Myla Jackson - Wyatt’s War

Thankfully, the woman had reminded him he was definitely a healthy male capable of a raging hard-on. How to get her into bed would be the challenge.

She padded to the closet, stepped into light gray high-heeled pumps and finally faced him. Her eyes flared briefly when her gaze landed on his chest. Her hands clasped together and she swept her tongue around her bottom lip.

That tongue thing was almost Wyatt’s undoing.

“How much longer until you’re ready?” she asked, breaking into his mental picture of his tongue dueling with hers.

“Don’t wait on me. I’m not getting dressed until I shower the sweat off my body.” He doubted seriously he could walk at that point, with his cock tenting the towel around his middle.

“Not in my shower, you’re not.”

“Guess we’ll be waiting here for a long time then.”

She blew a stream of air out her nose. “Fine. Get your shower. And hurry it up. I’m not leaving you in my room. You might rob me.”

He chuckled, loving the fire in her eyes and the color in her cheeks when she was angry. “I can’t imagine what I’d do with panties and skirt suits.”

She quirked her eyebrows upward. “Perverts do strange and disgusting things.”

Oh, he could imagine all kinds of strange and disgusting things he’d like to do to her body. He crossed to the bathroom door. “I’m ready…” For more than she could imagine. And wouldn’t she be appalled if she could read his mind? “…er, I’ll be ready in less than five minutes.” Closing the door behind him, he switched on the shower and stepped in even before the water warmed, hoping the cool shower would deflate his boner. He’d have a difficult time getting into his jeans as hard as he was.

The bathroom smelled like her, the shampoo some honeysuckle-scented perfection that reminded him of home in the Texas hill country and only made him crazier with need. With quick, efficient movements, he scrubbed the sweat off his skin and shampooed his short hair. When he ran a soapy hand down to his dick, he groaned. Damn he really needed to get laid. No woman should have that much of an effect on him. Rinsing in ice-cold water, he gave up and climbed out, toweling off with more speed than care.

As promised, less than five minutes later, he exited the bathroom, wearing uncomfortably tight jeans and sliding his arms into his chambray shirt. “Ready?”

Her brows furrowed. “Don’t you think you should button up first?”

“I can do it on the way down in the elevator.” Wyatt pulled his boots on and held the door open for her, waiting for her to pass. When she did, he inhaled the fragrant scent of honeysuckle in her hair.

She reached the elevator before him and jabbed the down button.

When the door slid open, she stepped in. Wyatt followed, slowly buttoning his shirt as the car slid toward the ground floor. By the way she glanced sideways at him, he figured he was getting to her. Either that, or the bright pink in her cheeks was the result of too much sun, a distinct possibility in Texas.

The elevator car stopped on the second floor and a group of teenage boys in matching baseball uniforms scrambled in, laughing and poking at each other.

The redhead eased to the back of the car, backing over Wyatt’s boots. She wobbled and would have fallen if Wyatt hadn’t slipped an arm around her middle to steady her. “Easy there, darlin’,” he whispered against her ear.

She stiffened. “I’m not your darlin’,” she said, her voice low, her comment meant for his ears only.

He liked that even though she’d started out stiff, by the time they reached the lobby level, she was leaning against him.

The boys piled out quickly, leaving Wyatt and the woman to exit at their own pace.

The redhead bolted, heading straight for the reception desk.

Wyatt hurried after her, a step behind, thinking damn, she has a great ass every step of the way.

Several people stood in line, many wearing business suits, some speaking Spanish, others speaking languages Wyatt wasn’t as familiar with.

“Damn,” the redhead muttered. “I don’t have time to wait in line. I have a meeting in…” she glanced at her watch, “…three minutes.”

Two of the people checking in gathered their key cards and documents and wheeled their suitcases off, opening up a clerk for the next two in line.

Wyatt glanced at his own watch. He’d be late for his meeting as well. “Next!” a female receptionist called out.

The redhead hurried toward her. “Excuse me, but there seems to be some confusion. This man claims he was assigned to the room I reserved over two months ago.”

“Name, please?”

“Fiona Allen.”

Finally a name to add to the beautiful face. Fiona. It suited her. She had that red Irish look to her, with the pale skin and freckles.

