Tayra Lipscomb stared down her perfect nose at Keely. At five feet ten inches tall, Tayra had been a successful island model before she married Rupert Lipscomb, CEO of Lipscomb Hotels.
“I almost didn’t recognize you,” Tayra sneered. Her cold blue eyes raked down Keely’s body. “How the mighty have fallen. Did you hit a yard sale on the way to work, Keely?”
Six months ago, Keely would have trembled under the other woman’s icy stare, but for some strange reason, that wasn’t happening today.
Keely took a deep breath and, feeling amazingly calm, picked up her sweater. She stood up straight and proud as she shrugged back into it.
“You managed to find work in this hotel after being fired from half the executive hotel offices in Waikiki, eh? Someone finally decide to train you in housekeeping?”
Keely shook her head. “No, Tayra. But that is where I started my career in the hotel industry—in housekeeping. And just for the record,” Keely’s scornful gaze scraped the other woman up and down, “I can still take out the trash.”
Tayra blinked.
“What’s the matter, Mrs. Lipscomb? Did you think I’d take one look at you and turn tail and run, like I have been for a year? Three jobs later? How’s Rupert, by the way?”
Tayra’s curvy mouth quivered with rage. “Don’t even say his name, you little slut.”
Keely snatched up her glasses. “Tell Rupert I said hi,” she said, and started to walk out, but Tayra grabbed her by the collar of her sweater, scraping Keely’s neck with her nails.
Keely gasped.
“If you’re working here again, consider yourself finished, Keely,” Tayra threatened, her face inches from Keely’s. “I’ll make sure the new manager knows that you screw guests in empty rooms. I’ll see you walked out by security like I did once before—”
Keely smacked Tayra’s hand away. “Go right ahead, you lying bitch, and I’ll tell my story to the Island Advertiser. The truth, this time! How your husband started spending more and more time at the office to get away from you, and the threats and harassment you put me through. All for nothing! It wasn’t me he was having an affair with. I wouldn’t touch him with a blowtorch knowing he’d had his dick inside of you at least once—” Keely made herself stop.
Tayra—with her mouth open and eyes bugged out in shock—looked like she was about to stroke out. Keely didn’t care. She’d had enough of all the Tayras who hooked up with the good-looking Ruperts and Jacks of this world, then wondered why their men couldn’t keep their dicks in their pants!
That will never be me, Keely vowed, stomping past the shocked ex-model. Ever.
****
Jack glanced impatiently at his watch. “Where the hell did she go?” he asked Dexter.
“I did not realize she was even gone,” Dexter said.
Jack shook his head. Poor plain Keely. So insignificant that even strangers didn’t notice her. And then, he saw her, shuffling in their direction, fists at her sides and her head down.
“Anytime you’re ready, Mr. Sloane,” she said, and Jack’s mouth twitched with amusement since he’d been waiting on her in the blazing heat for the past twenty minutes. He said good-bye to Dexter before they left the hotel.
“Are you all right?” Jack asked, and started the car. He noticed her flushed cheeks beneath the heavy glasses and perspiration beading down her neck, at least what could be seen around that God- awful sweater.
She nodded, leaning back in the smoke-black leather seats with her face pointed away from his. “I’ve just…got a bad headache,” she said in a muffled tone.
Jack shook his head and merged into traffic just as the sun crept out from behind the clouds.
He’d be glad once they were back in the office. At least there he could brood in air-conditioned comfort. Not that the couch in his office and its memories gave him any comfort.
He’d like to burn the fucking thing, and even now his fingers itched to burn Lei’s letter. It thanked him for a lovely night, the dinner, the roses, the everything else.
It said she wasn’t interested in changing jobs at the moment. She didn’t feel a need to pursue more than what they’d already shared. It also told him she knew he understood because they were a lot alike, after all.
Nor did the letter leave a phone number where he could reach her to tell her she was wrong.
Not about to discuss anything with Lei’s sister, Jack couldn’t help but wonder why she spent all night with him if she wasn’t interested. A woman didn’t do the things she had done unless she was getting something out of it.
Well, multiple orgasms…that and she just really loved sex-like he did. But they shared a lightning chemistry, an emotional attraction that went beyond just one night, or so he thought. He felt used, and he didn’t like it.
One way or another, they would meet again.
After negotiating stop and go traffic, they arrived at the hotel’s tri-level garage.
He pulled into his shaded stall. “Okay, Keely. Sorry I’ve been preoccupied, but I’m all ears now. What did you want to talk to me about, hmm…?” he asked, and looked over at her when he didn’t get an answer.
“Hey there.” Gently he shook her shoulder and noticed tendrils of her hair had teased loose from her bun and now stuck to her neck in wet swirls.
“Mmph,” she mumbled. “Thirsty.”
Oh, hell no, Jack thought. She’s about to pass out and it’s all that fucking sweater’s fault!
He got out of the car, strode round to her side, and opened the door. “If you can’t get out and walk, I’m carrying you in,” he threatened.
She fanned herself weakly with one hand. “Feel like…I’m about to pass out…”
“Not if you take this miserable thing off!” Jack reached out and yanked her sweater apart, buttons popping and pinging off the dashboard as he did so.
“Jack, n-no—”
He didn’t expect to see anything sexy underneath all that scratchy gray wool, least of all the candy-floss pink cotton bustier she wore that cupped a pair of shapely breasts! Jack blinked, glimpsing a smooth, flat waist and tight stomach. She struggled to cover herself.
Too late. He’d seen the body beneath; the caramel-crème skin, the lush curves. His heart banged in his chest as he watched her flounder with her sweater like a dying fish.