The Other Man (West Coast Hotwifing) (2 page)

“You were on my plane, weren’t you?” she asked. “From San Francisco?”

He nodded. Obviously he’d been caught staring, but he hadn’t noticed her giving him a single glance.

“We’re just not used to this humidity.” She groaned, fanned herself more vigorously.

“Just wait till there’s a thunderstorm. It gets worse.” He’d been to Florida before, of course. Rain didn’t cool things off; it simply turned everything into steam.

“It was only eighty-nine degrees today.” She gathered her hair, twisted it in a rope around her hand, and held it up off her neck. “Back home that would have been bearable.”

His blood drummed in his ears. He had a near uncontrollable urge to lick the salt from her nape. Did she know she was driving him crazy? He wanted to bend all his rules. He wanted to admit he didn’t have any where she was concerned. That’s what seven hours of watching her had done to him.

“It’ll cool off in a bit. Seventy maybe.” The steadiness of his voice surprised him.

“Thank goodness. I wanted to take my walk on the beach in the morning.”

He wanted to ask her what time. Or maybe she’d simply tell him. Because she’d definitely followed him. And he wanted to see her out on the beach in the early morning light.

“I better turn in,” she said. “I have to call home, let my husband know I arrived safely. And we’ve got a full day tomorrow.” She smiled, backed up a step. “Good night.”

He returned the smile, then watched her walk up the beach to the stairs. She didn’t put her shoes back on.

He dreamed of her in the night. He came imagining her mouth on him. But he hadn’t even asked her name.

* * * *

After climbing the steps, she crossed the square to the fountain, the concrete still warm against her bare feet. The man was a dark outline against the night sky.

She’d seen him watching her on the plane, felt him following her after they’d arrived and made their way to baggage claim. As she sipped champagne at the mixer, his gaze had heated her. Talking to him on the beach had been her opening gambit, and she’d been wet with anticipation.

Her phone rang. This late, it could only be her husband.

“Hey, sweetie, how was the flight?”

“Great,” she told him.

“So, have we found any possibilities?”

Oh, she certainly had. “One. He’s going to take a little bit of work. But I’m not in a hurry.” She was going to let the man think about why she’d been down on that beach beside him. Why she’d spoken to him. By tomorrow, he should be more than ready.

Keith groaned. “Does that mean I’m not going to get my hot and sexy phone call tonight before I go to bed?”

She laughed softly. “Not tonight. Tomorrow.”

“Promise, sweetie?”

“I promise.”

Approaching a man she was interested in was the hardest part. Every time she did, her nerves rising, she had to wonder if she was doing it for herself, or because it was what Keith wanted, because imagining her with other men was how he got excited.

This time she didn’t wonder. This time was for her.

* * * *

It was kismet. Or something.

Spence hadn’t gone down to the beach at the crack of dawn, but he’d wanted to as he stood at his beach-view window and seen her out there. He’d already memorized the way she moved.

He hadn’t looked for her at the continental breakfast. Well, to be honest, he had, but he didn’t hang around to wait when he didn’t find her. He chose a seminar in the business track, one on target accounting. The target was a slab of metal—gold, silver, copper, or some combination of metals—which, when sputtered, laid down a thin coating on the substrate and produced properties that generated the different applications, low-e window film, et cetera. When you were talking about a slab of silver-gold that fit into a seventy-two-inch cathode, that was one hell of a lot of metal at one hell of a price. The current industry standard was consignment: You paid only for what you sputtered, and you used only about 20 percent of the target material. The metal value was held in a consignment account with the vendor until the used target was returned for refinement; then you paid. The system had potential for accounting nightmares, and this short workshop offered up a nifty program which supposedly turned the nightmare into a sweet dream. Spence could pass on the tidbit to the executive team.

In days of old, you wore your suit, everything was formal, but in today’s conference world, it was business casual. Except for today’s presenter.

Yeah, kismet. She wore a fitted black skirt and a tailored red jacket, its square neckline framing the breasts he’d dreamed of last night.

