“Guess we’ll have to let the desk clerk sort it all out.”

When she turned back, dressed in a sexy black bra and matching lace panties, she planted her hands on her hips. “Why aren’t you getting dressed?”

He nodded to the duffle bag on the floor beside the dresser. “Just waiting for you to move so that I can get to my clothes.”

She stomped past him to the closet, pulled out a gray skirt suit and an orange sherbet blouse and faced him, holding the suit in front of her like a shield. “Do you mind?”

He shook his head. “Not at all.” He remained leaning against the doorway to the bathroom. When she continued to stare at him pointedly, he straightened. “I take it you want me to let you by so that you can dress in the bathroom.”

“That would be the gentlemanly—”

“—thing to do.” His lips curled and he wanted to laugh out loud at her indignant expression. “How do I know you’re not keeping a weapon in the bathroom?”

“Because I didn’t carry a weapon into the bathroom. Go ahead. Check the bathroom. I might be hiding a fifty-caliber machine gun in there.”

Wyatt shoved the door wider and glanced in, making a quick show of checking shelves, counters and behind the shower curtain. The only thing that caught his attention was the hot pink shorts lying in a half-open laundry bag on the floor. “All clear.”

“Told you.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, still not moving out of the doorframe. “I knew it. I’m just pushing your buttons, since you’re trespassing in my room. Did you know your eyes flare when you’re angry?”

The woman planted her fists on her gorgeous hips. “Then they should be flaring right now.”

“I don’t know why you’d bother to dress in the bathroom. You could dress out here and let me get my shower.”

“I like having a lock on the door.”

“What does it matter? I’ve already seen everything you have to offer.”

“For the record, I’m not offering you anything. And I don’t dress in front of jerks.”

He nodded. “We’ve established I’m not a gentleman. Really, the repetition is getting boring.”

She stomped a pretty little foot, her effort making little impression in the carpet, but she sure was cute with her long red hair hanging free around her shoulders.

Wyatt had the sudden urge to pull her into his arms and tangle his fingers in all the burnished copper strands. He moved aside, allowing her pass.

She walked past him into the bathroom, her head held high and slammed the door between them.

After barging in on her and holding her captive when she was naked, Wyatt figured he didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell at getting her to go out with him. Not now. Still, he couldn’t help trying. Those long, shapely legs would be nice wrapped around his waist, and he could just imagine how her pale white ass would fit in the palm of his hands as he pumped in and out of her. He glanced down at the tented towel and groaned. “It might help to know the name of the person who is trespassing in my room.” He crossed the room to the duffle bag leaning against the far side of the dresser and removed a pair of jeans.

“Why would I tell you my name?” she asked through the door. “For all I know you’re some pervert who gets off on breaking into a woman’s room.”

“I guess when you put it that way, you have a point.” He grinned as he draped the jeans over his arm. “Only, since it’s my room, you could be the pervert. Though that thought has some appeal.” He pulled a chambray shirt from the bag, shaking out the wrinkles. The door to the bathroom opened as he draped the shirt over the jeans and waited for her to come out.

The redhead emerged from the bathroom, fully clothed in the soft gray suit and pale orange blouse, looking cool, calm and collected and every bit as sexy as she had in her bra and panties or stark naked.

What was it about this woman that had him so hot? Wyatt chalked it up to the months he’d been celibate. After he’d recovered from his injuries, he’d lacked any desire to find a woman and take her to bed. The shrink had claimed PTSD could lead to depression. Lack of desire was only one sign of depression.

Thankfully, the woman had reminded him he was definitely a healthy male capable of a raging hard-on. How to get her into bed would be the challenge.

She padded to the closet, stepped into light gray high-heeled pumps and finally faced him. Her eyes flared briefly when her gaze landed on his chest. Her hands clasped together and she swept her tongue around her bottom lip.

That tongue thing was almost Wyatt’s undoing.

“How much longer until you’re ready?” she asked, breaking into his mental picture of his tongue dueling with hers.

“Don’t wait on me. I’m not getting dressed until I shower the sweat off my body.” He doubted seriously he could walk at that point, with his cock tenting the towel around his middle.

“Not in my shower, you’re not.”

“Guess we’ll be waiting here for a long time then.”

She blew a stream of air out her nose. “Fine. Get your shower. And hurry it up. I’m not leaving you in my room. You might rob me.”

He chuckled, loving the fire in her eyes and the color in her cheeks when she was angry. “I can’t imagine what I’d do with panties and skirt suits.”

She quirked her eyebrows upward. “Perverts do strange and disgusting things.”

Oh, he could imagine all kinds of strange and disgusting things he’d like to do to her body. He crossed to the bathroom door. “I’m ready…” For more than she could imagine. And wouldn’t she be appalled if she could read his mind? “…er, I’ll be ready in less than five minutes.” Closing the door behind him, he switched on the shower and stepped in even before the water warmed, hoping the cool shower would deflate his boner. He’d have a difficult time getting into his jeans as hard as he was.

The bathroom smelled like her, the shampoo some honeysuckle-scented perfection that reminded him of home in the Texas hill country and only made him crazier with need. With quick, efficient movements, he scrubbed the sweat off his skin and shampooed his short hair. When he ran a soapy hand down to his dick, he groaned. Damn he really needed to get laid. No woman should have that much of an effect on him. Rinsing in ice-cold water, he gave up and climbed out, toweling off with more speed than care.

