Erogenous Zones: Monica's Secret (2 page)

Oh, and you better prepare yourself because they are both drop-dead gorgeous.”

“Okay.” Who could they be? Agents for a regular tour party booking, perhaps. That was the type of visitor Flynn occasionally asked her to take on a full hotel tour, although she usually got more notice than this. “I’ll be right up.”

Arabella chuckled as she hung up.

Reaching into her pocket, Monica pulled out a neatly folded handkerchief and dabbed the back of her neck, rueful of the interruption. Pocketing the handkerchief, she smoothed her hair and hurried into the bathroom, wondering all the while who the visitors were and why she had been summoned. It wasn’t the best of times to have been indulging herself, but

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she hadn’t been expecting anything like this to happen. She silently chastised herself for doing what she had done and being unprepared, especially if she had to show efficiency after what she’d just experienced. That was why it was a dangerous game to indulge in, and that was why she was wary about where and when she did it. When she had previously indulged, it was after hours. Today, she’d run with it too soon, on a whim.

“Shame you didn’t think of that earlier,” she told her flushed reflection in the bathroom mirror, annoyed.

12

Interesting
, Owen Clifford thought to himself.

Flynn Elwood, the managing director of Cumbernauld’s of Kensington, was annoyed that it was the housekeeping manager Owen had requested to give them their tour. Why was that?

Flynn Elwood shifted in his seat, his frown apparently welded to his forehead. “Mr Clifford, I know you’ve come here with good intentions, but we have our own PR person.

He’s a good man and he deals with our in-house promotional developments.”

“Of course you do, and rest assured I don’t intend to step on his toes.” Owen gestured magnanimously with his hands. “I know it isn’t easy to have an outsider come in and try to give you advice about how to run things, but please accept it as a genuine offer of assistance from the Cumbernauld’s Board of Directors. They only mean to help by offering suggestions for the good of the individual franchise as well as the entire chain, after all.” Owen watched his host closely.
Look a gift horse in the mouth, buddy, and I’ll start to wonder what you’ve got to
hide.

Flynn Elwood nodded, but didn’t respond verbally. He was uncomfortable with the situation, Owen recognised that. Elwood was bound to be uncomfortable. He’d run this hotel franchise for fifteen years and now HQ had sent someone in to find new ways to increase the turnover. Well, that’s what Elwood thought they were here for.

Owen had come in under the guise of an ideas man which put a more positive spin on his actual role, which was to root out and expose the weak points. An agent provocateur of sorts—a henchman to some people’s eyes—his job was never an easy one. He had to look for weak spots, dead wood, errors, theft and fraud, and find out who was at the back of it. He then had to build up the hotel from that point, getting it back on track.

The profit margin at Cumbernauld’s of Kensington had been diminishing over the last year, and his job was to find out why.
By any means necessary.

Flynn nodded, awkwardly. “Of course, you’re right. I was just surprised by your arrival. We would appreciate any input you have for us.”

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It was a forced acknowledgement. An expert in body language, Owen took in the awkwardness of Flynn Elwood’s posture and the tension in his shoulders. Elwood averted his eyes and shifted papers about on his desk. The man was insecure.

“I want to continue our reputation as one of the finest London hotels,” Flynn added.

“This is a place where visitors can expect to sample the hospitality of a more sedate, traditional time in London. The hotel is synonymous with luxury.”

“Absolutely. You offer something unique, even amongst the Cumbernauld’s chain.

That’s what they are all about at HQ.” Owen smiled. “I’d like to get to know the place better.” He’d already done that. He’d stayed at the hotel as an anonymous guest a fortnight before and found nothing obvious. The hotel, staff and service seemed beyond reproach, from the outside. “And I’d like to meet the people who run it.”

Elwood nodded. “I do wish you’d allow Sheila Trent, our chief accountant, to take you on the tour. She’s been with me from the beginning of my tenure. She can give you an insight to the accounting side and show you the hotel.”

