Книга - Hush

Hush
Jo Leigh


A hotel for first-class sex?That's the buzz in Manhattan on Piper Devon's new upstart boutique hotel, Hush. From romantic nooks…to silky sheets…to naughty toys and videos in every room, the place positively oozes sex. And that's sending a deep shudder through the stodgy Devon hotel empire.Devon family attorney Trace Winslow has checked in to check out Hush. He has to put a stop now to wild Piper and her sexyantics. Why, she makes Paris Hilton look positively tame! Except before long Trace is making full use of the, uh, amenities with gorgeous Piper. But are the two of them ready to hang a "do not disturb" sign on their suite–for life?









Welcome to






Check out the couple in Room 9006…

“Work with me during the day,” Piper said, “and by night, I’ll show you why Hush is going to succeed beyond my wildest dreams.”

Trace frowned. “Are you suggesting—”

Her lips curved into a seductive smile. “This hotel is made for lovers,” she said, her voice a husky whisper.

“We’re not lovers.”

“Anything is possible,” she said, making him forget to breathe. “Everything.”

Trace shifted in his chair. He was hard, as hard as he’d ever been as he glanced around the room, taking in the king-size bed, the toys and more.

“You think if we have sex, I’ll have a change of heart.”

She shook her head. “I didn’t say a thing about having sex. I said we’d be lovers.”









Dear Reader,

Oh, my goodness. You’re holding a dream come true.

I had the initial idea for Hush several years ago, but that first glimmer wasn’t half as exciting as the reality turned out to be. I got to work with five amazing authors: Isabel Sharpe, Alison Kent, Nancy Warren, Debbi Rawlins and Jill Shalvis. I think you’ll agree it was the ultimate dream team. We had so much fun creating the incredible hotel that’s at the heart of the DO NOT DISTURB miniseries. I don’t know about you, but I want to stay at Hush and use all the facilities.

So let me be the first to send each of you a personal invitation. Please join us at Hush, check in to your penthouse suite. Dine at Amuse Bouche, have a massage, dance the night away at Exhibit A and play to your heart’s content. Don’t forget to peek into the bedside drawer for a naughty surprise!

Come visit us at http://www.hush-hotel.com. And don’t forget to check out the excerpt at the end of my story from Isabel Sharpe’s Thrill Me, the next book in DO NOT DISTURB.

Love,

Jo Leigh




Hush

Jo Leigh





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To all the wonderful women who built Hush: Alison, Isabel, Nancy, Debbi, Jill and Birgit. Thank you all…it’s been a blast!




Piper Blows It Again!

Piper Devon hit the party circuit in La La Land hard and fast this weekend with none other than that delicious bad boy Alex Webster, lead singer of chart-topper FLAXON. The two of them got so carried away, that they had to be carried away!!! The hotel dynasty millionheire$$ made such a wild and crazy scene at the Viper Room, she’s been 86’d for good!

—Published June, 1996

National World Observer

Piper Goes to School!

Super heire$$ Piper Devon is registered in college!!! She’s going to NYU for a degree in, what else, hotel management! Think daddy Nicholas Devon had anything to say about it? Wonder if she’ll live in a dorm, instead of her huge penthouse suite at the ORPHEOUS? Will Alex sign up for music lessons???

—Published February, 1997

National World Observer

Piper’s Trust Exposed!!!

Sources close to the heire$$ report that on her twenty-fifth birthday, Piper Devon received $50 million big ones!!! But there’s a catch—in five years, she has to have made money on the trust money!!! Doesn’t seem too difficult, but she also has to pass muster from stricter-than-strict Daddy Devon, who, we’ve heard, was not pleased with the idea that Piper was going to build her own hotel. If Daddy doesn’t approve, she doesn’t get the rest of her inheritance…over HALF A BILLION $$$$!!!!

—Published October, 2003

National World Observer

Piper’s With Logan!!!

Piper Devon’s new boytoy is none other than LOGAN BARRISTER, THE HOT HOT HOT lead singer from WASTE! The lovebirds were snapped in Rome, where they made the pigeons blush on the piazza!! Wonder if he’s got his PIPER tattoo yet??????

—Published January, 2004

National World Observer

Piper’s Sex Hotel!!!!

Heire$$ Piper Devon’s new Manhattan boutique hotel is all about SEX!!! Construction began on the deluxe spa/hotel and those in the know say the theme is sex, sex and more sex! Private video cameras in every room! A lounge with exotic dancers! Massages (with extras?) 24/7! The name is HUSH, but there’s no way she’s keeping this a secret. What will her billionaire Daddy say about this???? Can’t wait to hear….

—Published August, 2004

National World Observer




Contents


Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19




1


“WELCOME TO HUSH.”

Piper Devon gazed at the crowd of photographers and journalists gathered in front of her, here to get a preview of her spanking new boutique hotel. As she stood on a makeshift platform at the far end of the lobby, flashbulbs popped all around her, but she didn’t even blink. She’d grown up in the glare of the paparazzi, and for the first time in forever she was able to use them for something she cared about. Her baby. Her hotel.

“Hey, Piper.” She recognized one of the reporters from the New York Post. “Where’s the sex?”

She laughed. Her photo-op laugh. “Keep your pants on, Josh.” She leaned forward just a smidge, enough to give the front row a money shot. “At least until we get upstairs.”

That got her exactly the response she was looking for. This time she needed the tabloids, needed them to spread the word that Hush was going to be the hottest ticket in town. That it was the place to stay in Manhattan.

One thing she’d learned in her years in the spotlight was that sex sells. Sex sells a lot. And she was the ideal spokeswoman.

“Does your father approve, Piper?”

She kept on smiling. “My father isn’t exactly who I built this hotel for.”

More laughter from the press. “Who did you build it for, Piper?”

She fluttered her eyelashes at the Channel 7 reporter. “For everyone who understands that Manhattan is for lovers. People who come to Hush want to explore their sexuality. Hopefully in the company of someone, well, close, but hey, there’s plenty of fun to be had for the single adventurer.”

“A vibrator in every room?”

“Better than a chicken in every pot, right, Elizabeth?”

The crowd of reporters laughed again. Good, excellent. “Okay, if you don’t have a brochure yet, you can pick one up on your way to the elevator. We’re going up to the twentieth floor, to the spa. And I promise, I won’t get started without you.”

Her staff, all in the Hush uniform of black tuxedos with pink ties, ushered the press to the four elevators.

She shivered with anticipation as the photographers clicked away. She’d dreamed this space, and it was now a reality. The glistening lacquered reservation desk with the same shiny surface on the back wall, broken only by the pink neon Art Deco HUSH signage, was perfection. The custom-designed furniture would have been at home in a grand salon of the 1920s. The artwork, vintage works by the likes of Erte and Bernard Villemot, was the pièce de résistance.

No one walking into this hotel would mistake it for one of the Devon hotels. It wasn’t like the Orpheus, her father’s flagship hotel and corporate headquarters, which was opulent to the point of nausea. No, this was a hotel for the young. The rich. The horny.

She stepped down from the podium, ready for the next part of the tour. Janice Foster, the general manager of the hotel, came up behind her, clapping her hands with excitement. “They love it. Oh, God, this is so fabulous. I heard the reporter from Vanity Fair say he’s going to book himself a three-day weekend.”

“What’s not to love?” Piper said, taking Janice’s arm as they walked to the elevator. “By this time next week, there won’t be a soul older than ten who hasn’t heard of Hush.”

“When are you going on Leno?”

“A week from Thursday.”

“What do you think of putting together a basket of the amenities for him?”

“Excellent idea. But then all your ideas are pretty swell.”

Janice laughed, lighting up her whole face. She was young for a GM but she was damn good at her job. In fact, Piper had stolen her from the Hard Rock hotel in Vegas. Expensive, yes, but worth every penny. Janice knew just how to pamper celebrities, and those were going to be Hush’s main draw. Of course, most of them were going to be comped, at least initially, but the paying customers would flock to be within spitting distance of the anointed.

