Wasn't she?
As calmly as possible, she turned back to the manager, on the off chance this had all been some mistake.
But the woman was shaking her head. "I'm sorry."
The relief Corrine felt surprised her, but she was always honest, maybe to a fault. In light of that, she had to admit, at least to herself, that she didn't really want a way out of this. She'd flown into Huntsville to deal with an emergency. Whatever it was, it was big, and it would affect both her and the space-shuttle mission she'd lived and breathed for a year and a half now.
For these remaining months she wouldn't have any time to herself. None. This was it. This one last night.
It scared her how much she wanted it.
Turning in the dark, she bumped into his chest, and could tell by his quick, indrawn breath that she affected him every bit as much as he affected her. Silly, she wanted to tell him. Juvenile. We're acting like hormonal teenagers.
His fingers played again at the base of her spine. And all those hormones unleashed by her own hunger leaped and jerked within her. Breathing became optional. She wanted to melt to the floor in a boneless heap of jelly.
It should have been embarrassing. Awkward, at the very least. There should have been fear and doubt, for a million different reasons; that she didn't even know his name should have led the pack.
Instead, the strangest feeling of…rightness flooded her.
In the dark she craned her neck, trying to see his face clearly. She couldn't, and she felt more than actually saw his slow, easy smile.
Everything inside her reacted, helplessly.
Oh yeah. She was absolutely in the right place with the right man. "Yes," she said.
"Yes?"
She inhaled deeply. "Yes, I'd like to share your room."
The receptionist and manager had both leaned close to hear her answer, and then looked like maybe they wanted to cry in relief. "His key will work," the manager said. "The electronic keying system is on emergency power and is one of the few things actually operating right now. You'll have no problem getting into the room."
Behind them, the crowd was growing impatient.
Her perfect stranger, who smelled like heaven and had a touch nearly as divine, didn't say a word, just took her hand, lifted it to his lips and then, still holding on to her, took the lead.
And for the second time that night, and for only the second time in her entire life, she followed.
More than once in his life Mike had been accused of being cocky and confident, yet laid-back and easygoing. Sometimes downright lazy.
But as anyone who'd ever worked with him could attest, he was actually a very controlled man. It wasn't often he lost that control, but he nearly did now. He had an incredibly beautiful woman by the hand and was taking her to his room, and he had no idea what she expected.
The guys would laugh hysterically at that, he knew, for Mike had quite the reputation, especially when it came to women.
But the truth was, much of that bad-boy rep was hype, at least in the past few years, when he'd been far too busy to live up to it.
Through the dark, he glanced at her over his shoulder and found her watching him. He squeezed her hand and smiled.
She returned both the squeeze and the smile, and his body actually twitched with excitement. With any luck at all, his fantasy and reality were going to commingle tonight.
They crossed the large, noisy lobby carefully, winding their way through the unsettled crowd.
"Are all these people stranded?" she wondered aloud.
Mike didn't stop, but squeezed her hand again. "Looks like it."
"This is terrible."
It was, and he felt badly, too, but not enough to invite more up to share his room. In the midst of work, work, work, he'd somehow found a little something for himself. Frivolous. Dangerous even, considering the day and age and all the problems associated with recreational sex, but there was something about this woman that told him she was different.
A soft glow from various lanterns and candles lit the way to the elevators, which of course weren't working. There were people there, too, staring with dismay at the closed doors.
Mike's room was on the sixth floor.
It could have been worse, far worse. "We have to take the stairs," he said regretfully, pulling her up beside him. He felt bad, though not for himself. Given the physical demands of his job, not to mention the rigorous training he was constantly put through, he could take the stairs in two minutes without breaking a sweat.
But she wouldn't find it so easy. Her wet skirt, while not skimpy by any means, had to be confining, and those heels…well, they showed off her mouthwatering legs, but they couldn't be comfortable. In the dim light, her damp hair shone. Her skin did, too, along with her eyes, which were filled with deep, dark mysteries. "Six flights of stairs," he added apologetically.
She murmured noncommittally.
"We'll take it slow," he assured her, and could have sworn she laughed. But when he peered through the dark at her face, she was smiling slightly.
"Ready when you are," she said.
When he opened the door to the stairwell, an inky blackness greeted them. To reassure the woman next to him, he once again took her hand. "Don't worry," he said, pulling from his pocket a pen that was also a flashlight. When he flicked it on, she looked at him in surprise.
"You actually carry a flashlight? In your pocket?"
Yes, he carried a flashlight. And a hand-held electronic organizer. And a state-of-the-art cell phone that could download from the net and retrieve his e-mail. He was a techno-geek and couldn't help himself, but in his defense, he'd spent years and years in Russia, far from his home country. His toys somehow made him feel closer.
"You must be an engineer," she decided.
"I am not."
Her lips were curved, her eyes lit with humor, and she was so beautiful she took his breath away.
"Are you sure?" She was still teasing. "Now that I think about it, you look like one."
"Do you really want to know?" he asked softly, suddenly wanting to tell her about himself, wanting to hear all about her in return. It was silly, dangerous even, because with that additional emotional connection, he knew whatever they shared this night was bound to be the most powerful affair he'd ever had.
She stared at him, searched deep in his eyes for God knew what. And then, finally, she shook her head. "It's tempting," she whispered regretfully, lifting her hand to gently touch his mouth. "But no. I don't want to know."
For a long moment he didn't move, hoping, wishing she'd change her mind, but then the moment passed and he forced a smile. "I like to be prepared," he said, directing the flashlight ahead of them. And please, God, let me be "prepared" with a condom in my shaving kit.
"Prepared." She let out a little laugh, again a slightly rusty sound, as if she didn't do it often, and he smiled back.
Make that a box of condoms, he thought.
They started up the stairs. At the top of the first flight, Mike paused. "Need a rest?"
"After one flight of stairs?" She shook her head. "Tell me I don't look that fragile to you."
She was petite but not frail, not with all those wonderful curves and a face so full of life. "You don't look fragile to me," he said after a good long look that stirred his body.
"Smart answer."
They climbed another flight, and when Mike again paused at the top, she lifted a brow. "Do you need to rest?"
He smiled and they started on the next flight, but at a burst of wild laughter ahead of them, he once again slowed to a stop. Sprawled across the stairs, two men were sharing a flask of what had to be pretty potent stuff, given their wide, slack, idiotic grins.
"Looksy there," one said, slurring his words as he nudged the man next to him. "Now that's the way to pass the time, matey." The drunk leered at Mike and gave an exaggerated wink. "Don't need to tell you to keep warm, huh? You've got your heating blankie right there with you."