Page 32 of Maneater (The Mavens #1)

TWENTY-ONE

ROWAN

I wasn’t planning to come to the cocktail party tonight.

In fact, I’ve been trying to avoid Josie to the best of my ability, but somehow, I find myself walking toward the side of the resort with the ballroom.

The cocktail party is a weekly event at the resort, where guests are encouraged to dress up and mingle, meet fellow guests upon arrival, or have some fun before heading out.

But I know that it really means that Josie will be in a gorgeous dress meant to draw attention, and all eyes will be on her.

Although I’m well past the point of admitting I’m headed there with the sole intent of seeing Josie, I’m telling myself it’s because she was hurt not long ago and that I want to make sure she’s okay.

I mean, it’s my duty as the highest-ranking employee at this resort right now to ensure a valued customer is well-treated.

She could sue, for all I know. Right?

Right.

The truth is, everything Josie Montgomery does is a complete and total mindfuck.

Every time I bump into her, although I leave annoyed or frustrated, I also leave a bit lighter, as if the bantering we do relieves some kind of pressure that has been building up within me long before the issues at the resort began.

I know I should be more focused on these fucking sabotages, trying to figure out who is setting them up and why, but no matter how hard I dig, I keep hitting wall after wall.

None of it makes sense, and none of it adds up.

The only thing I could reasonably think is that the culprit is someone who wants this resort to fail.

Horace Greenfield could be a good option, considering he checked in nearly two weeks ago, around the time the first issue occurred, and was the closest to securing this location for himself before I outbid him.

Unfortunately, I can’t find any real proof to tie the issue to him, other than the fact that he’s been on the site during all the sabotages.

But instead of trying to figure out where he would get the opportunity or who would be his accomplice on-site to do this, I’m walking toward the cocktail party, eyes locked on a woman in a burnt orange dress.

Dark hair spills down her back, and her hips sway as she moves toward the room where we have guests leave their bags so they can have a better time at the cocktail party.

I get stopped by an employee who has a question about hors d’oeuvres, but I keep an eye on the room for her.

Once I’m free, I finally move toward the room to find it empty of everyone but Josie.

She’s in a nearly sinful orange dress that, from this distance, I can see hugs every curve to perfection, closing the top of a blue clutch before hanging it on one of the dozen or so hooks lining the wall.

“Dress looks good,” I say, and her body jolts.

When she turns and sees me, her green eyes are wide and panicked, and in a rare moment of her dropping her guard, I can see past the bombshell mask she puts on all the time and see the real Josie.

A bit silly, definitely still flirty, but now, there’s a hint of nervousness.

Maybe even shyness . The ego in me wants to think it’s because I’m here, but in my gut, I know it’s not that.

It’s something different altogether that I still can’t quite pinpoint.

“Oh, hey, Rowan. Funny seeing you here,” she says.

Josie thinks she has a killer poker face, but the truth of the matter is, I can read her every emotion as if it were my own.

“I work here,” I say, leaning into the doorway, continuing to watch her. She smiles and shrugs before I watch her mask snap into place, the sultry version back.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, taking a few steps into the room and closer to her. The party is in full swing, so guests have stopped visiting the room frequently, something I’m grateful for. I enjoy having Josie to myself, especially when she least expects it.

“I, uh.” She lifts the strap of a bag that looks nothing like something she’d carry around, not that I’ve been taking notes.

It’s also bright blue when she’s in an orange dress.

I don’t know all that much about women’s fashion, but it doesn’t exactly match.

“I was told we can’t bring our bags into the party.

Dropped mine in here.” I stare at her for long moments before taking a few steps in her direction until there are just a few feet between us.

“Is that right?” She nods, licking her pink-painted lips, and my eyes linger there for long, long moments before I push off from the doorway and take a few steps into the room. “What were you looking for?”

“Oh, you know. I just wanted to make sure I had a clear idea of where all my belongings were, in case something goes missing.

“The room is pretty well guarded. Don’t think you have to worry about that.” She takes a step closer to me with a heated smile, and even though I know she’s playing some game, even though I’m pretty sure she’s intending to create a distraction, I can’t seem to think clearly around her.

“Yeah, well, you can never be too careful. Does this mean you’re done avoiding me?” she says, reaching up and moving to touch the collar of my shirt. Like this, there’s barely any space between us, and I have to look down at her slightly.

I like it far more than I should.

“I haven’t been avoiding you,” I say, a half lie. I did see her at the casual restaurant this afternoon and decided that room service to my office was the better option than dealing with the distraction that is Josie. But that was just good time management, not avoidance.

I’m not even buying my own lies at this point.

“So you don’t find me completely off-putting?” she asks, her voice a sexy whisper that I feel in my cock.

I should step away.

I should keep things professional.

But I can’t stop hearing her words from the cabana playing in my mind: You can touch me, Rowan. You can kiss me. I lick my suddenly dry lips, and she tracks the movement with clear fascination.

“I think I made it explicitly clear in that office that I found you anything but off-putting.” My voice is low even to my own ears, and it sends a shiver through her, something I watch with utter satisfaction.

“But now…” She tips her head with the unspoken question.

“But now you’re a guest, and I have enough on my plate with everything going on around here.”

She smiles then. “And yet here you are. With me.” Her words come out in a whisper, and I don’t know if she moves or I do, but the gap between us lessens, although we still don’t touch.

“It’s starting to feel like the universe is throwing you in my way,” I say.

A little laugh leaves her lips, and it sends warm puffs of her breath coasting over the skin at my neck.

“You make it sound like it’s a punishment,” she says.

I shake my head, finally admitting, at least to myself, that it’s not. It’s anything but.