They caught the last ride up, and Piper took a minute to fluff her hair. She kind of liked this new short do. For years her hair had been long, straight and mostly blond. It was still blond, but a lighter shade, and it was spiky in all the right places.

“Let’s just split the room down the middle,” she said, turning to Janice. “You take the first batch through to the private rooms, and I’ll head over to the mud bath.”

Janice straightened her black skirt. She wasn’t in a uniform, but she’d gone with the black-and-pink theme. Her dreamy Prada blouse was just sheer enough to show a hint of her black-lace bra underneath. “Got it.”

The cab stopped and they were met by another salvo of flashbulbs and hot camera lights.

It took a few minutes to divide the group in half. Of course, she would have to take the other half of the press on this same path because, face it, she was the star attraction. She of the wild parties and rock-star lovers. She was the kind of celebrity America reveled in. She looked damn good in front of the cameras, so who cared if there was anything more to her?

It no longer bothered her, at least as far as the press was concerned. It would have been nice, however, if her father, and a few other people who should know better, could see beyond the facade. But screw it. They could kiss her photogenic behind for all she cared. Hush was going to be fabulous. A success no one could possibly ignore. And she’d done it all by her lonesome.

“How about you getting into that mud bath for us, Piper?”

She giggled. And didn’t even roll her eyes. “Not tonight, Jack. But you call me in a couple of weeks, and I’ll see what I can arrange.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that.”

“Now, Jack, I would have thought in a mud bath, you’d want to hold me to something else.”

They were all nodding, thrilled with that juicy little soundbite. Didn’t they get tired of it? She sure as hell did, but not tonight.

Tonight she was the epitome of Piper-ness. The flirty flake, the scandal in high heels. By Friday, her face would be on the cover of every tabloid in the U.S., and many in Europe. She’d made sure she would also be on some of the bigger magazines as well, including Vanity Fair, GQ and InStyle.

As they met once again in the spa lobby, Jason Newman, a stringer from Rolling Stone, called out, “Where’s Logan?”

“Not here.”

“Why not?”

“Logan’s on the road. What’s the matter, Jason, don’t you read your own magazine?”

He gave her the finger, good-naturedly, of course. Hell, she’d known Jason for years, and he’d never failed to talk trash about her. “You two still an item?”

“We’re still…something.”

“Come on, Piper. Give.”

“You’re on my turf now, big guy. And tonight is about the hotel.”

“Not fair.”

“Yeah, well, life is like that sometimes. Now, you want to see the sex or not?”

A smattering of applause followed, and she congratulated herself on another bullet dodged. The truth was that she was incredibly over Logan Barrister, and if she never saw his smarmy face again, it would be too soon. C’est la vie. And he wasn’t even the worst of her exes.

“We’re going to the nineteenth floor, kiddies,” she said as she led them back to the elevators. “Get your cameras ready.”

“Where’s the booze?”

She didn’t have to see where that question came from. “Is that you, Ted?”

Everyone busted up. Ted Staple was from The Daily News. The man never passed an open bar he didn’t love.

“You got it, gorgeous.”

“We’re all going to the bar as soon as the tour is done.”

“Well, then let’s get the damn show on the road,” Ted said, and that was it for another few minutes. She could just stand here, smile for the cameras, revel in her joy.

It actually took about fifteen minutes to get everyone down to the nineteenth floor. She had prepared one of the largest penthouse suites for tonight’s show. The Haiku Suite, designed by Zang Toi, was Asian luxury to die for.

Once everyone was in position, she started at the floor-to-ceiling windows and went from there. “In addition to the home theater experience with digitally delivered high-definition video on a flat panel LCD TV, including surround sound, we have one hundred television channels and ten high-definition channels that are private to the hotel.”

“What do you show on those, Piper?”

She gave them her seductive smile. “The best erotica. Something for every taste. And if that’s not enough…” She pointed to a black lacquer bookcase. “There’s a personalized video selection prepared for every guest.”

“How do you know what they’ll want?”

“Questionnaires. Very specific questionnaires.”

“Can we have some samples?”

“Of the videos? No. Of the questionnaires? Sure. The moment you book your reservation.”

She moved to the bedroom. “These are handcrafted oriental rugs, and every piece of art in here is a museum-quality antique. So don’t bump into anything, Ted.”

She waited for the laughter. When the room was quiet again, she continued, “The walls are upholstered with silk, and the walk-in closet is paneled in sycamore.”

“Yeah, yeah. Get back to the sex.”

“All right, all right. Jeez.” She went over to the low bedside table and opened the drawer. “Instead of the traditional reading material found in hotel drawers, we have thoughtfully provided a beautifully illustrated copy of the Kama Sutra and a selection of self-heating lubricating oils.”

She walked over to the antique armoire, which she opened with a flourish. She could have heard a pin drop in the room. It was just as she’d predicted. When it comes to sex, no one’s immune.

“This is the toy chest. Again, with something for everyone.” She pulled out a long, intricately braided leather whip. “And if any one of you think you’re going to print something trashing my hotel…” She flicked the whip against her leg, the crack loud despite the crowd, and tried not to wince. She’d had no idea it could hurt so much.

But she’d gotten her point across. It took a good half hour to go through the rest of the suite. The toys, the huge Jacuzzi tub, the erotic books, the selection of vibrators and costumes. But finally, it was time to go down to the bar.

Again, she and Janice waited for the last elevator. Unfortunately, they weren’t alone, so she couldn’t grill Janice for her critique. It would have to come later, but in her heart, Piper knew the preview had gone exceptionally well.

She let everyone get out in front of her, and saw the press had found the bar. So she lagged just a bit behind, giving herself a breather. There wouldn’t be a chance for another one until the wee hours.

Just as her Manolo Blahnik strappy sandal hit the lobby carpet, she saw him.

Her heart kicked into fourth gear and her smile faltered. But just for a second. She should have known he’d show up. After all, he worked for her father, and who else would Nicholas Devon send to do his dirty work but Trace Winslow.

Dammit, why did just the sight of him make her tremble? She couldn’t remember the last time they’d had a civil conversation. He couldn’t hide his disdain, and she couldn’t help but bait the prudish bastard. He just made it so easy. He’d never seen her for who she really was. And he never would.

“Hello, Piper.”

She gave him her most dazzling grin. “Hey, Trace.” She walked toward him, glad she’d worn this sexy little pink Versace number that made her boobs look huge. “I hope you’re staying for a while. I’d like to give you the personal tour.”

He looked her over, his gaze stalling at her chest on the way down and even longer on the way back up. “Actually, I am.”

Her breath caught. “Excuse me?”

“I am staying. For the rest of the week. My luggage will be right in.” He looked around the lobby as if he hadn’t just hurled a huge land mine. “What, no bellmen?”

“The hotel isn’t open yet.”

He nodded. “No problem. I’ll just leave my bags behind the desk until the tour is over. You do have room for one more, don’t you?”

“Wait just a minute there, buddy. What do you mean you’re staying here?”

“Just what I said.”

“I don’t remember inviting you.”

“And yet, I knew in my heart you’d welcome me with open arms.”

“Oh, please. With an open switchblade, maybe.”

He came closer, all six foot two of polished grace, looking so smug she wanted to smack him. Of course, he pushed himself into her personal space. Near enough for her to smell the hint of his Platinum Egoiste cologne, feel the simmering contempt that was as ever present as his perfect haircuts. “I’m here to help you, Piper.”

“Help me? Don’t be absurd.”

“It’s true. I’m going to stay for the entire week, get to know the hotel, try to talk a little sense into you.”

“As if anything you’d have to say would be in my best interest.”

“You’d better believe it.”

