“Thank you,” he replied with a gracious nod of his head. He watched her kiss-swollen lips close around her forkful of cake, and his prick sprang to attention remembering those warm, luscious lips wrapping around his engorged member. Down, boy, he told himself sternly. Every muscle in his body was insisting he bend her over the room service trolley and take her from behind. You are not a wild beast. You are a civilized man—Mick tugged his gaze away from her mouth—who will let the woman eat her dessert in peace. He speared a forkful of the chocolate peanut bar for himself with one hand and poured coffee into their mugs with the other.

“I like a man who can multitask.” He wasn’t sure if the husky undertones in her voice had been caused by the delectable taste of the dessert, or if she was suggesting another bout of mind-blowing sex as a possible aperitif? Didn’t matter. There was only so much temptation a man could take. “How would you feel”—he set his forkful of chocolate peanut goodness down on his plate and rose from his chair—“about a change of venues?” He rounded the trolley. She used the side of her fork to slowly cut another mouthful, laughter and a make-me dare dancing in her eyes. His hand closed over hers, stilling her action.

“Mm . . .” she said, releasing her fork, which clattered on the china. “I take it you have a more satisfying dessert in mind?” She lifted her mouth to meet his, her arms twining around his neck.

The shrill sound of the phones ringing in both bathrooms, the phone in the bedroom, and the one on the desk jolted Sarah upright. Mick stifled an oath. So much for dessert, he thought, although perhaps it’s room service wanting to remove the dishes. Whatever it was, the mood was broken. Sarah was no longer curled up in the armchair, a sultry Aphrodite incarnate, her elegant pink-tipped toes peeking out from under her robe begging to be kissed. The damn phone rang, and the day’s tension came crashing back. All the languor and teasing laughter had vanished from her face. She looked at him, her eyes large. “Do you think?” she whispered.

Ring . . . ring . . .

“It’s Vicki. It’s got to be. Who else would be calling so late at night?”

Ring . . . ring . . .

Sarah shot to her feet, scrambled around the desk, and grabbed the phone. “Hello? Hello? Yes, this is Sarah.” She was hunched over the phone. Both her hands were wrapped around the receiver, gripping it tight. One didn’t have to be a hotshot director to read that body language. “Don’t worry about the hour. Seriously. I’m glad you called.”

Mick sighed. “Not room service, then?” he murmured. Luckily, he wasn’t expecting an answer.