The Sex Files

4

CAMERON WAS SEDUCING him, Oliver thought moments later, loosening his grasp on her elbow as they went through a brass revolving door that spit them into a hotel lobby. At first, he’d thought the woman might be a fan, but that didn’t explain how her picture had wound up on his PC screen. Which meant she must be a friend of his sister’s. Anna had been doing everything she could to fix him up with one of her friends, and this was obviously part of a scheme cooked up by the two women. Anna must have fed the picture of her friend into his computer, convincing him that the woman was America’s Sexiest Woman, all so that he’d be excited when the woman actually appeared.

“Home sweet home,” she said.

The idea that she was trying to get him into bed had calmed Oliver considerably. He glanced around. Long past its glory days, the red-carpeted lobby was decorated with marble-top tables and chandeliers. Outside, the streets surrounding the parade had sounded like Bourbon Street in New Orleans on a Saturday night, so only when Oliver squeezed into a rickety, dimly lit elevator with Cameron did he fully register the comparative deafening silence. “Quiet in here,” he offered.

As she pushed the seventh-floor button, he noted her nails were painted opal, not love-me red as they had been in both her picture and his fantasies. He tried not to feel too disappointed, but it was difficult when she’d appeared so often in his dreams, raking those fingertips over his body. At nothing more than the thought, his breath turned shallow with anticipation.

“Dark, too,” she supplied.

He heard the faintest quiver in her voice, and the answering flutter of his heart took him by surprise. Whoever this woman was, she probably didn’t make a habit of seducing men, judging by her nervousness. And yet she’d chosen him.

He sent her an encouraging smile. “The elevator could use a new lightbulb,” he conceded.

She didn’t answer.

But he wasn’t put off by her lack of response. In fact, he was feeling uncharacteristically anxious himself. Who wouldn’t? He was about to have sex with a stranger, after all. Why else would the woman ask him to her hotel room? And she wasn’t quite a stranger, he mentally corrected. She was a friend of Anna’s.

Suppressing a shudder, he remembered how she’d felt pressed against him in the street—how the curves of her backside had risen, cushioning his groin, and how the harder ridges of her hips had collided with his when she’d whirled around. Their lower bodies had clicked, and now the memory sent heat prancing across his skin.

Yeah, while they’d been on Sixth Avenue, he’d realized she had to be a friend of his sister’s—there was simply no other reasonable explanation—and now, with her standing so close, and her scent driving him wild in the cramped elevator, he wished he’d been nicer. Could he help it if he’d been worried, though? She’d been tailing him…

Oliver broadened his smile as he tucked down the collar of his coat, allowing the rainwater to roll off. “And wet,” he added. Another uncomfortable moment passed before the smile twitched his lips and he continued. “The elevator’s slow, too.”

His comical efforts to make conversation solicited a low, barely audible laugh from her. “At this rate,” she murmured, lifting a hand to reposition the eye mask, a fashion accessory that had been heightening his excitement immeasurably, “we won’t reach the seventh floor until tomorrow.”

“Midnight,” he countered. His eyes said he could think of countless things he and his masked date might do to amuse themselves during the wait.

“Midnight,” she echoed.

He flicked his gaze down her body. “I’m an optimist,” he assured.

“Really?”

“Really.”

Yeah, this strange little encounter was definitely going to end with them in bed together, he thought, his pulse quickening. If he was lucky, maybe the affair would even develop into something more. With an unexpected twinge of emotion, he thought of the house he’d built near his office in Quantico, then he pushed away the image. He’d be satisfied if this love game just lasted through Christmas so he wouldn’t wind up spending the holiday alone.

She’d fixed her gaze studiously on the elevator buttons, but the black mask couldn’t hide how her eyes drifted again to choice parts of his anatomy. He shook his head in bemusement, recalling how Anna had come to his office, slyly bribing him with lunch while running the Sex Files through his Quick Composite software, just so she could pull up a picture of her friend, this woman. No doubt, Vic, who was a whiz with cameras and optical illusions, had helped her with this.

