Читать книгу Kiss & Tell - Alison Kent - Страница 14

TEN MINUTES LATER Miranda and Caleb were sneaking into the Inn at Snow Falls’ kitchen, ready to feed their hunger with leftovers since the lack of a condom had kept them from feeding it in more intimate ways.

Miranda was still smiling at Caleb’s lack of preparedness. Her own lack was just as sad, but then she never expected to cross paths with eligible men. She’d resigned herself to a life of having sex with herself and her vibrators, and poured out her sensuality onstage.

But a sexy, gorgeous and extremely persuasive man like Caleb—for him not to have a condom at the ready for the women he must meet…She glanced back at him, her smile widening and taking over her face.

“Are you laughing at me or with me this time?” he asked from behind her as she waved at the dishwasher, Earnesto, who winked back a promise not to tattle to the boss about her bringing company along on her kitchen raid.

“I’m not laughing at all.” At least not outwardly. Inside she was like a kid on an amusement park Tilt-a-Whirl. “I’m giddy because I can’t wait to dig into the chipotle tomato cheese spread I heard Chef made up today. He always keeps snacks around for us late-nighters.”

In the smaller of the kitchen’s three refrigerators, she found the cheese spread and a bottle of wine; the latter she handed to Caleb. After grabbing two saucers, she pointed him to the rack of wineglasses and a bag of seasoned bagel crisps. Then she led him toward the corner of the kitchen where a folding table with four matching chairs was tucked away in a small alcove for the inn’s staff to use.

She sat facing the kitchen, which was probably a mistake since it left him to sit facing her and the wall, and left her to deal with his scrutiny. It wouldn’t have been awkward had he not just fingered her to orgasm. But he had, and she could hardly ignore how close they’d come to taking things all the way.

Caleb went back to the utensil cabinet for a corkscrew while Miranda removed the cover from the cheese spread and opened the bag of bagel crisps. By the time he had the wine opened and poured, she had used one of the sturdiest chips to scoop cheese onto their plates.

“Do you do this a lot?” he asked. “Midnight snack in the hotel kitchen?”

“Of course.” She laughed, dipped a chip half into her cheese. The light in the alcove wasn’t as bright as in the main part of the kitchen, making it hard to read his face. “A perk of the job. And a good one since the town is short on all-night convenience stores.”

He watched as she popped the bite of food into her mouth. “That’s one of my favorite things about New York. The bodegas. Need a sandwich or a roll of toilet paper or batteries at 4:00 a.m.? It’s a one-stop shopping trip.”

“Is that where you live? New York?”

He shook his head, reached for his wine. “Not anymore.”

She noticed he didn’t volunteer where he was from. “Do you miss it?”

“Not much to miss.” He held her gaze while he drank, and returned his glass to the table. “I’m there a lot. And I’m in L.A. a lot.”

“Is all that travel for work or pleasure?” she asked, doing her best not to look away. His attention was so focused on her, his expression so intense.

“A little of both. I work in…the arts,” he said, and she picked up on his hesitation.

The arts could mean books or movies…or music. He’d said he was here for a wedding, one that would be a big deal. She’d gathered from the staff’s whispers while they scurried to do Ravyn’s bidding that the singer was home. As far as Miranda knew, Brenna had not been in contact with her mother. But with the congressman here as well…

Could Brenna and Teddy be tying the knot? Could Caleb be here because he knew Brenna as an industry insider, or was a friend? She wanted to press for Corinne’s sake, but if Brenna didn’t want her mother to know what was happening, well, it wasn’t Miranda’s business anyway.

In fact, she could be totally off the mark. And she was not going to ask questions that could start hurtful rumors. “An interesting line of work, I’ll bet.”

“It is. It can be. It can also be a pain in the ass.”

Now that she could relate to. “Show me a career that doesn’t have those moments, and I’ll show you someone who’s not working very hard.”

His eyes flashed with a teasing heat. “I know you work hard. I’ve seen you.”

He’d seen things she didn’t want to think about right now. She was trying to get beyond the frustration of their aborted encounter, and she never would if every look he gave her reminded her of what they’d done as well as made her regret what she’d missed.

She needed a drink, and took one. “And you want to know what there is about being Candy Cane that could possibly be a pain in the ass.”

He popped a bagel chip into his mouth and nodded.

“The wigs make me sweat.”

“So why wear them?”

“Because I don’t have long red hair, and red is a theme here, in case that’s slipped your notice. And, yes, the wigs are well-made and breathable, but that doesn’t help much when I’m onstage. Those lights are brutal.”

“Then spend more time offstage with the audience.”

Funny man. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Me and the rest of the men watching you. Some of the women, too.”

And again the suggestive innuendo, the heat in his eyes, the want. It was hard to look away. “That’s what I’m afraid of. And why I don’t mingle more than I do. This is a lovers’ resort. I don’t want to come between the lovers.”

“Why did you mingle tonight?”

She’d been trying to figure that out for herself ever since draping herself across his table. Using a broken chip, she toyed with the cheese on her plate.

Instead of eating it, she told him, “You looked lonely.”

He paused with his wineglass halfway to his mouth. “A pity kiss?”

