No sooner had the words passed her lips, than the phone rang. Grabbing up the receiver, she said, "Hello?"
"Miss Taylor?" asked a perky, feminine voice.
"Yes."
"This is Maggie at the front desk. We have a delivery for you. Could you please come down to the lobby to sign for it?"
"Delivery? What is it?"
"I couldn't say. It's in a box."
"Can someone bring it up?"
"I'm sorry, Miss Taylor, but deliveries must be signed for by the recipient in the lobby. It's required by the resort's security policy."
"I understand. I'll be right down." Probably some work-related papers from Adam. She scribbled a quick note to Matt, then exited the room. When she arrived at the front desk several minutes later, Maggie greeted her with a smile.
"Your package is in the back room, Miss Taylor. I'll be just a moment."
Jilly waited, and waited, and waited, barely resisting the urge to climb over the counter and storm the Employees Only door through which Maggie had disappeared nearly ten minutes earlier and shout, A very sexy man is waiting for me. Could we please hurry this up a bit?
Snatching up the house phone, she dialed room 312, but Matt didn't answer. Curious. He should have been in the room by now. Her gaze drifted toward the restaurant. Was Matt still in there with Jack and Carol? If so, it was taking him a while to escape. She stilled as a nasty suspicion curled through her. Maybe he wasn't trying to escape at all. Maybe he was in there making the most of his solo time by selling Jack on his ideas for ARC.
"Here you are, Miss Taylor." Maggie's breathless voice yanked her attention back. "I'm so sorry for the delay."
Jilly stared at the long, gold rectangular box Maggie held out to her. "What is this?"
"Your delivery," Maggie said with a laugh.
"It looks like a florist's box," Jilly murmured, taking the package, and admiring the intricate red and green bow.
"It does," Maggie agreed, with an unmistakable envious sigh. "It seems you have an admirer."
Jilly tried to ignore the quickening of her heart, and failed completely. After scribbling her name on the ledger Maggie slid across the desk, Jilly moved to the end of the counter and slowly lifted the lid.
Two dozen pure white roses lay nestled in a bed of red tissue paper. A single sprig of bright green mistletoe sprang from the center of the bouquet. The heady floral scent wafted up to her, and she breathed deeply, her eyes closing with pleasure. She couldn't recall the last time a man had sent her flowers. Her senior prom, maybe?
A small, white envelope rested in a fold of the tissue paper, and she slid it out with hands that weren't quite steady. Pulling out the card, she read: I bought white roses as a memento of things that remind me of you-snowballs and marshmallows. Let's make the most of our last night together. I thought the mistletoe might come in handy. I'm waiting…
Jilly's insides turned to mush, and she heaved out a gushy, feminine sigh. A slap of shame immediately followed on the heels of that sigh for thinking Matt was still in the restaurant schmoozing Jack when he'd been buying her flowers-a sweet, thoughtful, romantic gesture that touched her in ways she didn't dare examine too closely. Because they scared her. And because, as he'd written himself, this was their last night together.
After tucking the note back into the tissue paper, she closed the lid, then carried the box toward the elevator. It was time to make the most of their last night together.
As she approached room 312, she drew a deep breath in a futile effort to calm her jittery insides. More than mere anticipation jangled her nerves. Where had this sudden nervousness come from? Her irritating inner voice coughed to life. It comes from the fact that more than just great sex awaits you in room 312. That man and his roses have heartbreak written all over them.
Her gaze drifted over the floral box she cradled. She suspected her inner voice was right on target, giving Jilly the sudden sinking sensation that she stood with a big bull's-eye painted, on her heart-right in front of an ammo-laden Matt.
Self-directed annoyance straightened her spine and lifted her chin. She simply wouldn't allow her heart to turn this weekend into more than it was-a fun, no-strings romp. So what if Matt had turned out to be much more than she'd expected? Her expectations of him had been so low, anything he said or did of a nonheinous nature would appear disproportionately good. Next week she and Kate would find her a man who wasn't her coworker or rival. And who didn't possess the take-charge chromosome. Yes indeed, they'd find her a better man. A sexier man. Okay, that would present a challenge. But, hey, she thrived on challenges. Challenges were good. Challenges built character. She loved challenges. Yup, she sure did.
Drawing a final, bracing breath, she slid her key card into the door and entered. And halted.
Matt leaned against the desk, his ankles casually crossed, but there was nothing casual about the desire burning in his gaze. Her heart stuttered at that heated look. Forcing her feet to move, she walked slowly toward him, desperately searching for some levity in a situation that didn't feel at all like a lighthearted romp. It felt intense, leaving her weak-kneed and vulnerable in a way she hadn't anticipated, and didn't like.
She swallowed to find her voice, then forced a smile. "Someone sent me flowers," she said lightly. "The card wasn't signed. I think maybe they're from the guy in 311-"
She halted as the bed came into view. White rose petals were scattered over the forest-green bedspread. The night table had been cleared, and now held a large silver platter filled with grapes, strawberries, and two dome-covered plates. Two champagne glasses sat next to the platter, as well as a silver ice bucket with the slender neck of a dark green bottle peeking over the rim.
Before she could locate her missing voice, he walked toward her and said, "The flowers are from the guy in 312."
Yanking her gaze from the bed and tray, she asked, "What's all this?"
"Dessert. Since we didn't have it in the restaurant, I ordered it to go. Thought you might enjoy a picnic-in bed."
Surely there must have been, at some point over the course of her life, an event that she'd enjoyed more than the prospect of a picnic in bed with Matt, but darned if she could think of what that event might have been.
When he halted in front of her, she said, "You went to a lot of trouble."
"I don't consider it 'trouble' to make our last night together memorable."
"I think it would have been memorable even without all this."
"True." His lips curved upward, but his smile looked tight and didn't quite reach his eyes. "But I like to be a tough act to follow."
No problem there. In fact, she very much feared Matt would prove an impossible act to follow. "I see." She nodded toward the dessert tray. "How do you know I'll like what you ordered?"
"I know what you like, Jilly," he said in a low, deep voice that shimmied heated awareness down her spine. "Would you like me to prove it?"
Probably she nodded. She certainly meant to, but the anticipation brought on by his question, and the desire emanating from him, rendered her immobile. Clearly she gave him some sort of affirmative gesture because he gently took the floral box from her, and set it on a chair. Then he wrapped one strong arm around her waist, tunneled his other hand into her chignon and, before she could utter a sound, kissed her with an unrestrained passion that liquefied her knees. Hot, hungry and demanding, his mouth slanted over hers, his tongue rubbing against hers with a delicious friction that pooled desire low in her belly.
Jilly circled her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him, reveling in the hard ridge of flesh pressing against her stomach, and his restless hands cruising down her back and over her buttocks. Yes, he did indeed know what she liked.
She felt him inching her skirt up her thighs, and delight shivered through her. When the material reached the top of her thighs, his hands still. Breaking off their kiss, he looked at her. She splayed one hand against his chest, absorbing the hard, heavy beat of his heart, the rise and fall of each ragged breath, exhilarated that she had such an effect on him. He skimmed his hands underneath her bunched-up skirt and cupped her bare bottom.