Falling for the Wrong Twin (3 page)

“Yes, Mike?”

“Um…sweet dreams.” That was it. That was the extent of what he could say while his mother and aunt looked on. That plus, “If you need anything, I’ll be right next door. Room 2.”

Anna understood his message. He could see the comprehension shining in her brown eyes and the interest in her slightly parted lips. But before she could speak, his mother piped up.

“Tidle and I are one door beyond that,” his mother said. “Room 3. And don’t worry, dear. The walls are paper thin, so just call out. We’ll hear everything.”

Bloody hell.

Chapter 2

I should say something really clever now.

That was Anna Lopez’s thought as she stared into the hotel room and filled her vision with sculpted manchest. Sure there was more to the man than just rippled abs and a broad torso, but at the moment, her eyes could not seem to raise up to the level of his face.

I’m objectifying you right now.
Had she said that aloud? Or just thought it?

He grinned. Oh thank God, she was looking at his face. Green eyes, tanned skin around his rugged jaw, and a cocky smile. “There are worse things,” he said.

Hell. She’d spoken aloud. But wait…she was sure she hadn’t. Then the answer became clear.

This was a dream! That’s why his body seemed to shift before her. Eyes, chest, narrow hips—stunning parts of him rolling disconcertingly in and out of her view. Sadly, the money shot was still covered in a white hotel towel, but that could change, right? This was a dream after all.

She felt herself smile, relaxing into the gloriousness of her twenty-seventh birthday party vacation. She decided to start with her excuse. She pulled a stack of celebrity photos from her purse, shifted through until she found Rick Smithson in all his pro-soccer glory, and held it out.

“Could you sign this for me please?” It took her a moment to remember her client’s name. Oh yeah. “Can you make it out to Chris? Say keep on kicking or something like that.”

He frowned at her, his face shifting into a glower. It was weird how that happened. She could never get a full image of the man. She saw each part individually–lowered brows, lips twisted in annoyance, hands grabbing the photo though he clearly didn’t want to. Never a unified picture except in the photo.

Weird.

Now if only his towel would drop off and…hello! Clearly her thoughts were creating her reality. She saw narrow hips, full erection, hard corded thighs. Nice. Who knew soccer players were so very thick?

“My signature will cost you,” he said.

Her view shifted to his face again. He was looking at her without shame. There was a wry twist to his lips and a strange intensity to his dark green eyes. Her breath caught. Suddenly, there was a physical quality in the air, a thickness that pushed her firmly into his room. She resisted a little, but the pressure was relentless and she half stumbled forward. She thought she’d fall into his arms, but he moved out of the way. All those disparate body parts, and she didn’t manage to touch a one.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed as she found her feet again. “How much money–”

“Not money,” he said. She heard the door click shut behind her and a tremor of excitement shot down her spine. “Touch me,” he ordered.

Just what she wanted. Her view expanded to his broad chest and the dark discs of his nipples. He had hair on his chest, but not a lot. Enough to make her wonder what his texture would be like–more wiry hair or more baby soft skin? Or something in between…

“Now,” he ordered.

She stroked across his torso, but he jerked away. She felt nothing more than the barest hint of flesh–burning hot–before he was out of reach.

“Come back,” she began, and he did. He loomed over her, his expression hungry, his body beautiful. And she did see much of him in that moment: the full torso of a sculpted athlete with a clenched jaw and warm yearning eyes.

“Touch me!” he commanded.

She extended her hand again, but he dodged away. Oh, she realized, he meant touch him somewhere else. She shifted to caress his lips, but he ducked from her fingers. She felt the harsh stubble on his jaw, then nothing.

Oh right. He wanted it
there.

She reached down. Down. Down. Where was he?

Suddenly she was flat against a wall, chained up and naked. The photo she’d wanted him to sign fluttered to the floor, and he was advancing on her. No whips or leather, thank God. That would completely throw her, but there was dominance in the very air she breathed. Power, control, and the absolute certainty that she’d have him on his terms or not at all.

“How good of a birthday do you want?” he challenged.

“A great one.”

“What are you willing to pay for it?”

Ooh, bargaining. “What do you want?”

“Total surrender.”

