“HOW DID YOU LUCK OUT and find her?” Anita asked the moment the door clicked behind Samantha.
Nick shook his head as he grabbed a steaming bowl of jambalaya and napkin-wrapped utensils from the cart. “You said it—pure luck.”
Luck and something Nick could only describe as poetic justice. Here he was avoiding single, attractive women as if he were under consideration to be chosen as pope, and the most irresistible female he’d met in years rescues him from disaster. “When she offered her services as a bodyguard, I thought I’d try a different tactic to beat Nana Rose and Nana Fae at this little marriage game they’ve concocted.”
Anita ignored the spicy rice and crawfish that he’d ordered and went straight for dessert. “You should know better than to try and beat them, Nicky. They’ve been around too long. They know all the angles.” She dug her fork into a huge hunk of cheesecake, swirled the ivory triangle into the caramelized bourbon sauce and then slid the sweet morsel in her mouth with a loud groan. “This is delicious!” Her words were muffled by her mouthful. “We should do desserts. I’ve always said we should do desserts.”
“Don’t change the subject,” Nick insisted, accustomed to the turn in Anita’s focus. His cousin had a sweet tooth the size of the Sears Tower and, like him, she had trouble separating business from pleasure. “I’m going to need your help to make this work. No double-agent crap this time.” He pointed his fork at her while she licked hers clean, swallowing a chuckle as her brown eyes darkened to nearly black.
For a brief instant, he wondered what he’d have to serve to darken Samantha’s eyes that way. More than cheesecake, he’d bet. But before he could imagine the details, he shook the thought away.
“Are you with me, or with them?” he demanded.
Anita immediately skewered another bite of cheesecake, avoiding his stare while she hummed her gastronomic pleasure. Nick knew he was playing dirty, making his cousin choose between her loyalties to their grandmothers and her loyalty to him, but he didn’t have a choice. If she blabbed that Samantha was only his bodyguard and not his lover, his plot would be ruined. He wouldn’t get a better chance to divert the unwanted attention on his marital status back to the quality of LaRocca Foods’ products. Getting to know Samantha better at the same time was just another stroke of luck.
“Anita? I need to know. Right now.”
She sliced into her cheesecake again, but kept the morsel balanced on her fork. “It’s too late to issue ultimatums, Nicky. I already know your plan. I could blab right now.”
“You could have blabbed on the phone a few minutes ago, too. But you didn’t. Can I take that as an ‘I’m with you, Nick?”’
Nick knew she’d only gone along with their grandmothers’ label scheme more as a practical joke than because she had any real interest in whether or not he got married. She knew that the future of the company, and consequently her future, rested in his hands.
If this plan failed, the corporation could end up broken into so many small companies that even if Anita were given one to run, her chances of achieving true success would be next to nothing. Not that his cousin wasn’t smart or savvy enough to run a business. She just wouldn’t have the capital to break out of the pack. Slowly, big food conglomerates would swallow each division. The LaRocca products would become homogenized and lose the homegrown charm and authentic appeal that made them a success in the first place.
He wouldn’t let that happen.
And he bet Anita wouldn’t either. And though he also knew his grandmothers didn’t want that outcome, they wouldn’t live forever. He had to convince them to change their minds about making his marital status an issue or he’d lose the business for sure.
“Unless you don’t want me to continue as CEO?” he asked, trying not to sound as arrogant as Anita constantly accused him of being. Arrogance didn’t drive him this time; confidence did.
Anita sighed. “You know I want you at the helm, Nicky, but our Nanas do have a point about this diehard bachelor status of yours. This line you give them about holding out for a nice quiet wife with no opinions of her own is a load of bull. Sophia was exactly that woman and you couldn’t wait to break free of her.”
“Sophia was too clingy,” he snapped, knowing the distinction was tenuous. “She wanted my approval on what dry cleaner to pick. What laundry detergent to use.”
“No opinions of her own,” Anita said, shaking her head. “Just like you ordered.”
Nick stirred his rice. An aromatic steam drifted from his plate, promising a kaleidoscope of flavors that might undo his increasingly foul mood. He dug in his spoon. “Next time, I’ll make my order more specific. No opinions of her own about me and my life. And she can pick her own damn laundry detergents.”
Anita shook her head as she grabbed two goblets of ice water from the room-service cart. “Sooner or later, you’ll have to settle down with someone. You love family way too much to stay single forever.”
“I could say the same for you,” he countered.
