Aaron dragged a hand through his damp hair and his nose wrinkled in distaste. He’d needed three showers to get the woman’s perfume off him. How the hell he’d missed her when he walked into the room, he had no f**king clue.
“Yes sir, will do. There’s an emergency room not far from here.” The manager turned for the door then paused. “Again, I apologise. I—is there anything else we can do for you tonight before you leave?”
Grabbing his black silk shirt off the chair, he shrugged it on, leaving it unbuttoned. He shoved his feet into unlaced combat boots and looked at the manager.
“Yeah, you can have someone bring my case up to the helipad. My ride should be arriving soon,” he said, moving to grab the guitar case from the couch. He always sang on stage, but he played, and well, wrote and composed all of the Hound’s material. The record company wanted to bring someone in, but they’d vetoed it. Their sound was unique to them. Always had been, and always would be.
“Of course, sir. Will do.”
Throwing the horns, Aaron touched his folded hand across his heart in the Hounds signature salute. “Rock on, man. Stay true.”
Chapter Two
Mel had to admit, Madame Eve was efficient. Within an hour of her receiving the email, a limo had arrived to take her to the nearest airport, a little affair near Sherwood Forest, and whisked her away from the sleepy English countryside by private jet. The short flight had been very comfortable. Despite the fact she’d been slumming it in tents and no-star digs for the past couple of months, she knew luxury when she saw it.
Thanks to her inheritance, she could afford to travel like that if she wanted to. But she chose not to, not seeing the point when the same flight from the same location over the same route cost far less commercially. Less of a carbon footprint as well, when a whole planeload of people shared it. She had to admit though, it was nice on the odd occasion. She stood and headed to the door at the front of the plane.
“Mind the step, ma’am. I hope you have a good stay and thank you for flying with us.”
“Thank you.” She smiled at the flight attendant, waving off his offer to help with her bag and stepped out. Set back from the hotel, the narrow runway ran the width of an impressive expanse of lawn. Behind a small rise, and with the landing lights set in the tarmac, the runway was inconspicuous, hidden once the plane had taken off again. Nice touch. And in a couple of thousand years, people like her would dig up the remnants and wondering what the hell the road to nowhere had been used for.
Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she set off, heading down the short flight of steps. Her strides ate up the distance to the sprawling hotel, part of the famous Castillo chain. She assessed it, picking up the details of what must once have been a stately home, but the Castillos had done well in converting it to a hotel. It still retained the majesty and charm of a noble family’s estate. She half expected some batty old codger to wander across the lawn to greet her in battered wellington boots and his grandmother’s shotgun over his arm.
Instead a neat young man stepped out of one of the double doors onto the terrace to wait for her. He was the only person in sight, but that was expected. The information from Madame Eve had been rather specific. Her date for the evening wanted the entire hotel closed off, to ensure their privacy.
She’d snorted a little at that. Close the hotel off? He had to be wealthy if he’d paid to have the place shut for a date. And in her experience, rich men thought they could buy anything and didn’t bother themselves with what others thought, or what they felt.
Unease wormed its way through her again. Perhaps the date hadn’t been such a good idea. She took a few deep breaths to bring her heart rate down and relax. Barrett wouldn’t do anything to put her in danger. And if this guy did hurt her in any way, shape, or form…there wasn’t enough money in the world to save him from her brother’s wrath. Barrett might be out of the military, but he’d been a shit-hot soldier, a commando, and damn good at his job.
“Good evening, Miss Simmons. A pleasure to welcome you to Greystones. I trust you had a good flight?” He strode down the steps toward her with a mega-watt smile. The faint accent, definitely not Scottish, marked him as non-local. “My name is Jones. I’ll be your personal butler for your stay here. Do you have any luggage I can carry for you?”
She shook her head, already charmed by the butler’s easy manner. At his curious look, she said, “No, this is all I have. I travel light. Don’t worry, I can do anything from a trek across the Sahara, to a swanky do at the White House from this bag. Lead on, please. I believe my Prince Charming awaits.”
“As you wish, ma’am.” Jones turned and inclined his head, indicating with his palm for her to precede him back up the stairs and through the open doorway. “And he does, indeed. Mr. Rixx arrived some time ago and has been awaiting your arrival. He asked me to tell you not to rush though, and to take as long as you need getting ready.”
She arched an eyebrow as Jones guided her through hallways with polished floors, the immaculate carved plaster walls littered with portraits of people from days gone past. The historian in her wanted to stop, marvel at the detail in them and wonder who the subjects had been.
“Here we are, ma’am.” Pausing at a door, he opened it and let her precede him into the room. She stepped through and her eyes widened.
Wow.
She thought she’d seen it all but the level of luxury impressed even her. Done in whites and creams, the space appeared to be less a room and more a suite. Doors opened off the sitting room they stood in, revealing bedrooms and what looked like a study. More closed doors on the opposite wall were a mystery that invited exploration later. Hell, even the living room had to be bigger than the entire apartment she rented for her current job. She whistled. There was luxury and there was pulling out all the stops.
