Читать книгу Hot Sheets - Jeanie London, Jeanie London - Страница 7

“LET THE SEX GAMES BEGIN!”

Truer words had never been spoken. Laura Granger had crammed the schedule with more erotic events during the next three weeks than this old hotel had ever seen. That said a lot since the property had been built well over a hundred years ago.

Falling Inn Bed, and Breakfast, or Falling Inn Bed as it was locally known, had started life during the 1880s boom that had earned Niagara Falls, New York, a place on the social calendar. Its evolution since that era had seen it alternately sparkle like a jewel and fade beneath the grime of the decades. But its most interesting development, as far as Laura was concerned, was its rebirth five years ago as a romance resort.

The term “romance resort” roughly translated into an upscale old hotel that specialized in sex, and as the inn’s special events coordinator, or bedding consultant as she was commonly known, Laura knew firsthand just how much sex permeated the mood around here. She could call the newly updated promotional blurb into memory by heart.

Fun, active and romantic, Falling Inn Bed, and Breakfast is a unique resort, the perfect escape for energetic—and slightly wicked!—couples looking to ignite the spark.

Accommodations include suites exclusively designed for romance with lush settings such as the Roman Bagnio, Victorian Bordello, Sultan’s Seraglio, Warlord’s Tower, Wild West Brothel, Demimondaine’s Boudoir, Roaring Twenties’ Speakeasy, Sixties’ Love Nest, Red-light District and the Space Odyssey.

A variety of exclusive shops offer erotic enhancements designed to drive couples wild, and with the grand opening of the new Wedding Wing, newlyweds will have a one-stop spot to accommodate all their naughty nuptial needs.

Unable to resist a smile, Laura gazed around the lobby of the inn’s prized new addition. The Wedding Wing…this was her baby, an idea realized from conception through construction and now inauguration. She’d spent the past two years bringing her vision for this fantasy wedding operation to life and she couldn’t possibly be prouder of the result.

Light from a crystal chandelier illuminated the New England antiques arranged in welcoming clusters around the lobby. A small-scale reservation desk ran along the west wall, directly opposite her pride and joy—a Mireille Marceaux oil painting, showcased behind museum-quality glass.

The glass display had depleted a chunk of her budget, but the expense had been necessary to meet the terms of arranging the painting’s loan for the grand opening. And acquiring this art, even for a visit, had been quite a coup. Not only was the nude a regional beauty, but she set the whole tone for the new wing. And to Laura’s mind brought good luck for the all-important grand opening events.

She needed all the good luck she could get right now.

Falling Woman would do the trick. Surrounded by lush forest and mist from the falls, the woman in the painting held a sheer veil that spilled over her curves like a waterfall. Laura believed her sultry smile meant she approved of her new home, a place where newlyweds kicked off sensual happily-ever-afters.

As the name implied, the Wedding Wing’s sole function was to accommodate weddings. Five floors of banquet halls, guest rooms, romance-themed honeymoon suites and even a brand-new full-service spa to pamper guests.

The grand opening had been officially dubbed the Naughty Nuptials, and the ensuing promotional campaign would span three weeks of highly publicized events. Week one was dedicated to Wild, Wild Weddings.

Laura had a typical slate of bridal functions scheduled, but with a Falling Inn Bed twist. A sex-toy shower, bad bachelor/ette parties and racy rehearsal dinner would culminate in a real wedding and kick off week two of the campaign—Risqué Receptions, which would be followed by Hottest Honeymoons in week three.

This grand opening promised to go down in history. It needed to. The management staff of Falling Inn Bed had wagered their personal and professional futures on the Wedding Wing’s success. While they’d never expressed anything but total faith in Laura’s ability to pull off this event, their trust underscored every decision she made, alternately empowering and weighing on her.

As if on cue, the radio affixed to her belt crackled and a Scottish burr rolled out on a wave of static. “Do you copy, bedding consultant?”

Unfastening the radio, Laura glanced down at her watch—almost check-in time. “Whisper sweet nothings, handyman.”

“You’ve got a double date in the main lobby,” the inn’s maintenance supervisor, Dougray, said.