“And what? If you don’t like what you see, you’re going to tell on me? Cry to Daddy that I’m not being a good little Devon?”

“That’s right.”

“If I cared, I wouldn’t have built the hotel.”

He shrugged. “Have it your way. But I suggest you think this through.”

She took a deep breath. It was important not to yell. Not to lose her cool. The press was here in droves, and she didn’t want anything to deflect from the buzz she was working so hard to build for her hotel. “And why should I do that?”

“Because, my little spoiled heiress, if you don’t, you’re going to be cut off. Completely. From all those millions of Devon dollars.”




2


PIPER STARED at him with her wide blue eyes, and God help him, Trace couldn’t hold back his smile. He’d gotten to her. Oh, yeah. She’d never suspected that Daddy would pull the plug. Not Piper. She was entitled. To everything. So what if she was embarrassing her father, damaging the Devon name? If it felt good, she did it. If it put her face on the front page of the tabloids, she’d be there.

“What the hell are you talking about?” she asked, her voice a whole lot less cocky.

“I’m sure you heard me, sweetheart. Nicholas isn’t pleased. And since he’s the one who controls the money, he gets to vote with your inheritance.”

“And he couldn’t be bothered to come down here himself?”

“Trust me, you wouldn’t have liked it if he had. I’m giving you a break, Piper.”

“Some break.” She took a step back. “Gee, Trace, what next? You gonna go tell the press? I’m sure they’d love the scoop.”

“I actually wanted a chance to hear your spiel, but I guess I’m too late. I think I’ll go have a drink, though. Care to join me?”

“I’d rather eat worms. I need to promote my hotel. Do me a favor, Trace, find yourself some babe, and keep out of my way.”

“Mighty snippy for a woman on the brink of poverty.”

“I’m not kidding. I can’t do this now.”

“What about after?”

She headed for the reception desk and walked behind it. He followed at a more leisurely pace, letting himself get a feel for the lobby. It was nice. Very nice. Even Nicholas wouldn’t know that it was a sex hotel from here. When he reached her at the desk, she was typing on a keyboard. She didn’t look up.

“Piper?”

Trace glanced toward the bar, where an attractive redhead looked at him curiously.

“Give me a minute, Janice,” Piper said, still not lifting her head.

“You got it.” The redhead checked him out, smiled, then went back into the dark recesses of the bar. Maybe he would find himself someone to talk to.

On the other hand, it was so much fun to be with Piper. Especially when he had her at such a distinct disadvantage. People talk about the fun of tennis, but they didn’t know what it was like to volley in the big leagues. Nobody gave it to him like Piper. Pity she was such a brat.

“Here,” she said, slapping a key card on the black lacquer counter. “You can stay tonight. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

He slipped the key in his breast pocket. “You gonna give me turndown service?”

“Why should tonight be any different? I always turn you down.”

He bowed his head slightly. “Touché. I really just handed that one to you. Sloppy, Trace, sloppy.”

“Well, you just stand there and try to come up with something better.”

Piper walked away and he couldn’t help but admire the view. That little pink number hugged her in all the right places. No wonder the press loved her. She was stunning, and at twenty-seven, she was more beautiful than she’d ever been.

Not that it mattered. She was spoiled and reckless and she lived as if she were God’s gift to the world. No concern for anyone else, no sense of propriety. She did what she liked, consequences be damned. Well, her free ride was about to end if she didn’t make a real quick turnaround. He hoped, for her sake, she’d get the message. Piper wouldn’t make an attractive pauper. She was awfully used to that silver spoon.

What the hell. He might as well check out the bar. He had the feeling he’d be seeing a lot of it in the next week.



PIPER FELT like she’d been kicked in the stomach. He wouldn’t really… Not cut her off. It was a hotel, for heaven’s sake. She wasn’t selling herself in Times Square. She was doing what she’d been born to do. Sure, it was a new concept, nothing at all like the chain of Devon hotels, but wasn’t that the point of a new generation?

The stipulations on her trust hadn’t said a thing about propriety. Her job was to make money, and dammit, there was no way Hush wouldn’t. He couldn’t do this to her, that’s all. She was his only daughter.

Kyle must have had something to do with this. Greedy little bastard of a brother. Always pandering to Nicholas. Damn him.

They’d both been born late in her father’s life. Nicholas had met their mother, Alicia, just after he’d turned forty. Of course, he’d been married before, four times, but Alicia had been the one. How they’d wanted a son. Piper had been reminded of that enough times to make her sick, but Nicholas was from the old school. The very old school. Her mother had protected her from the worst of it, but Alicia hadn’t been around long enough to help with Kyle. So her baby brother had grown up to be the perfect heir. She doubted Nicholas had ever once considered that Piper might be the logical choice to take over the company. Of course not. Darling Kyle would undoubtedly continue to live at Orpheus, continue to be everything Nicholas wanted him to be, and when it was his turn to ascend to the throne, he’d be just as much of a bastard as her father.

She walked into Erotique, the gorgeous bar, to the accompaniment of cameras, laughter, talking. People having a good time. She pasted on her best smile, and went into the fray. This was her specialty. Getting attention. Making the headlines. No one did it better than her, and dammit, neither Trace or his news was going to spoil things now.

She’d figure a way to get her father to accept Hush. She would. She wasn’t a Devon for nothing.



THE REST of the night went on in a blur of interviews and champagne. Trace was never completely out of her sight. She’d turn, and there he’d be. Sipping the Cristal, talking to some hottie, laughing it up. And when his eyes met hers, he smiled. Smiled like he was on top of the world.

The prick.

What had she ever, ever seen in him? He was duplicitous, underhanded and a whole bunch of other evil things that if she hadn’t had that last glass of champagne, she could think of.

Doing her a favor. Ha. He just wanted a front-row ticket. He couldn’t wait to see her take a fall. “Well, you know what, Mr. High-and-Mighty Winslow? Screw you.”

“What?”

Piper looked front. To the confused gaze of some guy from the Enquirer. “I’m sorry, what was your question?”

The guy, who was swaying just a little more than he should have, gave her a salacious grin. “So you tried out those toys in the cupboard upstairs?”

Piper kept smiling. “Not those, no.”

His face fell but his next sip of champagne seemed to soften the blow.

“Would you excuse me?” She made a quick tour of Erotique; it was so beautiful it made her ache. Most of the press had congregated around the black circular bar, the pink overhead lighting flattering and sexy. She loved the high black bar chairs with the inverted triangle backs. She headed toward the ladies’ room, running her hand over the only empty round-backed leather armchair, admiring the sea foam-green that matched the lobby carpet exactly. It was a killer bar, and it would be packed nightly. No doubt at all.

She nodded, grinned, waved like a damn parade-float princess all the way to the bathroom. She pushed the door open, saw the crowd, and made a hasty retreat. Hurrying as quickly as possible in her heels, she went through the lobby to the first elevator. No one came after her, and the moment she was inside the cab she hit the button for the spa floor and collapsed against the mirror.

She closed her eyes and let out a howl that while loud, was surprisingly unsatisfying. The elevator came to a stop and she went right for the bathroom.

The whole room smelled faintly of lavender. Peace, quiet and beauty surrounded her, a balm to her soul. She sat on one of the stools by the long pink marble sink, wishing she’d brought her bag. She needed to fix her lipstick.

Instead, she faced herself in the mirror. No photo-op smile, no tricks of the light. Just her. She had a problem, a big one. She knew Hush was going to make it, that it could be one of the hottest hotels in Manhattan. But she also wasn’t a fool. She wanted her inheritance. Who wouldn’t? It was one hell of a lot of money, and while it couldn’t buy happiness, it could get her real close. Even though it would be a fine and dramatic gesture to tell her father to go jump in a lake, it would be strategically unsound.