“Not hardly,” she said, the gruff accusation causing her chest to tighten. “More like a sense of familiarity. Not to sound totally pathetic, but I know that feeling well.”

Without drinking, he returned his glass to the table. “And you thought you’d cheer me up.”

“To be honest, you weren’t the one I was hoping to cheer. My motives were much more selfish.” She felt the heat of a blush on her face and fiddled with her food to try to hide it.

“It was my pleasure.”

“No,” she said, laughing quietly. “I’m pretty sure it was mine. You were the one left hanging.”

“Being left hanging never killed a guy.” He gave her a look that left her unable to breathe.

Oh, this was going so many places she wouldn’t have expected when singing for him tonight, places she wasn’t sure she was ready for. “Not according to the stories I’ve heard.”

“Old wives’ tales. Trust me. But just to be on the safe side…” He shifted forward, leaning toward her with an intent that wasn’t threatening, but unnerved her because of what she sensed he was going to say. “I’ll come prepared to tomorrow night’s show.”

“Thanks. Now I’ll never be able to perform,” she said, sighing as she popped the chip and cheese into her mouth. It kept her from having to say anything more, and gave her a chance to catch the breath she still hadn’t found.

He didn’t press, gave her the time, finally asking, “Were you a performer before coming here?”

Reaching for her drink, she cut her gaze sharply toward him. “Is this the man who works in the arts asking?”

He shook his head. “Just the man who kissed you.”

And thank goodness he left his comment at the kiss. “Then, no. Not a performer. Unless you count singing in the shower and the church choir.”

“A soloist?”

“From time to time. Always at Christmas.”

“Do you do anything special for Christmas here?”

“Besides my regular shows? No. Though I do change up the set. Christmas isn’t Christmas without Bing Crosby. Alan’s wife is trying to get me to sing at the high school’s holiday dance, but I just can’t.”

“Why not?” he asked, refilling both of their glasses. “Afraid some of the boys might be lonely?”

“Oh, that is so not funny,” she said, though she couldn’t stifle a laugh. “But, no. I don’t take Candy out of Club Crimson. Except to raid the fridge.”

He studied his plate, picked up a bagel crisp. “I would think a local celebrity would be in demand.”

“In demand for what?” she asked, curious as to how he saw her alter ego. “Mistletoe doesn’t have political fund-raisers or charity events. It’s too small a community—one of those places where everybody knows your name. Besides,” she went on, “I like my privacy. And Candy’s not real. She’s a fixture here at the inn just like the huge stone fireplace in the lobby and all the knotty-pine tables.”

“I disagree. You’re not huge or knotty.”

“Very funny,” she said, tossing a wedge of bagel at his chest, wondering whether to put an end to their evening, or forget sleep and talk to him until morning. She was exhilarated, exhausted….

When he lifted the bottle to pour her more wine, she found her hand coming up to cover her glass. And there she had her answer. “It’s late. Beyond late. And unfortunately, I’m not a woman of leisure.”

“Meaning your real self needs to get home so tomorrow you won’t fall asleep during brain surgery, or while coming in for an emergency landing, or plowing the back forty, or whatever it is you do when you’re not a redhead.”

“And that depends on the day of the week,” she replied teasingly, wondering what he’d think if he knew about her pedestrian life as a florist. “But, yes, I need to go. This has been the best evening I’ve had in ages. Thank you.”

He followed suit as she got to her feet. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

“If you’re in Club Crimson at showtime you will.” You and your condom. She closed up the bagel crisps, covered the cheese spread, stacked their plates and reached for the wine. “Take this with you.”

“Consolation prize?”

She held on to the bottle. “If you’re going to be like that, then I’ll take it with me and celebrate.”

He tossed back his head and laughed. “You, Candy Cane, or whoever you are, are some piece of work.”

Good. She was glad he wasn’t taking her for granted. “I wouldn’t want you to think you could have me without putting in some effort.”

He hooked a possessive arm around her neck. “C’mon, mystery woman. Let me walk you back to your dressing room.”

She stopped first at the refrigerator, then at the baker’s rack, then at the sink where Earnesto took the plates and glasses before waving her and Caleb on their way.

Wearing her sequined gown, her long wavy wig, a warm pair of sheepskin Uggs on her feet and Caleb’s jacket over her shoulders, Miranda walked beside him down the hallway from the kitchen to the club. Neither one of them hurried, neither one of them spoke.

It was as if Caleb didn’t want to let go of her any more than she wanted to tell him goodnight. They fitted so well as they walked, fitted, too, as they talked. She was certain it would be no different when they made love.

When. She was assuming it would happen, rather than accepting they might have nothing but tonight. Counting on more, looking forward to more wasn’t smart. Doing so was tantamount to throwing away the past five years she’d spent making a new life. She couldn’t do that to herself. She wouldn’t do it for a man about whom she knew nothing.

Then they were at her dressing room, the trip over too soon, the silence lingering as she reached out to punch the code into the keypad lock. Caleb stopped her, covering her hand, turning her and pulling her arms above her head as he backed her into the door.

He spread his legs, captured her hips between them, leaned his lower body into hers and rested there. His eyes were fierce, bright, and she was almost unable to draw a breath for thinking about all the things he might want. She scared herself with all the things she wanted.