Of course he did. She lifted her chin and grinned. “Make me.”

He waited a beat. One. Two. “Agreed.” Then he swooped down and grabbed the photo, scrawling his name across it in bold strokes. She peered at what he’d written, but couldn’t see it clearly before he pushed it into her tote bag.

Then he turned back to her and for the first time, she got a look at his entire body. God, he was hot. And big. And advancing right for her. She felt her body react to his nearness, the excitement in her blood making her nipples tighten and her belly contract. How would he touch her?

When the caress came, it startled her for its slow tenderness. The lightest touch at the base of her throat. Hard calloused fingers drew a slow line from neck down to the notch in her collarbone. God, it was exquisite.

Then he stepped closer and—

Beep beep
.

Inch by slow inch he advanced—

Beep beep
.

She felt his heat envelop her, caress her. It was almost a physical caress. She arched, aching for—

Beep beep. Beep beep
.

Anna jolted awake with a curse on her lips. She’d been at the good part! She grabbed her smart phone and nearly threw it across the room. Instead, she fumbled with the screen and turned off the alarm. Damn it, she was on her birthday vacation! Why the hell hadn’t she remembered to turn off the stupid alarm?

She dropped back into the exquisitely wonderful bed and closed her eyes. Maybe she could recapture her dream.

Inch by slow inch as he… as he… what?

He should be kissing her. Where? Neck. He’d start at her neck while she…

She moaned--half frustration, half despair. The dream was gone and she was snuggled deeply in a strange bed while a monsoon poured down outside.

She grumbled as she glared out the window at the drenched landscape. It wasn’t really a monsoon. Just a terrible storm in some stupid suburb north of St. Louis. Her Chicago vacation had been ruined by a random bit of freeway debris that had somehow destroyed her car’s engine. Fortunately, one very handsome Rick Smithson had stopped to help. Better yet, he’d suggested she join him and his family at Miranda’s Place B&B. Which explained the very hot, almost erotic dream she’d just had.

She shifted, trying again to recapture her dream. Instead, she stared at her room, her gaze catching on her bed’s strange headboard. Bizarre carvings in a slightly suggestive manner. She ought to take a picture of it for her blog. Everyone seemed to love her vacation adventure photos, and this was perfect fodder for the site. She didn’t, of course, because she was too angry at her phone to grab it. It had, after all, destroyed the best dream she’d had in years.

And while she lay there glaring at no one in particular, her stomach grumbled in annoyance. In her haste to get on the road, she hadn’t eaten anything but road granola and coffee. Not the most sustaining mixture. And now it was a full twelve hours past the road disaster, and she was a woman who liked her sustenance.

Getting up, she managed a quick shower and some make-up because, frankly, her reflection in the mirror scared her without at least some cover-up and eye shadow. Then damp clothes because her suitcase had gotten soaked and ballet flats that she blasted with her hairdryer because at least her footwear needed to be dry. Her feet blistered easily and she insisted on some manner of luxury on her vacation. Dry feet were today’s luxury. And a woman who was about to turn twenty-seven deserved some pampering. Besides, she didn’t want to be thinking about her feet when she happened to run into the very handsome Mike Smithson.

With that thought buoying her mood, she grabbed her tote and headed for food and coffee—though not in that order. Caffeine was the one thing she needed desperately, even on vacation.

She followed some heavenly breakfast scents down the stairs to the Ship’s Galley. It was larger than she expected with tables throughout the space, but only one large round table was occupied. Two gray haired ladies sat close together chatting over their morning drinks. Aunt Tilde and Mrs. Smithson, if her memory served. She was just about to say hello when a woman popped out from around the corner behind her.

“Good morning, Ms. Lopez. I hope you slept well.”

Anna jumped then smiled at the manager. She was as a lovely woman with brown hair done up in a tight bun and odd steam-punk like shoes beneath her neat jeans.

“Good morning,” Anna returned. “I slept fine and I didn’t drown, which made it a good night.”

Bethany laughed, then pressed a mug of coffee into her hand. Anna blinked in surprise before taking a happy slurp. Coffee and sugar hit her stomach with equal power and she all but danced where she stood. She didn’t even have the control to ask the question, but shot the woman a look over the brim of the mug.

