CardsNeverLie (6 page)

Melanie tried to mimic Adonis’s death stare on Harvey, but
Huntley was full of answers, despite a further hunching of his shoulders as
Adonis took the lead in the conversation. She tried to move a little closer to
him, but Huntley held tight.

“It was a personal contract,” said Huntley.

Harvey opened his mouth, but Adonis broke in. “Can you prove
it?”

Melanie had been trying to pull her arm out of Huntley’s
grip as the conversation went on. When Adonis asked his question, Huntley’s
grip softened just enough for her to pull her arm away. She took half a step
toward Adonis and rubbed at her arm. There would be bruises. She scrutinized
Huntley like an abuse victim who needed to anticipate every move of her
torturer.

He finally answered, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.
“I’m sure I have the contract in my files somewhere.”

“If she really owes you money, you can go after her in small
claims court. You prove it, she’ll pay it.”

“How do you know that?”

Adonis motioned at Melanie with his head. “Look at her
clothes. Every time I see her, she has another expensive new outfit on. She can
afford to pay you.” He paused, his black stare unchanging. “If you can prove
it.”

“I don’t know how to reach her,” Huntley whined.

LeatherWorks must hold a place of power in the industry,
Melanie thought. Or perhaps it was Adonis’ personal charisma. Whatever was
going on, it was working. Adonis was clearly Alpha Dog now.

“I do,” Adonis said. He pulled out a calfskin wallet stamped
with the LeatherWorks logo and extracted a card. “Contact me if you can prove
your claim,” he instructed Huntley. Then he grabbed Melanie by her unhurt arm
and marched her past the elevators toward a green neon exit sign.

Melanie had every intention of going with him, but she
wished Adonis didn’t have to pull her along by the arm like she was a slave
girl he had just purchased. Admittedly, under other circumstances, that kind of
fantasy might be just the experiment she needed to kick-start her wild
lifestyle.

She tried to look up at his face, but he moved too quickly,
his handsome features set into stone. He didn’t release her until they were
behind the fire door and on a grungy stair landing that smelled like food trays
left to sit overnight.

Melanie rubbed her aching arms as he let go, warm now in the
humid air of the stairway. She stared at Adonis through the dim light of the
stairway and tried to remember how to flirt. How could she be wet at a moment
like this? But she knew how. He smelled good, tart like cranberries, sweet like
cinnamon, musky like sex. She swallowed. Like sex. What was the etiquette in a
situation like this? How did you thank your rescuer? And why would you want to
if he were a sexually harassing pig? Clearly, even pigs had their uses. And
this one was good for two things. Rescues and close, intimate contact.

“Thank you for getting me out of there,” she said, her
throat still dry but her voice returning to its usual range. She tried to drop
it into a low, sultry movie star voice.

In the dim light she could see the angry expression on his
face. “What kind of game are you playing?” he demanded.

He didn’t sound like he was in the mood to play. She tried
to smile but wasn’t sure he could even see her expression in the light. She
gave up and defended herself. “There isn’t any game,” she protested. “I don’t
owe that creepy Huntley anything.”

“He certainly seems to think you do.”

“That’s his problem,” Melanie exploded. She wasn’t
responsible for the behavior of crazy people. She wasn’t responsible for
anyone’s actions but her own. At least that’s what the therapist she had seen
during her divorce had told her.

Adonis shoved his hands into his tailored black slacks and
rocked back on the heels of his Florsheims. His mood seemed to lighten as she
tensed back up. Adonis. The Whipmaster. She realized that she didn’t know his
real name.

“What’s your name?”

He chuckled. “So a scene like that back there is what it
takes to get you to pay attention to me?”

Melanie folded her arms and felt her shirt sticking to her
breasts in the swampy heat. She felt silly. Her emotions toward him were
screwed up, hopelessly conflicted. Why weren’t nice guys the hot ones? “Don’t
be a jerk. It’s a simple question.”

He lost his smile. “It’s Rob,” he said quickly. “Rob Black.”

“Black like Huntley’s heart,” Melanie murmured.

“It must have been pretty bad back then.” Rob paused for
long enough to make Melanie think with trepidation that Rob was remembering
stories or facts about Huntley’s behavior. “You must be smart to have gotten
away. I’ve heard Huntley is pretty widely connected, but you hid for ten years.
What made you come back?”

