Myla Jackson - Wyatt’s War

As the convention coordinator, she couldn’t afford to date or be sick, or for anything to go wrong while thousands of businessmen and politicians attended the meetings. She’d been hired by the city to ensure this event went off without a hitch, and she wouldn’t let a single disgruntled employee, terrorist or hulking bodybuilder knock her off her game. No sir. She had all the plans locked up tighter than Fort Knox and the hired staff marching to the beat of her military-style drum.

She wasn’t the daughter of an Army colonel for nothing. She knew discipline; hard work and using your brain couldn’t be replaced by help from sexy strangers with insincere apologies. If this convention was going to be a success, it would be so based on all of her hard work in the planning stages.

Once inside her room, she headed straight for the bathroom and twisted the knob on the shower, amazed at how much her breasts still tingled after being smashed against the broad chest of the clumsy oaf who’d knocked her into the river. She shook her head, attributing the tingling to the chill of the air conditioning unit.

In the bathroom, she stripped her damp gym shorts and tank top, dropping the soaked mess into a plastic bag. She’d hand it over to the hotel staff and ask them to launder them, otherwise she’d have nothing to work out in. Who was she kidding? She wouldn’t need to work out once the convention began.

Fiona unclipped her bra and slid out of her panties, adding them to the bag of dirty clothes. Then she stepped beneath the shower’s spray and attacked her body with shampoo and citrus-scented soap. Images of the muscle man on the River Walk resurfaced, teasing her body into a lather that had nothing to do with the bar of soap. Too bad her time wasn’t her own. The man had certainly piqued her interest. Not that she’d find him again in a city of over a million people.

As she slid her soap-covered hand over her breast, she paused to tweak a nipple and moaned. It had been far too long since she’d been with a man. She’d have to do something about that soon. With her, a little sex went a long way. Perhaps she would test the batteries in her vibrator and make do with pleasuring herself. Although the device was cold and couldn’t give her all she wanted, it was a lot less messy in so very many ways. Relationships required work. Building a business had taken all of her time.

Fiona trailed her hand down her belly to the tuft of curls over her mons and sighed. Maybe she’d find a man. After the convention when her life wasn’t nearly as crazy. She rinsed, switched off the water and stepped out on the mat, her core pulsing, her clit throbbing, needy and unfulfilled.

With a lot of items still begging for her attention, she couldn’t afford the luxury of standing beneath the hot spray of the massaging showerhead, masturbating. Towel in hand, she rubbed her skin briskly, her breasts tingling at the thought of the big guy on the River Walk.

By the time the convention was over, that man could be long gone. He probably was a businessman passing through, or one of the military men on temporary duty. Even if he lived in the city, what were the chances of running into him again? Slim to none. San Antonio was a big place with a lot of people.

Well, damn. She should have given him her name and number. A quick fling would get her over her lust cravings and back to her laser-sharp focus.

She dragged a brush through her long, curly hair, wishing she’d cut it all off. With the convention taking all of her spare time, she didn’t have time to waste on taming her mane of cursed curls. Most of the time it was the bane of her existence, requiring almost an hour of steady work with the straightener to pull the curls out. Having left her clean clothes in the drawer in the bedroom, Fiona stood naked in front of the mirror as she blew her hair dry, coaxing it around a large round brush.

This convention was her shot at taking her business international. If she succeeded and pulled off the biggest event of her career without a hitch, other jobs would come her way on her own merit, not based on a recommendation from one of her stepfather’s cronies.

When she’d graduated with her masters in Operations Management, she’d invested the money her mother had left her in her business, F.A. International Event Planner. Since then, she’d steadily built her client list from companies based in San Antonio. Starting out with weddings, parties and small gigs, she’d established a reputation for attention to detail and an ability to follow through. She’d worked her way in as a consultant for some of the larger firms in the area when they’d needed to plan a convention based in San Antonio.

Finally she’d gotten a lead on the International Trade Convention and had applied. Her stepfather put a bug in the ear of one of his buddies from his active Army days at the Pentagon and she’d landed the contract.

Now all she had to do was prove she was up to the task. If it fell apart, she’d lose her business, disgrace the U.S. government and shame her stepfather. The pressure to succeed had almost been overwhelming. To manage the workload, she’d taken out a big loan, more than doubled her staff, coordinated the use of the convention center, arranged for all the food, meeting rooms, audio-visual equipment, translators, and blocked out lodging and security for the guests.

As she dried her hair, she stared at the shadows beneath her eyes. Only a few more sleepless nights and the convention would be underway and over. She’d be playing the role of orchestra conductor, managing the staff to ensure everything was perfect. The most important aspect of the event was tight security. The Department of Homeland Security had notified her today that with all the foreign delegates scheduled to attend, the probability of a terrorist attack had risen to threat level orange.

A quick glance at her watch reminded her that she only had ten minutes to get ready before her meeting in the lounge with the man Homeland Security had insisted she add to her staff to oversee security. This last-minute addition made her nervous. She knew nothing about the man, his background or his capabilities. He could prove more of a hindrance than a help if he got in the way. All she knew was that he’d better be on time, and he’d better be good. With a hundred items roiling around in her head at any one moment, the last thing she needed was an international incident.