She answered with a smile. “You don’t remember telling me yesterday that all you needed was a bed and coffee—black, two sugars. I’ve had a mug waiting for you for the last hour. Oh, and I also found these. He’s a celebrity around here, so I always keep a few on hand.” She handed over signed publicity shots for Rick Smithson.

“Oh my God, thank you! My assistant’s son is going to flip for these. He’s nuts about soccer.” Now that the caffeine was hitting her blood, she could think a bit more clearly. Then another growl from her stomach had her thinking about food. “Uh, sorry. I guess I better--”

“Take a seat. And may I suggest you try one of our muffins? They’re divine.”

“Sounds--”

“Oh come sit here, dear!” cried Aunt Tilde as she waved Anna forward. “We’re bored all by ourselves. Plus we know everyone else and are infernal busybodies. Please say you’ll join us!”

Anna laughed as Bethany led her forward. “They’re harmless, I swear. I’ve known them most of my life. I even dated one of the sons.” Then she gestured to each lady in turn. “Aunt Tilde, Aunt Dee, there wasn’t time for formal introductions last night. May I present Ms. Anna Lopez? Her car broke down yesterday, and she’s stranded. Since Rick canceled, we gave her his room.”

“Ms. Lopez?” Aunt Dee asked as she peered at Anna’s hand. “I don’t see a ring.”

Anna smiled and waved her hand, already classifying the woman as a matchmaker. “I’m single and marooned. Sounds like the beginning of a great movie, right?”

“It does, it does! And I must say you look much better this morning than you did last night.” Aunt Tilde was all but rubbing her hands together. “Come sit down and tell us all about your troubles.”

“Only if you’ll tell me all of yours,” Anna responded, already settling into her chair. Pleasing busybody old ladies was a mainstay of her business as a party planner, so she knew just how to act with them. No better way to get the low down on a situation than to get in tight with the old women.

“It’s a deal! Bethany, dear, bring us a plate of those delish muffins. The kids will be down soon, and we best have them ready.”

“Right away,” Bethany said as she headed toward the kitchen. Meanwhile, Anna scanned the menu and started answering questions at the same time. Fortunately, she was a good multi-tasker, so within five minutes, she had the 411 on the B&B.

The Smithson family had been having reunions here since before the boys were out of diapers. Every year for decades because Miranda and Tilde had been the best of friends, and she loved Bethany as if the girl were her own daughter.

Anna was thrilled. “I have to tell you, family reunions are my favorite parties. It’s not the drama—though I’m a wicked woman for enjoying some of it—it’s that there’s always love.” No matter how bitter the feud, there was always a family bond somewhere deep. She loved being part of that even though it was a superficial love, a temporary family.

“Wonderful!” Aunt Tilde cried. “Now tell us everything about yourself.”

Anna grinned, launching into the life story she’d never lived. That was the whole point of her birthday trip, after all: to live something she’d never done, to be someone she’d never been. She was halfway into her memories of a glorious childhood as a music prodigy when she heard a squeal of giggly laughter followed by a lower, masculine rumble.

“Ah, the first heathens are up,” said Aunt Dee significantly.

Aunt Tilde answered with a gesture to Bethany who had just appeared with a plate of muffins. “And just in time too.”

Then suddenly a girl of no more than five years dashed around the corner and barreled forward with a cry of, “Grandma!”

“Gramma! Gramma!” came a little boy’s voice from out in the hall.

The girl slammed into Aunt Dee who had braced herself in her chair. Smart woman. Then a bear of a man came around the corner next. Even though she couldn’t see much more than tousled brown curly hair and broad shoulders as he bent down, she knew it was Rick. He was setting a little boy on his feet--the screamer--as the child headed full tilt toward Aunt Dee.

Anna had been so involved in watching the little boy and Aunt Dee’s delighted smile that she hadn’t at first looked at Rick’s face. She wanted to take a moment to prepare herself, so she had watched the kids. But now she did. She saw his broad shoulders first, his rugged jaw, flat mouth and furious eyes.

What? Good God, the man was spitting mad.

“Mike? Is something wrong?”

He glared at her then folded his arms. “How much did they pay you Anna?”