“I’d like to meet her. Perhaps we’ll do that tomorrow. I always like to go for grass roots to begin with. A member of the housekeeping staff is perfect for that.” In his experience housekeeping staff were often the ones who heard and passed the rumours. They kept a watch on the staff at the top, noticing when they changed procedures. If someone was deliberately messing with the hotel’s reputation—which was one possible scenario—the housekeeping staff would have heard about it.

Alec, his PA, signalled him from beyond Flynn’s desk, catching Owen’s eye. Alec had been studying the staff photographs, which were displayed in a large frame on the wall. He seemed to be trying to draw Owen over. Was it something about the housekeeping manager?

A smile played around Alec’s attractive mouth, instantly triggering Owen’s curiosity. Owen knew Alec well enough to recognise that his interest had been captured by the photographs.

“Has the housekeeping manager been with you long?” Owen’s attention was back with Flynn Elwood.

Elwood pursed his lips before answering. “Monica Evans is a good worker, she’s been with us for over ten years, but you’ll find her a bit of an ice queen.”

That was some inappropriate comment.
Owen’s eyebrows lifted.
This guy was really unsettled. He rose to his feet and was about to cross to the wall-mounted frame and take a

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look at this Monica Evans, when the door clicked open and he got to see the housekeeping manager in the flesh, instead.

As soon as he saw her, he knew he’d seen her before, when he’d been undercover. He recalled watching her as she glided through the hotel, the epitome of British reserve and efficiency. She’d always had a small, smart electronic notebook clipped to her waistband.

How fortuitous that he’d attached himself to her, or maybe not. She was incredibly attractive.

He couldn’t afford to be distracted from the job. However, the job was supposed to be done by any means necessary. If he had to spend time with Monica Evans, maybe this project would be more pleasant than he had expected.

Elwood had called her an ice queen. He couldn’t think of anything less appropriate.

On the surface, perhaps. Pale blonde hair neatly clipped up, immaculate business suit and heels. Nothing in the least bit suggestive or raunchy in her demeanour or attire. If he went on presentation alone, he might be tempted to believe the ice queen moniker. But her face told an entirely different story. Flushed, wide-eyed and aroused, she seemed acutely aware of herself and everything around her. Her blue eyes were unnaturally bright and her soft lips were full and parted. Frankly, she looked as if she’d just had a hurried grope with the concierge in a broom cupboard.

“Flynn, you requested my presence?” Her gaze darted around the office, taking in the three of them, then settled on her boss as she awaited his instruction.

Owen decided to intervene. Why wait?

Flynn Elwood issued an introduction from behind the desk, explaining their presence, but Owen stepped between the hotel owner and the attractive blonde and put out his hand.

“Monica Evans, pleased to meet you. I’m Owen Clifford.”

The woman stared down at his hand as if it were on fire.

He reached in and grasped her hand. She shook it briskly then tried to pull free, eyeing him with an almost accusatory expression when he didn’t allow her to do so.

Holding her small hand tightly inside his, he placed his free hand on her forearm, holding on to her and moving closer as he continued to speak. “I’ve come down here under instruction from Cumbernauld’s Board of Directors. My remit is to make suggestions about hotel promotions and the like.”

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He gripped her hand tighter still as he spoke. His colleagues called his handshake his secret weapon and he always cashed in on that in his work, connecting with people on a personal level.

Again, she tried to pull free.

Again, he kept hold of her, and when he did, her façade faltered.

Her eyes widened, and her lips parted in the most sensuous way. She took a deep, audible and faltering breath, and her pupils dilated. “Owen Clifford,” she repeated, somewhat breathlessly, her gaze shifting from his hand back to his face.

Oh, if only he could read her mind. But her body told him enough. The way she looked at him made his blood pump south. This one was aroused, and she looked at him as if it was his fault. Surprised, Owen grinned. “It’s an absolute pleasure to meet you. I hope you don’t mind if we attach ourselves to you?”

“Attach yourself?” Her question came out on another breathless rush and she seemed now to be savouring their connection, her eyelids lowering in a perfect gesture of submission, her hand softening within his grasp.