The thing was, she didn’t have enough time. She felt sure her father would eventually get over his problem with Hush. It would take a few years for Hush to be completely in the black, and she’d been counting on his help to get through until the cash flow was steady, but if he was going to be this stubborn… Damn, she only had a week. A week with Trace Winslow on her ass, which not only didn’t help, it made things exponentially worse.

Trace knew exactly how to push every one of her buttons, and had no hesitation in doing so. He was a vile man, a hateful man. And good God, he turned her on like a light switch.

She dropped her head in her hands. This should have been a triumphant night, a glorious victory. She looked up again, met her eyes. It still was a victory. She’d make it work. She’d figure it out. But first, she’d go back to the bar and she wouldn’t even glance at Trace.



HE WATCHED HER work the room, and even he had to admit she was doing one hell of a job. Gliding from one reporter to the next, she never missed a beat or an opportunity to make nice. Quite a change from her usual shenanigans.

How many times had he passed a newsstand to find Piper’s photo plastered on the tabloids in some compromising position? Drunk or disheveled, hanging on some guy, at this party or that. The woman lived for notoriety. And here she was, playing the hostess, acting as if she were a responsible adult, when the whole world knew she was still a wild child. Who did she think she was fooling?

He thought about her latest in a long string of idiot men. Logan Barrister, for God’s sake. His band might be at the top of the charts, but the guy had the brains of a trout. If anything he was more of a press slut than Piper. They’d been kicked out of more Manhattan bars than anyone else he could think of.

The tragedy was, Trace had a strong suspicion that Piper was bright. Really smart. If she hadn’t been so busy trying to shock her father, she could have made something of herself. She knew the business inside and out. Hush had all the potential to be a first-class hotel, but no. She had to go and make it a haven for the kinky. It was a very expensive way to act out, and the consequences were far reaching. But would she listen to him?

He put his empty glass on the bar. He still had to take his luggage upstairs, get settled in his room. It was almost two, and the place had cleared out considerably, but there were still some die-hards left.

Piper looked as fresh as she had when he’d first walked in. How she’d managed that, he couldn’t say. She must have been nervous as hell at this first sneak peek, but it didn’t show.

He wouldn’t bother her. Not tonight. Let her get some rest. She’d need it. So would he. Tomorrow was going to be…interesting.



PIPER WAS as exhausted as a person could be and still be upright. She made her way through the dwindling crowd looking for Janice.

There she was, standing by the leaded glass doors, and oh, Mick, her hunky boyfriend, had finally made an appearance. Seeing them together, Piper smiled. They’d met here, at Hush. Janice had moved in a few weeks ago, when Piper herself had taken up residence. There had been so much to do to get the hotel ready for the opening date. And Mick, he’d been here, too. He was a master carpenter, and he’d worked on several of the penthouse suites. He and Janice had hit it off right away, even though she was eight years his senior. It looked like love to Piper.

At least someone was happy. That was a good thing. Her gaze swept the room but she didn’t see Trace. He must have slipped out while she’d been busy. He was probably upstairs right now, slipping between the sheets.

She could’ve given him one of the penthouses, but she hadn’t. He was in a regular suite, which was still incredibly wonderful, but he didn’t have all the bells and whistles. Petty, but screw it. He didn’t deserve a penthouse.

She, on the other hand, did. She had taken the Gaul-tier suite, and she’d kill to be up there right now. Only half an hour to go until she could shoo everyone out to the taxis on Madison. Till she could collapse. At least until 6:00 a.m. tomorrow.



THE SUITE was huge by Manhattan standards. It wasn’t in the deco style of the hotel, instead it was Asian with shoji screens, a low California King bed with a deep scarlet comforter, Ikebana flower arrangements and Asian prints on the walls. There was an elegance in the materials that made Trace sigh as he put his suitcase on the bed.

As he unpacked, he noticed more details of the room. The sunken Jacuzzi bathtub with inset candles climbing the wall. The shower with three showerheads. The video camera and blank tapes standing in the corner of the bedroom. And then there was the selection of adult DVDs in the television armoire.

He had to laugh when he realized the book in the bedside drawer was the Kama Sutra, nestled next to a fur glove and a selection of flavored oils.

Not surprisingly, the bathroom cabinet housed a box of condoms and several varieties of lubricant. The whole suite was designed for decadence, built for two.

He walked over to the window by the desk and opened the drapes. There was the city, brilliant and shiny in front of him. What would his life have been like if he’d gone into family law, instead of joining his father’s firm? As if he’d had a choice. He’d been brought up in the fold. The expectations had been there since birth. Probably since conception. On the plus side, he made lots of money. Lots and lots. Travel across the globe. All the prestige a man could want. Yet, here he was, babysitting.

The whole episode was a farce, a father-daughter drama with expensive toys. Piper wasn’t going to change, God knows Nicholas wasn’t going to budge. So what was the point? The hotel would be a sensation for a while, then the luster would fade and instead of booking the headliners, they’d get the wannabes from Jersey and honeymoon couples from Wisconsin.

If she was lucky, she wouldn’t lose all her money. But even if he was wrong and the place was the hottest ticket in New York history, Nicholas was still going to cut her off. He’d never met two more stubborn people.

The important thing to remember was that the outcome wasn’t his problem. He’d do what he was paid to do, and let nothing else get in the way. Not his contempt for Nicholas’s dictatorial ways, not his amazement at the circus that was Piper’s life. Not even the way he got hard every time he looked at her.

He was a big boy. He wasn’t controlled by his gonads, and hadn’t been for a long time. That Piper could get to him like no one else was immaterial. Hell, she’d been a temptation forever.

They never spoke about that night. It had been her seventeenth birthday, and because she was Piper, she’d had too much to drink. The party had been at the Orpheus, and she’d asked him to come upstairs to her private suite. It had been late, he’d had a bit too much champagne himself. He’d been totally unprepared for what happened.

She’d offered herself to him. Told him in no uncertain terms that she loved him, wanted him. It had taken every bit of willpower he had to walk away.

She’d never forgiven him.

But they still had to work together. It was ten years now, and still, the repercussions just kept on unfolding. Every meeting, every phone call, every social engagement where he watched the flash of her eyes, heard the silk of her laugh, he paid again.

He closed the drapes and headed for the bathroom. He needed to sleep.



PIPER FINALLY CRAWLED into bed at three-thirty. Bone tired, she figured she’d fall asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

She was wrong. At four, she was still thinking. Not about her father, not about losing all that money, but about Trace. About his being here for a week. A whole week. How in hell was she going to get through this?




3


MORNING HIT with a vengeance. Trace cursed the lack of room service, but blessed the coffeepot in the suite. He waited until seven to call Piper. He’d forgotten to get her room number, so he dialed her cell. She sounded more hungover than he felt.

“What do you want, Trace?”

“Breakfast would be good.”

“Fine. When?”

“Half an hour?”

“Meet me in the employee cafeteria. It’s on basement two.”

“Fine.” He hung up, then went to the desk and plugged in his laptop. He checked his e-mail, and answered most of it. His secretary, Terry, knew he’d be at the hotel for the week, and she’d cancelled or postponed his meetings. Because he worked exclusively for the Devon corporation as one of their attorneys, Nicholas had had no qualms about sending him down here, even though he had an apartment on the Upper East Side. While Trace felt a week was excessive, Devon disagreed, and since he signed the checks…

A week with Piper. Shit. It was going to be hard enough getting her to go along with her father’s plans, but to have to eat with her, be near her. He should call Ellen. She was great. Smart. Pretty. A real-estate attorney he’d met six months ago. They’d gone out two, no, three times. He liked her. She had a great laugh.

He went to his briefcase to pull out his PalmPilot, but then it was time to go for breakfast. He ran his hand through his hair, and headed out.

Breakfast with Piper. Gee, how’d he get so lucky?