As promised, less than five minutes later, he exited the bathroom, wearing uncomfortably tight jeans and sliding his arms into his chambray shirt. “Ready?”

Her brows furrowed. “Don’t you think you should button up first?”

“I can do it on the way down in the elevator.” Wyatt pulled his boots on and held the door open for her, waiting for her to pass. When she did, he inhaled the fragrant scent of honeysuckle in her hair.

She reached the elevator before him and jabbed the down button.

When the door slid open, she stepped in. Wyatt followed, slowly buttoning his shirt as the car slid toward the ground floor. By the way she glanced sideways at him, he figured he was getting to her. Either that, or the bright pink in her cheeks was the result of too much sun, a distinct possibility in Texas.

The elevator car stopped on the second floor and a group of teenage boys in matching baseball uniforms scrambled in, laughing and poking at each other.

The redhead eased to the back of the car, backing over Wyatt’s boots. She wobbled and would have fallen if Wyatt hadn’t slipped an arm around her middle to steady her. “Easy there, darlin’,” he whispered against her ear.

She stiffened. “I’m not your darlin’,” she said, her voice low, her comment meant for his ears only.

He liked that even though she’d started out stiff, by the time they reached the lobby level, she was leaning against him.

The boys piled out quickly, leaving Wyatt and the woman to exit at their own pace.

The redhead bolted, heading straight for the reception desk.

Wyatt hurried after her, a step behind, thinking damn, she has a great ass every step of the way.

Several people stood in line, many wearing business suits, some speaking Spanish, others speaking languages Wyatt wasn’t as familiar with.

“Damn,” the redhead muttered. “I don’t have time to wait in line. I have a meeting in…” she glanced at her watch, “…three minutes.”

Two of the people checking in gathered their key cards and documents and wheeled their suitcases off, opening up a clerk for the next two in line.

Wyatt glanced at his own watch. He’d be late for his meeting as well. “Next!” a female receptionist called out.

The redhead hurried toward her. “Excuse me, but there seems to be some confusion. This man claims he was assigned to the room I reserved over two months ago.”

“Name, please?”

“Fiona Allen.”

Finally a name to add to the beautiful face. Fiona. It suited her. She had that red Irish look to her, with the pale skin and freckles.

The clerk’s fingers flew over the keyboard and she glanced up. “The system shows you in room three twenty-eight.”

Fiona’s head jerked up and she gave him a triumphant smile. “See? It’s my room.”

“Your name, sir?” the receptionist demanded.

“Wyatt Magnus.”

Again the clerk’s fingers skimmed across the keys. She frowned and hit a few more keys. Then she glanced to the side at the man wearing the manager nametag. “Scott,” she called out.

Busy welcoming another guest, he ignored the clerk’s entreaty.

“Scott!” she called out, louder this time.

Scott turned toward her, the smile he’d been sharing with a customer fading when he looked at the clerk’s face. “What seems to be the problem?” He joined her at the monitor and added his frown to hers.

“It appears we’ve inadvertently double-booked the room,” he said.

“What do I do?” the clerk asked.

“Assign Mr. Magnus another room,” Fiona shot back as if it were the most obvious solution.

“But—” the clerk started to say.

“Here, let me.” The manager brushed her aside and pounded the keys, glancing up only briefly. “We apologize for the inconvenience. With the International Trade Convention and the All-Star baseball tournament going on at the same time, we’ve been super busy and corporate loaded new software, just in case we didn’t have enough to deal with. It’ll only be a moment.” He tapped the keys, frowned, tapped more keys and his frown deepened. “I’m sorry, but it seems that all the rooms are booked.”

“What do you mean booked?”

“As in full,” the manager said. “Let me call around and see if there are any other rooms available at the neighboring hotels.” He lifted a telephone and called one hotel after another, each one reporting no vacancy. Finally, he glanced up. “I can get you into a motel on the outer loop.”

Wyatt shook his head. “No can do. My business in San Antonio requires that I stay downtown, as close to the convention center as possible.”

Fiona frowned. “Are you here for the International Trade Convention?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

She smiled one of those, I-have-the-perfect-solution-that-doesn’t-require-me-to-sacrifice smiles. “There will be park-and-ride bus service from strategic locations all across the city. I’m certain there will be a pick-up close to one of the outlying hotels.”

“I need to be downtown.” He captured Fiona’s gaze. “You seem like a fair person, Fiona.”

“I am. So?” Her eyes narrowed. “What does that have to do with this situation?”

“Well…” he started.

“I’ve had this reservation for months. I’m not giving up my room.” She glanced at her watch and then shot a glance to the manager and clerk. “Look, I have a meeting to go to. When I get back, I expect a room…to myself…in this hotel.”

“I don’t know how we can make that happen,” the manager said.

“I don’t care how you make it happen. Your company made the error. Fix it.” She spun on her gray high heels and marched away.

“Sir?” the clerk asked tentatively. “Would you consider going to another hotel?”

He chuckled. “For anyone else, maybe. But not for her. Let her stew.” Giving the clerk and the manager an apologetic smile, he added, “Watch the cancellations. I’m sure something will free up. In the meantime, which way is the lounge?”

“Through the lobby and take a left at the elevator.”

The snowbirding assignment was getting more interesting by the minute. Double-booked with the redhead in pink shorts had to be fate playing her tricky hand.