Melanie sighed. “You don’t understand. I’m not here for the
Sin-sational conference. There’s another one going on in the hotel—a bath and
beauty product conference.”

“That’s not what you told me this afternoon. You said you
left your badge upstairs.”

“I know.” Melanie looked at her shoes. “I do apologize for
lying. It’s not like me. I was flustered.”

“You weren’t the only one. You make me a little crazy and
I’m not sure I like it.” Rob rocked back on his heels again and then toward
her. He seemed calm now, his face had relaxed and his pupils were huge in the
dim light. Or maybe he was aroused.

The thought made her nervous. “If it’s any consolation,
today’s been crazy for me too. But thanks. I owe you one.” She turned to go,
sure that leaving was the best solution. For now. She needed to speak to Brisa before
she pushed this any further. Before she gave herself to the craziness she
desired?

Rob put out his arm to her. “Don’t go, Honey.”

“My name isn’t Honey, it’s Melanie. Melanie Vanderpool.”

He sighed. “Does Brisa know about your past?”

“Of course she does. We’ve lived within two miles of each
other for our entire lives except briefly when I first got married. But I’m
divorced now.” She said this, as if she cared that he knew she was available,
then realized what he meant by his question.

“I’m not in porn.” She held up a hand. “I was never in porn,
okay? Just get that idea out of your head right now.”

“I wouldn’t want your mistakes to put her at any risk. She’s
got a kid.”

Melanie lifted her arms and dropped them in frustration.
“Like I don’t know that? I’m telling you Huntley has me confused with someone
else.”

“There’s a way to prove it.”

His comment disturbed her. “Oh yeah?”

Rob nodded and said with satisfaction, “Oh yeah. I noticed
during the clips of
Techno Dreams
that Honey Luscious had a heart-shaped
mole on her right hip.”

“People get moles removed all the time,” Melanie scoffed.
“Having one or not isn’t going to prove anything.”

“There would be a scar left,” Rob said with confidence. “My
grandfather had skin cancer and removing the cancerous moles left scars.”

“I’m not showing you anything.”

“Why not? You’re wearing low-riders. Show me the evidence.
You shouldn’t have to unbutton any more than two buttons.” He grabbed for her.

It wasn’t much different from what Huntley had done, but
Melanie knew somehow that Rob was being playful. She stepped back and he missed
grabbing her by an inch.

“Go to hell, Whipmaster,” Melanie retorted. “I’m not undoing
any buttons for you.”

“I hate it when people call me that,” Rob muttered.

“Why? Upset that people know you have a sort of career in
porn?” Melanie teased. “Unlike me, of course,” she proclaimed.

“I’ll be happy to prove to you and any other brat that I’m
not the Whipmaster,” he said.

“How?” Melanie asked, surprised. “Brisa showed me an
advertisement with your picture.”

“I didn’t pose for those ads.”

“Your words prove nothing,” she teased.

“Neither do yours.” He wasn’t teasing.

They stared at each other. Melanie felt the hot,
pheromone-drenched tension between them tug at her. Either she stopped this or
they would be ripping each other’s clothes off within seconds. If only it
wasn’t a bad idea right now. But she had to go. She was so sweat-drenched she
could almost smell her own lusty heat.

“So bottom line here,” Melanie temporized. “You’re willing
to get naked to prove a point but I’m not.”

“Sad,” Rob said, his husky voice lightening. “But two grand
doesn’t depend on my getting naked.”

“Or on me getting naked either,” she said firmly. “You
really think Huntley has records from ten years ago?”

“I doubt Huntley has records from ten weeks ago. He can’t
afford to. I doubt much of his business is legit.”

“Great.” Melanie thought about that. Maybe her Devil-man
wasn’t her soul mate after all, but her enemy. “I guess I don’t want to know.”

“How old are you?”

“That’s a very rude question.”

“Humor me.” Rob still didn’t smile.

Melanie shrugged. As long as she was still on the right side
of thirty, she was willing to admit to her age. “Twenty-eight, last Wednesday.”

“Happy birthday. I’m less than a week late.”

She rolled her eyes. “Thanks. Why did you want to know?”

“I was curious to know if you were legal when you did the
movie. If you weren’t I’m sure we could persuade Huntley to leave you alone.
It’s too bad, really.”

