled all over the country. Liza worked out of L.A., but also traveled extensively. The only reason Natalie had come at all tonight was that they’d both been in the same town at the same time, and that happened all too rarely. She’d agreed to stay with her in the penthouse so they could spend some time together. Not, she thought as she looked through the rapidly thinning crowd, that she’d actually gotten to do much of that. She sighed but shrugged it off. Liza was…well, Liza.
NINETY MINUTES and a couple of dozen more locked-jaw goodbyes later, Natalie sank thankfully back against the double doors. “Finally.” Liza had never surfaced. Knowing her, Natalie figured Liza had let Conrad talk her into hitting some hot club or another party. Liza was a slave to her career and loved every minute of it. Of course, Natalie thought with a private smile, Liza had probably let Conrad think he was her slave master. She shook her head and wandered to the oasis that was the kitchen, gathering up empty glasses as she went. She had let the bartending and wait staff go home at two. It was now almost three. She knew there would be a cleaning crew coming in the morning, so she’d just set these in the sink and head toward that sunken tub.
“Excuse me.”
Natalie squealed and spun around. The deep voice belonged to a tall guy with dark-blond hair and amused-looking blue eyes, who quickly stepped forward to catch the crystal stemware she almost bobbled to the floor.
He rescued two of them, and Natalie managed to get the other three onto the counter intact.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
She shook her head, willing her pounding heart out of her throat. “I—I thought I was alone.” She meant to look away, regain her composure, but something about the direct, easy way he held her gaze prevented her from doing so. “Let me, uh, that is, I, um—” She broke off, suddenly feeling silly for being so tongue-tied. Like she hadn’t seen a hundred gorgeous blondes tonight. It was just that he looked, well…real. It was simply a shock after all those capped teeth and spa-pumped pecs.
Taking a discreet, calming breath, she trotted out the pageant director smile one last time. “I’ll show you to the door.” She stepped forward, obviously expecting him to move back out of the doorway and follow her. Only, he didn’t do as she expected.
She stopped, feeling the first tiny frisson of—well, not fear exactly, but definitely awareness that she was alone in this suite with a stranger. A stranger that had a good four inches and fifty or sixty pounds on her.
Projecting the calm, cool wherewithal that had got ten her farther inside the boardroom than most women her age—hell, twice her age—she gestured ahead of her. “This way, please.”
She knew the look she was giving him made it perfectly clear she had no intention of playing any games. It was a look she’d perfected back in boarding school. Boys, especially rich ones, thought all a girl needed was a sharp smile and a fat bank account to fall thankfully on her back and spread her legs. Boys, rich or otherwise, learned quickly that Natalie Holcomb, of the Connecticut Holcombs, was not impressed with vast wealth, much less a hot bod.
As it turned out, men hadn’t proven to be any different from boys.
By now the look was second nature to her. She didn’t mind the ice princess reputation it had earned her, either. In fact, she took pride in it. At the end of the day, she knew—as did they—that she’d gotten where she was by working hard. With her knees firmly in the closed position.
She held his gaze evenly and motioned to the door.
He smiled at her. Totally unaffected by “the look.” Before she could follow up with her patented verbal ice blast, he nodded to a point behind her.
“My jacket. It’s in the other room.”
Oh. Natalie simply refused to blush. Holcombs didn’t. She’d learned at her father’s knee to smooth over minor gaffes with unshakable calm. Therefore, the knowing twinkle in the man’s eye meant less than nothing. Not even a ripple. Really.
“I’ll meet you at the door, then,” she said, all good grace and polished manners.
“No need to bother. I can show myself out,” he said as he moved past her.
She swore she could feel the heat emanate from his body. Probably a flashback to the tightly pressed throng of bodies she’d been wedged into all night. Nothing more. She resisted the urge to fan her face. At least he wasn’t doused in some designer scent. Whatever he was wearing was very subtle. And quite effective.
She refrained from sniffing the air behind him, but barely. Obviously she was far more tired than she’d thought. Good breeding—nothing else, certainly—sent her to the front door. She’d see him out simply to as sure herself she was well and truly alone. No other reason.
“I have a problem.”
She started at the sound of his voice. Damn him for doing that to her. Twice. She turned. “What problem?” She’d sounded sharper than she’d meant to, almost snappish. Calm and controlled, Natalie. Never snappish. That he had her reminding herself of things that were normally automatic responses only proved how overtired she really was.
She smoothed her features into a composed mask, although truthfully, she felt anything but. Certainly it was the fatigue, after all, it was after three in the morning—but there was no denying he unsettled her with that direct, amused gaze of his. What was it about this guy, anyway?
He was nice enough to look at, if you went for the earthy, muscular type. Actually, she wasn’t sure what her type was. But it certainly wasn’t mountain man here. Not that he was all that huge when you stopped and really looked him over. Rugged. Yes, rugged was the right way to describe him, now that she thought about it. He definitely filled out his black jeans and that amber knit pullover pretty damn convincingly—
Dear God, she was ogling. She jerked her gaze up to his face. He spared her the knowing smile, but somewhere behind those eyes of his she knew he was feeling smug.
“What is the problem?” she asked again, just wanting him gone. The hell with being polite. He’d found his jacket, so that wasn’t it. The well-worn brown leather jacket made those shoulders look even wider, his arms bigger, his chest broader. Whoever created his look had definitely chosen well.
Liza had told her plenty of the stories about casting directors who discovered guys in the unlikeliest of places and, with a personal trainer, personal shopper and good dentist, turned them into daytime gods. Mechanic, she thought. Construction worker. UPS delivery guy.
