Читать книгу Shiver / Private Sessions - Jo Leigh - Страница 11

“ARE YOU SEEING THIS?”

Carrie looked up at Erin, bugged that because of Erin’s ridiculously huge suitcase, they were at the back of the line. Okay, not quite the back of the line, because there were four people behind them, but she was tired and hungry and she wanted to test her Internet connection. “Yes. The inn is lovely. Great fireplace, very charming.”

“God, you are the worst traveler ever. I swear. Why do I keep on taking vacations with you?”

“Honestly? I have no idea.”

Erin took hold of Carrie’s shoulders and turned her to face the front desk. “I meant are you seeing that?” she said, whispering this time.

All Carrie saw was two guys taking reservations. One had impressive silver hair, really thick, and she wanted him to look up so she could see if the face went with the hair. The other guy didn’t need to look up. He already was. Staring at her. Unblinking, lips parted. There was no doubt even in this long line that his focus was entirely on her. Maybe. She felt her face heat up, then realized he had to be staring at Erin. Everyone stared at Erin. She turned back to her friend. “You should be flattered.”

“Me? He’s staring at you, you idiot.”

Carrie looked again, and holy crap, he was staring at her. She whipped around once more. “What the hell?”

“I know, right?” Erin still whispered and her speech was wonky because she wasn’t moving her lips. “Okay. He looked away.”

“That was weird.” Carrie stole a glance at the desk, grateful whatever that was had stopped. “He must have thought I was someone else. Someone he knew.”

“Or maybe he was struck dumb by your beauty and fell instantly, hopelessly in love the moment he saw you.”

“Yeah. That’s about as likely as actually seeing a ghost.”

The three people in front and the four behind turned to her, each one looking appalled. Carrie winced. “Kidding.”

Erin shook her head and sighed. “I can’t take you anywhere.”

Carrie moved closer to her friend and kept her head down, cursing her own big giant mouth. She’d lasted all of two hours before she’d made fun of these people, and they hadn’t even checked in yet. Jeez.

So she kept her trap shut long enough to listen in on Mr. Stare’s conversations. They weren’t actually whole conversations. More like bits and drabs, but each and every one contained a mention of—what else?—ghosts. She suspected that the person he’d mistaken her for wasn’t among the living. The man seemed very enthusiastic and utterly convinced that the hauntings in this hotel were one-hundred-percent legit. Verifiable, if only one had the good fortune to be in the right place at the right time.

The single thing provable in this place was that the belief in ridiculous nonsense was utterly egalitarian. Age, race, looks, wealth—none of that mattered. Instead of disturbing her, the realization made her feel happy for Erin. There was a world of folks out there with whom she could share her passion, and some of them were very nice-looking men. Because even if he had stared rather rudely, he was downright hot.

A comment from behind her, something about why some people bothered to come to certain conferences if they were stupid enough not to see what was all around them, made her curse her impulsivity again. Carrie had no doubt that the news of her traitorous talk would spread through the hotel like wildfire.

By the time she reached the front desk she was more concerned about being tarred and feathered than she was about the handsomeness of the guy behind the desk.

That lasted about two seconds.

Sam Crider was tall, maybe six-one, and he wore his slim-hipped jeans and tucked-in, mountain-man flannel shirt well. He looked nothing like the guys she usually hung with, who were mostly cartoonists and always tech nerds, who rarely dressed in anything that wasn’t a T-shirt complete with geek-identifying logo and baggy pants. Crider’s brown hair was on the longish side, slightly shaggy. His eyes were an interesting hazel and, well, nice. He no longer seemed creepy, despite his propensity for staring and his certainty about ghosts.

Oddly, before she’d finished filling out her registration information, Crider handed the reins to his compatriot and came around the desk.

“Are these your bags?”

She looked down at her equipment and opened her mouth to explain that none of it was in any way related to ghost hunting, but she stopped herself. “Yep.”

“Hang tight. I’m just going to get the luggage cart. Be back in a sec.”

As he headed for the cart near the elevator, Erin handed her card to the silver-haired guy and turned to Carrie. “The plot thickens. He’s perfect, you know.”

Carrie didn’t have to ask what Erin meant. The other reason she’d agreed to come on this expedition was the Vacation Rule. Established on their first trip together, Erin and Carrie had decided that when they were traveling, men were always on the menu. As long as they weren’t in a relationship, they could each indulge in one-night stands if they wanted. Or even more-night stands if the opportunity presented itself. No risk. No fuss. It was all about pleasure and fun, and dammit, if there was one thing Carrie needed it was some uncomplicated fun.

Two months after they’d made their reservation and Carrie was still hurting over Armand. Ridiculous. Unhealthy. Just plain stupid. So when Erin had suggested that she needed someone to cleanse her palate, so to speak, Carrie had agreed.

“You think?” she asked, watching him walk across the lobby. He certainly had the body of a palate-cleanser.

