Page 10 of Angel In Armani

But there wasn’t a lot she could do about it. She was just going to have to be a big girl and ignore how hot the man was.

Having him in the back of her helo had been bad. But she was discovering that it was nothing compared with being stuck in a very small motel room with him on a bed that was also very small but looming very large in her consciousness.

Which was ridiculous. The man hadn’t done anything other than smile at her a little and hand over his details to strangers when she’d wanted proof he could be trusted. It didn’t matter if she was drowning in lust, because he quite clearly wasn’t.

Outside the world was still drowning in plain old rain. The rumbles of thunder made her shiver a little.

“Beer?” Lucas held out a bottle with another polite yet gorgeous smile. They’d found a six-pack in the trunk of the Mercedes when they’d been retrieving their bags. It had been chilled from the weather but was warming now in the overheated room.

“Okay.” Sara took it and twisted the top free. One beer. Which she would sip slowly. It would at least give her something to distract her from the fact that she was alone with Lucas Angelo.

She perched on one side of the bed and watched as Lucas removed his jacket, undid his bow tie, unbuttoned his collar, and took off his shoes and socks. Which left him in tuxedo pants and a glorious white shirt, tanned feet bare, looking like every female fantasy picture of a male movie star she’d ever seen.

She looked away as he took a seat on the far—not far enough, really—side of the bed. He sat propped against the wall and some pillows—the bed at least had a good supply of those—as he cracked open his beer.

Warm beer, the weird fan whistle of the motel’s heating, and the weight of a man lying on the bed beside her.

The first two she could cope with. The third was driving her a little crazy.

Which was ridiculous. Just a man, she told herself firmly. Just a man, just a man, just a man. And a client besides.

But try as her brain might, her body insisted on fighting back. Not just a man. A bona fide gorgeous man. A bona fide only-in-the-movies gorgeous man who smiled at her when he passed her a beer and who smelled like nothing on earth—warm and clean and male with that damned perfect cologne doing wicked things to her insides.

Who was just a few tiny short inches away from her, lying on the bed as he sipped his own warm beer.

Her heart was beating so fast, she was sure he must be able to hear it.

She was pretty sure that the sight of her, in the old black pants and KEEP CALM AND FLY ON T-shirt that she’d found stashed in her flight bag, wasn’t having the same effect on him.

Life really was a bitch sometimes. And lately it was a bitch who seemed to have it in for Sara.

Couldn’t just one little thing go her way? Just one tiny miracle like the male Adonis going for the normal girl for once?

Not that she should be even thinking that sort of thing about a customer.

He’s going to be an ex-customer. So what does it matter?

That was the evil part of her brain. The part that apparently had her confused with somebody entirely different who could make a move on a man like Lucas.

She was hardly a virgin and she’d coaxed a man or two into her bed in her time. But never one who looked like Lucas. And to be honest, most of the time she’d let the guys do the coaxing.

But damn, he smelled good. And looked even better.

She stared at the ugly brown floral curtains covering the window, fingers clenched around the beer bottle so she wouldn’t do anything stupid like roll over and reach for him.

The edges of the window lit up suddenly. Lightning. Thunder boomed close on its heels, and she winced and turned away from the window.

Toward Lucas.

“You don’t like thunder, do you?” Lucas was regarding her over his beer. She hadn’t picked him for the beer type but he seemed to be enjoying it. Even now, he tilted the bottle back again and took a swallow. Then he tossed the bottle toward the trash can near the door. It landed neatly, dead center. Of course it did.

“It’s fine.” She managed an everything’s-normal-here, don’t-worry smile as she picked at a loose corner of the label on her beer. Lucas Angelo didn’t need to know why storms could make her squirrelly. Everything was fine. She wasn’t out in the storm and neither was anyone else she cared about. She tilted the beer, swallowed quickly. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to have hysterics and try to hide under the bed or anything.”

He tilted his head, and the light from the lamp on the bedside table did something that made his eyes seem even bluer. “I didn’t think you were.”

“I never liked storms, actually,” she said, desperate for something to talk about. Something that would distract her from him. From the fact that it wasn’t just the storm making her shiver. “Even as a kid. There’s something about the thunder that … I don’t know. I just don’t like it. At home, I’d just put on the TV and my headphones and be fine.” Plus at home, she’d have Dougal to hug and make her feel better. He smelled like dog rather than delicious man, but that was a small price to pay for sanity.

“My gran said I must have been hurt in a storm in a past life.” She offered a smile meant to prove that she didn’t believe that. “Gran was Irish. Superstitious. I think I just don’t like storms.” Which was true, she didn’t. But she was leaving out the part where Jamie, her brother, had died in one and her dad had crashed his helicopter in another.

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