Along with producing “Cameron’s” picture, Anna had stuffed condoms into his wallet, too. Cameron—maybe that was even her real name—was showing herself to be every bit as adventurous. Even as he admired the woman’s face, he was giving her points for ingenuity. She’d almost made him—a completely rational law enforcement agent—believe that an image of America’s sexiest woman had come to life.

It wasn’t every day that such a gorgeous, intelligent woman went to so much trouble for his benefit. Sexually, she must want him badly. Not only had she followed him all over Manhattan, wearing slinky clothes, but she’d rented a hotel room. Silently, he cursed the elevator for going so slow. He couldn’t wait to see her lying on her back in bed. Her gaze locked with his, and before she glanced away, he saw desire flare in her eyes, naked and bright.

He parted his lips to speak. Then they both started talking at once with him saying, “Look, I’m sorry I scared you—”

“Out there,” she quickly clarified. “You just caught me off guard. Like I said, I can explain—”

“I didn’t mean to, but—”

“None of this is what it seems—”

Just as he thought she’d tell him she was Anna’s friend, she stopped talking. Uncertain, her smile remained fixed on her lips. It wasn’t exactly a come-hither expression, but his mouth turned cottony, anyway. His palms itched. Her picture didn’t do her justice.

Wind and drizzle had tightened the loose waves of her hair, curling the ends like ribbons. The strands looked even darker than they had outside, the color of things that didn’t belong in New York City—wheat in a farm field at night, syrupy honey drenching a warm honeycomb, wet straw scattered on the floor of a hayloft. Much of her face was covered by the mask, but the skin Oliver could see was alight with a healthy, ruddy glow. He didn’t bother to hide his appreciative gaze. Why should he? She was seducing him, right?

Even the closed raincoat couldn’t conceal her full figure. She’d belted the coat tightly as they’d run for the hotel, accentuating the nip of her waist. The hem hit shapely calves, and smooth legs shimmered through sheer stockings she wore with black pumps. Oliver could almost see himself, just moments from now, wiggling each shoe from a slender foot before tugging those stockings down legs he knew would be as smooth as satin. Heat swirling in his lower belly, he pictured her upper thighs, imagining how black garters would look on her water-smooth skin. Was she wearing panties? What color?

Once more, his dreams came flooding back, and unbidden, he was remembering the blush of her breasts, lathered in mentholated oil. The elevator seemed to explode with the scent of mint, and his body tensed. He was about to act on impulse, step closer and haul her into his arms, when she suddenly said, “You had every right to confront me.”

The elevator had paused, its doors laboriously opening onto a vacant hallway, then shutting again. Pulleys groaned as the car heaved, lurching upward once more. “Believe me,” she continued, “I know how unnerving it can be when someone’s following you—”

Now that he was sure she was Anna’s friend, he’d rather progress the relationship, not dwell on apologies. Hearing her teeth chatter, he murmured, “Don’t worry about it. You must be freezing. Let’s get upstairs and get you warm.”

“You don’t have to be so nice about this,” she said guiltily. “I have been following you.”

“Yeah.” He sent her another smile. “And I caught you.”

“As I said, I can explain—”

“No need. I understand now. The question is, what are we going to do next?”

Before she could respond, the doors opened. Gliding a hand beneath her elbow, he steered her into the hallway. “Which room?”

Her voice sounded shaky. “Uh…712.”

When they reached the door, she inserted a key card, then pushed open the door and entered. She was halfway across the room when she turned to face him. “Here we are.”

Drawing a deep breath to steady himself, Oliver felt he could barely move. Only the bathroom light was on. Deeper in the room, where she now stood, everything looked as dark and soft as chocolate. She looked as tasty, too.

Beautiful. That was another word for her. Quick Composite had only given him a picture with which to fantasize, but now they were off the busy streets and out of the rain, and he could take a better look at her. Or at least he could once they turned on the light.

“Sit down if you’d like,” she said.

The words skated along his nerves, rippling all the way to their endings. “Thanks,” he murmured without moving.

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