A double date. A couple.

Laura exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d held. The special guest she awaited hadn’t arrived yet, but she knew he’d check in soon enough and end her suspense. She’d find out once and for all if he were bringing a date. Knowing what she knew about him, he’d not only bring a date, but a date who’d prove he’d completely forgotten how he’d once flirted with her.

But if luck rode with her and he arrived alone…

Until Laura knew either way, she distracted herself with the full house coming in for the inaugural events. She’d instructed the staff to let her know when her guests started to check in, so she could escort them to the Wedding Wing personally. Attentive service would start off the grand opening right.

“That’s a copy, handyman,” she said. “ETA a heartbeat.”

“Show time,” she said to the front desk clerk, who’d just reappeared from an office behind the desk.

The clerk, dressed smartly in Falling Inn Bed’s gold-trimmed uniform, saluted, and Laura returned the salute before making her way from the lobby to the main portion of the inn.

Once again she couldn’t help marveling at the smooth transition as the new building segued into the original. She could detect no discernible difference between the new architecture and that which dated one-hundred-plus years—a remarkable accomplishment by a brilliant architect, who’d worked for nearly two years to achieve the effect.

A very attractive architect, who would soon arrive for the grand opening events.

Hopefully alone.

Squelching the thought before she made herself crazy, Laura passed through the promenade of shops connecting the main lobby with the Wedding Wing and found herself face-to-face with her Hottest Honeymoon Couple.

Lieutenant Commander Troy Knight and his wife Miranda looked just as picture perfect as they had the last time she’d seen them, only now the Lieutenant Commander wore sportswear rather than an officer’s uniform. Miranda looked…well, like Miranda always did—perfect. She was a vision in her sleeveless silk bouclé suit—with coordinating hat, purse and high-heeled slides, of course—perfectly attired for arrival at a romance resort on a beautiful summer day.

The butter color complemented the striking black hair that curled in an artful tumble down her back, and Laura suddenly felt the linen of her own tailored suit as if it had been hand-woven by someone with ten thumbs. Forcing steel into her smile, she made her way toward the couple.

“Miranda, lieutenant commander,” she said in her most gracious voice. “I’m so pleased you could join us for the festivities.”

She met Miranda’s familiar gaze with a calm professionalism that made nine agonizing years of private school with this woman and a lot of water under the proverbial bridge evaporate.

“Laura.” Miranda inclined her head in a gesture of greeting that was almost regal, but there was no missing the way her gaze flickered downward, taking in Laura with a glance that assessed the linen summer uniform as well.

Her husband extended his hand with a smile that actually reached his eyes. “Call me Troy, please. It’s good to see you again. Thanks for the invitation. Miranda and I were pleased to be included in your grand opening.”

Good thing someone was pleased, but all things considered, she found it much easier to smile at Troy Knight than at his wife. At least he seemed genuine.

Launching into the details of their itinerary, Laura focused on business and treated this couple the way she treated all her guests—as if they were welcome. These two would never know she hadn’t been the one to add their names to the guest list.

“I’ll take you to the Wedding Wing and give you an introductory packet.” She wanted to get this show on the road. The sooner Miranda and Troy checked in, the sooner she’d be on her way to await one very handsome architect. They started walking across the lobby.

“We have a few things to discuss, but as our honeymoon couple, you’ve got the best job around here. You’ll share the spotlight with our bridal couple at the events leading up to their wedding, and after they leave, you’ll be on your own. Since two’s company and three’s a crowd on a honeymoon, all your events are scheduled for two. You’ll have plenty of time to enjoy yourselves while you’re here.”

“We’ll need it,” Troy said. “Miranda hasn’t been home in months. Everyone wants to see her.”

What was new? Only the title as far as Laura could tell. Miss Popularity had married and become Mrs. Popularity.

“You’ll have plenty of time for visiting family and friends. Just make sure you save some time to explore our facilities. We have a brand-new spa that has all the usual massage therapies and salon services, but we also have a few unusual ones like aromatherapy baths and couples massage. Everything for a honeymoon couple to pamper themselves.”