MEMORANDUM

To: Room Service and Housekeeping

From: Janice Foster, General Manager, HUSH Hotel

Date: Saturday

Re: Trace Winslow, suite 9006

Extra coffee!!! Check at noon and 3:00 to make sure he has enough.

Half and half in the fridge, replace daily!

New bottle of Stoli daily!!! Keep it in the fridge.

Fresh fruit and sparkling water at turndown!

VVVVVIP!!!!!!!!

PIPER SIPPED her coffee as she checked her watch. Trace was late.

There were only a few people in the cafeteria, but the number of employees was growing daily. Now that they were so close to the soft opening, they had to fill the ranks, finish training everyone from bellmen to housekeepers to dog sitters.

God, how many soft openings had she lived through in her life? It was the hardest time for a hotel. All the final bugs had to be ironed out, all the little things that only popped up after guests had checked in. Thankfully, the reviews wouldn’t start for another month, after the official grand opening, but still. She wanted everything to be perfect.

Janice had been fabulous putting it all together, but most of the credit for staffing went to Lisa Scott, the head of human resources and Piper’s oldest friend.

Lisa was the daughter of Jess Scott, who’d worked at the Orpheus for almost twenty years. Since they were the same age, Piper and Lisa had started hanging out when they were ten, and the friendship had continued. Deepened. Lisa and Piper’s ex-nanny, Bridget Pollard, knew everything about Piper. They’d stuck with her during the good times and the bad, and Piper had no idea what she would have done without them.

Trace walked in, and Piper had to put down her cup. God, he was a good-looking man. It wasn’t fair. He had a wicked body. Wide shoulders, slim hips, unbelievable abs. His hair was dark and thick, although it could have been longer. But it was his face that did the damage.

Perfect from his forehead to his chin. Expressive brown eyes that could communicate his every emotion or be a cold mirror. His nose was straight and fine, and his lips… He didn’t have much of an upper lip, but what was there, worked. His lower lip was delectable, and when the man smiled, there wasn’t a woman within shouting distance who didn’t get wet.

Too bad he was such a prick.

“What do we do here?” he asked, standing in his dark gray suit, his pale blue tie, his body oozing sex appeal as if he expected her to drool or something.

“We eat.”

He looked down at her cup of coffee. Her lack of food.

She sighed as she stood. “This way.”

He followed her to the breakfast bar. There was everything from fresh bagels to omelets and waffles. The employees could come in here to eat, to relax on their breaks, to take staff meetings. At night, when the restaurant, Amuse Bouche, was open, the chef made sure the buffet was stocked with excellent fare.

She grabbed a tray and picked up some yogurt, fresh fruit salad and grapefruit juice. Trace got a waffle, scrambled eggs and melon.

They went back to her table, and for a few minutes, they concentrated on eating. Her gaze kept going to Trace’s mouth, the way he chewed, his throat as he swallowed. But then he’d look at her, and she’d stare at her plate until she figured he wasn’t looking. Then it would begin again, until she couldn’t take it anymore. “So what’s the deal? Why is Nicholas being such a jerk?”

“Nice way to talk about your father.”

“I was being kind.”

Trace frowned. “He’s upset. You won’t listen to him. What recourse does he have?”

“Disinheriting me seems like a radical choice.”

“Oh? And what would you have him do?”

“Give me a chance. Give Hush a chance.”

“Piper,” he said, putting his fork down, “you’ve made the hotel into a bordello. You’re still a Devon, and the man has worked his whole life to make that name mean something.”

“It’s not a bordello. Jesus, Trace, you’ve seen it yourself. I’m not ashamed about one thing at Hush. It’s first-class, all the way. More so than most of the Devon chain.”

“Its main selling point is vibrators.”

She sighed. “I expect that from Kyle, not you. The main selling point of Hush is excitement. You and I both know that when couples come to Manhattan, that’s what they’re looking for. They want a rush, they want to feel cosmopolitan, exotic. I’m giving them everything they could ask for.”

“Vibrators.”

“Yes, and all the other wonderful things consenting adults like to play with. Look, all the boutique hotels have some kind of gimmick. The Muse has a dream maker on staff. The Library Hotel uses literature, including, I might add, erotica. Hotel Giraffe has the sweet-indulgence thing. Hush just does it better, with something more people want.”

“You said it yourself, Piper. It’s a gimmick. Gimmicks aren’t what Devon hotels are about.”

“No, they’re not. They’re about boredom. Look at the statistics, Trace. You know as well as I do that the average customer at any of the Devon hotels is fifty.”

“Fine, you want to bring in a younger clientele, go for it. But not with sleaze.”

“Sleaze?” She felt herself priming for a major attack, and reined her anger in. She couldn’t stop the death grip she had on her fork, however. “There is nothing sleazy about this hotel.”

“Excuse me?”

She stood up, afraid she was going to stab him. “I have meetings this morning. I have to go.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“No.”

“Piper, you’re not going to get rid of me. I’m here for a week. Get used to it.”

“Fine. We’ll meet later.”

“I’d like you to take me through. I want to see everything.”

“I’m sure you do. I’ll call you at noon.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.” She grabbed her tray and headed for the exit, wondering what she’d done to deserve this…this nightmare. She knew he was watching her as she left, and she hoped he’d choke on his waffle.



TRACE WATCHED her walk away. Specifically that splendid rear end of hers. Today she’d worn slacks, black, that fit just right. A red silk blouse that curved over her breasts like a caress. And an attitude that made him want to…

He could do this. He was a professional. He dealt with some of the most cunning businessmen in the world. One young woman with personality issues wasn’t going to undermine his purpose.

He’d make her see the light. Get her to accept her responsibilities. Or die trying.



PIPER HUNG UP the phone, then turned to her desk calendar. At three she had an interview with a new bartender. Her CPA was coming at four-fifteen. She wanted Trace to be in on that one. Let him get a load of the projections.

She’d already made dinner reservations for the two of them at Amuse Bouche, but that wasn’t until nine, so if she could show him the hotel before her three o’clock, she’d have some time for herself after her last meeting.

She called down to the spa. “Caroline, can you fix me up with a massage at seven tonight?”

“Absolutely. What kind?”

“Whatever you think. I want to try them all.”

“How long do you have?”

“An hour.”

“Okay, you’re all set.”

“Thanks.” Piper put the phone down. Caroline was a real find to run the spa. She had years of experience at the Red Door in Beverly Hills, and she was serious about making the Hush spa the best it could possibly be. They’d hired five masseuses, and the equipment, except for the steam room, was all installed and working.

In perhaps one of the best perks of her job, Piper was trying every technique, every masseuse. Just like she was going to try everything on the menu at Amuse, go into every suite and room. There was nothing she wouldn’t do to insure that her hotel was perfect.

Not because her watcher was on the premises. Trace could go hang himself for all she cared. It was about pride. Making her own success.

Letting out a long slow breath, she picked up the phone again and dialed Trace’s room. He answered gruffly, as if she’d interrupted something important.

“Are you ready?” she asked, keeping her tone neutral despite the fact that just his voice was enough to provoke all kinds of inappropriate responses.

“I’ll be in the lobby in five minutes.” He hung up, not bothering to say goodbye.

She put the phone back in the cradle, and dropped her head to her hand. Why did she let him get to her like this? Every time she saw him, her thoughts went directly to sex without passing Go or collecting two hundred dollars. It was downright Pavlovian, and worse, it made her feel like a fool.

She stood up, pushing back her chair. She would not think of sex with Trace, not in any context. Too many memories there, too much history. What she needed to remember was how he’d rejected her, how her heart had been crushed.

She turned off her computer and headed to the hallway. With every step, she took a deep breath, picturing herself confident, uncaring, cool as a cucumber. All she had to do was show Trace the hotel. Once he saw it for himself, he’d get it. He’d see that it wasn’t sleazy in the least. Then he’d tell her father, and everything would be fine. It would.