“But you won’t.” She stabbed her fork in his direction. “You know damn well that if I get involved with a man, I won’t be available 24-7 to run your life.”
“If I get roped into marriage, maybe I won’t need you to run my life.”
She was incredibly quiet and expressionless while she chewed and swallowed. “Don’t tease me with pipe dreams. Look, you know I think you’re the best person to run LaRocca Foods. Nana Rose and Nana Fae think so, too. But you need a life beyond the business. Although I only met her for a minute, I like Samantha Deveaux. I’d hate for her to get hurt in any of this.”
Though Nick knew Samantha was as different from Sophia as sugar was from salt, he couldn’t squash the memory of Sophia’s teary-eyed departure from his life, the love letters she’d sent for weeks after he’d told her their relationship was over. He hadn’t meant to—hadn’t intended to—but he’d hurt her nonetheless. The only thing that had saved him from a lifetime of guilt was knowing she’d become engaged to Anita’s brother, Carmine, less than two months later. Carmine was a softhearted, attentive man who put business second and his happiness first. It didn’t help make him top sales rep for the southeast division, but he’d probably win Husband of the Year.
And though Samantha was as different from Sophia as she was from Blair Davenport—who’d reacted to his breakup by shrugging her shoulders, kissing him coldly and moving immediately along to a richer, more powerful CEO—he doubted Sam would fall victim to any man, much less him. She had a strength about her, a nearly-but-not-quite jaded outlook that would probably keep her heart effectively insulated.
“You don’t need to worry about my bodyguard. Her interests are purely professional. She seems entirely immune to my charm.”
Anita cracked a grin. “You have charm?” She chuckled at her own quip before finishing off her cheesecake in three quick bites. “Okay, I’m stuffed. Time to hit the workout room.”
“No way,” Nick protested. “You need to put together some new presentation folders, make an anonymous call to the press about my chance meeting with the security guard who saved me, and then wait here for Sam’s call to finalize the logistics for my appearance at the Dome. You only have a couple of hours.”
He slipped his spoonful of jambalaya into his mouth, groaning with pleasure at the sudden burst of spicy flavors and diverse textures on his tongue—hot cayenne pepper, sweet rice, chunky sausage. He’d had Cajun food back home in Chicago, but it just wasn’t the same. Something about this city, even cooped up in a hotel room thirty stories above the ground, communicated a festive atmosphere of sights and sounds—plastic beads, gold coins and hot jazz.
Of course, he felt quite certain that his run-in with New Orleans-born Samantha Deveaux had something to do with his romanticism. She may not have been raised in the city, but she summoned her drawl on command, walked with an innate rhythm and evoked alluring images he’d forever associate with the Crescent City.
Anita slid her plate, practically licked clean, back onto the cart. “What are you going to do while I’m working my fingers to the bone?” she asked, protesting more out of habit than because she resented the tasks he’d just assigned.
“I’m going to finish this delicious jambalaya, then change into a suit that isn’t torn.”
She eyed him skeptically. “That’ll take a few hours?”
He chewed his next bite slowly, relishing the taste of the Cajun concoction the same way another man might enjoy a kiss. He didn’t have much experience with kisses lately, but if the act could prove half as hot as his lunch, he might actually try to change that fact.
Samantha’s generous lips, pursed and thoughtful, immediately popped into his mind.
Anita cleared her throat to remind him she’d asked a question. He had planned, after eating lunch and choosing a new suit, to spend a few hours finishing his memo to the marketing department regarding their presentation to the European distributor. But with Samantha on his mind, his body wouldn’t be satisfied by just a hearty lunch. Anita had given him a better idea.
“I think I’ll take your spot in the workout room.”
“Pig,” Anita snapped, then laughed and shook her head with resignation. “I don’t know…Samantha told you not to go anywhere, and even with an escort, you’ll be half-dressed and sweating in the gym. It’s a public place. You could start another stampede.”
Nick smiled to acknowledge her teasing lilt but, unfortunately, she wasn’t entirely wrong. Still, he needed an outlet to burn off his sudden surge of energy or he’d never manage to appear cool and in control when Samantha returned.
“Then call the hotel manager and arrange for a step machine to be brought to the room. I’ve got to exercise.”
Anita pushed away from the table, her smile entirely too smug. “I don’t suppose shapely Samantha Deveaux has anything to do with your need to pump something, does it?”
That settled it. He and Anita spent way too much time together. His cousin could read him like a book in most situations, so she’d know to back down if he barked loud enough.