“Yes,” Erin said. “Just don’t blow it. The guy owns the hotel. He’s a believer.”

There was the rub. But it was too soon to worry about that. The staring business could mean nothing. He might have a wife and seven kids or something. A thought occurred. “If he helps with the luggage, am I supposed to tip him?”

“Don’t ask me. I tip everyone twice as much as I should. You’re the one who’s sensible.”

“Well, that’s not helpful.”

“If you hadn’t alienated yourself from every single person in Crider, Colorado, you could have asked someone.”

“Right. I guess I’ll be spending more time in my room than I’d planned.”

“Oh, no. You’re not getting away with that. Tonight is dinner and then the meet and greet. You’re going to both.”

Carrie scowled, but Erin didn’t seem to care. She just stepped away as the man and cart got closer.

He lifted Carrie’s suitcase first, but she stopped him. “You might want to put the Titanic on there first, Mr. Crider.” She nodded toward Erin’s enormous wheeled suitcase. A body could fit in it easily. Carrie knew that there were at least twenty-eight different outfits in there, complete with shoes, scarves, earrings, makeup and anything else her friend thought she might need in the next six days.

Carrie had long ago given up speaking to Erin about her need to take everything she owned on their trips, but Erin never listened. Even last summer when she’d had to lug the heaviest backpack ever, she remained undaunted.

“It’s Sam,” he said, as he traded luggage. He lifted Erin’s bag with surprising ease. Carrie wondered what he looked like under all that flannel. Vacation Rules were sounding better and better. On the other hand, his handling their luggage seemed to indicate that he was pretty involved in running the hotel, and according to Erin, the ghost hunters had taken over the whole place. So while she was on vacation, he wasn’t. Maybe it wouldn’t be a problem. If it was even a possibility.

Sam stacked everything in sensible order, and when he was done, he put his hand on the small of her back and smiled at her.

Heat filled her, moving from her lower body to her chest, then her face. He wasn’t staring at her now. In fact, he was acting the perfect host. But the hand on her back lingered, as did his smile. She had a really strong, terrifically inappropriate urge to kiss him. Holy crap. This could lead to things. Maybe.

“Shall we?” he asked.

Carrie looked away, because jeez, what the hell? She forced herself to focus. The touch meant nothing. If something were to start, it would have to be started by him, and that wasn’t about to happen in the lobby. Also, the only thing she knew for sure about Sam was that he was pretty damn sexy. Vacation Rules didn’t mean jumping on anyone at all. She had to actually like the guy, and for that she had to spend more than five minutes with him.

Erin led the way to the elevator. The three of them waited, darting glances at each other. Finally, they climbed on board for their short ride.

There were four stories to the hotel. The underground parking, the banquet level, the lobby, which was where the restaurant and pub were located, and finally two floors of guest rooms. Carrie’s room was on the top level, 204. Erin was in 206.

Carrie managed not to look at Crider even after they stepped into the hall. It was way less motel-like than Carrie would have imagined. It didn’t seem particularly ghost-friendly, either. Instead, it was calming, with a dark mauve carpet that had a gold diamond pattern, and framed black-and-white photographs of what she imagined were local attractions. Gorgeous pictures, actually. She stopped at a shot of an eagle against a clear sky with a very large, very snowy mountain filling the horizon. Her heart had managed to stop its manic pounding and she was almost herself once more.

“That view’s about eighteen miles from here. If you’d like, I can show you.”

She looked at Sam and it happened again. Tummy flutters, thoughts of kissing, heat. It was a bit more manageable this time, but still. She wasn’t the fluttery, blushing type. Admittedly, it had been a while since she’d had sex, but that fact alone couldn’t change her personality. “That’s a nice offer, thank you.”

“Sure. There’s no skiing yet, not enough snow, but the ride out is spectacular. I take people out on the trail from time to time. There’s no real schedule to it. Just say when, and I’ll make sure it happens.”

“That’s very nice of you, but I’m not much of a cowgirl. I’ve lived in big cities my whole life.”

“That’s a shame. Not that I have anything against major cities. I live in one myself, when I’m not here. But seeing this country on the back of a horse? It’s a remarkable experience.”

“Excuse me.”

Carrie turned at Erin’s voice. She was down the hall by her open door.

“I’ve got a phone call I have to make, so maybe you could drop off my bag? “

No way Erin had to “make a phone call.” She just wanted to get unpacked so she could get to the good stuff—the hunting. Or she wanted to leave Sam and Carrie alone. Yeah, it was probably that second thing.

Sam hopped to it, and had the Excessively Large Suitcase on the bed in two shakes. Then it was on to Carrie’s room, which was identical to Erin’s in all but color. There was a great queen-size bed with wooden head and footboards, a comforter that made her want to jump between the sheets immediately, preferably with the man standing next to her, and a good-size desk that would make working there easy. There was even a small fridge and microwave. All in all, especially for the price, this was an excellent room. “Nice.”