She rode the elevator up to the lobby, and when the doors opened, there he was. He was staring at the painting at the end of the hallway, his hands in his pockets, the picture of debonair. She might hate him, but she couldn’t deny that his particular combination of looks, style and chemistry was her Achilles’ heel.

One last deep breath and she stepped to his side. “I thought we’d start at the top and work our way down.” Without waiting for a response, she led him back to the elevator, and put her key card in the slot above the floor buttons. This particular card would give them access to the roof. She had another that would take her to the penthouse suites.

The doors closed and the only sound in the cab was the soft music playing from the speakers. It was Norah Jones, and Piper focused on the lyrics instead of the man standing so close to her. The long seconds ticked by accompanied by a solo guitar and the briefest hint of his cologne. She kept her expression neutral, her back straight, even when she saw the reflection of his eyes staring back at her.

She blinked first, looking at the elevator’s progress as it went from the sixteenth floor to the seventeenth. Only a few more seconds and they’d be on the roof, and then it would be easier.

When they finally reached their destination, she held back a sigh, and simply led him outside. “This is the garden,” she said. “Mostly flowers, but some vegetables that they use in the restaurant.”

Trace took in the whole of the expanse in front of him, surprised at the size of the garden and how lush it was with a riot of colorful blooms. It was beautiful and calming, with scattered benches and standing fountains.

He remembered this building. A prime piece of real estate, most of Piper’s trust fund had gone to acquiring the space. It had been nondescript. A bunch of offices with a coffee shop and a dry cleaner, and something else he couldn’t remember on the ground floor. There was nothing nondescript about it now.

“In the winter, this whole area becomes a greenhouse, so the guests can still come up here and get away from it all.” She headed to her right, pointing out the retractable roof. “The pool, which I’ll show you next, has the same kind of roof, which we can put up during undesirable weather. But during the summer and spring, we’re going to keep it open.”

He followed her down a short flight of stairs to the indoor pool, which was much longer than it was wide, Olympic-size, he thought. The floor was tiled gray and there were chrome sconces at wide intervals on the white walls. Next to the pool was a large Jacuzzi tub, and there were white lounge chairs and round tables lined up ready for bathers. On the far wall was a bar, not staffed at the moment, but it appeared to be fully stocked.

“Those are the locker rooms,” Piper said, leading him toward two doors next to the bar. She walked ahead of him, sorting through some keys.

Trace let his gaze move down her body, captured by the sway of her hips. He preferred her in skirts, but this was a close second. He couldn’t keep his eyes lowered, however, not with the temptation of that incredible behind right in front of him. Goddamn, it was enticing. It was nuts, how much he wanted her when he didn’t even like her all that much. Yeah, she was fun, but so was golf.

He forced his head up, his thoughts away from temptation. He had no business thinking about her ass, or any other part of her. She was a job, that’s all. Piper was enough trouble with her clothes on.

She opened the men’s locker-room door, and he followed her into the small but efficient space. It reminded him of a lesser version of the changing room at his gym, fully equipped and ready to go. “Do you have a workout room?”

She nodded as she walked him past the showers. “It’s on the fourth floor. I’ll show it to you later.”

“Great.”

“The only thing left on the roof is the library,” she said. “It’s right through here.”

She led him into a lushly decorated space that had the same domed, Plexiglas ceiling as the pool area. Only there was a coziness that took him by surprise. The wall that separated them from the lockers had a large fireplace in the center, and it looked to him as if it burned real wood. Looking up, he saw the chimney, which, oddly, seemed to fit with the other high-tech materials. There were cream-colored couches, each equipped with soft pillows, reading lamps and footstools. Rich carpeting covered the floor, and as the name implied, there were shelves of books throughout the room.

As he wandered, he spotted small groupings of chairs, coffee tables, chaise lounges, magazine racks. The bar at the pool was open in here, too, although there was a separation where the wall met.

“That’s to keep out the noise,” she said. “It’s very quiet in here, and even though the sound system is wired throughout the entire roof, each space is divided to create the perfect environment.”

Trace nodded. “So what? People come up here to screw during poetry readings?”

Piper’s jaw tightened. “Yeah, that’s it. We were just going to call it the Orgy Room, but we thought that might be a bit much.” She walked quickly back to the elevator, and when they were both inside, she pushed the button to the nineteenth floor with more force than was necessary.

Trace relaxed, resting his shoulder against the steel of the cab. She’d faced front which gave him the chance to look at her, to note the tension in her shoulders. Even that expensive suit of hers couldn’t hide her frustration. He liked her this way. On edge, on the defensive. He could control things better this way. When Piper was angry, she let things slip. Besides, there was nothing more satisfying than seeing that fire light up her eyes.

He wished he could see them now, even though he knew them as well as his own. They were a startling blue that most people thought were colored by contact lenses. Large, perceptive eyes with thick, dark lashes. Eyes that were made infinitely more beautiful when lit by passion or pain.

He’d been hypnotized by them more than once. Even when she couldn’t find the right sharp words, her gaze could tease him to the brink of madness.

He wasn’t about to get tangled up in blue eyes. Like those who’d been turned to stone by Medusa, he’d learned it was better not to look.

The elevator stopped, and he stepped into the cool hallway.

“These are the penthouse suites,” Piper said, heading to the left.

“What are you charging?”

“Five thousand a night.”

“And the lower suites?”

“Twenty-five hundred.”

From what he knew about Manhattan hotels, she was in the right ballpark. It would be interesting to see what was behind the penthouse doors.

She didn’t make him wait. She opened the door, stepping aside to let him enter. As he walked in, he caught a hint of her perfume. She still wore Samsara. Surprising. He’d thought that scent belonged in the past, along with her innocence.

He forced himself to focus on the room. The foyer was large, as large as some New York hotel rooms. The floor was Italian marble, the artwork on the walls Warhol originals.

“This is the Pop Room,” Piper said, her heels clicking across the floor. “It’s three-thousand square feet. There are two bedrooms, three baths, butler, secretarial and limo services. It was designed by Jean-Paul Gaultier. Our other penthouses were done by Stella McCartney, Donatella Versace, Zang Toi and Vivienne Westwood. The bridal suite was done by Vera Wang.”

“That’s a hell of a list.”

“Good PR,” she said. “They’re all coming to the opening, as are their favorite clients. We’re having several photo spreads done. The GQ will be out next week.”

“So it’s to be celebrities all the way?”

“They get the press.”

“But they don’t pay.”

“Not in the beginning, but they will. They’ll spend oodles of money here because every star worth his salt wants the world to think they’re the hottest studs to walk the earth. It’s going to be a badge of manliness to come to Hush. And where there are hot, hunky men, hot, horny women follow. It’s as elemental as the tide.”

“There’s nothing here that these people can’t get at any other hotel.”

“Why don’t you shove, uh, wait on that opinion until you’ve experienced the entire hotel.”

“You think I haven’t seen a vibrator before? Come on, Piper. I’m not convinced.”

“Well, then why don’t you just leave? Go back and tell Nicholas that I’m a very bad girl who doesn’t deserve a penny.”

“That would be way too easy,” he said, his smirk so annoying she wanted to scream.




4


TRACE WALKED PAST her to the window and looked out at the view of the skyline. Impressive. He turned, scanning the space.

The color scheme was pastel, with sharp additions of crimson and black. He could see the attention to detail in everything from the crown molding to the silk drapes. Piper had clearly spared no expense here. It was the kind of penthouse designed to make the rich feel privileged, that catered to the most discriminating tastes. In fact, it reminded him of the Burj Al Arab hotel in Dubai—the only seven-star hotel in the world. Piper was aiming high.

“Let’s see the rest.” He stepped forward, but she headed away before he got too close. Which was good because his body thrummed with a need that was purely sexual.