“Just get me the equipment.”
“Yes, sir.” She saluted, grabbed her glass of ice water and retired to the desk tucked in the corner of the room, out of his way.
Good. He liked a woman who knew when to back down.
Unfortunately, he doubted Samantha Deveaux possessed that particular talent. If she, for whatever reason, did turn her sights on him, he’d be lost for sure.
“I’M BORROWING your purple suit.” Samantha tucked the phone beneath her chin and used both hands to pull the outfit out of her sister’s overstuffed hall closet. She wobbled and recovered, stepping over Serena’s sheepdog, who’d parked his wide, half-asleep body in front of the door.
“I own a suit?” Serena asked from the other end, thousands of miles away, her voice crackling in and out from a beach in Brazil.
“Apparently so.” Samantha pulled a name tag off the slim lapel. “You wore it to some convention.”
“Oh, yeah. I have to warn you, it’s not very professional. The skirt is short—really short—and the jacket doesn’t take a blouse.”
Sam sighed as she laid the creation in question over the guest-room bed, her sister’s assessment ringing true even while she heard her new brother-in-law making some sexy comment in the background. She’d have nowhere to hide her gun in this getup. She’d have to opt for a purse, which would slow her response time if things got hairy.
“There’s more material in a bath towel than this outfit,” Sam said. “Why did you buy it? It’s not your style at all.” Not that her sister dressed the least bit conservatively. Serena favored long, sexy sarong skirts, tie-dyed tank tops and lots and lots of noisy jewelry. But while her mode of dress was alluring, the breeziness denoted a casual nonchalance that matched Serena’s sensual personality perfectly. This suit was way more overt. More here I am.
More like their mother.
“I didn’t buy it, Mother did,” Serena confirmed. “She swapped my suitcase on the way to the airport for the convention. Left me a seduce-me-quick wardrobe. You’ll find an interesting collection of miniskirts, low-cut blouses and ridiculously high heels in that closet.”
“You kept them?”
“What else was I going to do? Donate them to some charity for streetwalkers?”
Sam chuckled. She hadn’t really looked at the other outfits, but while this suit was indeed short and snug, she doubted any hookers would be interested. A high-priced call girl? That was another matter.
“You know Mother,” Serena continued, her tone half-frustrated and half-bemused. “She was hoping I’d go to Vegas and catch me a man. You should see the lingerie she bought to go with that stuff.”
“Didn’t you take it on your honeymoon?” Sam teased.
“Are you kidding? She bought me a whole new collection for my trousseau. The old stuff’s in the mahogany chest of drawers next to the window. They’re all yours if you want them. Never been worn.”
Samantha eyed the dresser in the corner, but rooted her feet to the floor. She’d never taken an interest in sexy lingerie before. She thought they were pretty and whiled away her share of time thumbing through catalogs, but her lifestyle demanded sports bras for support and thongs that wouldn’t show through her wardrobe. And the men in her life hadn’t minded.
But meeting Nick, touching Nick—even briefly—had initiated a sudden fascination with peek-a-boo lace and slick, silky satin. He seemed like a man who would appreciate the extra touch of femininity, the hint of romance.
She took a few steps toward the mahogany chest, and then glanced back at the outfit she’d chosen from her sister’s closet. The fleeting image of her wearing a scant and sensual silk panty beneath the minuscule suit while sharing space with Dominick LaRocca filled her with a mixture of excitement and wantonness that she hadn’t felt in a long, long time. And with good reason. In the past, Samantha’s libido had often overrode her common sense. She had to squash this attraction soon, or her bodyguard assignment would prove more torturous than exciting. Unfortunately, she knew of only one effective way to derail sexual tension.
Sex. And that was out of the question.
Wasn’t it?
“Don’t you have anything more conservative?” Samantha asked into the phone, begging for a reprieve from what just might be inevitable.
“I have the black dress I wore to Cousin Arthur’s funeral.”
Sam shook her head and shivered. “The one with the ostrich-feather collar?” Her sister had somehow looked elegant in the simple silhouette of a dress with plumes, but Sam had no doubt that she’d end up looking more like a sick peahen. “Never mind. This’ll do. I can’t believe I gave away all my designer duds when I moved down here! What was I thinking?”
