her howling, woefully neglected hormones, she’d eaten enough shellfish, kelp, pine nuts, honey and any other known aphrodisiac to sink a ship in the past three days. It was only natural that her desire would be sharper, more intense. Truthfully, she wouldn’t have thought it was possible.
Over the past year, she’d been a sexually frustrated wreck, had even gone so far as to consider hiring a man for the night—anything was possible in Aspen, for the right price. But there had been something so pathetic about paying a man to sleep with her that she hadn’t been able to go through with it. Granted she was running a risk doing things this way—she might end up with a dud and wind up as unfulfilled as she’d been during the first go round.
With a professional, that wouldn’t have happened. She could have insisted on a money-back guarantee. The idea drew a slow smile. Still, it had just been too depressing to pay for sex. She’d take her chances with the sex diet. She only wanted an orgasm, after all, and she had absolutely no illusions about falling in love.
Sam inwardly snorted. She’d given up on that pipe dream. Regardless of how great she looked now—and, dammit, she did look pretty good, if she did say so herself—she didn’t know if she’d be able to keep up the maintenance. It took a lot of effort to be pretty. Hair gel, plucking, tweezing, moisturizing, makeup and protein shakes.
She knew the effort was worth the reward—she certainly felt a lot better about herself when she knew she looked good. Still, sometimes it just seemed like too much. Unfortunately she hadn’t been born one of those women who could roll out of bed and look gorgeous au naturel. Samantha smirked, tossed an antihistamine into her mouth and chased it with a sip of water. Regrettably, she needed all the help she could get.
Thus, the sex diet.
It made her more appealing to the opposite sex and, when combined with her plan, practically guaranteed her success. Better still, whomever she finally invited into her bed would actually want to be with her—unlike a male escort, who would smile and compliment her and do all of the wonderfully wicked things she longed to experience—but with an agenda. It would be for the cash, not the act, and that was the difference. That was what she hadn’t been able to stomach. She’d have all of those things and more—she’d have a man who genuinely wanted her.
At least until she went off the diet.
The only fly in the ointment, but she was past caring. She wanted—needed—to get laid.
As long as she followed through with her plan—she’d consulted every how-to-hook-a-man book and sex manual she could get her hands on, as well as faithfully read every trendy magazine that offered tips on dating and sex—she didn’t see how things could go wrong. Furthermore, she’d learned everything that men didn’t like from Hank. Years of listening to him bemoan certain female behavior had left her with a better understanding than most of what a man might look for in a temporary partner.
And, as an added bonus, she felt at home here, in her element and comfortable enough with the clientele along this end of the beach to know that she couldn’t go terribly wrong with whomever she chose.
In addition to packing a few key snacks for her diet, she’d brought along an arsenal of various protection. She’d prepared for this week like a general prepared for war. She was ready. Past ready. Hell, it was unnatural for a woman her age to have never had an orgasm, to have never experienced the legendary Big O.
Samantha swallowed a frustrated groan. She wanted to get laid—properly! She wanted to know what it felt like to have a man’s mouth feeding at her breast—Ted, her lackluster first and only, hadn’t even bothered to cop a feel, had moved with alarming rapidity to the grand finale.
Sam wanted someone to make love to her, to feel a man’s body, his hard weight against hers, have him touch that secret place inside her that throbbed from neglect. She wanted to know what all the fuss was about. Why so many books, shows and magazines made such a tremendous deal about doing it right, doing it wrong, the where, the when, the how and the who.
She’d been with a guy who’d done it wrong—she wanted to be with a guy who would do it right. It wasn’t too much to ask.
Hank’s handsome image loomed instantly to mind. Frankly she’d like nothing better than to experience it with him, but knew that no matter what she’d shocked him with her new and improved self—she most definitely had. Gratifyingly, his jaw had dropped and she’d seen a true glimmer of male interest flicker before realization had snuffed it out.
She knew that no matter how much she’d changed and despite the fact that he’d noticed those changes, he’d still look at her and remember the frizzy hair, freckles, bottle-bottom glasses and scrawny body. Sadly, to him, no matter how many improvements she made physically, he’d always look at her and see an ugly duckling, not the swan she’d managed to turn herself into.
He’d always see a friend, not a potential lover.
Samantha stared glumly at her reflection and a pang of regret pricked her heart, but she determinedly squelched the sentiment. There would be no regrets on this trip. This trip was going to be the most memorable week of her life and she wasn’t about to let a little thing like unrequited lust—or love, as the case may be—get in the way.
After all, she had bigger fish to fry. Her lips quirked with perverse humor.
But first she’d need to eat some.
3
SHE CAUGHT HANK KICKING a pile of dirty clothes against the wall when she came out of the bathroom. He looked up and those bright eyes glittered with sheepish humor. “I made a foot of space available in the closet, and those top two drawers in the dresser are ready.” He passed a hand over his face. “I really hate what happened about your room. Things have been crazy around here since Gladys left. Tina will eventually get it.” His voice sounded more grim than hopeful, making Samantha’s lips twitch. “But between her frequent screwups and this Belle of the Beach contest, I’ve been stretched pretty thin.”
Samantha waved off his concern. “Don’t worry about it.” She conjured a playful grin. “I’m sure I’ll be perfectly comfortable in your bed.”
Of course, she’d be more comfortable if he were in it with her, but that wasn’t a likely scenario so she needed to put the idea out of her head. If she didn’t, she might as well kiss that orgasm goodbye. She cast a glance at the smallish couch and tried to imagine Hank’s big muscular frame sprawled over it. She winced. “But I don’t know how comfortable you’ll be.”
Hank grinned, slouched casually against the bedpost. “I’ll consider it penance for screwing up your reservation.”
“With that sort of logic, I should have gotten Tina’s bed.”
Hank grunted. “Trust me, if she lived in the house, she’d be giving up her bed ten times over.”
Samantha winced. “That bad, eh?”
He nodded, blew out a breath. “That bad.”
“If she’s so horrible, then why do you keep her?”
“She’s Gladys’s granddaughter.”
“Oh,” Samantha said knowingly. That explained it. Hank adored Gladys. He’d never do anything that might hurt her, even if it meant he paid the price for it. In this case, literally. An inept desk clerk in his line of work could be devastating.