“This is a proprietary program we’ve developed to interact with your system, allowing for greater accuracy with speedier and cheaper return of spent materials.” Her tones were like sex words rolling off her tongue. She pointed a finger; it could have been directed straight at him. “And that means a faster turnaround time and a lower balance in your consignment account.” She smiled to the room at large. “Hi, my name is Zoe Hudson, and let me tell you how we can make your life easier.”

Zoe. An unusual name that somehow suited her. A name to be whispered in the dark.

The bio in the program told him everything he needed know. She was director of materials for a metals consigner in the Bay Area. West Coast had used them once upon a time, but there’d been problems with impurities in the target. They’d chosen another vendor.

He could have raised his hand and mentioned that a great tracking program didn’t matter if the product sucked, but he wouldn’t embarrass her in the middle of her presentation. No, he’d seek her out later. Over a drink perhaps. In the evening.

He was sliding down that slippery slope. And fast.

Chapter Two

He found her in the hotel bar just after the dinner hour. She’d changed out of the red power suit into a flowered strapless sundress fitted tightly to her breasts. Seated in a comfortable wing chair, there were two glasses of wine on the table, one empty, hers with an inch of white wine left.

He leaned his hands on the back of the chair opposite. “I attended your workshop today.”

“Thank you. I hope it was informative.”

“I have a few questions. May I join you?” He didn’t ask if she already had a guest.

“Of course.” She flourished a hand.

Sitting, he introduced himself. “Spence Benedict.” He handed her a card.

“I’m Zoe, but you already know that.” She glanced at the printed copy. “West Coast. I’m very familiar with you.” She slipped the card into a front pocket of the large purse at her feet.

Though the bar was doing a brisk business, the cocktail waitress arrived quickly. “What can I get you, sir?” She cleared away the empty wineglass.

“A beer. Something German.” He looked at Zoe. “Can I get you another?”

“Actually, it’ll be my treat,” she told the waitress. “I’d like the same chardonnay.” She finished the last of her wine and handed the glass back, leaving behind a faint lipstick print. When the woman was gone, she added, “It’s only fair the drink is on me when you sat through my sales pitch this morning.” She smiled at him. “Now, what can I tell you?”

She could tell him everything about herself. Did she have kids? How long had she been married? Was she happy? Spence wasn’t one for self-delusion. He knew that’s why he’d come in search of her. But he kept those things to himself. “Bay Metals used to be one of our suppliers.”

“The impurities,” she said before he could describe the problem.

He shrugged in answer. “It wasn’t just one or two targets.”

She leaned forward, touched his knee, sending an electric jolt straight to his core. “We worked for months. The engineers simply couldn’t pinpoint the issue.” Sitting back, she shook her head. “In the end, it was one tiny corroded part in a machine. Took five minutes to replace. We’ve been rebuilding our reputation ever since.”

Bay Metals had almost gone out of business because of it. “Is that the reason for the new accounting program?”

She laughed. Christ, he could
feel
the sound in his chest.

“I said it was for our customers, but the truth is I put it together for
my
benefit.” She put a palm to the swell of breast above her sundress. “It solves a host of problems we had in shipping, receiving, and production planning.” She lifted a brow. “My programmers were a marvel at figuring out how to integrate it with our customers’ systems. It’s not invasive. There are a lot of checks and balances against hacking into proprietary information. My trip here is mainly about finding beta testers.” She waved a hand to encompass the hotel and the conference itself. “I don’t attend a lot of these conventions and trade shows.”

That would explain why he’d never seen her before. He definitely would have noticed her. “But you’re enjoying yourself despite the humidity?”

She rolled her eyes, smiling again. “As long as I stay inside during the middle of the day.” She crossed her legs, her sandaled foot swinging, mesmerizing him. “My walk this morning was fabulous. I got some great sunrise photos. A flock of pelicans streaking across the ocean just below the horizon as the sun rose above them.”

“You’re a photographer?”

Again that smile. She even seemed to smile with her deep brown eyes. “Just for fun.” Tipping her head slightly, she asked, “So, would you like to be one of my beta testers?”