“That you wanted to start over. That you wanted to buy your own clothes, not wear the stuff designers sent just to hear their names mentioned at award shows. That you…”
Serena cut off her litany and Sam wasn’t sure she was thankful or not. She missed her sister. Free-spirited and open-minded, Serena loved her unconditionally—even after Samantha had schemed and manipulated and downright lied in order to make Serena and Brandon see how they were meant for each other. Of course, she’d been right.
But even before then, Serena had always given Sam advice honestly and from the heart, whether she was talking about clothing or matters more personal. Like whether or not to pursue Dominick LaRocca, which they hadn’t yet had a chance to discuss.
Brandon, her brother-in-law, suddenly commandeered the cell phone. “What trouble are you getting me into now, Samantha?”
She huffed loudly. “Why don’t you come home from your honeymoon and find out? You do have a business to run. And in less than an hour, you’re going to have your first client.”
“So I heard. Care to fill me in on the details? You aren’t licensed yet…”
“Yeah, yeah. I know. He knows. I was completely up front with him. He’s willing to take a chance on me since I saved him this morning from that rather scary crowd.”
Brandon chuckled, having heard the tale by eavesdropping on her account to Serena. “I guess you were right when you claimed you had the instincts for this line of work. Any questions?”
Oh, she had a million questions. How does one carry a weapon when nearly naked? How would she go about crowding close to a man who sparked her flame, without letting him in on her intimate secret desire?
“No,” she said, exhaling all her fear. Whether he knew it or not, Brandon needed her to succeed—for the sake of the business. And she needed to succeed for the sake of her own self-worth. That and her bank account. And his. “I don’t think protecting Nick will be a problem. It’s only two days, and Nick’s assistant and I have worked out his schedule very carefully. I’ve even arranged backup in two locations with that friend of mine I told you about, the ex-cop. She’s even going to watch the animals while I’m at the hotel.”
“Good. You’ve got to know when to ask for help. Call me if you need anything. I guess we could head home…”
His voice died away, but by the sound of the pleasured groans that replaced it, Sam knew she couldn’t ask him to cut short his honeymoon, even if they were four weeks overdue in returning to New Orleans.
“Have fun,” she insisted. “Come home when you feel like it. I seem to have everything under control.”
She disconnected the call and unknotted the sash of the robe she’d stolen from Serena’s closet after her quick shower. Serena’s long-haired Himalayan cat lit onto the bed beside the suit, scaring Sam with her quick, unexpected appearance.
“Damn, cat. Can’t you wiggle your nose or something before you do that, Tabitha?”
Tabitha II’s wide blue irises reflected complete indifference to Sam’s scolding tone. Despite her aversion to animals of the feline persuasion, Sam reached out and scratched the cat beneath her chin and was rewarded with a loud, rumbling purr. The trill surprisingly calmed her nerves.
She had less than an hour to dress and meet Dominick and Anita at the hotel. Soon, she’d make her first official appearance at Nick’s side as the woman who had saved him from bodily harm and then supposedly captured his heart. Only the three of them would know that the pairing was purely professional. The rest of the world would speculate and gossip about every look they exchanged, every touch they shared. She had no chance of keeping her identity secret—particularly not in New Orleans where her famous mother lived and practiced her psychic skills. Sam had no choice but to play the role of Nick’s new lover to the hilt.
She tossed the robe aside and headed for the dresser where Serena kept her lingerie.
“What the hell, Tab, right? If I’m playing the girlfriend, I’d better make it real. Maybe he’ll give me a bonus.”
And for the briefest instant, Sam wasn’t thinking about cash.
NICK SHOOK his last hand at precisely five o’clock. For two hours, he had mingled through a crowd of carefully screened convention attendees, each having passed through the tight security perimeter that Samantha, Anita and Tim had efficiently arranged. He’d then given his presentation on the new products LaRocca would be introducing in the next year, stilling any unnecessary applause at the end by timing the dozen waitresses Anita had hired to appear just as he spoke his last sentence. Dressed in tuxedos and wide, friendly smiles, they handed out samples and small glasses of wine so that his listeners’ hands and mouths were full and occupied with his food and drink.
He didn’t want applause. He wanted increased sales. More shelf space in the stores. Better placement on endcaps and in Sunday advertisements.
Oh, and he also wanted Samantha Deveaux in his bed, but that was another matter entirely.
While the crowd savored and sipped, he glanced over his shoulder where Samantha sat on the dais beside Anita. She bent close to his cousin as if they were sharing some secret, but her gaze—alert and on guard—was trained on him. This time, he stared back. Starting at her feet, he worked his gaze upward, looking his fill while he kept his expression stoic. He didn’t feel stoic, but he’d practiced the look so often he could call on his nonchalance even under the toughest circumstances.
