Twice Tempted

“It’s Ian Romanov,” someone squealed and he whirled around. A large group of fans rushed him, but his bodyguards quickly secured the area.



“It’s okay Nathan, Henry. I’ve got this.” A genuine smile kicked up the corners of his mouth as he greeted the people that made him famous.



Chapter Nine



Christian knocked on the hotel room door, slid the key in the slot and turned the knob. He opened the door a crack and called out, “Housekeeping.”



“I think you have the wrong room.” Zoe appeared before him, wearing a plush robe and a towel wrapped turban style around her hair. Her jaw dropped when their eyes met. “Have you lost your mind?”



“Actually, yes.” He stepped inside and shut the door behind him.



“Get out. I have a date to finish getting ready for.” Her lips puckered liked she’d just swallowed a lemon. It was becoming her signature expression when he annoyed her. He rather liked it.



Noting the absence of flowers and an abundance of clothes scattered everywhere, Christian raked a hand through his hair in annoyance. “Where are your flowers?”



She tilted her head to one side, hands fisting on her hips. “You broke into my hotel room to ask about flowers?”



“Can’t accuse me of that crime, love.” He waved the room key in his hand. “I got this all fair and square.” Nicking it from the housekeeper’s cart had been good use of the skills he’d learned to play a thief, and he might have already had prior practice while attending Eton.



“Way to use your celebrity powers for good.”



Her assumptions amused and annoyed him at the same time. “Wasn’t my celebrity she was after, Zoe.”



“Keep telling yourself that, Ian.” She bent at the waist and shook her hair out of the towel. When she stood, it fell over her shoulders in soft, sable-colored waves still damp from the shower. “You need to leave. Taylor will be here soon.”



After removing a pair of high heels and a pad of post-its from the nearest chair, Christian slouched down in it. He unbuttoned the top button of his shirt as she stared at him. Just to watch her blush, he unbuttoned the two more. “He’s not coming.”



“Yes, he is,” she insisted as the room’s phone rang. “Who would be calling me?”



“Taylor Harper calling to cancel,” he said under his breath. Amazing what people would do with the right incentive. While she talked, Christian played ‘Angry Birds’ on his phone.



Turning, her eyes narrowed to slits. “I can’t believe you talked him into standing me up.”



“May I point out that he called to cancel, which is entirely different than being stood up.” A towel smacked him in the head when he looked down again and he lost his momentum. “Hey, I almost had the last pig gone!”



“Who cares about that stupid ‘Furious Pigeons’ game. You stuck your nose where it doesn’t belong,” she accused.



“It’s called ‘Angry Birds’.”



“Whatever.” Her hands fluttered in the air. “And how would you know it’s different? I bet you’ve never been stood up in your entire life, you asshat.”



“Mr. Fulner calls you a prostitute and he’s being ugly while I convince a perv not to go out with you and that makes me an asshat? Jesus, woman, get your priorities straight.” Christian threw the towel back at her, hitting her in the chest. The towel slid to the floor. “He’d been trying to find nude pictures of you on the internet.”



Gasping, she grabbed a pillow off of the bed. “You’re so full of it.”



Yeah, he was but he didn’t give a shit. Besides, the wanker had jumped at the chance to go out with Vanessa, more than happy to cancel his date with Zoe. While Vanessa had been entirely pleased when Christian informed her that Mr. Harper was on retainer for one of the biggest producers in the business.



Zoe smacked him with the pillow.



“Would you stop with the juvenile hitting? One would think a woman knocking on thirty’s door would know how to behave with decorum.”



“Now you sound like an asshat. For your information, I turned twenty eight last week.” She thumped him again, harder this time.



“Stop hitting me.” He shot up from his chair, dropping his phone on the bed. He grabbed her by the wrist, trying to prevent her from smacking him again.



“Don’t touch me.”



“Give me the bloody pillow.”



She managed to get in another blow. He jerked her to him, one arm snaking around her back to grab the pillow from her. A sound of pure pain left her lips. Horrified, he released her. “I’m sorry…I”



“You didn’t—it’s me,” she said.



“Oh, hell. Sunburn?”



Tears leaked from her eyes as she nodded. “I didn’t realize how bad until after I showered and looked at my back in the mirror. And I can’t get the aloe where it needs to go,” she said with a little sniff, then laugh. “I didn’t know how I was going to get through my date tonight. The robe was killing me.”



He gently wiped her tears away with the pads of his thumbs. “Let me. It’s the least I can do for being an asshat.”



Zoe eyed him, wondering if this was another trick to try get her nude.



“I promise to be very clinical as I go about it.”



“The bottle of aloe is over there.” She pointed at the small table placed beside the windows in the room. Turning away from him, she let her robe fall to her waist.



Christian cursed. “I knew I should’ve told you to put on more sunscreen,” he said, sweeping her hair away. “Do you have something to hold all this up?”



“I did reapply. Megan, one of the twins, helped me get my back, but it wasn’t enough.” Zoe gathered her hair, taking the hair tie off of her wrist, and placed in a loose knot. She heard him open the plastic bottle and squeeze the green liquid in his hands.



“This might be a little—”



“C-cold.”



His fingers glided, whisper light over her shoulders and down her back. She moaned as the liquid cooled her reddened skin.



“More?”



“Please.” Before she could finish saying the word, he spread more aloe on her skin. Then he stopped.



“Better now?”



She pulled the robe up and turned to face him. It made absolutely no sense she was disappointed he’d done exactly as he promised. “Thank you.”



He clapped his hands together. “Now that I’ve ruined any chance of you wanting to ever spend time with me again, I’ll be off.”



“Wait.” Taking a chance and a deep breath, she said, “Let’s go out to dinner.”



“Says the woman whose robe was killing her.”



