Insatiable

Dominick silenced the apology with a flattened palm. “Neither did I. Obviously, there’s no accounting for some women’s taste.”

Self-deprecating humor looked good on him, Samantha decided, though if she hadn’t already spent it, she’d bet next month’s rent that he didn’t employ such self-mockery often. Still, Dominick LaRocca seemed an interesting mix of contradictions. Gorgeous men like him didn’t usually come in multidimensional models, at least not in her experience. Maybe there was more to him than met the eye.

Though the part that met the eye was pretty damn appealing.

While Dominick flipped open his cell phone to call his assistant before they left, Tim pulled her aside.

“Good job, Samantha. I didn’t mean to jump on you. I just don’t want Mr. LaRocca to think we take security lightly.”

“No problem.” She glanced at Tim’s hand, still lingering on her elbow. He stepped back and shoved both hands into the pockets of his pressed and creased Armani slacks.

“Look, I know you took this job for the money. That’s cool,” Tim assured her, suddenly looking every inch the twenty-something marketing wunderkind he was. “Looks to me like Mr. LaRocca could use someone like your brother-in-law until this hype dies down.”

Despite her many jobs, Samantha had never mastered the art of interviewing. At the time, she’d second-guessed her decision to be completely up front with Tim, but she was now impressed by his supportive attitude and excellent memory. He was probably trying to stave off any bad publicity, but Samantha sensed this wasn’t the time for cynicism. “Thanks, Tim. But Brandon’s still out of the country.”

“If you say so.” Then he winked. “I just thought you were dying to get your feet wet in the protection game yourself. You dipped your toe in today and did damned good. Remember that.”

Tim nodded, then shook hands with Mr. LaRocca before jogging down the hall and back to work. Tim was a go-getter, all right. He’d moved up the corporate ladder by finding opportunities—not by waiting for them to find him, or worse, by waiting for some member of his family to hand him the brass ring. From the time her parents had divorced and she’d gone to California with her father, Sam had been programmed to put her life on hold until Devlin Deveaux found her focus for her. He’d cast her in her first film, guided her into stunt work, even had a major hand in her doomed relationship with Anthony.

For all intents and purposes, wasn’t she now transferring that dependence from her father to her brother-in-law? Waiting for him to direct her?

Sam could indeed learn something from the way Tim’s mind worked. Luckily, she was a quick study.

3

SAMANTHA INSISTED on stepping off the elevator first, trapping Nick and the two men from hotel security behind her. With her hand firmly flattened against his chest, she scanned the hallway. Nick knew she was just doing her job by keeping him from disembarking until she was convinced the path was clear, but he couldn’t help grunting in frustration.

Even without a jolt of static electricity, her touch ignited an incendiary spark that he suspected would leave him with third-degree burns. Now was not the time for him even to think, much less fantasize, about a woman who’s entire history and personal background hadn’t been checked and double-checked. Thanks to his grandmothers, he was currently a hotter property than any man had a right to be. While he didn’t intend to let the attention go to his head, he also wouldn’t fall victim to some money-grubbing femme fatale.

Not that he had any reason to consider Samantha money-grubbing. But femme fatale? Oh, yeah. If she didn’t remove her hand in the next few seconds, he was going to die a particularly slow and painful death from testosterone overload.

“Well?” he prompted, causing her to swing around, startled. His body instantaneously recalled the sensation of pressing against her and a pleasant heat stirred low in his groin, shooting sparks of sexual awareness to the tips of his fingers. She’d removed her hat when they entered the hotel, and her hair, a dark-blond hue that reminded him of the butterscotch sauce he loved to drench his ice cream with, fairly begged to be combed through. By him. In bed. After a champagne seduction and mind-blowing sex.

Which, unfortunately for both of them, wasn’t going to happen.

“Deserted,” she announced, tearing her hand away.

“No one to attack me? That’s a switch.” He dug his hands into his pockets and shrugged. But despite the bluster of his complaint, he didn’t want to insult her again—or worse, sound conceited.

“Maybe you should recall all that pasta sauce,” she teased. “Put a big fat tomato on the label instead.”

He burrowed his fists deeper into his once carefully creased slacks. Amusement lit her eyes to the color of blue curaçao, a liqueur he could never refuse. “And sacrifice sales? Never. It’s a small price to pay.”

She shook her head. “Privacy comes with a big price tag in my book.”

One of the hotel security guards who’d joined them in the elevator cleared his throat. Surprisingly, Nick had completely forgotten their presence. He was too busy trying to figure out why now, in the safety of this deserted hall, he didn’t yet want Samantha Deveaux to return to her duties at the Superdome. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had intrigued him so completely, especially someone without a single tie to the business he’d devoted his adult life to. The little socializing he did was either with family or friends, all in the restaurant or food business and all dependent on his expertise and business acumen to guide their futures.