Even if his interest hadn’t already been triggered, that would have done it. “Yes, my assistant and I will be here for a few days while we see if we can introduce some new ideas for promoting Cumbernauld’s.”

She glanced at Alec, and back at him, and for one strange moment he thought she might have sensed something about him and Alec, something about their out-of-office-hours relationship, but he shook it off. How could she know that they were lovers as well as business colleagues?

She swallowed hard before she responded. “I’ll do what I can to help.”

Her gaze met his again, and Owen had the feeling that she was not only shocked by him, she was aroused by him—and blatantly interested as a result. Whatever he had done to provoke that reaction, he sure as hell hoped he could do it again.

16

Get a grip of yourself
.

Monica was trembling. She led the way through the hotel while she delivered her standard talk about the facilities. It was a talk that was well rehearsed and delivered over and over, and yet her legs still felt weak under her. He hadn’t wanted to let her hand go, and that meant his sexual aura swamped her. She was barely recovering from that when he introduced his assistant.

Apparently she had to spend time with them both, which was going to stretch her to full capacity if that handshake was anything to go by. They were both charming and affable—and inside her personal space. The fact that they were both attractive made it difficult to resist the temptation to acquire more knowledge about them than she had already been introduced to, and that had her agog with curiosity.

Alec, the PA, was whip-lean and ultra fit-looking in his designer suit, with spiked blond hair and intense green eyes. His role was clearly to observe. Owen was built larger and his fitted suit only emphasised the breadth of his shoulders and his muscled physique. When he moved he seemed to glide, despite his size. He was dark, with closely cropped black hair and brown eyes that sparkled with humour and intelligence. Alec was pin-up boy attractive, whereas Owen was more rugged. Both of them were exceptionally good looking in their own way, their smart tailored suits hinting heavily at their business calibre. There wasn’t a woman on the planet who would be able to resist them.

Owen had held onto her hand for so long that she couldn’t stop the heady and intimate knowledge of this attractive man entering her psyche. Not only was his sexual history thrust upon her, it was so vivid that it instantly fired her libido. Owen Clifford was a dominant, a sexual adventurer, and he sometimes played with men as well as women. When she had looked down at his hand she saw that hand on his assistant’s shoulder. She saw it on his naked back and moving lower.
Too much
. She’d been about to demand he let go when he finally did.

When she was introduced to Alec Stroud he was easier for her to cope with, but his sexual energy was fierce, nonetheless. Could it be true? Were they both bisexual? If it hadn’t

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been for her peculiar talent, she never would have guessed. And now she was fascinated. She shouldn’t be, but she couldn’t help it.

It was when they were on the second floor of the guest rooms that she got her chance to find out for sure. She was behind them while they looked into a standard guest room, and Alec went for his hip, pocketing the visitor’s ID card he’d been issued. When his keys dropped out of his back pocket, Monica couldn’t help herself. It was a split second decision, but she wanted to know. She dropped down and scooped them into her palm. They were warm from his pocket and as she straightened up, she opened herself to them quickly, before he had a chance to turn around and take them back.

She saw the two men on either side of a desk in an office. It was the end of the day and the place was quiet. Owen was seated, powerful and attractive as he considered the man on the other side of the desk—his lover, Alec. Alec was tense, waiting for instruction. Owen laid a key on the desk between them. Monica’s hand closed over the keys in her palm. It was a key to his house, and Alec would go there later, with a woman. They both made love to her, and the morning after she’d gone they’d taken a shower together. An image of Alec with his face to the tiles—sudsy water running down his muscled back—flashed through her vision.

Then the sounds of his pleasured moans echoed through her mind.

“Thanks.”

Monica’s head jerked up when she heard Alec’s voice.

He lifted the key fob out of her palm and pocketed them, his expression curious. She smiled and tried to pull herself into shape. She felt like she’d had too much of a good thing today, overdosed. She’d only seen the briefest of images, but the relationship between them and what happened afterwards was far too ready to burst through. She tidied her collar and walked on down the corridor. When she knew they couldn’t see her, she smiled. Now she knew for sure. They were lovers, and they shared women.