“My wallet,” he said, breaking into her reverie.
Caught again. What was wrong with her, anyway?
Never mind the sunken bath, she was going right to bed.
“I gave it to Con to tip the limo guy.” He shrugged and smiled. “Guy just signed a seven-figure contract but never has money on him.” Those blue eyes twinkled quite charmingly. “Probably why he keeps me around.”
“Con? As in Conrad Jones?” She groaned inwardly. She’d been ogling a groupie. At least she could have consoled herself if he was a working professional, instead of a…a sycophant, a hanger-on.
“We grew up together. Lamont, Wyoming.”
A childhood groupie. Even worse. He’d made a life out of standing in his pal’s spotlight. But this was none of her business. “Let me get my purse, I’ll be glad to loan you—”
“I don’t need the money,” he said quickly. “It’s just that Con—”
Right then, a loud thumping reverberated through the room at the end of the hallway, followed shortly thereafter by someone screaming, “God, yes!”
That someone sounded suspiciously like Liza.
“What the—?” Natalie went to move past him down the hallway.
The blond stranger reached for her arm. “You might not want to—”
His warning wasn’t even completed before another, far more masculine, shout echoed around the room. “Ooooooooh, yessssss. I’m coming, baby!”
Natalie froze as an incredibly primitive and impossibly loud groan followed that pronouncement. Shrieks of undeniable rapture accompanied said groan. Liza’s.
Well. Okay, then. Natalie was pretty sure that in her entire twenty-eight years she’d never once covered this particular social gaffe. At least she now knew where Liza had gotten off to, after all. Gotten off. Dear Lord. Her face flushed and no amount of social breeding was going to stop it.
“I’m sorry,” he said from behind her.
She turned to face him. Best just to brazen it out. “Well, I guess I’m really not alone, after all.” She wanted to smile brightly, make light of the whole thing, but she couldn’t pull it off.
“Yeah.” He did have the grace to look a little uncomfortable. “Listen, maybe I will just head downstairs and see if the bar is still open or…or something. I’m staying with Con and I don’t have keys to his place,” he added by way of explanation. Then he gave up and grinned. “This is really embarrassing, isn’t it.”
And just like that, she suddenly found the whole situation hilarious. She was already laughing even as she nodded in agreement. And once she started, she couldn’t seem to stop. He joined in, and they were both leaning against the hallway walls by the time they managed to stop long enough to catch their breath.
“Um, just tell Con I’ll be in the lobby. Or leave a note. Whatever.”
“But what if— I mean, are you sure he’ll be leaving?”
“If I had my wallet, I’d just get a room, but—”
Whatever she’d thought moments ago, right now Natalie felt a certain kinship with him. They were both being put in an incredibly awkward position by their friends. The least she could do was end it as gracefully and quickly as possible. “I know you’d rather handle this on your own, but I honestly don’t mind reserving a room for you. You can always switch the charge to your card when you…um, get your wallet back.” Laughter threatened to erupt again, but she tamped it down. She was so tired now that she knew the giggles were perilously close to the surface. Best to get him on his way so she could go bury herself in her room under a mound of covers and forget this whole episode.
She didn’t give him a chance to refuse. She moved past him and went toward her bedroom, where she’d stashed her purse in a dresser drawer. “I’ll be right back.”
“Really, it’s okay,” he said, half following her down the hall. “You don’t have to—”
And just then, the thumping started again.
Natalie stopped and whirled around. “Oh, for heaven’s sake.” She looked at the far wall, where the paintings already had shifted to an odd angle. Liza’s bedroom was on the other side of that wall. The thumping increased. And there were groans now. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”
She looked at him. “Pardon?”
“Your name?”
It took her a moment to process the request and why it mattered. It was impossible to think with the sex marathon getting into full swing in the next room. She was fairly certain swing might be the operative word. “My name? Natalie,” she said absently, trying hard to block out the escalating groans and yeah, babys coming from the other room.
“I’m Jake. Listen, Natalie, why don’t I get you out of here and buy us both a cup of coffee.”
She looked at him as if he had just grown two heads. What was he saying? He was asking her out? “You don’t have any money.”
He grinned sheepishly. “Okay, well then, I’ll let you buy me a cup of coffee.”
“But I can’t reserve you a hotel room? What, you have a limit on charitable donations?” This whole conversation was getting strange.
But then he stepped closer to her, and she found herself completely focusing on his blue eyes. She told herself it was the only way to block out at least some of the shrieks of ecstasy now coming from the other room.
“What kind of vitamins do they take, anyway?” he asked.
Then he grinned. It was the grin that did it. Or maybe Liza’s noisy climax. She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she couldn’t stay in this room one more second.
“Come on,” he said again, as if sensing her shift. “Let’s get out of here and leave them alone. Not that they seem to care, but I do.”
Right at that moment, she couldn’t find a hole in that logic. She ducked into her room, snatched her purse and headed to the front door, not even looking to see if he was following her. She’d buy them some coffee, talk him into letting her get a room for him, and hope that by then Liza and Con would have screwed themselves into unconsciousness—and she could crawl into her bed and sleep till noon.
Galvanized by the plan, she walked over to the elevator and punched the only button on it. Jake stepped out into the hall, Liza’s shouted “Yes, right there!” following him through the open doorway.
They both stepped into the elevator, careful not to look at each other. Or at the door to the penthouse.
Natalie punched the lobby button.
“Going down,” intoned a deep recorded voice.
They both glanced at each other. Jake snickered first. Natalie snorted. Then they collapsed in laughter that continued for the entire eighty-eight floors.
