‘Why, yes, of course, Mr Brody made the arrangements personally,’ the receptionist continued, apparently oblivious to Daisy’s distress. She handed Daisy a thin plastic card in a paper envelope. ‘The Towers Suite is on the twenty-first floor,’ she said chirpily, pointing to the lifts at the end of the lobby. ‘You have a special penthouse elevator for your exclusive use. Mr Brody left a message to say he’s in meetings downtown this afternoon, but we’re to contact him when you get here and he’ll be back at about six o’clock to escort you to dinner.’ She smiled again, her teeth so white they gleamed. ‘If you have the ticket for your luggage, I’ll have it taken to the suite.’
Daisy reached into her bag and handed over the ticket, her mind whirring. She wanted to demand the receptionist get her another room, but how the heck could she do that when she had a grand total of one hundred dollars in her purse? She’d have to have it out with Brody first, and then insist he get her another room. But the thought of that altercation filled her with dread. She hadn’t seen him for over a week, but just the mention of his name had made her thigh muscles clench and her nipples pebble beneath the thin silk of her dress.
‘Thanks for your help,’ she said, taking the key card in shaking fingers.
She walked to the lift lobby, keeping her back ramrod straight.
Forget feeling cheap, she might as well have had a huge scarlet letter A pasted on her breast.
When Brody finally turned up, she was going to have serious words with him.
After having inspected The Towers Suite, Daisy felt even more intimidated—and like a naive fool.
Taking up most of the twenty-first floor, the suite’s rooms were all enormous and luxuriously appointed. Daisy walked through it, her eyes widening until they were the size of dinner plates. Leading off the palatial entrance lobby was a sitting room which boasted a grand piano, a plasma TV the size of a small cinema screen and a lavish balcony with a breathtaking view of the Upper East Side. There were also two walk-in wardrobes and a dressing room, but—surprise, surprise—only one bedroom.
Done out in cream silk wallpaper and matching upholstered furnishings, the bedroom had an en-suite bathroom containing a circular whirlpool tub big enough to house an entire rugby team. Daisy had particular trouble breathing though when she got a load of the obscenely large bed. Raised on a dais and covered in a gold satin quilt, it had enough pillows to put a harem to shame.
Of course Brody had just assumed they’d be sleeping together. Why wouldn’t he? The man obviously had more money than God, and the arrogance to match. And when you factored in his devastating good looks and that bad-boy Irish charm, she’d bet her bottom dollar no woman had ever said no to him.
She strode back into the bathroom, her annoyance choking her. Twisting the gold-plated taps, she watched the steaming water gush out. Sprinkling in a generous helping of flakes from a heavy glass jar on the vanity, she breathed in the lavender mist and tried to focus on the scent’s calming properties. She had a few hours till he arrived at six o’clock. She’d soak out the kinks from the flight, try to relax a little and go over exactly how she was going to handle Brody when he showed up.
CHAPTER TEN
DAISY glanced at the clock on the wall. Still only four-thirty. She closed her eyes, slid into the lavender-scented bubbles and let her mind drift over the classical music coming from the state-of-the-art console in the wall. Despite the battle that loomed large in her future, all the muscles in her body melted into blissful oblivion. When was the last time she’d been able to indulge herself like this? In a place as luxurious as this? Never, that was when.
Ten more minutes of nirvana, that was all she asked, then she’d get ready to face Brody.
She heard a small clicking sound beneath the music and frowned.
‘Welcome to New York, angel.’
She shot upright, her eyes flying open as water cascaded onto the floor. ‘What are you doing here?’ she yelped, wrapping her arms around her naked breasts.
‘I live here,’ Connor Brody said, the lazy grin spreading as his eyes drifted down.
He stood by the tub, looking tall and gorgeous and intimidating, his hands sunk into the pockets of a charcoal-grey designer suit, a few wisps of chest hair visible above the open collar of his white shirt. She’d never seen him in anything but sweats and jeans and a T-shirt before now. The formal business-wear should have made him look tamer and more sophisticated, but somehow the perfectly tailored fabric had exactly the opposite effect—accentuating the rough, raw masculinity that lay beneath the veneer of civilisation.
And to make matters worse, she was stark naked.
Daisy swallowed heavily, the blast of heat flooding through her coming from more than just the hot bath. She was in serious trouble here.
Those deep blue eyes wandered to her bosom. ‘Glad to see you made yourself at home.’
Daisy sank down sharply, splashing more water over the rim, until her chin hit the bubbles. Keeping one arm tight across her breasts, she used the other to shield her sex.
‘If you don’t mind,’ she squeaked, equal parts outrage and mortification, ‘I’m having a bath.’
‘So I see.’ He grinned some more. Then, to her astonishment, he took off his jacket, flung it on the floor, rolled up his shirt sleeves and perched on the edge of the tub.
‘What are you doing?’ she cried, still squeaking, as he picked up a bar of hotel soap.
Those piercing eyes fixed on her face as he ripped off the soap wrapper, dipped his hands into the water and began lathering the soap in long, tanned fingers. The glint of mischief in his gaze did nothing to diminish the desire.
‘Giving you a hand,’ he said casually, too casually. The deep husky tone of his voice reverberated across her nerve endings.
She pressed her palm into her sex, struggling to hold back the surge of heat that had made the muscles loosen. ‘I don’t want a hand.’ The breathlessness of the words meant the statement didn’t sound as definite as it should.
His lips quirked, as if she’d said something amusing.