When they reached the service elevator, she pressed the button and tried not to stare at them. “The majority of the next floor is given over to the gym and spa facilities. We can grab coffee in the after-sports bar there, if that suits you both?”

“Sounds good,” Owen confirmed as they entered the elevator.

It wasn’t until the doors slid shut that she realised this was the first time the three of them had been entirely alone, and it was in a small, private space. The east end service elevator was the smallest of the range, only big enough for two housekeeping staff and one

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trolley. The mirrored walls only served to fill her vision with the two men who accompanied her. Her pulse responded to their proximity. She quickly pressed the button.

The lift moved then ground to a halt and juddered dramatically.

Monica’s stomach knotted. “Not now,” she murmured under her breath.
Please.

“Problem?” Owen asked.

“This service lift has been troublesome these past couple of weeks.” She’d made it a priority and had assumed it had been fixed. This was all she needed while she showed them around. A black point against her name, for sure, not to mention the fact she was now stuck in here with them. “It’s one of the older mechanisms in the building. We’re about to have it replaced, but it’s important that all features—even those predominantly used by staff—fit the old world specification of the hotel.”

She pressed the alarm button and flicked open her phone. To her dismay, maintenance had voicemail on. “Monica Evans here. The service lift has stalled again. I’m in it with two very important visitors from headquarters. Please get down here as soon as possible.

“They won’t be long,” she assured them as she disconnected, and hoped that would be the case. She forced a smile and wished that she could get a grip.
Too much input today. No
one’s fault but my own.

Owen rested his hands in his trouser pockets and shrugged his shoulders. “It’ll give us time to talk. Perhaps you can help me out.”

Oh great, he was pleased they were stuck in here. Her smile tightened. She would prefer it if they talked as they walked. Luck was against her on that score. She fiddled with the phone at her belt, then her electronic notepad, trying to distract herself from his looming presence and their close proximity in the limited space of the stalled lift. “You’re the ideas man. What is it that you want, Mr Clifford?”

“Call me Owen, please. I’d like your company at dinner tonight, for starters.”

Her head jerked up. That was the last thing she’d been expecting him to say.

Both of them smiled her way, like two sleek alley cats eyeing their prey. She went hot and cold all over. Why did Owen Clifford stare at her that way? That handshake of his—the memory of it made her legs feel like jelly. The physical sensations it had let loose in her were unspeakably arousing, making her mind flit into dangerous territory, her body wired as desire built at her centre.

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Then he moved away from the wall opposite and stepped closer, and she felt panic. If he touched her again while she was so aroused, she’d be swamped with sensation. He leaned against her side of the lift, and that put his chest right up against her shoulder.

Mustering herself she shot him a warning glance. “I’m happy to work with you while you are here, but I must ask you to respect my personal space.”

Her pulse raced erratically. The palms of her hands itched to touch him and discover more. Her body was so keyed up that her psyche was reaching out for knowledge of him, of its own accord.

“Your personal space?” There was a faux innocence in his question that didn’t match the devilish twinkle in his eyes.

God, he was insufferable. “Don’t touch me.” The warning was blurted out. “Please,”

she added, hoping for respect, pity, something.

However, he didn’t step away. Instead he rested his elbow up against the wall beside her head, closing her in. “No touching?” He gave her a thwarted glance, making it obvious that he wanted to touch her, and more.

Monica glared at him, desire flaring ever higher inside her.

Curiosity filled his eyes. “Is this why they call you the ice queen?”

Her breath caught.
Ice queen?
How dare he
? “Mr Clifford, I don’t know what you’re doing here, but you are being rude and intrusive. It’s clear to me that you’re deliberately trying to unnerve me.”

He smiled, as if he was pleased by that. “I can see you’re an intelligent woman, and if we are going to be working closely for the next few days, after all, we need to be forthright.”

The way he said
closely
insinuated that he wasn’t going to respect her boundaries at all.