The clerk’s fingers flew over the keyboard and she glanced up. “The system shows you in room three twenty-eight.”

Fiona’s head jerked up and she gave him a triumphant smile. “See? It’s my room.”

“Your name, sir?” the receptionist demanded.

“Wyatt Magnus.”

Again the clerk’s fingers skimmed across the keys. She frowned and hit a few more keys. Then she glanced to the side at the man wearing the manager nametag. “Scott,” she called out.

Busy welcoming another guest, he ignored the clerk’s entreaty.

“Scott!” she called out, louder this time.

Scott turned toward her, the smile he’d been sharing with a customer fading when he looked at the clerk’s face. “What seems to be the problem?” He joined her at the monitor and added his frown to hers.

“It appears we’ve inadvertently double-booked the room,” he said.

“What do I do?” the clerk asked.

“Assign Mr. Magnus another room,” Fiona shot back as if it were the most obvious solution.

“But—” the clerk started to say.

“Here, let me.” The manager brushed her aside and pounded the keys, glancing up only briefly. “We apologize for the inconvenience. With the International Trade Convention and the All-Star baseball tournament going on at the same time, we’ve been super busy and corporate loaded new software, just in case we didn’t have enough to deal with. It’ll only be a moment.” He tapped the keys, frowned, tapped more keys and his frown deepened. “I’m sorry, but it seems that all the rooms are booked.”

“What do you mean booked?”

“As in full,” the manager said. “Let me call around and see if there are any other rooms available at the neighboring hotels.” He lifted a telephone and called one hotel after another, each one reporting no vacancy. Finally, he glanced up. “I can get you into a motel on the outer loop.”

Wyatt shook his head. “No can do. My business in San Antonio requires that I stay downtown, as close to the convention center as possible.”

Fiona frowned. “Are you here for the International Trade Convention?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

She smiled one of those, I-have-the-perfect-solution-that-doesn’t-require-me-to-sacrifice smiles. “There will be park-and-ride bus service from strategic locations all across the city. I’m certain there will be a pick-up close to one of the outlying hotels.”

“I need to be downtown.” He captured Fiona’s gaze. “You seem like a fair person, Fiona.”

“I am. So?” Her eyes narrowed. “What does that have to do with this situation?”

“Well…” he started.

“I’ve had this reservation for months. I’m not giving up my room.” She glanced at her watch and then shot a glance to the manager and clerk. “Look, I have a meeting to go to. When I get back, I expect a room…to myself…in this hotel.”

“I don’t know how we can make that happen,” the manager said.

“I don’t care how you make it happen. Your company made the error. Fix it.” She spun on her gray high heels and marched away.

“Sir?” the clerk asked tentatively. “Would you consider going to another hotel?”

He chuckled. “For anyone else, maybe. But not for her. Let her stew.” Giving the clerk and the manager an apologetic smile, he added, “Watch the cancellations. I’m sure something will free up. In the meantime, which way is the lounge?”

“Through the lobby and take a left at the elevator.”

The snowbirding assignment was getting more interesting by the minute. Double-booked with the redhead in pink shorts had to be fate playing her tricky hand.

Wyatt wasn’t sure how these cards would play out, but he was in for the hand and, if all went well, for the game.

Fiona stomped all the way to the ladies’ restroom, steaming. Mad and aroused, wrapped up in one tight knot of screaming nerves.

Holy hell!

Wyatt Magnus had to be the most aggravating man she’d met in a very long time. So what if his dark chocolate eyes smiling down on her made her knees go weak. And so what if having pressed her naked breasts to his equally naked chest had fired up a raging inferno at her very core. He was a beast. An ungentlemanly beast who would take advantage of a woman in a bad situation.

She punched the number for her assistant, Maddie Wells.

“Hey, boss,” Maddie answered cheerfully. “I got the replacement quartet lined up for the meet-and-greet tomorrow night. They’ll arrive an hour early and stay until midnight.”

“Good. I—”

“I also got the florist to come down six hundred dollars on the table arrangements and they will deliver and set up, instead of having one of our vans and people do the job.”

“Great. I—”

“Oh, and Carmelo DaVita, the delegate from Paraguay will be arriving late tonight. He prefers to have satin sheets on his bed. I called the hotel to make sure they arranged to have the bed made up in satin.”