“Speaking of, Laura.” Miranda slowed to a halt in front of the lobby’s fireplace, which had been draped with lush summer blossoms in keeping with the wedding theme. “I do hope you won’t be working the entire time we’re here. You’re hosting so many events.” She waved a perfectly manicured hand and gestured to their surroundings. “It would be a shame not to enjoy them.”

Miranda may have sounded oh-so civil, but the woman was on a recon mission. She wanted to gauge the enemy to determine how much time she’d be forced to suffer Laura’s company.

The moment could have been a time warp back to Westfalls Academy, the prestigious school Laura had attended until finances had forced her to go to a public high school. They might have been standing in study hall or in the dorm or on a sports team or at a dance. It never seemed to matter where, the attitude was always the same.

“You’re defiling the air I breathe, Laura Granger.”

What Laura couldn’t understand was why Miranda hadn’t simply declined the invitation to avoid breathing defiled air. Back at Westfalls they’d been forced to endure each other, but now Miranda had a choice. She hadn’t needed to accept the invitation to participate in the Naughty Nuptials. She could have simply RSVPed with a “Thanks, but no thanks.”

In fact nearly two years later, Laura still couldn’t figure out why her long-time nemesis had chosen Falling Inn Bed for her wedding in the first place. There were plenty of other wedding hotels in Niagara Falls. A romance resort—especially one featuring Laura Granger—didn’t seem in keeping with her stuffy social circles.

But Falling Inn Bed had been the rage ever since winning the “most romantic getaway” award, and Miranda could never resist a spotlight. As much as Laura hated to admit it, her nemesis was a perfect choice for a high-profile promotional campaign like the Naughty Nuptials.

Not only did Miranda present well, but she and her husband had been the last couple to get married at Falling Inn Bed before the inn had broken ground on the Wedding Wing. When her co-workers had suggested the Knights as the Hottest Honeymoon couple, Laura had opted to grin and bear Miranda’s presence rather than argue a case where she’d had no professional grounds to launch a protest.

Only some very personal ones.

But she refused to let past history jinx her grand opening, especially where Miranda Knight was concerned.

“Our staff will participate in the grand opening events, Miranda. The Naughty Nuptials is a celebration after two long years of hard work pulling this Wedding Wing together.”

“Correct me if I’m mistaken, but aren’t these events intended for couples?”

She nodded. “We’re all about two’s-company-and-three’s-a-crowd here at Falling Inn Bed. The Naughty Nuptials events are no different.”

“So who’s your escort? Anyone I know?”

There it was—the dig. Miranda never could resist reminding Laura that she didn’t move in the same circles as her family. The woman had a gift for adding subtext to innocent remarks, and the subtext on this one was loud and clear—Laura dating anyone from her circle of acquaintances was a joke.

Once upon a time Laura had cared. Fortunately, she’d evolved into a woman who would never date anyone from such snobby circles. She’d had her fill of those types growing up in Miranda’s shadow, thank you very much.

Even Miranda’s husband watched them with a frown. More than polite interest was happening here, and while Laura wished she could commiserate with Troy, she couldn’t. He might present himself as a normal, decent man, but he had to be flawed in some way to have married this woman.

“Well,” Laura began, deliberating what to say. She’d lay down and die before letting Miranda know she didn’t have a date yet. “Since my escort isn’t from around here, I don’t believe you know him, but I will introduce you. With all the events, we’ll have plenty of opportunity.”

She hoped. If her architect arrived with a date, she’d be stuck roping the assistant general manager into playing her escort. A dismal prospect even if the man knew the first thing about having fun, which he didn’t.

A slight nod. A condescending smile. Then Miranda said, “I’ll look forward to meeting him then.”

Laura would just bet. But even if her plans for a date fell through, she wouldn’t let that spoil her grand opening. Once upon a time she might have been easily shaken by unfavorable comparisons to this woman, but she’d grown to be a woman who’d learned from the experience.

Miranda Knight couldn’t rattle her cage unless Laura let her.

And Laura wouldn’t.

