“Coffee in the parlor,” Becca announced, whisking their dessert plates away.
Jami pushed back her chair and smiled politely at Nell. “If you’ll excuse us, I think it’s time to tuck my son into bed.”
“Come on back down and join us for a game of poker,” Homer offered. “Grant owes me a chance to get even.”
Jami shook her head in the negative, taking Toby’s hand as he yawned loudly. “No thanks. It’s been a long day.”
Grant shot her a questioning glance from those midnight eyes, but Homer had already slipped a pack of cards from his pocket. “Come on, Grant, let’s see if you’re still able to win at five-card stud.”
Jami rushed her son out of the dining room and up the stairs, glad that Grant would be occupied. She had dreaded the moment they would be alone in the suite, but now he would be down in the parlor playing cards. And she could have some privacy.
With Toby tucked into the double bed and snoring softly, Jami pushed aside the shower curtain to slip into a big claw-footed tub filled with steaming water and fragrant jasmine-scented bubbles. She sank to chin level, letting the hot water sluice over her body, soothing her nerves and relaxing her tired muscles. As she soaked, she shut her eyes, but Grant’s golden image floated through her thoughts, driving her to distraction before she gave up and climbed out of the tub.
She found a thick, thirsty towel and began to dry herself, suddenly conscious of her moisture-depleted skin. The climate was so much dryer here in the Rockies compared to Houston’s high humidity. All the moisture felt sucked right out of her pores. Needing her lotion, Jami sorted through her tote bag, until she remembered she’d transferred the tube into her purse just before they left for the airport. She sighed, wrapping the towel sarong-style around her naked body. Then she remembered. Her purse was still sitting on the table by the suite door. Oh, well, she reasoned, Grant wasn’t in the main bedroom; he was downstairs playing poker.
Wearing only the towel, Jami stepped out of the bedroom into the outer suite, dimly lit by a ceramic lamp sitting on the table next to the telephone and her handbag. She heard a rustle across the room by the king-size bed and whirled around.
Grant Carrington was yanking his shirt off over his head to reveal a magnificent male form that would have impressed Michelangelo. Grant’s startled gaze met hers, and she froze.
With a gasp of surprise, she tightened her hold on the towel as she instinctively noted he had already unsnapped the top button on his jeans. She forced her eyes from the dark gold curly hairs disappearing into a vee just above his zipper. Her gaze roved over his flat, washboard stomach and well-muscled bronze chest, his powerful broad shoulders, brawny arms, and biceps.
She heard her own groan of awareness and backed toward the door of the room where her son blissfully slept. Her hold on the towel nearly slipped, and she caught the edge just before indecent exposure, but not before she saw the heat flash in Grant’s gaze. Sudden sexual awareness thrummed between them, the air electrified as they stared at each other. The game had changed.
From this moment on, Jami knew that no matter how much she tried to maintain a business only relationship, he had awakened a raw sexual need within her. Mesmerized by the sight of this beautiful man who made her want to ignore her screaming sense of self-preservation, she stammered, “I—I thought you were playing cards.”
Grant stepped forward, saying in a sexy growl, “I wouldn’t have wasted a moment if I’d known you were waiting for me.”
“I wasn’t.” Painfully aware of her own nakedness, one hand clutching her towel and the other pressed against the door frame, Jami whispered, “I need my purse.” With her free hand, she pointed to the table.
“Sure. Your purse.” He cocked his head, a brow lifting incredulously. “You going somewhere dressed like that?”
She stared at him, forbidding herself to surrender to the tempting thoughts their state of undress invited. Still, she could no more parade nearly nude through the suite under his intense gaze, than throw herself into his arms and beg him to make passionate love to her. Jami’s chin rose along with her voice. “I want my lotion, and it’s in my handbag.”
“Lotion is what you want?” A wicked smile curved his mouth and, to her dismay, he continued to