The wealth of meaning in the question made him hard. Hell, yes, he’d do anything she wanted. “I’ll bring it up with my manufacturing people. No guarantees, but one thing they’ll like is the potential cost savings on freight.” Right now they were using a vendor out of Ohio.

Fishing in her purse, she laid her card on the table, tapped it. “I can put you in touch with my team. We’ll give you a lot of TLC.” She flipped her hair behind her ear.

He was aware of her signals. He wondered how messy things could be. He also wondered if he was past the point of caring.

The waitress returned, setting the beer and a frosty glass on the table, then Zoe’s wine. “Shall I just add it to your tab?”

Zoe nodded, and the woman left them again.

“Thank you,” he said. He didn’t generally let ladies buy, but she was different. In so many ways. After he’d poured, forming only a small head of foam, she clinked glasses with him. Olive-skinned, toned muscles with all that walking, he had a hard time tearing his eyes away as she recrossed her legs. He wasn’t sliding down the slippery slope, he’d already reached the bottom.

“I believe in being totally up front,” she said, settling back into her chair, her leg bouncing lightly, a bead of moisture falling from her glass to her chest, rolling into her cleavage. He wanted to lick it away. Thank God she set her wine back on the table after taking a sip or he might not have been able to concentrate on anything she said.

“I find you very attractive.” She kept her voice low in deference to the other patrons.

He pulled his gaze up to meet hers. “The feeling’s mutual.”

She laughed again. “I must admit I’ve noticed you watching me a time or two.”

It was a hell of a lot more than that. “Guilty.”

“I’m married”—she twisted the ring on her finger—“but my husband and I have a special kind of relationship.”

“An open marriage?”

She shook her head, her hair falling over her ear. She tucked it away again. “Not exactly. He doesn’t see other women, but when I’m on a business trip…” She tipped her head, shrugged slightly.

He caught her drift. “You play. And he knows?”

She nodded with barely more than a tilt of her chin. “He likes to hear all about it. If the man I’m with is adventurous, he likes a photo or two.” Her smile widened. “Even a phone call while we’re”—she raised her hands, waggled her fingers—“right in the thick of the action.”

For a moment, he didn’t have a word to say. A couple of weeks ago, Ward Restin had asked him to be a third party in a hot little scenario with his girlfriend Cassandra. Wasn’t that a bit like this thing Zoe had going with her husband? There’d also been those rumors at work about Clay Blackwell and the things Ruby used to do for him. But now Ruby was with Holt, their CEO, and…Spence didn’t know anything for a fact. But it sure as hell sounded like what Clay and Ruby had going bore a marked similarity to what Zoe Hudson was describing.

“That’s pretty kinky,” he said, putting it mildly.

“Yes,” she said, that seductive smile creasing her lips. “We call it hotwifing. It takes a very special kind of man to be involved. To be the other man for us.” She breathed deeply, her breasts rising, falling, dragging him deeper.

“What about your kids?” He was curious how she handled that. Intrigued. Hard. Hoping he had an excuse to break any rule standing in his way.

“His children with his first wife are grown.” Hesitating, she added a moment later, “We don’t have any together.” She leaned an arm on the chair, rested her chin on her hand.

“So you think I’m”—he lingered on the word—“special.”

“You look like you know how to play games. And that you enjoy them.”

He did. But did he want to be the other man in the middle of her marriage?

* * * * *

Zoe let her leg swing back and forth, watching as his eyes followed the movement like the hypnotist’s victim tracking a crystal dangled before him.

He wasn’t traditionally handsome, his hair a dark red, vibrantly green eyes, a wiry, muscled body, and a nose that had probably been broken in the distant past. She liked tall men, and he wasn’t, only a couple of inches over her when she wasn’t wearing heels. But his compact form filled space and time, dominated, and she liked that. A lot.

She’d done it, jumped in, gotten the worst part over, broached the subject. Most of the time she could get the man to make the first move. She’d talked about making him one of her beta testers. About giving him TLC. But Spence Benedict hadn’t taken her up on any of her innuendos. She’d been forced to get blunt.

He tipped his head, regarding her a moment. “Isn’t this mixing business with pleasure? If I’m going to be your beta tester?”