“Shall we, then?” She motioned them toward the promenade, pleased at how unfazed she sounded.

Miranda noticed. She arched one of those meticulously shaped eyebrows as she swept by on her husband’s arm. Laura didn’t care. She was closer to getting this couple checked in and out of her hair.

But as they moved across the main lobby, the man who’d been occupying a top slot in Laura’s thoughts strolled through the inn’s front doors.

He appeared as if conjured straight from her imagination, one of those stop-traffic gorgeous men who couldn’t walk into a room without drawing attention. Not because he was loud or showy but simply because he was there.

He had that something about him, and it didn’t matter whether he wore a business suit or workboots and a hard hat. A hint of bad boy lingered in his easy smile, in his smoky-gray eyes and the way he made everywhere seem like the perfect setting for his dark good looks.

Laura drank in the sight of him, her body instantly on red alert. The bottom dropped from her stomach, and the reaction was so intense, so automatic, that she might have laughed. But there was absolutely nothing funny about the sultry brunette dangling from this man’s arm.

DALE EMERSON NOTICED the lovely Laura as soon as he walked through Falling Inn Bed’s front door. She stood showcased in the open area that led to the promenade, breathtaking, her suit hinting at all the sleek curves hidden beneath its tailored lines. Not to mention showing off a great pair of legs.

Her gaze lingered over him as if she’d been waiting for his arrival, as though she somehow knew he hadn’t been able to get her out of his head in the month since he’d left Niagara Falls.

Laura…what was it about her?

Dale couldn’t answer the question, damn it. He only knew his own gaze lingered as if he’d been waiting every day of the last month to see her.

As always, she wore her long hair swept back in an elaborate French braid that hung heavily down her back. He’d had fantasies about unraveling her white-blond hair and draping it across his naked body. He’d had fantasies about how he’d enjoy her naked body, too, and about those long, long legs sweated up enough to glide sleekly through his.

Even the way she moved made him think of sex, all that graceful, breathless energy…just the thought made him aware, and too damned horny.

Oh, man, he so didn’t want to see Laura again. If not for his obligation to attend this grand opening, he’d have spun the invitation back without opening it. But as project architect for the new addition, Dale was obligated.

This Wedding Wing marked his firm’s first foray out of historic restoration and into construction, an expansion that had been solely his idea. He hadn’t wanted to leave his firm for another job, but he had wanted to direct a team of his own, which meant finally breaking up the dynamic duo that he’d been with his buddy—the company’s owner—Nick Fairfax.

He’d come up with the compromise of the expansion, a decision Dale hadn’t made lightly. He’d been Nick’s right hand for a long time, and the two of them had not only earned significant recognition with their restoration work, but had entertained themselves by chasing women on job sites all over the globe. But ever since Nick had married a fellow preservationist, things had been changing.

The beautiful Julienne had consumed Nick from the get-go, and Dale had laughed like hell while watching Nick do the bump and grind of making himself a serious contender for her affections.

He was still laughing when he stood beside Nick at the altar as his bride had walked down the aisle.

But Dale’s humor eventually had started to fade when he discovered the thrill of chasing women wasn’t nearly so much fun when he was pursuing them alone. He hadn’t lost his best friend exactly…it was just damned hard to discuss the finer points of the opposite sex with a man who had everything he wanted in his bed every night.

This was a concept Dale flat-out didn’t understand.

He’d never had a hard-on for a woman that the next beauty who walked by couldn’t cure. Except for one…

The one who had zeroed in on him across an entire lobby of milling guests.

If it was any consolation—and it wasn’t—Laura Granger had always been as aware of him as he was of her. When their gazes clashed across the distance, every muscle in his body galvanized at the appreciation he saw in her crystalline blue eyes.

They’d been wired with some sort of sex radar, and after all the time he’d spent working with her, he should be used to the effect. He wasn’t. He’d been telling himself this acute awareness was nothing more than a side effect of this project. The Wedding Wing equaled sex, which had meant conversation after conversation about the topic with Laura.

