It’s more than a week later when I see Rook at the hotel again.

Not that I’ve been thinking about him. After all I have a job to do, and I’m obviously not only talking about changing the sheets and cleaning the whips in the hotel. I’m a busy woman. So why would I be thinking about him, right? All the frigging time, day and night?

Okay, so I’m a sucky liar. Not many girls in their right mind would be able to forget a guy like Rook—especially after seeing him in the pain suite, half-undressed, looking debauched and sexy, and asking if I would do wicked things to him.

I’m no virgin, or saint. Even if I was, I’d have rethought my life right then and there.

But most girls in their right mind wouldn’t be doing my job, either, and I’m not just talking about changing soiled linens. Which tells you a lot about my mind, I guess.

Back to Rook.

Who’s skulking down the lobby hallway, dressed in what looks like black silk pants and nothing else. He’s holding a glass in his hand, his dark hair is a mess of spikes, and he looks… He looks…

“Again?” Today’s receptionist, Gina, looks dismayed.

“Again, what?” I struggle with a fitting adjective. He looks hot? Sure. Lickable? Definitely, and that brings very inappropriate images to mind. Yummy? How about sexy?

Seriously, do bears shit in the woods?

“He keeps getting drunk and coming down here,” Gina hisses behind her hand as he approaches the desk, stopping to talk to one of the escorts who’s heading up to one of the rooms. “He was asking me questions about myself last time. Awkward.”

Really? I frown. That doesn’t sound like the Rook I know.

And okay, now’s a good time to admit I’ve been keeping tabs on him since I first met him. He comes and goes a lot, but he’s always been an exemplary customer. Keeping to his room. Calling to ask for whatever he wants.

No, I don’t do that with all customers. Keeping tabs, that is. Only the ones that might prove important in my investigation. But he’s… intriguing. No harm in keeping an eye on him, is there?

Like now. I am keeping both eyes on him as he grins at the escort, waves his glass about, and turns to stagger toward us.

Very intriguing.

Hello, Roderick “Rook” Carter.

I mean, it’s no secret. All I had to do was look at his suite reservation the other day. Son of the mogul Abraham Carter, who’s the owner of many companies and at least one big Hollywood studio, and actress Bella Cohen whose star burned bright before she got married and vanished from the limelight.

Rook is also second cousin to Troy Jordan, alias ‘Storm’, and Jamie ‘Hawk’ Fleming, also sons of millionaire families of Baltimore, who were involved in not only delivering to the police a few corrupt big names of the industry, but also both Rook’s and Hawk’s parents.

Storm’s parents escaped that fate on account of being dead.

Now of course Rook’s parents are out of jail, thanks to powerful connections, and probably Hawk’s parents will find their way out, soon, as well.

That’s a hell of a legacy, and this handsome son of uber-shady billionaires is apparently into pain… and booze, if that glass in his hand and the vague grin on his face as he finally reaches us are any indication.

What the hell is Roderick Carter doing, wandering the hotel half-naked and dead drunk?

“Ladies!” He beams at Gina, and then turns his dark gaze on me. His lashes dip a fraction, and my heart skips a beat. “And Mia. Fancy meeting you again.”

“I work here,” I point out, forcing my gaze away from his face and chest and arms and… God. I gather my duster and cleaning rag to go. “Have a nice evening.”

“Wait.” He places his empty glass on the desk and runs his hands through his dark hair, tousling it more, and I shouldn’t like this look so much. He looks like he just rolled out of bed after a night of wild sex. “Have a drink with me”

“I’m working.”

Gina is giving us curious looks.

“Just one drink. I’m sure you can take a break. Right?” He fixes that laser-sharp gaze on Gina, and she squirms.

“I’m sure that’s not a problem, Mr. Carter,” she says breathily, and I almost roll my eyes at her, “if Mia wants to join you for a drink.”

“See?” He turns back to me, and every sign of drunkenness has vanished from his demeanor. Hold on… was he pretending to be drunk? “Come on, Mia. One drink. We have a lot to talk about.”

We do? I’m about to refuse, but he takes the duster and the rag from me, passes them over the desk to Gina, then takes my hand and lifts it to his lips.

So… gentlemanly. Like an actor in an old movie, and I’m transfixed, caught off guard. His lips are hot like fire, branding my knuckles.

He lifts his dark gaze and smirks at me. “Shall we?” he says, straightening, and tugs me away from the desk.

He links my arm with his, and his spicy scent fills my senses. He’s so tall and his arm so thick, tangled with mine, powerful muscles shifting as he tightens his hold.

I’m so entranced, so shocked by this turn of events, it takes me a long moment to realize we’re heading in the wrong direction—not toward the bar, but toward the elevator.

“Where are we going?” I breathe.

“To have a drink. In my room.” The elevator doors open and he pulls me inside. “More privacy there.”

For what? I think. To talk or for something else?

And don’t I want it?

Why am I not resisting, refusing to go with him? I look at him, leaning back against the mirrored walls of the elevator as we ride up and up. Take in his muscular frame, relaxed and impressive, at his handsome face, his hand that has ended up linked with mine, and can’t deny how aroused I am. How my skin aches to be touched by him, how I’m throbbing deep in my belly just from standing near him.

