death. Besides Nicholas Sparks and a handful of others, men rarely broke through the tight bastion of women’s fiction under their own name. This was the scoop of the year. Scratch that—the scoop of the decade! Even Nora Roberts had saluted Flint’s talent. Wait until the Traveler editor-in-chief reads my piece, Deb thought .
Caught in her thoughts, Deb jolted when the brutish light of the ceiling fixtures fired up.
The lights went out above her head, replaced by a softer glow from the main room. She was screwed either way. If Marcus found her in his suite… Crap, crap, crap, crap . Frozen in place like a deer in headlights, Deb heard the door close and footsteps going farther into the bedroom. Two soft thuds suggested he’d gotten rid of his shoes. She bit her bottom lip hard. The only way she would move would be if she were sure Marcus wouldn’t see her. She couldn’t dash for the door. Darn. I’m trapped. She had to hide. Yes. She needed a place to hide. Where?
God, if he found her… He wouldn’t be lenient this time. He’d been clear enough about her intrusion, and now that she knew… Calm down, Deb. Calm down and think . The only place wide enough for her was the shower. Such a cliché. Too late anyway. She stepped into the tub and pulled the double curtain. Then she waited.
Deb barely dared breathing. She kept her eyes closed, even though the light from the bedroom was scarce. Her ears cocked to pick up the slightest noises. She heard a jingle, then silence. Had he put the TV on mute? A text message, maybe? She’d been so right to leave her smartphone in her room. Another cliché came to mind, the hidden victim betrayed by an ill-timed phone call…
Her legs were stiffening, and she felt pins and needles travel up her ankles, but Deb feared to move and lose her footing in the pristine tub. Half-blind and deaf, she failed to guess her unsuspecting host’s actions. Why was he so quiet? It wasn’t like him. What are you doing, Marcus ?
When the cold water hit her square in the face, she screeched like a banshee.
****
“That was mean, Marcus.”
“You deserved it.”
He scowled at the stunning woman seated on his bed, bundled in a terry-cloth bathrobe. She was drying unruly curls with a towel, at ease, and obviously unconcerned. Irritation made his voice growl. “What the f— what are you doing here? Searching and stealing my things again?”
Deb dropped the towel and crossed her legs. He awarded himself ten points for keeping his stare on her cat-like face. The robe continued sliding to reveal a graceful thigh, miles of soft, sun-kissed skin… Make that twenty points . “After San Francisco, you promised never to do it again.”
She stared at him from under her lashes, her aquamarine eyes as clear as the Caribbean Sea. He knew her too well to succumb to the coy act. God knew she’d used every page in that book before. Marcus turned away and started pacing, from the bed to the sofa, to the desk, and back. “This trick is not going to work, Deborah. Either explain or get out.”
“Like this?”
From the corner of his eyes, he saw the little she-devil stand, then smooth the immaculate, fluffy fabric down her hip. Marcus changed direction as he started a new circuit. No need to get too close to temptation. “You should have thought about it before breaking and entering my room. Again. I’m calling you in.”
Her shoulders stiffened imperceptibly. Ah! So he had a lever in this new round of their everlasting cat-and-mouse game. She narrowed her feline eyes on him. “I heard you and Eden talking in the corridor.”
Marcus shrugged, not giving an inch. “Eden’s my agent. We are to talk from time to time.”
“That’s bullshit, Marcus. I know why you haven’t published any new thriller material in two years. I know .” She stressed the last word.
“New material would be an excellent reason to talk to my agent, don’t you think?”
This time, she hesitated, her eyes
Caught in her thoughts, Deb jolted when the brutish light of the ceiling fixtures fired up.
The lights went out above her head, replaced by a softer glow from the main room. She was screwed either way. If Marcus found her in his suite… Crap, crap, crap, crap . Frozen in place like a deer in headlights, Deb heard the door close and footsteps going farther into the bedroom. Two soft thuds suggested he’d gotten rid of his shoes. She bit her bottom lip hard. The only way she would move would be if she were sure Marcus wouldn’t see her. She couldn’t dash for the door. Darn. I’m trapped. She had to hide. Yes. She needed a place to hide. Where?
God, if he found her… He wouldn’t be lenient this time. He’d been clear enough about her intrusion, and now that she knew… Calm down, Deb. Calm down and think . The only place wide enough for her was the shower. Such a cliché. Too late anyway. She stepped into the tub and pulled the double curtain. Then she waited.
Deb barely dared breathing. She kept her eyes closed, even though the light from the bedroom was scarce. Her ears cocked to pick up the slightest noises. She heard a jingle, then silence. Had he put the TV on mute? A text message, maybe? She’d been so right to leave her smartphone in her room. Another cliché came to mind, the hidden victim betrayed by an ill-timed phone call…
Her legs were stiffening, and she felt pins and needles travel up her ankles, but Deb feared to move and lose her footing in the pristine tub. Half-blind and deaf, she failed to guess her unsuspecting host’s actions. Why was he so quiet? It wasn’t like him. What are you doing, Marcus ?
When the cold water hit her square in the face, she screeched like a banshee.
****
“That was mean, Marcus.”
“You deserved it.”
He scowled at the stunning woman seated on his bed, bundled in a terry-cloth bathrobe. She was drying unruly curls with a towel, at ease, and obviously unconcerned. Irritation made his voice growl. “What the f— what are you doing here? Searching and stealing my things again?”
Deb dropped the towel and crossed her legs. He awarded himself ten points for keeping his stare on her cat-like face. The robe continued sliding to reveal a graceful thigh, miles of soft, sun-kissed skin… Make that twenty points . “After San Francisco, you promised never to do it again.”
She stared at him from under her lashes, her aquamarine eyes as clear as the Caribbean Sea. He knew her too well to succumb to the coy act. God knew she’d used every page in that book before. Marcus turned away and started pacing, from the bed to the sofa, to the desk, and back. “This trick is not going to work, Deborah. Either explain or get out.”
“Like this?”
From the corner of his eyes, he saw the little she-devil stand, then smooth the immaculate, fluffy fabric down her hip. Marcus changed direction as he started a new circuit. No need to get too close to temptation. “You should have thought about it before breaking and entering my room. Again. I’m calling you in.”
Her shoulders stiffened imperceptibly. Ah! So he had a lever in this new round of their everlasting cat-and-mouse game. She narrowed her feline eyes on him. “I heard you and Eden talking in the corridor.”
Marcus shrugged, not giving an inch. “Eden’s my agent. We are to talk from time to time.”
“That’s bullshit, Marcus. I know why you haven’t published any new thriller material in two years. I know .” She stressed the last word.
“New material would be an excellent reason to talk to my agent, don’t you think?”
This time, she hesitated, her eyes
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