“Swanky. This all for me?”
“Indeed, ma’am. Mr. Rixx’s suite adjoins this one; when you’re ready, you can access the shared balcony through that door over there.” He motioned toward a set of double doors framed by voluptuous curtains then stepped back with a smile. “If you need anything, please do not hesitate to call. My number on our internal system is double-0 seven.”
Amusement washed through her. “Cool number. Who’d you have to bribe to get that one?”
“I could tell you, ma’am, but then I’d have to kill you and you seem like a nice lady, so I wouldn’t want to do that.” Jones chuckled, seeming to relax a little at her smile. He pushed down the handle and gave her a little half bow. “I hope you have a good evening.”
He left her with her thoughts.
Oh, this one-night stand service is good.
Not only were a large bunch of lilies, her favourite flowers, in the bedroom, but the bathroom had been stocked with her usual brand of toiletries. How they’d known her preferences, she had no idea because Barrett sure as hell wouldn’t have. Give him a gun or a combat-type situation and he’d be able to describe it in great detail, right down to the last nut and bolt, or the type of sand underfoot. But if she asked him, “What do you think?” and struck a pose, he’d freeze, panic-stricken, trying to work out what had changed.
Madame Eve. Had to be. The woman had ESP or something.
After spending a happy few moments opening bottles, Melody ran a bath and soaked for a while. After the hot water worked its magic, she emerged, clean and chilled out, to stand in front of the mirror.
She hadn’t been kidding when she’d told Jones she lived out of her bag so she had everything to hand to make herself up for a date. Used to travelling in the course of her work, she always carried formal wear. Her trusty little black dress, new black satin underwear, and a pair of delicate, strappy sandals. All lightweight, easy to pack and, in the case of the dress, a quick blast with the hair-dryer knocked all the creases from the fae-silk. Dressing quickly, she returned to the mirror, to apply her makeup.
Leaning forward, she slicked a on a layer of gloss and studied her reflection with a critical eye. For her, not bad. She had no illusions. Not a supermodel by any stretch of the imagination, she stood way too short at five-foot dead and would only be the “ideal” weight if she managed to gain a foot overnight. Pleasantly plump might be a good term, if she felt kind…. If not, well then fat was as good a word as any.
At least her hair had behaved, the short, dark spikes falling in perfect disarray to frame her face. Pouting at her reflection, she blew it a kiss. It would have to do. She glanced behind her. Darkness had begun to fall, which meant her date had been cooling his heels for almost an hour….
Rixx. Why did that name seem familiar? The thought slid away as she headed to the double doors and threw them open.
The warm evening air whispered over her skin like a lover’s caress. The thought brought her back to sex again, and heat spread over her cheeks. Schooling her emotions, she fought the instinct to turn and run, to hide in her room under the duvet until morning, rather than have sex with a stranger. After all, that’s what the night was all about, wasn’t it? A one-night stand. But she had to admit, she was well overdue for some action between the sheets.
Her heels clicked on the flagstones, and she whistled a low note between her teeth as the balcony widened into a large seating area. Holy crap, is that a hot tub?
There wasn’t time to gawp. A figure detached itself from the shadows by one of the huge gargoyles dotting the wall. She hadn’t done more than glance at the profile of her date, preferring to make her own decision on the guy when she met him. Any report she read, even the briefest profile, could taint that first meeting. But, even if she had had an idea of the man she’d come there to meet, of what to expect, he certainly wasn’t it. Her jaw dropped as the moon broke overhead and she got her first good look at him.
He appeared to have stepped right from the glossy pages of Rock’n’Roll magazine. Tall and wiry, he had long black hair loose about his shoulders, and his unbuttoned shirt revealed a toned chest and a ripped six pack. Black pants rode low on his hips, far enough that one slip would reveal where the dark line of hair down the centre of his hard stomach led. The tattoos scrawled over his skin, heavy silver rings, bracelets and a large skull belt buckle completed the macho bad boy look. Almost…. She blinked, leaned closer and frowned.
“Are you wearing eyeliner?”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to take them back. He turned his head to flick the hair over his shoulder, and the light caught his eyes, the telltale shimmer clueing her in.
Her date not only channelled enough inner bad boy for a whole fricking town full of boys, but he was a werewolf to boot. Wait—did that make him a bad boy or a bad dog?
“Err, yes. I am. Why? Is that a problem?” Aaron replied, surprised by the first words she spoke. He was lucky to be able to marshal a sensible thought, never mind form a sentence since his brain short-circuited when he’d seen her…. When he’d smelled her.
Even though he’d been determined to come on the date, bugged Madame Eve to set it up at short notice for him, he hadn’t held out much hope. At best he’d expected a nice evening, perhaps a little action in the sack if the lady should be willing—most were as soon as they recognised him—and then a relaxing weekend at the hotel after she left.