A long, satisfied sigh escaped him as he eased beneath the covers, and let his groggy head settle against the cushy pillow. The limp relaxation brought on by utter exhaustion closed in on him. Floating in a hazy state that bordered on just dropping off to sleep, he turned onto his side, and stretched out his arm.
His hand landed on something delightfully warm and silky. Satin sheets. A low hum of appreciation rumbled in his throat. Nice. His hand cruised upward, some deep recess of his fried brain vaguely appreciating the smooth texture. Soft. Smooth and curvy. Like a woman's breast.
His fingers gently kneaded the plump softness, and as sleep overcame him, his imagination conjured up a rosy nipple beading beneath his palm. He drew in a contented breath. Oooooh, baby. Yeah. This was some kind of fabulous bed. He shifted closer to the enticing softness, brushing his body against the delightful warmth. Definitely gotta get me a bed like this…
A low, throaty, sexy moan sounded, and the plump softness beneath his hand shifted. Warm breath touched his shoulder, and for one heavenly moment it felt as if feminine curves pressed against him. Before his brain could fully register the delightful sensation, a sharp gasp sounded next to his ear. What the-?
His eyeballs weren't even all the way open when he was pelted with a barrage of thrashing limbs and a slew of threats.
"Get away from me, you bastard," came a female voice filled with both fury and fright, "or I'll hand you your severed gonads on a platter."
Holy crap! That chased away all remnants of sleep like a bucket of ice water over the head, and he quickly cupped his privates.
The next instant light flooded the room, and he blinked against the sudden brightness. Looking up, he found himself staring at a vision of dark-haired fury. She stood on the mattress, chest heaving, eyes filled with a combination of fright and a lethal expression that made it clear his gonads were indeed in danger. She snatched up a paperback book from the nightstand and raised it above her head as if to hurl it at him. She looked like a one-woman kung fu, Swat team, fully prepared to kick his ass. "What the hell do you…?" Her furious question trailed off, and she narrowed her eyes. "Matt?"
Matt? She knew him? He uncupped himself and struggled to sit up. "Yeah. Who are…?" His struggling abruptly ended, and he stilled as a flash of disbelieving recognition hit him like a two-by-four to the head. He actually felt his eyeballs goggle. "Jilly?"
They stared at each other for several long seconds, silence stretching between them. Matt wasn't certain what was preventing her from speaking, but he sure as hell knew what had rendered him speechless.
The woman standing on the bed was most certainly Jilly Taylor, but except for the familiar facial features, nothing about this tousle-haired female resembled the Ice Princess.
Good God, this raven-haired temptress could ignite a bonfire in a rainstorm. Long, silky strands of midnight hair fell across her shoulders and down her back in tumbled disarray. Her golden-brown eyes, devoid of her rectangular glasses, appeared huge and startled. Crimson stained her cheeks, and her full lips were moist and parted.
Unlike the ultraconservative Jilly Taylor he knew, nothing about this woman screamed prim or proper. Smooth, creamy skin-a lot of it-was showcased by the black satin tank top she wore. His stupefied gaze skimmed over her delicate collarbone, focused on the way her chest rose and fell with her rapid breaths, then lowered to the swell of her breasts and the visible outline of her erect nipples pushing against the material. His fingers involuntarily clenched, vividly recalling the plump softness of what he now realized had been her breast filling his palm.
His gaze tracked lower still, over the several inches of flat, toned abdomen left bare between the end of her tank and the top of her low-rise black, lacy panties. And her legs… holy hell, the sight of those long, shapely bare legs nearly stopped his heart. She looked like she'd stepped off the pages of a Victoria's Secret catalog-right after a bout of hot sex.
Damn. No more need to wonder what was hiding under all those straitlaced suits she wore-not that he'd ever wondered, of course. But now he knew. And he knew not only what she looked like, but also what she felt like. Jilly possessed a warm, soft, womanly, fantasy-inducing body that was rapidly supplying a number of unwanted, ill-advised fantasies. Great. Just what he needed-a budding erection.
Forcing himself to concentrate on his annoyance rather than her nearly naked body, he cleared his throat-twice-to find his voice. "What are you doing here?"
She planted her hands on her hips and raised her brows, looking down on him from her vantage point like an avenging warrior. "Actually, I think the question is what are you doing here-besides breaking into my room and scaring me to death? Is this some kind of sick joke?"
Feeling at a distinct disadvantage sitting, he swung his legs over the side, stood, then returned her glare. "I don't play sick jokes. And what do you mean, your room? The girl at the registration desk gave me a key to room 312." Sudden doubt assailed him. "This is 312, isn't it?"
"Yes." She frowned. "There must be some mistake with the reservation." Her frown turned to a squinty-eyed, suspicion-filled glower. "But that doesn't explain what you're doing here. At Chateau Fontaine. Of course, one doesn't need to be a rocket scientist to figure it out. Listen, if you think you're going to weasel your way into my time with Jack Witherspoon-"
"Whoa! What do you mean your time with Witherspoon?"
"Just that. Adam sent me out here to wine and dine Jack this weekend to convince him to hire Maxximum for his new ad campaign."
Matt narrowed his eyes and studied her closely. Either she was a remarkable liar, which was certainly possible, or Adam had sent both him and Jilly out here to woo Witherspoon, which unfortunately was also possible. "Is that so?" he said. "Well, Adam sent me out here to wine and dine Jack this weekend to convince him to hire Maxximum for his new ad campaign."
Still standing on the mattress, Jilly stared down at him for several long seconds, trying to gather her scattered wits. Her heart still slapped against her ribs-a result of two factors: one, fright at being awakened from a deep sleep to find herself no longer alone in bed, and, two, physical arousal from her sensual dream-of a warm, masculine hand caressing her breast, a hard, muscled body rubbing against hers-which had turned out not to be a dream at all. Jeez, it was a miracle she hadn't gone into cardiac arrest. If she hadn't hit the light switch and discovered it was Matt, she most likely would have croaked.
As for his explanation, could he possibly be telling the truth? Or had he found out about her travel plans and thought he'd try to win ARC's account for himself? Her suspicious gaze raked over him, which was a mistake, because her long sleeping libido suddenly woke up.
Whew. A veritable rainstorm of perfect genes had soaked this guy. She eyed his broad shoulders, and the smattering of dark chest hair that narrowed into a tantalizing ribbon, which bisected his six-pack abs before disappearing into white boxer briefs. Her gaze dipped lower, taking in his long, muscular legs, before wandering back up to rivet on his groin.
Double whew. She instantly recalled how warm and tingly and aroused she'd felt during those brief seconds she'd snuggled against him before she'd come fully awake. For some insane reason, Kate's words whispered through her mind. When you least anticipate it, something unexpected will happen and-poof!-your world will be turned upside down.