He wouldn’t be surprised if they’d talked more sex that he’d actually had in his lifetime—and he’d had his fair share. But sex had become an obsession with the Wedding Wing’s bedding consultant, and while that might seem like a good thing given their chemistry, it wasn’t.

Laura was an idealist. She believed in romance with her sex. Knights in shining armor, who rescued their damsels on white horses. She believed that fairy-tale weddings translated into happily-ever-afters.

She was exactly the kind of woman who usually shut off his libido like a spigot. Except that every time she smiled one of those breath-stalling smiles, his temperature shot to full-blast and all he could think about was his body tangling around hers beneath that cool silk hair.

Almost as if she knew he was mentally undressing her again, Laura gave him one of those smiles. Then she took off, leading her guests along the promenade, her graceful steps putting more and more distance between them and giving him an incredible shot of the way she moved, all elegant swaying and subtle energy.

Running a hand through his hair, Dale stared after her, wondering what it was about her smile that made every nerve in his body tingle. Tingle, damn it.

“Remind me again why you bothered bringing me along.” The demand in the accented voice jolted Dale from his thoughts enough to remember the woman beside him.

“Monique love, I brought you along to enjoy your company, of course,” he said automatically.

“Then why are you staring after that blonde like some lovesick puppy?”

Lovesick puppy?

Glancing down at the beautiful French woman with cascades of rich brown hair and a pouting frown, Dale wondered how in hell to answer that question. He couldn’t recall being lovesick in his thirty-three years, not even as a kid. He’d dived into dating headfirst and hadn’t looked up since.

“How could I look at any woman with you on my arm?” He lifted her hand and brushed his mouth across her smooth skin.

“You promised to show me a good time.”

“And I will.” He directed her gaze to the lush main lobby that surrounded them. “Look at this great old place. We’ve got three weeks together to enjoy ourselves in five-star luxury, far away from our lives. What could be better?”

From what he’d heard, Monique had needed a diversion after being dumped by some actor she’d been dating. When her scowl faded, he knew she’d forgiven his screwup and was looking forward to this vacation and putting her West Coast lover behind her.

“Let’s check in and I’ll give you a tour. Between these accommodations and the grand opening events, we’ll have fun while we get acquainted.” He only hoped Monique didn’t let his mistake set the tone for the weeks ahead.

“Welcome back!” a familiar female voice called out.

“Great to be back, gorgeous.” In his fantasies at least. “Monique, this is Annabelle Simmons, the inn’s sales director.”

With a regal expression, Monique held out her hand.

“Welcome, Monique,” Annabelle said cordially but he didn’t miss the assessing way she took in Monique. “You’re in for an exciting visit. And, Dale, I’m so glad you could make it back for the grand opening. How’s it been going?”

“Appreciated the time off.” He appreciated a break from his Laura obsession, even if he hadn’t gotten it under control.

“All that hard work—you deserve a chance to enjoy the fruits of your labors.”

“I was on this property a long time, so I know all the hours you’ve put in, Annabelle. You make sure to pencil me in on your dance card because I expect you plan to follow that advice yourself.”

Annabelle grinned. She was a hardworking, old-school businesswoman with a head full of gray curls who’d always struck Dale as out of place in a hotel that held weekly marketing strategy sessions to discuss new and improved ways to get their guests to do the nasty.

“All right, all right,” she said. “No argument. There’s always so much to do around here. You know that as well as anyone. But the staff intends to lighten up for Laura’s grand opening and celebrate our achievement.”

“Sounds like we’re in for an interesting few weeks.”

“Oh, we are.” She rolled her eyes and motioned them to the front desk. “So come on. We’ve got to get our celebration underway. There’s a whole new wing filled with sexy suites that need couples to play in them. Let’s choose your poison.”

Dale didn’t know what to make of that statement, but when he caught sight of the new assistant general manager near the concierge desk, he steered the conversation back to business. “How’s Adam making out? Have you worked your magic and gotten him into the spirit of things yet?”

Annabelle didn’t slow her brisk steps. “Let’s leave it with he’s been trying to interject sanity into our grand opening.”