Does he do normal sex? Or only flogging and pissing on willing girls? Because then… Then I don’t know if I should run away or stay and find out exactly what he likes, and the thought of giving him what he wants turns up the heat in my veins even more.

How can I ask him? And wouldn’t my asking imply I want more from him than just have a drink and a talk? What if in reality a drink and a talk is all he wants from me tonight?

Just then, as I freak out quietly inside my head, he leans over, and whispers with that wicked smirk of his, “Is it just me, or is this the best hotel ever?”

* * *

“It is special,” I say as he pours us each a glass of Scotch from a crystal decanter.

“What?” He blinks at me.

“This hotel. You asked.”

He blinks again, thick, long lashes shielding his gaze. “Damn right.” He walks over to me and hands me one of the glasses. “Here’s to meeting again.”

“Like I said, I work here.” I lift my glass. “And you’re here often, more often than ever before. It was only a matter of time before we met again.”

He raises his glass and takes a long gulp, then lowers it and his gaze runs over me, heavy-lidded and hot. “Still, I looked for you. You’re not easy to find.”

I lift a brow at that. “Why were you looking for me?”

He steps closer until I can feel the heat of him, and he smells so good. Like white pepper and some other mysterious spice that makes my mouth water and my body clench. “I wanted to see you.”

Well, here I am.

It’s on the tip of my tongue, but I say nothing. It’s as if his presence has sucked all the air out of the room, out of my lungs. So close, his square jaw is covered in fine stubble, and a small scar bisects one of his dark brows. His eyes have flecks of amber in them. His mouth…

His mouth is wide and firm.

Beautiful.

“So…” I force myself to step back, put distance between us. I turn away and pace toward the floor-to-ceiling window. “If you had enough to drink here, why were you wandering downstairs?”

There’s a pause, and then he chuckles, a deep, sexy sound, as he approaches me. “Who said I was looking for a drink?”

I keep my eyes on the view outside as he comes to stand beside me. “Why else would you walk around with an empty glass in your hand?”

“I’m shy. I need a prop to talk to people.”

A laugh escapes me. “You’re terrible.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“You’re not frigging shy, Rook.”

“Damn, you’re right.” He steps behind me and presses his long body to my back, splays one strong hand by my head, on the glass. “Then I don’t have an answer.”

He’s so warm, his heat searing my back through my clothes, his dark scent curling in my belly, tightening my core. “You’re also persistent.”

He whispers in my ear, “So I’m told.”

“No apologies, huh? Sorry not sorry?” His breath sends a shiver through me.

He draws back, his heat leaving me, and for some reason I miss it. He doesn’t reply, instead walking back to the mini bar and pouring himself another glass.

I follow him with my gaze, turning and putting the window behind me. His expression isn’t playful anymore, his jaw set.

What did I say to touch a nerve?

And I really shouldn’t care. He’s intriguing, but intrigue is the last thing I need right now. “Why did you really invite me here, Rook?”

“You’re a pretty girl. I’m a horny guy. What other reason do I need?” This time, when he lifts his gaze to mine, it’s both hot and angry, and I take an unconscious step back. “My plan was to kiss you again,” he says, a growl under his voice. “I’m not used to being refused.”

It should be funny, or damn annoying, that arrogance of his.

But it’s damn hot.

What is happening to me? I glance down at my glass. Am I drunk already? He’s the kind of guy I’d have shot down without a second thought. Handsome, rich. Powerful. Spoiled rotten, no doubt, by the ladies. So sure he’ll get his way. Kissing him was a huge mistake.

But then why am I standing here, in his room, talking to him, doing exactly what he wanted? Would I be fired if I refused to come up with him? I didn’t even pause to consider it. I came up because he draws me like a magnet, and I couldn’t resist his pull.

What a bad idea this was.

“I should get back to work,” I whisper and move to place my glass on the glass and metal coffee table.

“Why are you working here?”

The question stops me in my tracks. I have to remember he doesn’t know what I really do for a living, the real reason I am here.

Carefully I lean over, put down my glass. “It’s a job. Why are you asking me this?”

“Just wondering. You’re not into the Scene, and you’re way too pretty to be a maid.”

I don’t know if I’m more upset about the beauty comment, or because my work is not a topic I want to discuss. Lying doesn’t come naturally to me. “Beauty has nothing to do with work. Money is money. I get paid well.”

“Oh, I have no doubt.”

My hands curl into fists. “Honestly? I bet money means nothing to you. But to the rest of us, it makes a difference. Paying the bills matters, and money is a deciding factor when we choose a job.”

And why am I arguing now with him?

He lifts his hand as if to stop me. But then he lifts a brow and smirks. “You’re right. It means nothing to me. You can go now, Mia. You’re starting to bore me.”

Asshole. What a douchebag.

I should walk away and ignore him.

But instead, in two steps I’m right in front of him, and I slap his cheek so hard my hand goes numb. “Have a nice evening.”

He trails his hands on his reddened cheek, eyes wide. “Wow. Do that again?”

Jesus. I leave his room in a huff. You can’t even hit the man without him liking it. How freaking annoying is that.

I mean, what’s a girl to do around here to express her displeasure?