The Rent-A-Groom by Jennifer Blake Page A

naked thighs under them. She looked beyond him to the twisted blanket and rumpled rug before the fireplace. Rosy color flooded her cheeks, though her eyes began to sparkle.
     
    “What the devil do you want?” Race demanded in a low growl.
     
    She rubbed her hands down the front of her frilly white apron then clutched its folds. “I’m Etta, and this is my floor. I—well, the gentleman next door said you and your bride had gone to breakfast. Oh, my goodness, I’m so sorry. I’ll come back later!”
     
    He stood in scowling thought as the maid whisked from the suite. Dillman had deliberately misled the woman. Could be he meant to question her later about what she’d seen. Or maybe he’d been waiting outside, hoping to see or hear something that would satisfy his curiosity.
     
     Maybe he was still there.
     
    Hard on the thought, Race snatched the door open again. Gina’s ex-fiancé was strolling away down the corridor. His footsteps faltered as he glanced back over his shoulder.
     
    “Just a minute, Dillman!” The elevator doors were already closing behind the maid. The long hallway outside was empty. Race left the suite, advancing on the man with hard purpose.
     
    “Yeah?”
     
    It was a good thing Dillman decided to face him. He didn’t trust himself not to put a fist in the man’s face if he had to chase him down. “What’s with you, showing up here, playing stupid games?”
     
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
     
    “I think you do,” Race answered, the words hard, uncompromising. “Keep it up and I promise you won’t like what happens.”
     
    “What’s between me and Gina is none of your business.”
     
    “Not much left between you, far as I can see. She’s done with you, it’s over. Annoy or harass her again, and you’ll answer to me. Got that?”
     
    “We’ll see about that.”
     
    “Damn straight.” Race didn’t wait for a reply. Turning on a bare heel, he left Dillman glaring after him. The itch between his shoulder blades told him it was a good thing the former groom didn’t have a knife in his hand.
     
    Back in the foyer, he paused, listening. Gina was still asleep. Thinking of her lying in her bed brought his blood to a boil. He didn’t know which fired it more, the thought of Dillman trying to spy on her or the knowledge that she was so close, so soft and warm, so unprotected.
     
    He needed to cool off. He needed it now.
     
    It was a good thing the hotel swimming pool was always open.
     

 
     
    :: Chapter Five ::
     
    Gina woke to the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee. It wafted around her in a rich and enticing cloud. She opened one eye to a slit without lifting her head from where she lay on her stomach, hugging her pillow.
     
    There was a man down on one knee directly in front of her. He held a cup of coffee in one hand while he waved the steam from it toward her with the other.
     
    Her eyes snapped wide. She pushed up from the pillow so fast she almost jerked a crick in her neck. Then she remembered. Exhaling in a rush, trying to control the staccato thumping of her heart, she rolled to support herself on one elbow.
     
    Race’s mouth tugged in a slow and entirely too confident grin. “Morning.”
     
    “What,” she asked in hollow tones, “do you think you’re doing?”
     
    “Finding out whether you’re a morning person.”
     
    His tone and the words were genial, not at all encroaching. She said after a moment, “The answer is maybe. Sometimes.”
     
    “I figured. So the coffee is a peace-offering, in case it could be what makes the difference.”
     
    His hair was damp and still had comb marks in it. His shirt of madras plaid was left unbuttoned over a pair of cutoff jeans, and his bare feet were pushed into canvas deck shoes. He seemed altogether too fresh, too cheerful, and too casually attractive to be true. Gina closed her eyes to recruit her strength, then turned to her back and pushed herself up in the bed. Propping pillows