Fiona shut off the blow dryer, ran the brush through her hair and reached for the doorknob, reminding herself to look at the e-mail on her laptop from Homeland Security to get the name of the contact she’d be meeting shortly. Before she could turn the doorknob, it twisted in her hand and the door flew open.

A very naked man, with wild eyes and bared teeth shoved her up against the wall, pinned her wrists above her head and demanded, “Who the hell are you? And why are you in my room?”

Wyatt had stopped in the hotel store for a can of shaving cream and a package of condoms. The shaving cream he had in his duffle, but it was getting low and the condoms… Well, after running into the pretty jogger in the pink shorts, he’d started thinking about sex again. He’d rather be prepared in case an opportunity presented itself.

A mother and a couple of kids got to the clerk first and proceeded to count out thirty-five pennies, five dimes and a quarter for a candy bar.

Wyatt glanced at the clock hanging on the wall behind the clerk. In fifteen minutes he was supposed to be in the lounge to meet with the convention planner. He could get a shower, shave and dress in less than ten, if the kids would hurry up and complete their purchase.

One of the children dropped more pennies on the floor. The two kids and their mother dropped to their haunches to collect the coins.

At that rate, he’d never get ready in time for his meeting.

Still, he couldn’t be impatient with the children, their mother was trying to teach them it cost money for treats and how to pay for things they want. One of the pennies rolled toward his foot and he bent to pick it up.

The boy looked about the same age as Little Johnnie who’d kicked him in the shin, only this child smiled up at him instead of glaring. “Thank you, sir,” he said. He had dark auburn hair and freckles on his nose.

Wyatt pictured the woman in the pink shorts as the mother of this child and immediately he glanced across at the child’s mother who had a lighter shade of red hair and no freckles. Whew. He hadn’t been lusting after someone’s wife or mother—as far as he knew.

She helped the boy and the small girl hand over the change and grabbed the candy bar. “We’ll split it after dinner. Come on, this gentleman has been waiting long enough.”

“No hurry, ma’am,” he assured her, even though he stood a strong chance of being late for his meeting with the event planner. F. Allen would just have to cool his heels. Wyatt was too sweaty from his jog to meet with anyone.

His purchases paid for, Wyatt retrieved his duffle bag from where he’d stashed it behind the concierge’s desk and fished his key card, from an inside pocket. He’d checked in earlier, but his room hadn’t been quite ready. Rather than stand around the lobby, he’d gone for a jog that served two purposes: blowing out the cobwebs and giving him a tactical lay of the land.

Key card in hand, he hurried to the elevator, a shower and a shave at the top of his priority list. He rode up to the floor he’d been assigned, slid his key card in the door lock and entered. As soon as the door closed behind him, he tossed his duffle bag next to the dresser, stripped out of his vest, gun and shorts and made a beeline for the bathroom, anticipating just enough time to make his meeting.

That was when he pushed the door open and ran chest-first into an intruder. His pulse leapt and he grabbed her hands, slamming her against the wall, his instincts on self-preservation. Surprise sharpened his voice as he said the first thing that came into his head. “Who the hell are you? And why are you in my room?”

After his gut reaction to slam the intruder against the wall, his mind had a full two-second delay before it engaged.

Wide green eyes stared up at him. Eyes he recognized from an earlier encounter beside the river. It was the redhead he hadn’t stopped thinking about. And she looked pissed.

“Let go of me or I’ll scream,” she cried, her naked breasts pressing into his chest with every breath she took.

No longer on alert, he relaxed, but he didn’t let go of her wrists. “Not until you tell me what you’re doing in my room.”

“Your room? This is my room and you’re trespassing.”

“I have a key and a receipt indicating this was the room assigned to me at the desk. Which means, darlin’, you’re in the wrong room.”

“I have the same, and I don’t appreciate being held captive without any clothes on. Perhaps we can take this discussion down to the desk, after we’ve both had a chance to dress.” Though her words were matter-of-fact and forceful, color had crept up her neck and bloomed in her cheeks.

Wyatt relented and released her wrists, stepping back, reluctantly. Too late, he realized his body had reacted to hers and his cock jutted out, hard and ready to take it from there.

Her gaze slipped down his length, pausing at that revealing appendage. “Holy shit.” If possible, her cheeks grew even redder. She grabbed a towel and flung it at him. Then she ducked beneath his arm and dove for the bedroom dresser.

A chuckle rose up Wyatt’s throat as he watched the smooth, rounded derriere dart past him. The pink shorts had nothing on the smooth pale, white flesh of her pretty bottom.

“A gentleman wouldn’t stare,” she said, her voice breathy as she jammed her feet into a pair of panties.

“I never claimed to be a gentleman.” Wyatt wrapped the towel around him, the front tenting out. No matter how hard he tried to think his way out of the erection, seeing the redhead slide into her panties only made him harder.

“At the very least, you could turn around.”

He shook his head. “Sorry, darlin’. I never turn my back on strangers. Especially if the stranger is trespassing in my room and has a sexy ass.”

She huffed, grabbed a bra out of a drawer and turned her back to him, that very sexy bottom holding his interest more than he should admit, the thong panties doing nothing to cover the glorious orbs.

“I told you, this is my room. I reserved it months ago,” she threw over her shoulder.