It was insanity. His private hell. He wished he could forget about his job and just screw her through the mattress.

He followed her into the master bedroom. She’d walked over to the incredibly huge four-poster bed and her hand, with her long, narrow fingers, her perfect pink nail polish, rested on one of the plush pillows.

“We had the bed custom-made, along with all the linens. It’s larger than a California King, and the sheets are six-hundred-count Egyptian cotton. Which, by the way, we’ve used on all the beds in the hotel.”

“Not cheap.”

“Worth it,” she said, her hand skimming the detailed cherrywood headboard.

He wrestled his attention to other appointments. The velvet chaise, the deep burgundy walls, the modern crystal chandelier.

He heard a soft hum, and right in front of the chandelier, he watched a large slim screen lower from a hidden recess in the ceiling. Walking around to her side of the bed, he waited until the screen was in position. “Plasma?”

“The best there is,” she said. She pointed to a panel on the sleek bedside table. “Everything in the suite can be controlled from here. The temperature, the drapes, the sound system, the TV.” She pressed a button and the elegant draperies opened to reveal another floor-to-ceiling glass wall.

“So where’s the sex?” he asked.

“Everywhere,” she said, pointing him to a large armoire in the corner. “There are films, books, cameras, condoms of all kinds….” She swung the cabinet doors open. “Everything for the adventurous couple.”

He could see that. Aside from the items she’d mentioned, there was another aspect of adventure well stocked. Silk scarves, fur-lined cuffs, a leather harness, riding crop. And that’s all that was on immediate display.

“Of course,” she said, “all really intimate accessories are gifts from the hotel. Something to remember Hush by when the guests go home.”

He struggled to keep his expression neutral. All he could think about were the cuffs, with Piper’s wrists in them. The dark-red scarf covering those too-knowing eyes. Her body, stretched to its limit on that enormous bed.

Her hand moved from the cabinet door to the small of her throat. It was too easy to let his gaze move up those few inches to slightly parted lips, to the high color in her cheeks. To the hunger in her dangerous blue eyes.



PIPER CONTROLLED her breathing, but she couldn’t stop her heart from slamming in her chest. She tried to turn away from the heat of Trace’s gaze. She couldn’t move. Not an inch. Because what she saw in his eyes made everything that had happened in the past ten years vanish.

He wanted her. No denial would ever be enough to convince her otherwise. She’d seen him like this before, and as before, her sanity fled and her imagination took over.

Images tumbled as the strange connection between them grew: his face contorting in a mask of passion as he came inside her, the feel of his lips as they tugged at her nipples. How he would teach her what it was to let go, which didn’t make a damn bit of sense because the man was the epitome of stodgy.

Of course she’d had lovers after her embarrassing seduction fiasco with Trace. He might have turned her away, but others hadn’t. Unfortunately, dream-lover Trace was far more interesting than her real lovers had been. Not that she’d never had fun. Heavens no. But there was always something missing. Something she’d made up in her weird little brain.

The smartest thing she could do would be to just throw the man on the bed, right now, this minute, rip off his pants and get it over with already. There wasn’t a chance he could live up to the man she’d imagined. And then she could hate him in earnest.

He took a step. One step. That was enough. She broke free, turned her head, closed the armoire. Came back to her senses. “The bathroom is also designed for couples,” she said, forcing herself to walk casually.

For a blessed minute he didn’t join her, which gave her time to finish calming down.

“It’s big.”

She turned to Trace standing by the tub. “Big enough for four adults,” she said, grateful to be on an even keel. “There’s a separate sound system, a television, full access to lighting and an intercom.” She pointed to the freestanding shower. “Six showerheads plus the water bar. It’s also a steam room. The floor is heated from below, the towels are warmed to body temperature.”

“What, no oiled towel boys?”

She smiled. “For you, honey? We’d make an exception.”

“Oh, funny. You’re a scream.”

“You make me look good, lover.”

“In your dreams.”

She opened a mirrored cabinet which revealed shelves stocked with black-and-pink bottles. “We have signature scents, oils, soaps, lotions, shampoos. A small company in Brooklyn makes everything for us. Exclusively.”

“You’ve thought of everything.”

“Probably not. Yet.”

He ran his hand across the marble of the double sinks. “Okay, I can’t put this off any longer. Why? Why the sex angle? You must have known your father would never go for it.”

At last. A conversation Piper was completely prepared for. “It’s a niche that needed filling.”

“Pardon the pun?” he said, his lips turning up at the corners.

“No, I don’t think I can pardon that. I’ve done my homework, Trace. There’s nothing like this in Manhattan. Nothing.”

“Not even in Times Square?”

“I think your insistence in equating sex with sleaze is something you need to discuss with your therapist.”

He laughed. “Right. I’m probably the only person in New York who thinks a hotel designed for sex is tawdry.”

“No, you’re just one of the sadly misinformed. This hotel is about pleasure. Consensual, mutual pleasure.”

“The Kama Sutra in the bedside drawer? The cameras, the sex toys? Come on, Piper, don’t tell me this whole place doesn’t pander to the worst common denominator. You know damn well you’re going to supply the tabloids with years of grist.”

“And that’s bad for business how?”

“It’s not the way Devons do business.”

“Devons make money. I’m going to make tons of it. Just like always, it’s the bottom line that makes my father happy, and you know that as well as I do.”

Trace shook his head. “How can you be this naive? I could almost understand if this was Kyle’s idea. Not that he’d be foolish enough to piss off Nicholas like this, but he’s been known to make some bonehead moves.”

“What?” She leaned back against the door. “A disparaging comment about my brother? I thought the two of you were thick as thieves.”

“Kyle’s a decent kid.”

“Kyle’s a suck-up of the first order. If Dad says jump, all he knows how to do is ask ‘How high.’”

“He understands what’s at stake. He listens to your father. He’s not in the tabloids every other day.”

“Oh, right. Kyle, the apple of Daddy’s eye. You know what he told me? What he’s going to do with his trust-fund money?”

“No. What is he going to do?”

“He’s going to invest in Devon Industries. I mean, please.”

“He’s not dumb.”

“Oh, wait. I forgot that everything’s about money. Always and forever, amen.”

“What are you doing this for, if not your inheritance?”

She shook her head. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“No?”

“Not a chance.”

He stepped toward her. “Try me.”

She headed out of the bathroom, not willing to play this game another minute. Trace had proved beyond any doubt exactly what mattered to him in life. The buck. And the only way he was going to get those bucks was by being a slavish toady to Nicholas Devon. The hell with who got hurt.

“I’ll skip the suites,” she said, feeling him behind her as she crossed the living room. She was cutting the tour short, but she had to get this over with. “Let’s go down to the workout room, and then I’ll take you to the spa.”

“Fine.”

“I made dinner reservations for nine,” she said, closing the penthouse door behind her.

“Fine,” he said again, sounding as frustrated as she felt. He walked ahead of her and called for the elevator. “I’d like to see the books.”

“What, the one in your nightstand isn’t enough?”

He gave her one of his patented glares. But just for a second. Then he turned away with a shake of his head.

The elevator door opened, and he held it for her. She passed him, careful not to get too close. She didn’t want a repeat of what had happened in the penthouse bedroom.

What she needed here was a plan. Some way to get past all this defensive bullshit. She needed Trace as an ally, not a sparring partner. Unfortunately, she had a terrible tendency to speak before she thought when she was with Trace. Her reaction just came so naturally. Strike before she was struck. It had been like that since she was seventeen.

“You coming?”

He stood by the open elevator door. She’d been so lost in her own thoughts she hadn’t realized they were at the fourth floor already.

She nodded, then headed for the workout room. It was very well equipped. Six treadmills, four elliptical trainers, a complete free weight set, Nautilus machines and more. She’d hired two professional trainers, and was in the process of finding two more. “We made sure the equipment was top-notch, and that the trainers are highly qualified.”

