After Hours - Karen Kendall Mills & Boon e-Book Collections

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the showers were new and they’d undergone extensive renovations. There should be city permits for all of that on file.

      Oh, damn, that feels good! He almost drooled with gratitude. No, no, where was he?

      Oh, yeah. There should also be inspection reports by officials to determine that everything was built to code. What he needed to do was somehow research each and every change to the building in the last two years….

      Peggy’s wonderful hands stopped—

      No, no! Don’t stop, please don’t stop. Touch me just a little farther south. There’s a toy surprise there, honey.

      —and she announced that he should go and shower now. He thanked her and regretfully got up after she’d exited. Troy pulled on the cotton waffle-weave robe again and headed for the state-of-the-art showers to rinse off.

      He stood under the warm water and used a sea sponge she’d given him to remove all traces of the salt scrub. He smelled like a large, aromatic-but-manly grapefruit and tingled from head to toe. This spa stuff wasn’t bad, was it?

      What was bad was his urge to see the delectable redheaded Peggy again, preferably naked. And he wished it would go away, seeing as how he wanted to kick her and her business partners off his property…and she probably wouldn’t take kindly to that. Go figure.

      Troy turned off the water and buried his face in a soft, clean towel. He rubbed at his hair with it, then dried his body and wound the towel around his waist. He stepped into some rubber shower thongs provided by the spa and reminded himself of his mission: to snoop. To make notes. To remember each and every detail of the place so that when he combed through the hundreds of pages of records and regulations, he could find something—anything—to nail them with and therefore break the lease.

      He did feel regret about Peggy and her magic hands and her sweet smile with the single dimple. But when it came right down to it, this was just business, nothing personal.

      PEGGY TOOK A COFFEE BREAK and watched wryly as one of Alejandro’s pedicure clients, Monica Delgado, deliberately messed up the polish on one of her feet so that he’d have to redo it, and therefore spend more time with her. Monica liked to wear miniskirts for these occasions and flash the poor guy as much as she could. Today she also wore an array of toe rings: three different ones, set in white gold with expensive stones.

      Alejandro’s shoulders tensed as she called him back to the pedicure station, “embarrassed” by her clumsiness. But he smiled and joked with her, saying that Monica just enjoyed having him at her feet.

      In the manicure area, the group of fortysomething ladies they’d dubbed The Fabulous Four gossiped and shrieked with laughter over what was probably their third bottle of wine. The downside to serving alcohol in the salon was that certain clients took total advantage of it. The Fab Four showed up like clockwork once a week, all at the same time, and indulged in a raucous happy hour at After Hours’ expense.

      But since they collectively spent so much money, Alejandro had decided that as long as they weren’t allowed to drive drunk, the few bottles of wine and the noise were worth it. Today, the poor guy looked as though he should have a glass himself and maybe lie down on her massage table for a half hour.

      There were days when After Hours was more zoo than spa. At his hairstyling station, one of the master cutters, Nicky, shrilly accused Sylvia of swiping a pair of his shears to cut her own bangs. She denied it at the top of her lungs.

      Ugh. As the manager, it was Peggy’s job to go break up the argument, calm them down and find the missing scissors. They turned up under the GQ magazine by his hand mirror, but when Peg suggested that he apologize to Sylvia, he sniffed and said he didn’t like her attitude and she could kiss his left ass cheek.

      Peg sighed, while Nicky launched into a long dialogue about how he couldn’t find the right man to do it, no matter how many Internet dates he went on….

      She finally took Sylvia into the back and explained that Nicky was experiencing a bad case of PMS and he’d be over it next week. Sylvia rolled her eyes and went to take her next facial appointment.

      Peggy shook her head, took a deep breath and went back to the front of the salon, where she opened a tip envelope and stared at the enormous bonus Troy Barrington had left for her. Shirlie and Marly stared, too.

      “That’s, like, a thirty percent tip!” Shirl exclaimed.

      Marly lifted a dark, winged brow, her expression teasing. “Sea salt scrub, hmm? You must not have missed an inch.”

      “Hey! Just what are you implying?” Peggy could feel her face flushing, though she knew her friends were just kidding around. “I do not finish off the clientele sexually, okay?”

      “Maybe he wants you to think about it for next time,” Shirlie said, with an evil wink.

      Peggy drew herself up to her full height, which wasn’t much taller than the receptionist sitting down. “There won’t be a next time, ladies. Margaret can do the honors when he returns for his next treatment.”

      “I take it his happy-package was disappointing?” Shirlie probed for the information dear to her heart.

      “Did I say that?” Peggy asked.

      “Well, it must be tiny if you don’t want to do him next time.”

      Peggy shrugged. She wanted to do him, all right. She just didn’t think it was healthy for her to be around Troy Barrington in such an intimate setting—not until she’d purged the sexual attraction from her mind and body.

      This is my year of self-discovery, she told herself firmly. The year of Peggy Power. I’m not going to cater to anyone else, especially not a man. I’m not going to try to fix anyone’s ego or gambling habit. I’m going to recover who I am and figure out how I got so out of balance last year.

      “Girls, I hate to disappoint you, but the size of Mr. Barrington’s tip probably has more to do with the fact that I coach his nieces’ powder-puff football team. He was just being nice.”

      The phone rang, forcing Shirlie to answer it. Peggy escaped to the kitchenette, where she found Alejandro looking elegant and tailored as usual, despite his recent harrowing experience with Monica Delgado. He was frowning and poking at something in the microwave.

      “This tamal is still frozen,” he explained. “And I am starving.” She loved his slightly accented English—he was half Peruvian.

      “They say patience is a virtue, doll.”

      He laughed. “How would you know, eh?”

      Peggy stuck her tongue out at him. “I don’t. But my New Year’s resolution had to do with patience and impulse control.”

      “I can tell you’re sticking with that,” Alejandro said, “since it took you five seconds to make up your mind to move down here after I suggested the partnership.”

      She winced. Yeah, and it had taken her three seconds to decide what college to attend, two seconds to get engaged to a dud and one to buy a car.

      He took pity on her by changing the subject. “So is Hal still dating that crazy image consultant, up there in Connecticut?”

      Peggy brightened. “Yes! As a matter of fact, they’ve moved in together. Can you believe that? A woman brave enough to actually live with my brother. And she’s got him dressed like an actual human being now, and keeps his hair cut.”

      “Wonders will never cease.” The microwave pinged, and he removed the tamal once again. This time steam rolled off it in waves, and the aroma of corn, garlic, onion and shredded pork was delicious.

      Peggy watched Alejandro spread a huge quantity of Ahi (an unbelievably hot pepper sauce) over his tamal and dig in. How did the guy eat pure fire?

      “Don’t you at least want a glass of ice water?” She asked. “You know, for when your throat goes up in flames?”

      He grinned and

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