Rules of Negotiation Read Online Free

doing here?”
    She tried not to picture the room behind her. She had only been there for a night, but after years of traveling, she tended to treat hotel rooms like second homes. The unfortunate unpadded bra had been flung across an end table, and her black lace nightgown lay on the armchair by the bed. Her laptop was blinking on the desk, a mountain of paperwork beside it, and the remnants of her half-starved raid on the minibar—M&M’s wrappers, a can of Diet Pepsi, and a half-empty bag of peanuts—littered the other available surfaces.
    He chuckled. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you aren’t happy to see me.”
    Though she wouldn’t have thought it possible, he looked even better now than he had in the Excorp boardroom. His pinstriped suit and power tie had been replaced by a pair of snug-fitting khakis and a midnight blue sweater. Broad shoulders simply begged to be touched, and his narrow waist gave her visions of running her fingers along the inside of his pants.
    A rush of adrenaline jump-started her heart into a staccato rhythm.
    She swallowed hard. “I thought you were going to meet me in the lobby.”
    He shrugged. “I changed my mind.”
    Changed his mind? Brit Bencher didn’t change his mind. He had come up here for a reason. Her eyes narrowed. If this were a negotiation, she’d say he was trying to throw her off her guard, fluster her by showing up at her door. But to what end? A man like Brit didn’t have to play games to get a woman in his bed.
    She studied him a moment, then shook her head. No sense trying to read his mind. She would know soon enough what he wanted. Meanwhile, Tori’s Rules of Negotiation Number Three: when in doubt, attack.
    Forcing a wide, easy smile, she took the flowers and pulled open the door. “Come in.”
    Tori set the bouquet on the desk, picked up her nightgown, and threw it into her open suitcase. Her heart leapfrogged from rapid to I just ran a marathon and think I might die .
    What was she doing? Playing games with The Slayer?
    Had she lost her mind?
    Brit’s broad-shouldered frame easily filled the small space between the single queen-size bed and wooden wardrobe. A smile hovered around the corners of his mouth. “No need to tidy up on my account. I really ought to have called first.”
    If anything, he seemed to grow more comfortable the longer he was in her room. Absurd to think a woman’s negligee could make The Slayer nervous.
    Tori knew she had lost control of the situation—no, scratch that: she’d never had control. She’d been insane to think she could hold her own against a man like Brit.
    Her mind spun furiously. Should she retreat? Swear off dinner?
    No . Her pride screamed in protest. No way.
    She found herself staring at his lips as a fresh wave of panic passed over her.
    She thought about Jerry, nine months without a date, and gritted her teeth.
    There would be no retreat.
    “I made us a reservation at Alessandro’s,” Brit continued, unaware of the battle raging inside Tori’s mind. “It’s a little Italian place in Queens. You aren’t one of those low-carb fanatics, are you?”
    Tori had told him to pick the spot for dinner, curious to see what his selection of restaurant would reveal. “Pasta is one of the reasons I get out of bed in the morning. That, and a nice piece of white toast with a slab of butter for breakfast.”
    The words were a form of challenge. Go ahead , she thought, compare me to your model girlfriends. Be my guest.
    His smile widened. “I like where you’re headed. Now add a couple of fried eggs and some real hash browns and you’re in business.”
    “Real hash browns, huh?” She crossed her arms below her breasts, forcing the soft fabric of her dress to stretch tightly over her full C-cups.
    “Shredded or cubed?”
    “Shredded, naturally.”
    She allowed herself a smile. “Now there’s a man who knows how to eat. We’ll get along fine, Mr. Bencher.”
    “Brit,” he reminded her.
    “Where did you