downcast, cheeks flushing. Guilt tugged at his heart. Marcus set his jaw. She would play him like a violin if he let her. He’d be damned if he danced to that tune again, not after everything she’d put him through. He pressed his point instead. “We agreed that you would send an email, and not pop out unannounced.”
So maybe ‘agree’ was a bit far-fetched. He remembered yelling and throwing her out of his place without really listening to her arguments.
Marcus scowled while a small smile blossomed on those succulent lips. Annoyed, he passed by her to approach the bed table, and the phone. Deb’s head jerked up. “I’ll tell security you invited me in.”
“I didn’t.”
Her voice lowered by an octave, her laugh a siren song. “Oh, Marcus, does it look like you don’t want me … here?” The captivating pause fried some neurons— no more than a hundred, really . He flexed his fingers to ease the tautness. “I have an access card...”
“Which you probably stole or finessed out of the clerk.”
“There’s a full ice bucket on the table…”
“That you brought.”
Unfazed, she all but purred, “I’m half-naked...”
She was close enough to smell the honeysuckle shampoo she had borrowed in the complimentary stash after he drenched her while fully clothed. Marcus grabbed her by the shoulders. She moved in his grasp and linked her arms around his neck. The robe shifted and revealed the delicious curve of her throat. His breath caught.
He unhooked her fingers from his collar. “Stop that.”
Her crystalline eyes sparkled with laughter. “But I’m not doing anything...”
What she was doing was driving him crazy. She allured him, irritated him, intrigued him and challenged him—the perfect teenage—and adult— dream. He stopped counting how many times they’d bickered up, how many times they’d hooked up, how many times he had wished she would stop her wandering and settle down…
Marcus took a step back. “I’m still waiting for an answer to my questions. Why are you in my room?”
Deb wet her lips. “You mean besides for the pleasure of your company?”
He nearly lost it. Lust only added to the aggravation. He wanted to wring her lovely neck with that stupid necklace she wore like a trophy. To throw her back on that bed and rehearse the best parts of Flint’s last bestseller. Marcus snarled, hands fisted so he wouldn’t reach for her and—
“All right, all right. I’ll explain everything.” The beautiful eyes sobered up. She pulled the robe over her knees and patted the mattress beside her. “Please, sit. I don’t like it when you tower over me like an angry bear.”
He chose the sofa on the other side of the room. Deb nodded, as if she were gathering her thoughts. “First, I must tell you that I’m covering for the Traveler . I had planned to come for a day, check the pulse, but they offered to pay for the full entry because of the poem.”
“What poem?”
“It started moving around a couple of weeks ago. Bloggers and some websites received a poem as a comment on their posts that announced the event, from an anonymous source. ROSA got its copy, too, on the conference’s site, as well as other specialized magazines, as far as I know. They deleted it of course, but the media was already hooked. Haven’t you noticed there are more journalists than usual?”
He couldn’t say he had. He’d arrived late in the afternoon, and had had just enough time to settle down before joining the Ice Breaker. Moreover, people didn’t wear a sticker marked ‘press’ on their forehead, even if they were supposed to.
“What does it say?”
“I have it on my email. If I can borrow your laptop, I’ll show you.”
“Nice try, Deb.” He overlooked her huff. “Give me the broad lines. Why is there so much ado about that stuff?”
“Fine. The poem is about four lines, built out of R.J. Flint’s titles. And it promised a bad outcome to the other nominees for the
So maybe ‘agree’ was a bit far-fetched. He remembered yelling and throwing her out of his place without really listening to her arguments.
Marcus scowled while a small smile blossomed on those succulent lips. Annoyed, he passed by her to approach the bed table, and the phone. Deb’s head jerked up. “I’ll tell security you invited me in.”
“I didn’t.”
Her voice lowered by an octave, her laugh a siren song. “Oh, Marcus, does it look like you don’t want me … here?” The captivating pause fried some neurons— no more than a hundred, really . He flexed his fingers to ease the tautness. “I have an access card...”
“Which you probably stole or finessed out of the clerk.”
“There’s a full ice bucket on the table…”
“That you brought.”
Unfazed, she all but purred, “I’m half-naked...”
She was close enough to smell the honeysuckle shampoo she had borrowed in the complimentary stash after he drenched her while fully clothed. Marcus grabbed her by the shoulders. She moved in his grasp and linked her arms around his neck. The robe shifted and revealed the delicious curve of her throat. His breath caught.
He unhooked her fingers from his collar. “Stop that.”
Her crystalline eyes sparkled with laughter. “But I’m not doing anything...”
What she was doing was driving him crazy. She allured him, irritated him, intrigued him and challenged him—the perfect teenage—and adult— dream. He stopped counting how many times they’d bickered up, how many times they’d hooked up, how many times he had wished she would stop her wandering and settle down…
Marcus took a step back. “I’m still waiting for an answer to my questions. Why are you in my room?”
Deb wet her lips. “You mean besides for the pleasure of your company?”
He nearly lost it. Lust only added to the aggravation. He wanted to wring her lovely neck with that stupid necklace she wore like a trophy. To throw her back on that bed and rehearse the best parts of Flint’s last bestseller. Marcus snarled, hands fisted so he wouldn’t reach for her and—
“All right, all right. I’ll explain everything.” The beautiful eyes sobered up. She pulled the robe over her knees and patted the mattress beside her. “Please, sit. I don’t like it when you tower over me like an angry bear.”
He chose the sofa on the other side of the room. Deb nodded, as if she were gathering her thoughts. “First, I must tell you that I’m covering for the Traveler . I had planned to come for a day, check the pulse, but they offered to pay for the full entry because of the poem.”
“What poem?”
“It started moving around a couple of weeks ago. Bloggers and some websites received a poem as a comment on their posts that announced the event, from an anonymous source. ROSA got its copy, too, on the conference’s site, as well as other specialized magazines, as far as I know. They deleted it of course, but the media was already hooked. Haven’t you noticed there are more journalists than usual?”
He couldn’t say he had. He’d arrived late in the afternoon, and had had just enough time to settle down before joining the Ice Breaker. Moreover, people didn’t wear a sticker marked ‘press’ on their forehead, even if they were supposed to.
“What does it say?”
“I have it on my email. If I can borrow your laptop, I’ll show you.”
“Nice try, Deb.” He overlooked her huff. “Give me the broad lines. Why is there so much ado about that stuff?”
“Fine. The poem is about four lines, built out of R.J. Flint’s titles. And it promised a bad outcome to the other nominees for the
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