“He’s got his work cut out for him.” Dale gave a low whistle before explaining to Monique, “There’s nothing sane going on in this place on a good day.”

She followed his gaze to the assistant general manager in question and he watched her take in the tall, athletic man with a penchant for custom-tailored suits and sanity in the workplace. She seemed to approve when she said, “He looks up to the job.”

“We haven’t given up hope for him yet,” Annabelle told her. “Let me get behind this desk, and I’ll check you in myself.” Disappearing through a door, she reappeared behind the front desk a second later. “Now let’s decide where to put you.”

“The VIP treatment for the house architect, of course,” Dale teased.

Annabelle nodded. “What else?”

Scanning the system, she kept them waiting for so long Dale began to wonder if there was a problem. Monique gave an impatient sigh, clearly disliking the delay. Dale patted her hand, silently imploring her patience, and she finally stepped away, flipped open her purse and withdrew a compact.

While reapplying her lipstick, she ran her dark gaze over a new arrival, checking the man out as thoroughly as he did her. Dale frowned, but apparently long hair and multiple piercings weren’t to Monique’s taste because she turned back to him and asked, “You did say five-star hotel, didn’t you?”

One look at this grand lobby with sparkling crystal-cut chandeliers, mint-condition antiques and elaborate floral displays should have answered that question, but Dale nodded.

“Here we go,” Annabelle finally said, and he pulled Monique closer to discourage her from checking out any more guests.

“I’ve got availability in the Bondage Boudoir with the chains on the walls and the Fetish Flat with the whips and spanking paddles. Or if you’d like, I could put you in the Waxworks Room. But you’d have to move next week. It’s already booked for Risqué Receptions.”

She delivered all this with such a straight face that Dale could only stare. She’d obviously lost her mind in the time he’d been gone, which surprised him since Annabelle was the most normal member of the Falling Inn Bed staff with the sole exception of the new sanity-loving assistant general manager.

“What are you talking about, gorgeous?” He forced a laugh. “Did you build some new suites while I was away? Or did you change some names?”

Falling Inn Bed was nothing if not upscale. There were romance-themed suites galore, but nothing so gauche as a Fetish Flat. If Annabelle wanted to prove she could lighten up for the grand opening, she’d hadn’t gotten her mark. And he wasn’t the only one who missed the punch line. Monique was scowling again.

“Just put us in a guest room on the third floor,” he said.

“A guest room, Dale?” She shook her head. “You know better than that. You’re practically one of the staff. You get nothing but VIP treatment around here.”

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Monique said, emphasis on the ma’am and the age difference that must indicate dementia. “This hotel has bondage and fetish suites and a…a waxing room?”

“The Bondage Boudoir and the Fetish Flat,” Annabelle corrected. “And the Waxworks Room isn’t a waxing room in the conventional sense, although we do offer that service in our new spa if you’re interested.”

Lifting a questioning gaze to Monique’s exquisite—and momentarily stunned—face, Annabelle peered myopically as if checking to see if any waxing services were needed. “The Waxworks Room is a suite with protected furniture so couples can safely play with hot wax. Some people enjoy dripping it all over themselves. In fact, Dale, we just received a shipment of Busty Babe’s Bodacious Beeswax. Your favorite. Did you want to go for the Waxworks Room and take a chance the reservation cancels?”

Busty Babe’s Bodacious Beeswax? “Annabelle, what the hell are you—”

“Hot wax? Chains and spanking paddles?” Monique demanded on a rising crescendo that not only drowned him out, but drew the attention of the desk clerks, the long-haired guest and the assistant G.M. “Dale told me this bed-and-breakfast was called Falling Inn, not the pervert’s palace.”

“Annabelle’s only joking, Monique. There’s nothing perverted around here,” he explained in his best attempt at damage control. He couldn’t argue the existence of chains, spanking paddles and a multitude of other sex toys around here.

“You haven’t quite got it right,” Annabelle said. “Our name is Falling Inn Bed, and Breakfast.” To prove her point, she handed Monique a promotional brochure from a display on the desk.

Monique darted her disbelieving gaze between the brochure and Dale. “You brought me to a bordello?”