Like when he was attempting to keep his arousal to himself.
Samantha dressed the part of sensual siren as if she was born for the role. Dainty heels, not high but strappy enough to be incredibly sexy, hugged her feet and launched his gaze slowly up incredibly toned, sinfully sculpted legs to that incredible skirt. The one that scarcely covered her thighs. The one he could make love to her in by barely lifting the material.
He turned aside to shake hands with another business associate before he had time to assess the snugness of her top. Had she dressed like that to play her part, or was she purposefully trying to torture him? Or both?
She slid behind him and slipped her hand beneath his jacket, settling her palm on his back with a simmering, electric crackle.
He winced, but hardly moved, becoming accustomed to her high-voltage touch. Now, if he could just adapt his intimate responses to her touch so easily.
“Ready to go?” she purred.
Nick eyed the crowd then glanced at his watch. At the moment, he’d spoken to all the people who needed speaking to, shaken hands with the power brokers who needed to be acknowledged. He had a dinner meeting scheduled in less than an hour at a French Quarter restaurant called Irene’s, one Sam had claimed was well known among the locals and small enough for her to keep him out of harm’s way. While he actually looked forward to sampling the award-winning cuisine and discussing business with the Japanese food broker who’d invited him, he didn’t much anticipate the gauntlet they’d have to walk first.
“Are the television cameras out front?” he asked.
Samantha’s smile was pure devotion, but her eyes betrayed, for an instant, the drama behind her expression.
“Oh, yeah. Two local news stations. One’s an affiliate for Entertainment Tonight and the other shares a network with WGN. By the eleven o’clock news, your once-single marital status will undoubtedly be in question.”
“WGN, huh? There’s a Cubs game tonight. Won’t my grandmothers be surprised if they break in with a news flash?”
A tiny frown formed on her plum-painted lips. At least it wasn’t a pucker or purse. If she did that, he’d kiss her for sure.
“Are you certain you want to go through with this? Lie to your grandmothers, I mean.”
Nick did feel an inkling of guilt over that part of the plan. But what was the cliché? Turnabout is fair play? Loving and well-intentioned though they probably thought themselves to be, his Nanas deserved a taste of their own pasta sauce after deceiving him about the label.
Besides, they really weren’t the focus of his hoax. He was more concerned with the press and marriage-minded crazies—like the women disguised as nuns who’d staked out the lobby of his hotel earlier. If not for Samantha’s efficient planning with Hyatt security, he would have been rushed once again before they’d arrived at the Expo for a second try at his presentation.
Nick shivered. Rushed by a half-dozen women wearing habits and nothing else. The image of them disrobing, wimples and habits flying, promised to give him nightmares for years to come.
“My grandmothers deserve to be a little misled. Once all this hoopla settles down, I might be able to talk some sense into them. Particularly if I can swing that European distribution deal in the meantime.”
Sam nodded. He’d filled her in on his business goals during the car ride over. Discussing the details with her wasn’t his preference, but he’d latched onto that conversation in hope of derailing his blatant stares and sensual speculation about what, if anything, she was wearing beneath her suit.
“Well, if swinging deals is your gig, we’d better get moving.”
Sam made eye contact with a dark-haired security guard posted nearby, and then with Anita, who was remaining behind to field questions and supervise the booth. In an instant, a detail of guards appeared, ready to escort Nick and Sam to the exit where a mob of reporters awaited their first amorous appearance.
“That’s very impressive,” Nick complimented as he watched her coordinate their escape without saying a word or lifting a finger. “You make people move with just a look.”
She was moving him too, though he hoped she didn’t notice.
“Subtlety is always a useful tool in this business.” She took his hand and coaxed him toward the security detail, her gaze flirtatious and her smile disarming.
Her tone and expression were seductive and brimming with heat, as if her whispered words were pillow talk rather than informational instructions. “There’s a small group of women around the reporters, about fifteen at last count.” She tapped her ear and he noticed she wore a tiny listening device, visible only because the wire was slightly lighter than her dark blond hair. “Two off-duty policemen are standing by at the car and two are positioned at the exit. I think we can make it outside with all our clothes intact.”
Nick nodded. Clothes while walking to the car were good. However, once they were alone in the back seat of the limo, he definitely had other ideas—ideas he’d most certainly have to keep to himself.