“I’ve been around the world, and I’ve never met anyone like you,” I whisper, the words lower and more gravelly than I intend.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she says with a husky laugh.

Without my mind’s permission, I reach for her hand and tug her close.

She stumbles but catches herself on me. Her hands fall against my chest as her entire body molds to mine.

She’s short even in those heels, and I have to look down at her.

Her chin tips up to look at me. Without hesitation, her hands slide up my chest, leaving a burning trail as they move to my neck, fingers moving into my hair, her nails scraping along my scalp.

This woman is dangerous, and she knows it.

I just can’t seem to find it in me to care.

“Good. It was one.”

Then, I don’t think—I just move. I wrap an arm around her waist, molding her body against mine. My other hand moves up her back, touching the bare skin there before tangling in her long, soft hair to position her head where I want her. Then I tip my head down, my lips melting into hers.

There’s no hesitation, no moment of pause or uncertainty; instead, her hands find their way around my neck as she tugs me closer, her lips parting with a gasp.

I take the chance to slide my tongue between them, and she lets me in eagerly, fingers tightening on my neck.

A soft sigh of a moan leaves her as my tongue touches hers, tasting her.

It’s even better than I remember.

All sweet sugar and spice, exactly like the woman herself, and it’s all I can do not to throw her over my shoulder and take her upstairs to my room.

Instead, I shift our bodies, pressing her against the wall and grinding into her as I devour her mouth.

I’m already hard at her mere touch, and when she feels it, another sexy sound leaves her, her hips shifting closer into mine.

In response, I groan, a hand moving to her hip to adjust her, sliding a thigh between her legs, her silky dress hiking up a bit as I continue to kiss her deep, our tongues twining.

She doesn’t take a moment to overthink anything.

Instead, her hips start shifting, grinding against me, and the groan that comes from me this time comes deep from my chest. My lips move down her neck, and I use my hand on her hip to move her against me, guide her, to encourage her to take what she needs.

I’m out of my fucking mind with need and want, fueled by the quiet moans leaving her lips, by the throbbing in my cock.

I remember what she sounded like when she came, and I want to hear it again.

Right before the moment I break, before I take this much further than either of us would be comfortable in a public place, quiet giggles fill the room, and my body tenses against hers as I realize someone else is in here.

The reality of what I just did—what we just did—comes crashing over me.

I just pressed a guest against a wall in a room, ground my dick into her, and made her moan while I kissed her.

It’s a major lapse in judgment and probably breaks something in the lengthy contract I signed when I became a Daydream employee, but I also can’t find it in me to care.

When I finally get the guts to look down at her, her eyes are wide and knowing, a small smirk playing on her lips.

There is no hint of shame or embarrassment present.

This fucking woman.

“I really have to get to the party,” she whispers, her voice husky.

I take a moment to avert my eyes from her and check my watch, realizing I have a meeting in twenty minutes myself that I should already be in my office preparing for. I nod before moving, making sure she has a sure footing before stepping back.

“We should do this again, though. Soon.”

“No,” I say firmly.

“Excuse me?” she asks with a laugh.

“This was a lapse in judgment. I told you, I don’t have time or space to deal with whatever you’re looking for.”

“Wild of you to assume I’m looking for anything.”

I stare at her and decide I need to nip this in the bud.

Once and for all. Because I can’t have Josie Montgomery blurring my mind for the next week and a half.

I’m here for one reason, and that is to figure out what the fuck is going on at this resort.

Instead, I’m taking her to private breakfasts and rushing to her when an employee breaks a leg and following her into coat checks.

“I don’t think—” I begin to argue, but she ignores me, talking over me with her voice low, only for my ears, with a smile that is dangerous and beautiful and completely biting.

“You know, you play uptight asshole businessman who doesn’t give a shit really well, but I like the other side of you better.’

“Other side?” I ask, even though I know I shouldn’t.

“The bossy side of you. Quiet, demanding.” She licks her lips, then hums like she likes the way they taste.

“The making me feel good side.” I fight the urge to grab myself and readjust my cock because that would be far too obvious, but her eyes and her teasing grin shift there anyway, knowing.

She takes a step to the door, her eyes still on me, a playful smile on her lips.

“See you around, Rowan,” she says, coy and knowing in that playful voice I so desperately want to hate but can’t find it in me to do so.

“Later, Troublemaker,” I say without thinking, saying the name I’ve assigned her in my mind. Her eyes light with pleasure before she winks, then turns and heads out the door.

I stand there for long moments, staring at the door she left, completely dazed, the way she always seems to leave me, only popping out of my reverie when someone else walks in.

That’s when I turn to the bag she was moving through.

A blue bag with an orange dress doesn’t quite match up, so before I can think twice, I’m opening the bag she was digging through and sliding out the wallet to find who owns it.

I won’t lie: I expect to see Jenny, Gene Michaels’s new girlfriend’s name, on the license, but I don’t.

Instead, I see the woman who is with Horace.

I stare at it for a beat, trying to understand what interest Josie would have with her before sliding it back into the bag, not wanting anyone to catch the VP of Operations digging through guests’ bags.

I could confront her, go right into that party, and ask what the fuck she’s doing here, because in my gut, I know it’s not to enjoy the sun and sand.

But I don’t. I know myself too well. I know if I do, I might make a stupid, rash decision, like throwing her over my shoulder and taking her to my room, the potential of her being the journalist leaking information to Fan Magazine be damned. Instead, I return to my office and resume work.

But later that night, after two more meetings with resorts on the other side of the world, my mind is still reeling, and there’s just one dark-haired beauty to blame.