“This isn’t a bordello.” He shot an equally disbelieving gaze at Annabelle. “Falling Inn Bed is a romance resort—”

“And we have Dale to thank for our newest addition.” Annabelle swept her arms toward him in a motion reminiscent of a game show model pointing to the prize behind curtain number one. “He’s the architect who designed the Bedding Wing, with five floors of sexy suites like the Coitus Chamber, the Mènage Motel and the Anal Atrium.”

The Anal Atrium did it. Monique’s eyes bulged, and she swung around to glare at him as if he’d sprouted a second head. “I thought you said the Wedding Wing, not the Bedding Wing!”

“I did—”

“Dale’s one of our featured guests for the Naughty Nuptials. We’ve got weeks of erotic events planned and there’ll be media to cover—”

“Monique, this isn’t what it sounds like.” He glared at Annabelle.

“Liar!” The word shot out as an enraged screech.

Annabelle’s eyebrows disappeared into her hairline and every guest within earshot turned toward them. Adam Grant headed their way, clearly determined to bring sanity to the chaos.

“You men are all the same,” Monique delivered in an explosion of sound. “‘I need you to come for business,’ you said. ‘I’ll take you across the country and pamper you until you forget Gerald ever existed.’ You just wanted to get me into this bordello to have sex.”

Dale caught her hand the split second before it connected with his cheek. “I came here to work.”

“So I heard. You built this bordello.”

“It’s not a bordello,” he ground out between clenched teeth. He was too busy dealing with Monique to handle Annabelle. But she was next in line. Guaranteed. “Let’s get out of this lobby so we can talk. I’ll explain. There’s nothing disreputable about a romance resort.”

“Get out is right.” She tried to break his grip—to have another go at slapping him, no doubt—but Dale hung on.

“You’re overreacting—”

“Me, overreacting? You’re a pervert.” She pulled away so forcefully, he had to let go or risk breaking her wrist.

She obviously intended to storm away, but found her way blocked by Adam, who said, “Excuse me. Is there a problem I can help with?”

Before Dale could open his mouth, Monique demanded a limo to take her to the airport.

Adam didn’t miss a beat. “Of course, if you’ll join me at the concierge desk, I’ll make all the arrangements.”

“Not necessary,” Dale said. “I’ll take you home, Monique. No problem. Let’s go.”

He’d think of something to tell his boss.

“Pervert,” Monique snapped. “I’d walk back to California before I sat on a flight with you.” In a swirl of red silk, she spun on her heel and headed toward the concierge desk.

“I’ll take care of her,” Adam said, his stoic gaze warning Dale to let him handle the arrangements before his date created even more of a scene.

Dale had never been abandoned like this before, so it took a moment to realize that he had no choice but to back down graciously. Monique obviously didn’t want to be reasoned with, or to be here with him, either.

Fishing out the information for the return flight, he handed it to Adam and told him to bill her charges to his room.

Adam took off, and to his credit, he quickly calmed Monique down enough so the lobby couldn’t overhear their conversation.

What the hell had Dale been thinking to bring a woman on the rebound to this event? Under normal circumstances, he would have been able to produce a more suitable date.

Unfortunately, these weren’t normal circumstances.

Being the boss of his own job had meant enforced good behavior while building this bordello, so finding someone to attend an excursion had been a test of his social connections. After spending nearly two years in Niagara Falls constructing the Wedding Wing, his friends back at his West Coast home barely remembered what he looked like.

If he’d had any sense, he would have attended the grand opening alone. But the thought of three weeks spent lusting after Laura had driven him to action. Now he’d paid the price.

As Adam escorted Monique back to the entrance, Dale heard him reassure her that both she and her bags would be on their way to the airport immediately. She swept past, shooting Dale a dark look that should have shriveled him on the spot.

Turning to Annabelle, Dale thought about how this whole scene could have been worse. If Laura had been here to witness the carnage…

She’d hear about it, of course, but Dale didn’t care. By then he’d have vented his anger on Annabelle, who had some serious explaining to do about why he was suddenly facing three weeks of erotic events alone.