Gritting her teeth, she strode to the closet and started pulling shirts and dresses out. “I’m sure there’s something backless in here that I could wear.” She found a dark green halter-top and held it up. “Ah-ha.”



“Won’t work.”



“Oh ye of little faith. I’ll be right back.” Taking the shirt off of the hanger, she moved to the bathroom, closing the door behind her. She shrugged off her robe and hung it on the back of the door.



Crap, she forgot her skirt. Didn’t matter—she’d get it in a minute. Slipping the shirt over her head, she bit her lip as the material scraped against her skin. She blew out a steadying breath, then quickly tied the straps behind her neck and grabbed a towel to wrap around her waist.



Christian sat in the chair near the window, playing on his cell as she entered the bedroom. “Tada!”



Glancing up at her, he frowned. “That particular shade of green nearly matches the color of your face.” He rose from the bed. “Turn around.”



After she did as he asked, she flashed a smile. “Satisfied?” Yep, she was an idiot. The shirt hurt like hell.



“Satisfied with you being in pain? Hardly.”



Conceding defeat, she tugged at the straps around her neck. “You can go. I’ll stay here and order in.”



“Scissors.”



“What?”



He walked around her, loosening the material of the shirt from where it hit her back. “If you had some scissors, I could cut the material down to the hem. You aren’t burnt there.” His fingers lightly touched the skin between her shirt and the towel. “What’s under this?”



“Very skimpy lingerie.” She slammed her hand against her mouth. What possessed her to say that?



“For Taylor?”



Shaking her head, she kept her palm pressed firmly against her lips. There was no telling what she might blurt out next.



“Can’t be for me either.”



It was for herself. She loved lingerie. Sexy, trashy or classy—it didn’t matter. “I don’t have any scissors,” she said, her words muffled by her fingers.



“Let’s get this shirt off of you, shall we?” The shirt slipped over her shoulder and head, much easier this time. “Don’t move.”



Puzzled, she stayed where she was. The tips of his fingers traced the edge of the towel at her waist. “What are you doing?”



“Contemplating whether or not it would be worth it to pull this away. Would one glimpse of your body be worth getting kicked out of your room?” The material of the towel grew tight. His breath stirred her hair. “I think it would be.”



She closed her eyes, waiting for the inevitable.



There was a knock on the door. She jumped, her eyes opening.



“I ordered room service.” He threw the halter-top on the bed. “Do you have a loose t-shirt to wear?”



Nodding, she moved to the dressing area and grabbed the first one she found in the top dresser drawer, then pushed her head through the opening. While Christian opened the door and talked to The Oasis employee, she changed out of her lingerie and into a pair of blue and green striped pajama bottoms.



The cotton shirt didn’t hurt too badly.



She applied mascara and clear lip gloss. Yeah, she wasn’t going out, but she liked the way makeup made her feel. She heard the door close.



Walking into the bedroom, she blinked at the two carts of food. “How many people were you planning to feed?”



“Wasn’t sure what you liked.” Christian gestured at the bed. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be at your service.”



“My every beck and call?” she asked, crawling on the bed and settling herself against the fabric headboard.



“Of course.” His eyes roamed her body, making her entirely conscious of the fact that she was in bed, and waiting for him to join. She was also aware of the fact that she wasn’t the first woman to do so, nor would she be the last.



“How will staying in my hotel room, where no one can see us, help your image problem?”



He opened lids and unwrapped platters of food. The aroma made her mouth water. “It won’t.”



“Then why are you here?”



“All part of my evil plan to get you into bed.” Glancing up at her, the corner of his mouth quirked. “Mission accomplished.”



Grabbing one of the remaining pillows on the bed, she shook it at him. “That’s all you’ll be accomplishing tonight.” Their fingers touched as she traded the pillow for a glass of water. “So what are we doing?”



The mattress dipped under his weight. He set two plates of assorted chocolate covered fruit beside him. “Labels are important to you?”



She hesitated, then said, “When it comes to what I’m doing or who I’m spending time with? Yes.”



“Chocolate covered strawberry?” At her nod, he held it up to her mouth. “Bite.”



Mouthful of chocolatey goodness, she moaned. “So good.”



“Did you ever see the film, Two Weeks in Bollywood?”



“No.”



He ate the rest of her strawberry, his lips in the exact spot hers had been. Then he picked up another piece of fruit. Except he didn’t eat his food like a normal person, he savored and shared it with her. Offering her the first bite, taking a bite for himself and then feeding her the rest. His fingers dusting her lips, her chin and jaw each time. Desire sparked, sending heat to very specific places that remembered him, his touch.



“Small budget, even smaller release in the European market. Anyway, the main couple accidentally met at this out of the way restaurant that usually only the locals frequented, because of an order mix-up. Talking ensues. Then Ajay and Penelope end up having dinner together that night and every night for a week, getting to know one another without the constraints of their families or careers. A love affair is the direct result of said dinners. Unfortunately, he ends up dying at the end in a freak car accident while on the way to the airport to stop her from going back to London. Never gets to confess his undying love to her and she mourns him forever.” He raised his brows at her frown. “Sorry, not a happily ever after type of movie.”



Was this a warning directly from the horse’s mouth? She scrunched her forehead. “I’m not following.”



“Damn, this is a first.” Grimacing, he wiped his hands with a cloth napkin. “What I’m saying is that I’d like to get to know you without cameras around. I want to be able to be me.”



“So everything, the dinner, in the elevator and by the pool today was an act?”



“Not precisely. In public I always have to be on—good day or bad. Sick or well. Death in the family or baby born. Doesn’t matter.” He threw the napkin on the bedside table and cleared away the empty plates. “I’d like to be a normal bloke for once, spending time with a woman, who despite knowing who I am, isn’t with me because of it.”