Good grief, she was losing her mind. Sure, this was unexpected, but in a very unpleasant way. Definitely not what Kate had meant at all.
"Well?" he asked, yanking her attention away from his way-too-fascinating crotch. Their eyes met, and awareness seemed to crackle between them. His watchful expression made it clear he was well aware he'd just received a thorough ogle. Humph. She certainly wouldn't feel embarrassed. After all, he'd ogled her first-surely a fact that should have annoyed her, rather than shoot heat through her veins. There'd been no mistaking his surprise-or his appreciation-when his gaze had roamed over her. It had been a long time since a man had looked at her as Matt just had. Of course, it had been a long time since she'd stood before a guy wearing next to nothing.
"Well, what?" she said, moving to step off the mattress and onto the floor.
He held out his hand to assist her, and without thinking she clasped his hand for balance. His long fingers wrapped around hers, rushing heat up her arm, igniting her nerve endings. The instant her feet were firmly planted on the carpet, she snatched her hand away as if he'd electrocuted her and backed several feet away from his disturbing presence. She felt raw and exposed, and she desperately wished she'd brought a robe. But all she had to cover herself with was her sweats, and they were in her overnight bag in the closet. Matt didn't seem disconcerted by their lack of clothing, and she wasn't about to give him the upper hand by allowing him to think she was uncomfortable.
You wear less to the beach, her inner voice rationalized. Yeah, she did. But skimpy lingerie had a whole different connotation than swimwear-especially in the confines of a bedroom, and with Matt Davidson around. Pushing aside her discomfort, she crossed her arms and raised her chin a notch.
"Well, I think it's pretty obvious what's going on here," he said, his gaze fixed on hers, "assuming you're telling the truth about Adam sending you here-"
"I'm not a liar," she said through clenched teeth. "But perhaps you are."
"I'm a lot of things, but a liar isn't one of them."
"One phone call can verify that."
"Yes, it can." His gaze flicked to the digital clock on the nightstand which glowed 2:43 a.m. "Do you want to call Adam this late to ask him, or can you take my word for it until a more decent hour?"
She prided herself on reading people fairly well, and as much as she hated to admit it, Matt looked and sounded utterly sincere. If he was telling the truth…
Dread seeped slowly into her veins. "I'll give you the benefit of the doubt-until morning." She pushed her tangled hair off her face. "Besides, sending us both out here to woo the same client-while I don't want to believe Adam would do that to us again-"
"It looks like he's done it to us again." He blew out a breath. "Just like last summer, with the Lone Star Steak account. Pitting us against each other certainly insures that one of us will win the ARC account for Maxximum."
"Right. It worked with Lone Star, and clearly Adam hopes history will repeat itself. Smart tactic."
"One I would admire much more if I wasn't one of the victims." Matt muttered. "Again. And I don't intend to let history repeat itself."
"Meaning?"
"You won the Lone Star Steak account. I'm going to win this one."
She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Hey, whatever you need to believe to get you through the day. But your quest for ARC will be difficult to achieve when your weekend is spent explaining to the police why you broke into my room."
He shot her a glare. "I'm an ad exec, not a cat burglar. I told you. Registration gave me a key to 312 when I checked in." He moved to the phone resting on the pale oak desk in the corner. After consulting the directory listed on the phone's cream-colored surface, he lifted the receiver and punched in a number. "I'm calling the front desk to find out what's going on."
He turned his back to her and reached across the desk to slide a pad and pen closer to him. His underwear stretched across a taut male butt that deserved to be bronzed and displayed in the Smithsonian. Someone at the front desk must have picked up because Matt said, "Hello, Maggie. This is Matt Davidson…" He explained the situation, but Jilly only listened with half an ear as all her attention focused on the very distracting view of his backside.
This was not good. The sight of this guy in his Calvins was having an adverse affect on her ability to breathe straight and think right. Er, think straight and breathe right. Jeez, anybody would think she hadn't seen a gloriously masculine, almost naked man before. She had. Just not recently-unless one considered nine months, three weeks and eighteen days recent. And everything feminine in her that had lain dormant for those nine months, three weeks and eighteen days was suddenly bright-eyed and alert and very interested in this new masculine scenery.
Swell. Like she didn't have enough problems, now she had to go and develop a sudden case of the hots for her biggest rival. Why, oh why, did her body have to respond to this guy?
He hung up the phone, then turned to face her. "Did you catch all that?" he asked.
Heat crept up her neck. With her libido and hormones making so much racket, nothing he'd said had registered. "Er, not exactly. I was trying to, um, remember where I left my cell phone." Yup, that was her story and she was stickin' to it. "Why don't you summarize it for me?"
"You want the good news first or the bad news?"
"Good news."
"That's unfortunate because there is no good news. At least for you. The bad news is that only two rooms were booked for Maxximum Advertising."
"Right. One for you and one for me. So what's the problem?" Her bare foot tapped against the carpet.
"Noooo," he said in a voice one would use with a kindergartner. "One for Jack Witherspoon and one for me."
"You?" Anger propelled her forward until less than two feet separated them. At least her anger had shut down her hormones. More or less. Nothing was less attractive than an arrogant, infuriating man. Usually. Jamming her hands on her hips, she jutted out her chin. "In case it escaped your notice, you came into my room, where I was sleeping in my bed. My clothes are hanging in the closet, and my makeup and toothbrush are in the bathroom. That makes this my room. Possession is nine-tenths of the law." Reaching down, she yanked up the pile of masculine clothes draped over his luggage and slapped them against his bare chest. "So I suggest you get dressed and toddle on down to the registration desk, pick up a new key and stake your claim on a vacant room."
His lips curved into a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. "I'd be happy to, but that's where the rest of the bad news comes in. There are no more rooms available."
She looked toward the ceiling and prayed for patience. "Surely you don't expect me to believe that."
He shrugged. "Call the front desk. It's not that difficult to believe. There're only three dozen rooms here-this place is not exactly the size of a Hyatt."
Easing around him, she stalked to the phone and jabbed in the number for the front desk. A very pleasant young lady named Maggie regretfully confirmed that there were indeed no other rooms available, and no vacancies until the following Wednesday. At Jilly's request she checked the reservations. "A suite was booked at 8:20 yesterday morning for three nights for Maxximum Advertising by Surety Travel Agency."
"All right," Jilly said, nodding. That would be the suite Adam had booked for Jack Witherspoon. "What else?"
"A room was also booked for Maxximum yesterday," Maggie said, as Jilly heard computer keys tapping in the background. "That reservation came in at 9:53 a.m. by Surety Travel Agency, for a single room, for three nights."