“Will you get it out of your head that I’m Honey Luscious?”
Melanie groaned.

“Not by you saying it is so. I’m a real Doubting Thomas. How
can you expect me to believe you? Especially when you are so luscious?” He
half-smiled and held out his hand. Melanie took another step back. One more
step and she would be up the first step on the staircase leading to the next
level of the hotel.

“I hope you aren’t turning back into the X-rated Mother
Goose again.”

“Luscious, luscious Melanie, I told you I’m only X-rated
when encouraged,” Rob said with an air of patience. His pupils were still
dilated.

“I wish I wasn’t encouraging you,” Melanie said, now one
step up. It was too dark for Rob to see her clearly.

“Are you?” Rob asked huskily. “Encouraging me, I mean.”

“I don’t suppose so. At least not right now. But you do have
your appealing moments, Whipmaster.” Melanie ran up the stairs and pulled open
the door at the next landing. She didn’t hear footsteps behind her, but it
didn’t matter. Rob Black knew how to find her. The question was, did she want
him to?

She remembered how he had made a grab for her and she had
thought it playful at the time. But sexual harassment wasn’t funny and he had a
history there. Or had Brisa overreacted in the sexually charged atmosphere of
LeatherWorks and Rob had just been teasing her too? Maybe he wasn’t even one of
the offenders. But who was she kidding—Brisa had told her everyone at his
company did it.

* * * * *

Melanie dropped down into the thickly padded chair in her
hotel room. More of a throne really, it was upholstered in royal purple and the
lampshade of the reading lamp was designed to look like a turret. The entire
wall across from the bed and the easy chair was covered in mirrors, with red
velvet swags above. They contrasted horrendously with the chair and its
matching purple bedspread and curtains.

She tried to call Tommy Joe but he still wasn’t answering.
Odd, but then Tommy Joe was a little odd. Maybe he had discovered some Dungeons
and Dragons convention going on in town. She had certainly found a convention
that interested her! Remembering the convention put her in mind of her Love
Lotions idea, since she couldn’t allow herself to think of the tempting Rob
Black.

Drawing on the cold-blooded professionalism from those years
when she had had nothing better to cultivate, she decided to do a mind mapping
exercise on sexy concepts. Okay, it was an excuse to think of sexy stuff but at
least she’d get some work done. Melanie thought of words and drew circles
around them on a piece of hotel stationary, then drew arrows to other words
with circles around them. Black. Okay, it was Rob’s name and the color of the
ink in the Swords and Sorcery Hotel pen, but night was black and sexy and
romantic. Night. Champagne to drink in moonlight. Hands, to open the bottle.
Hands. She remembered her palms on Rob’s tight pecs and hard nipples. Cashmere,
like his shirt. Cashmere. Dark eyes that matched the midnight shade of his
eyes. Eyes. She felt moisture pooling between her thighs and she closed her
eyes.

This was supposed to be work and she was enjoying it a
little too much. What could she do with this? Black, night, champagne, hands,
cashmere, eyes. They were compelling images, at least to her.

She pulled out another piece of stationery. What about small
black champagne-shaped bottles with an eye as the logo? It sounded sexy to her.
Rob had the most enticing eyes, deep set with the irises nearly as dark as his
pupils. And his eyebrows were darker than his streaked blond hair. She doodled
a black bottle with Rob’s eyes on it. Midnight Love Lotion. She liked it. And
what would the scent be? Him. Cranberries, cinnamon and musk.

She wondered what Rob would think if he knew he had inspired
her design. Melanie crossed her legs tightly and leaned back on her throne.

* * * * *

Melanie awoke too late and lazy to call her boss with her
idea, but she sent him the drawing she had done the night before with a brief
explanation on her room’s fax machine. She tried to call Brisa, not knowing how
to swing the conversation around to Rob Black, but only the answering machine picked
up.

“Brisa, are you there?” she asked the machine, hoping her
cousin was screening calls. But she didn’t pick up.

Melanie gave up and went down to Tommy Joe’s room, realizing
she hadn’t given him a thought until now. What had he been up to lately?

Their morning began with a continental breakfast, pastry and
fruit and then a keynote speech entitled “Life in the Slow Lane”, which held
little appeal to Melanie. She was more interested in Al’s response to her idea.