Despite that they had nothing in common, he couldn’t break the eye contact that held her still and kept him captive. She was like an infusion of fresh herbs in a dish laden with heavy cream. She not only added flavor to his morning, she lightened up the entire crazy experience. A glint shined from within her eyes, a sharp, focused gleam that reminded him of himself. At least, the self he was five or six years ago.

Lately, he reacted to the world with dour severity rather than with the relaxed, irreverent humor he’d once embraced—before he became Dominick LaRocca, the half-naked man on a pasta sauce label. Back when he was just Nick. The guy who hung out on Taylor Street. Who played stickball with the guys then flirted with the girls while they shared Italian Ices outside Mario’s Lemonade Stand.

The guard behind him coughed again.

Without turning, Nick stepped off the elevator and sent them away. “Please see that your staff keeps my room number private.”

Thus dismissed, the elevator door slid shut, followed by the mechanical whir of the descending cab.

“You want me to check out your room?” Samantha asked.

More than you know, he thought, marveling at this unexpected, invigorating attraction. She was not his type. For one, she spoke her mind whenever she wished. Women from his grandmothers to his cousin to his mother did exactly the same, without heed to his preference for feminine compliance and good old-fashioned peace and quiet. Second, she was too curvy. He preferred his women waiflike, willowy, even if they did threaten to break on any of the rare occasions where his passion flamed unchecked. Samantha Deveaux could clearly handle the unbridled, unhampered desire every man fantasized about.

“Actually, I thought I’d find Anita and determine when I could return to the Expo. You can coordinate the security plan before you leave.”

She laughed while following him down the hall. “After our little fiasco this morning, I don’t even know if I’ll be employed by this afternoon.”

“Tim seemed complimentary, when he thought I wasn’t listening.” He slid his card key into the gold box beside a double set of doors at the end of the hall.

She rewarded his covert eavesdropping with a sly smile. “Tim approved my hire, but he’s in charge of the Expo, not the Dome. Maybe he has a lot of pull and won’t let them fire me.”

The lock clicked softly and he pushed the door open. “Fire you? Because you saved me from a crazed mob?”

“That mob should never have formed in the first place.”

She dug her hands into her pockets, shuffling her feet, curling her bottom lip outward just enough to elicit exactly the correct amount of sympathy and guilt she obviously intended. Luckily for Nick, he’d dealt with more than enough scheming, conniving women in his lifetime to let her ploy work. And he’d thought her different from the women jumping onto the hood of his limousine or hiding in the mail cart at the office. Yet, here she was, attempting to play him for a sucker with her tiny little frown and averted eyes. He should be disgusted, even disappointed.

Instead, he couldn’t help but grin like a fool.

So she did want something after all. And for some reason completely at odds with logic or common sense, Nick couldn’t wait to find out what.

“You’re very good,” he said. “Very convincing. The little lip thing is a perfect touch. I suppose now is when I offer to make a call on your behalf? Demand your promotion? A raise?”

“That’s a bit much, but thanks. I have a better offer in mind.” Samantha stepped in front of him, casing the room as she walked. Windows lined the curved foyer, leading past a wet bar to a large room with a conference table, six chairs, two fax machines, an active laptop computer and stacks of papers and LaRocca Foods brochures and promotional materials. Behind the table, a sitting area—complete with twin recliners, an overstuffed couch, a coffee table bearing the remnants of a room-service breakfast and an entertainment center—occupied the largest part of the room.

“Nice digs.” She bit back asking if the door on the other side of the stored Murphy bed contained his bedroom or was just another exit into the hall. She’d already opened herself up to more than one sexual connotation this morning. Asking about his sleeping arrangements could prove unnecessary unless she convinced him to hire her as his private bodyguard.

“You don’t want a promotion, huh? Hmm, let me think.” He tossed his key onto the table and clicked the keyboard on his laptop, summoning the current stock-market statistics to flow across the bottom of the screen. “You did say this security job was temporary. Lay your proposal on the table, Samantha. I’m all ears.”

“You need personal security. That’s my gig.”

“I thought your boss was out of town.”

“He is. But we could still work out a mutually beneficial arrangement. You can hire me as your bodyguard—” she slipped around the entertainment center and glanced into the bathroom, which appeared to be empty “—at a discounted rate since I’m not yet fully licensed, and I’ll make sure no one gets close enough to rip your clothes off.”

“What’s in it for you?”

“A chance to get out of this god-awful uniform.”

He arched an eyebrow.