“There’s forthright and there’s downright rude.” She laughed dismissively, trying to match up to him when what she really wanted to do was something entirely different, something prohibited. An image of herself kneeling on the floor, begging for mercy, flitted through her mind, and she had to press her thighs together to stop herself staggering.

“I wasn’t being rude. Someone else was.” He paused deliberately, as if to let that sink in, and it did.

Someone else had called her that? Who?

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“Maybe I didn’t believe an attractive woman such as you deserved an inappropriate label like that.”

Inappropriate
? He could talk.

“Maybe I wanted to see your reaction.” He scanned her face then her body with curiosity in those dark eyes of his.

So they did call her an ice queen. Monica was mortified.

On the one hand his revelation made her doubt the loyalty of her colleagues. On the other hand it was honest, exposing a working attitude she despised. Men snarking about women—bitter men, mostly. Yes, she’d turned a few of her colleagues down, Flynn Elwood included. Flynn was married, in fact his wife was the money behind his investment in the hotel, but that didn’t stop him having affairs. She’d been one of his attempted conquests years back when they first worked together. It had been awkward between them for a while afterwards. Then they both ignored the fact that he’d made an improper suggestion and it was forgotten. Did that make her an ice queen in his eyes?

More to the point, why was it that Owen Clifford had stated it at all? To unsettle her, or to show her what was really being said? Then she studied him again, and his reassuring smile made her want to break free and run from everything she knew, because it made her want him, desperately.

“Even if it was said, you’re obviously trying to upset me by repeating it,” she said, with a serious note.

“No. I’m sorry if it appears that way. To improve the way things work here I need to find things out fast, and I find that in my line of work pulling the curtains wide open shows the dirt up pretty quickly.”

That made sense, even if she didn’t agree with his methods. What else had been said about her, she wondered. His motives were double-edged, and he made no effort to hide that. It didn’t help that he was looking at her as if he wanted to undress her. “You’re testing my loyalty, by revealing what they say about me behind my back?”

“Perhaps. Monica, the hotel performance isn’t up to par.”

Her eyes rounded, she couldn’t help it. That statement seemed so wrong. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Sorry, but that’s why I’m here.”

Could it be true
?

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He paused, watching her closely. “How loyal are you, Monica Evans? Got any dirt you want to pass back, now that you know what Elwood calls you?” There was no small amount of humour in his expression.

Jesus, he was provocative, and he’d moved even closer despite her warning. Alec, his assistant was amused too. She attempted to shift away, but she was in such a state she managed to do the opposite and gave him an excuse to touch her hip when she brushed against him.

“Oh, what have we here?”

His hand was against her jacket pocket and for one long moment Monica grappled with reality. What was it? Then she remembered—the cuffs. The jewelled handcuffs. Her eyes closed.
Shit.

He pulled them out of her pocket, slowly, and held them up for his cohort to see. Light glinted off them and flashed around the mirrored walls.

“They aren’t mine.” She pressed her lips together, denying the urge to snatch them back.

“Not yours? Aww, I’m disappointed.” His eyes flashed seductively. “I was hoping you’d give us a demo.”

The flame of sexual interest that had faltered when he’d quizzed her too intimately flickered quickly back into life, her pussy aching in response to his words.

“The item is lost property. I have to log it.” Her statement was almost vague, fascinated as she was by the way he looked holding the glamorous cuffs aloft, so powerful and so easily attuned to the suggestive object. “It’s part of my job.”

“But you kept them.” He gave her a thoroughly wicked smile, his glance moving from the cuffs to her and back again.

It made her heart pump. “Actually, I was on my way to secure them when I was summoned to meet you.”

He twisted them in his hand, looking at them with speculation. “I bet they made you curious.”

She shrugged, secretly thrilled by the way the conversation was going, unable to resist following. “Maybe.”

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“Maybe? Don’t even attempt to deny it, I can tell.” He glanced her over, top to toe. “I can read your body language.” His stare was both slow and deliberate. “And I’d put money on the fact you wanted to keep them.”