Midnight Man (Midnight #1)(17)
If she could see the St. Regis, that meant daylight was coming.
It was already tomorrow, the day she was going to have to face the most difficult client she’d ever had, Marissa Carson, and—worse—establish some kind of relationship with her new tenant that didn't—absolutely did not—include sex.
It could be done. Sure it could.
She’d worked hard to design a home for Mrs. Carson, the Client from Hell, who changed her mind hourly. In today’s scheduled meeting with Mrs. Impossible, she was going to keep her cool no matter how many fits the spoiled rich matron threw.
And she could face John Huntington The Day After like an adult, and put their relationship on a landlady/tenant basis, completely forgetting wild sex that made her hot just thinking about it.
Sure she could. Absolutely.
She passed the mirror on her way to the bathroom and winced at the view. Her hair waved wildly around her face and her eyes were ringed with dark circles. She had a red love bite on her neck. A round brush and a hairdryer would take care of the sex-and-bedhead and Erace would take care of the eyes and the hickey. But nothing was going to help the still-swollen lips and the just-out-of-bed-after-a-hot-night look. Nothing but a lot of time and space between her and John Huntington.
First a shower and some serious grooming. At some point today she was going to have to face the warrior and she needed some heavy-duty female weaponry on her side.
An hour later, she waited behind the door of her office, dressed, accessorized and perfumed, feeling like her old self. Cool, calm Suzanne Barron, staid interior decorator whose idea of excitement was matching plaid and stripes. And not Suzanne Barron, out of control sexpot.
She felt perfectly capable of dealing with John Huntington now, but she listened carefully at the door, just the same. It’s not like she was trying to avoid him or anything, but eight o’clock was pretty early for anyone to start moving into a new office, wasn’t it? He’d said his former office was off Pioneer Square, which wasn’t close. He’d probably start moving in around ten, when she had an appointment with Todd Armstrong, her sometime business partner, and before that she had an appointment with a new fabric designer to look at swatches, so she was probably off the hook for this morning. And Marissa Carson would take all afternoon, so she wouldn’t be home until late.
Maybe she wouldn’t see John at all until tomorrow. Tomorrow would be better. Oh, yes. Tomorrow she’d be all rested up and feeling normal and not like—like she was going to jump out of her skin.
Yes, she’d talk to John tomorrow.
Her shoulders relaxed at the thought as she put her ear to the door again to listen for noises. She listened for another minute to the complete silence on the other side of the door and with a sigh of relief pulled the door open. And froze.
The door to the rental apartment was wide open and the big room across the hallway was already stacked with what looked like a depot’s worth of electronic gear. Four large men—four very large men—were marching in single file with big cardboard boxes balanced on one shoulder. John Huntington followed them, carrying a huge thin-screen computer monitor.
None of them was making a sound. Not even a whisper.
John turned at the sound of the door opening and stopped. Just stopped in his tracks and looked at her, face set. A muscle jumped in his jaw.
The effects of that pep talk to herself about how she was going to be cool, calm and collected when meeting John Huntington disappeared in a tidal wave of heat coursing through her.
God, please don’t let me blush. She desperately sent up a silent prayer, but knew it was too late. She could feel the blush all the way down to her breasts, the blood pumping from her suddenly pounding heart. It rattled against her rib cage.
How could she be calm and collected when the mere sight of the man sent the blood in a hot rush through her veins?
This wasn’t the first time her heart had ever pounded. Her heart rate increased nicely after a hard workout at the gym. She loved horror movies and the Walking Dead could get her heart knocking.
But this was different.
The instant she’d seen John, her whole system started throbbing. Her heart set up a jungle beat. Hot and hard. Primeval, primitive. It would have been almost…exciting if it didn’t scare her so much.
Her clothes, ripped and torn, hung from the doorknob and Suzanne felt her face flame even harder. Remnants of her pretty pink lace La Perla bra hung limply on top. She snatched the clothes, bundled them quickly and tossed them back into her office, shutting the door firmly behind her. But her cool resolve was gone completely.
John advanced as quietly as he always did, dark eyes inspecting her carefully. The odd color gleamed as his eyes narrowed, the color of an ancient sword reflecting sunlight.
He was just as tall, just as broad as she remembered. The effect he had on her was worse then the first time she’d seen him, because now she knew how he kissed, how rough the skin of his hands was, how it felt to have his…
No! Don’t think like that or you’ll implode.
“Good morning.” She tried to keep her voice remote and businesslike. Landlady to tenant. Completely impersonal. She tilted her head up, aware all over again of how tall he was, how big. “You’re starting early.”
“Yeah. I don’t like to waste time.” His eyes never left hers. She was the one to look away.
The four men had deposited their burdens in the first room, gone outside, and come back in with more boxes. Still without making a sound.