“We try.” Sam put her suitcase on the bed. When he turned back to the rest of the bags, he said, “I see you’re all set to do some serious ghost hunting.”

She reminded herself of her role here and smiled. “You bet. I’m all about the ghosts. The more, the better. Bring it on.”

He chuckled, a sexy rumbly sound accompanied by a sly sideways glance. His nose, she realized, was on the large side, but it suited him. He also had a dimple in his chin, and how had she not noticed that before? Altogether gorgeous. Which didn’t really explain her reaction to him. She lived in L.A. for god’s sake. She saw gorgeous men all the time.

“So, L.A.?”

“Yeah,” she said as she frowned. “How did you—”

“When you registered.”

“Ah.”

“What part?”

“Downtown.”

He put her laptop on the desk. “Really? You’re the first person I’ve ever met who lived in downtown L.A.”

“Lots of us do. Just not as many as say, Chicago, because L.A.’s so spread out.”

“That’s true. I’ve worked there before. Not for a while, though.”

“Doing what?”

“Documentary films. So, you live in one of those big high-rise buildings?”

“Converted bread factory. It’s a loft with a great view of the flower market.”

“Sounds great.”

“You live here, I suppose.”

His lips came together and a shadow crossed his eyes. “Not really. I inherited the place after my father died.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

He put her scanner, which he wouldn’t be able to tell was a scanner, on the desk, as well. “It’s fine. I grew up here. This is home.”

“It’s cozy. Pretty.”

“Yeah, it is.” There was more to unload from the cart, but that was done quickly, and then he put his hands in his pockets and rolled up on the balls of his feet for a second. His gaze wandered the room as if he weren’t intimately familiar with the décor.

Her frown came back as she wondered why. The situation was new to her. Always before, she’d met her vacation flings at bars or in the pool, and they had all been fellow travelers. Not that there had been all that many. And she’d never had this kind of immediate full-body flush minutes after meeting. Maybe his lingering had nothing to do with sex at all. He probably wanted to give her some tips about the—

Tips. Dammit. She grabbed her purse and pulled out her wallet. Without a second thought, she whipped out a ten even though it was overkill. “Thank you,” she said, holding the bill out to him.

He looked at the money, his eyes widened, then he looked at her. “Um. No, you don’t have to—”

“I want to. Really.”

He didn’t actually blush, but his expression let her know that trying to tip him was a stupid, stupid move. Par for the course, today. Now she didn’t know whether to put the money away, or what. She decided to drop it on the bedside table. Casually. As if she’d meant to do that all along.

Of course, it didn’t work. Yet, he still didn’t leave. Okay, she’d made a mess of everything so far, why not go for the whole enchilada and find out if he, in fact, had any interest in her at all? “Do I remind you of someone you know? “

His head jerked up from looking at the ten-dollar bill. “Excuse me?”

“Downstairs. When I was in line. You looked as though you thought I was someone else.”

“No, I didn’t,” he said, quickly.

Carrie blinked. She responded with a drawn-out, “Okay.”

He opened his mouth, showing his very nice white teeth, then closed it again. After a sigh, he said, “I think we may have met before but I can’t remember where. It’s kind of driving me crazy.” He took a step closer. “I don’t suppose you recognize me.”

“Nope. Not even a little bit.”

“Ah. Well. Okay, then.” He backed up toward the door. “Maybe I do think you look like someone else.” He stopped, took a step toward her. “Do you ever go to San Diego?”

“I’ve been there.”

“Huh.”

It didn’t seem as if he was going to say any more about that. Instead, he focused on the ten dollars again.

“You used to live in San Diego?”

He shook his head. “No. New York. Still do.”

She wasn’t sure what was going on here. It probably should have been a lot more uncomfortable than it was, but then, she was used to weird conversations with highly intelligent but socially awkward geeks. “Documentary filmmaker?”

“Yeah.”

“Anything I’ve seen?”

“Doubt it. Unless you go to small film festivals. I’ve done four major pieces, and a bunch of shorts. Mostly to do with human-rights activism.”

“Wow, good cause.”

“Yeah.”

“No ghosts?”

He studied her face. “No.”

“Ah.”

He took his hands out of his pockets, then rested one on her suitcase. It was a nice hand, strong, with long fingers and short, neat nails. A moment went by and then he straightened abruptly as if goosed. “You probably want to unpack, and I should let you do that.”

“Uh,” she said elegantly, watching him back out of the room. He really did know the space well.

“You should try the restaurant. And the pastries. Seriously.” He found the doorknob behind him. “Anyway, have a great stay.”

“Thank you.”

He paused. Again.

As weird as this had become, and she was thinking eleven on a scale of one to ten, she didn’t mind. She rather liked it. Him. It. She smiled.

He smiled back. That same great smile. Then he opened the door and slipped into the hallway. She heard the lock click and she sat down on the bed, still certain of nothing, but hopeful. Very hopeful.