Trace wandered through the space. She wondered what he’d find to be critical about. She’d been to all the top hotels in the city and she knew this was one of the best facilities available. In fact, there was nothing second best at Hush.

“It looks good,” he said.

“Gee, thanks.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know what you think I’m here for, but as I told you last night, I’m here to help.”

“Right,” she said. “Do you want to see the spa?”

“Yeah, sure. Why not?”

Again, they went to the elevator, riding back up to the spa level. It was huge, covering most of the floor, and Piper was incredibly proud of how it had turned out. Everything was designed to ease the most stressed of guests, from the colors on the walls to the very air they breathed. Of course there were the regular Swedish and Shiatsu massages, but there was also aromatherapy, sensual, sports and other massages that offered cleansing of the chakras, balms for the soul.

Naturally, she didn’t broadcast her belief in such things and would have shot herself before she admitted it to Trace, who would have ridiculed her mercilessly. But the truth was, she felt strongly about the body/mind/universe connection. Only, when she was around Trace she become completely disconnected.

“What’s that smell?”

She looked at Trace who was sniffing the air, and she noticed the little furrow right between his eyes. A powerful urge hit to slowly run her tongue over that small patch of skin. She turned, cursing herself.

“Piper?”

“What?”

“The smell?”

“That’s a mix of eucalyptus and chamomile. For relaxation.” She breathed deep, putting the scent to the test as she turned back to face him.

“Ah.” He faced the wall of cascading water that made up the right side of the reception area.

“The water recycles,” she said. “It’s tested daily for any impurities. You could drink it with no ill effects.”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

Caroline King walked into the room. She smiled at Piper, but when her gaze shifted to Trace, the smile changed. Piper had seen that reaction before. Trace was a very handsome man, but more than that, he had the kind of charisma that seemed to affect women in a very fundamental way. Fundamental, that was cute. The truth was, most women who saw Trace wanted to jump his bones.

Maybe there was a vaccine for that. She’d be first in line with her sleeve rolled up. Fact: the chemistry between them was undeniable. Now, how could she use it to her advantage?

“Piper has an appointment this evening,” Caroline said, after she’d introduced herself to Trace. “Why don’t you let me make one for you at the same time?”

“I’m sure Mr. Winslow has better things to do,” Piper said.

Trace turned away from the reception desk and gave her a smile that made her teeth clench. “I understand there are couples’ massages?”

“Oh,” Caroline said, tearing her gaze from Trace to look at her boss. “Of course.”

“That’s true,” Piper said, not at all ready to play this game. She needed time to think. To strategize. “They’re for couples.”

His smug smile said too much. “What other massages do you have?”

Caroline handed him the brochure they’d gotten from the printer only three days ago. While he looked at it, Caroline gave her a questioning look.

Piper answered with a small shake of the head. She wasn’t about to go into her history with Trace with any of the staff, no matter how much she liked them. Only one person knew about Trace and that was Lisa. But even Lisa didn’t know the whole truth.

“How about this sports massage?”

“It’s wonderful,” Caroline said. “If you have any specific areas that are giving you trouble, just tell your masseuse.”

“Six o’clock?”

Caroline smiled. “We’ll be ready for you.”

Trace nodded, then turned back to Piper. “That should give us enough time to finish the tour and with the CPA.”

“Thank you, Caroline. See you later.” Looking at Trace, she said, “You can go through the rest of the spa when it’s time for your appointment. I’ve got bartenders to interview before we can go over the accounting.”

He nodded, walking with her into the hall. “What was all that about the couples’ massage?”

“What?”

“Are we talking about breaking laws here? Is that why you didn’t want to take one with me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s for lovers, okay? Not people you can barely tolerate.”

“Dost thou protest too much?”

“You wish, you perv.”

“Excuse me? Pot. Kettle?”

“Nothing in this hotel is illegal. Not at the pool, not in the gym and not in the spa.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because I’m not a madam.”

“Then what’s the problem if there’s no line-crossing?”

She moved close to him, hating that she had to look up to meet his eyes. “Well, this explains a lot.”

He raised his brow.

“Lovers, Trace, are two people who care about each other more than they care for themselves. You can look it up if you don’t believe me.”

He took a step closer to her, invading her space. But she’d be damned if she’d back away.

“And you’d know about that, how?” he said dryly. “Oh, that’s right. Your latest rock-and-roll boy. I hear he has a really big…microphone.”

Piper trembled as she clamped her hands to her sides. “Have all the massages you want. Do it with a poodle for all I care. Do whatever you want, I don’t give a damn.”

“You’d miss me if I were gone.”

“Let’s try it and find out, shall we?”

He laughed. “God, you are a piece of work. You can take the woman out of the tabloids, but you can’t take the tabloids out of the woman.”

“You really don’t know the first thing about me, do you?” she asked. And then she turned on her heel and walked to the elevator. It was still open, and she pressed the button before he could join her. When the doors closed, she slumped against the wall. She wasn’t going to survive it. Not for a week.

He was her poison, her worst nightmare, and he knew more about making her insane than anyone, including her father.



TRACE DIDN’T CALL the elevator back. He ran his hand through his hair, annoyed that he’d baited Piper like that. She drove him completely insane. Who did she think she was trying to kid?

He’d known her for too long to buy into this game she was playing. She might be able to fool the media, but there was no way Trace was buying into her act.

The hotel was a game, pure and simple. A way to stick it to Daddy. Just like the musician boyfriends, the drugs and the parties, the ridiculous spectacle she made of herself. He’d seen the pictures, seen her in front of the paparazzi. She could have been so much more. But she preferred the attention, the notoriety. She had the makings of an incredible woman, but she just couldn’t break free from her image.

What he didn’t understand was why he cared. Why he still felt compelled to needle her, to make her squirm. Shit. Bad imagery. Damn.



THE INTERVIEW for the new bartender had gone well, and once they checked out Shandi’s references, she’d be a welcome addition. Just before four, Piper was in her office, going over the material the CPA would need for his meeting with Trace. She had no intention of staying.

Thankfully, her assistant, Angela, was so well informed that Piper wouldn’t be missed. She could tell Angela was confused about her skipping the meeting, but it didn’t matter. Piper had to get out, get away. There were a million things she could have done, but she wanted nothing to do with any of them. The second she could, she grabbed her bag and went down to the garage. She wasn’t sure where she was going, just anywhere but here. Anywhere Trace wasn’t.

Two limos were parked, ready to whisk her away. She could go to the Hamptons, Martha’s Vineyard, the airport.

Of course, she’d have to be back at some point. Despite her desire to disappear, the hotel was so damn close to opening, she couldn’t be away for long. Just thinking about all she had to do this week was enough to send her into a panic attack.

On the other hand, a panic attack would be better than what she was feeling now.

The valet stood at a respectful distance, sharp in his uniform, waiting attentively, but not obtrusively. Which was excellent, but it made her very aware that she was running away. That she’d let Trace get to her. Again.

She thought about going back inside, walking into the meeting as if nothing at all was wrong, but found herself wanting to head over to Fifth Avenue. Halfway to the limo, she heard something that stopped her. It wasn’t a voice, but a sound. A rather pitiful meow that cut straight through her roiling craziness.

It was dark in the garage and it wasn’t easy to discern the direction of the noise. A cat. A little one, she thought, but maybe it was just ill.

She hated that. Animals were her weakness, and although she donated a ton of money to shelters around the country, she still wanted to pick up every stray she saw. If she wasn’t careful, she’d turn into one of those cat ladies whose houses smelled like a litter box.

So she had three cats. No biggie. Her place was really large, and there was always someone around to take care of them.

The kitty cried again, and Piper got a bead on it behind the Dumpsters. She inched her way closer to the sad, sad sound, her heart aching. “Here, baby. Don’t be scared.”





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