Читать книгу Shiver / Private Sessions - Jo Leigh - Страница 15

CARRIE CLOSED HER EYES. Again. For the billionth time. It was four-thirty in the morning, and a half an hour ago, she’d been so dead on her feet that she’d strongly considered paying Erin to put the comforter back on her bed.

She’d managed alone, and to brush her own teeth and get into her pj’s, but the moment she’d actually put her head down on the pillow, she’d been alert, awake and, no matter how sternly she’d spoken to her inner monologue, it would … not … stop … yammering.

“Shut up,” she said, hoping the aloud version would be more effective than the silent one.

Evidently not, because the next millisecond she was thinking about him. Again. The fact that she’d told him she had to work while she was here wasn’t so bad. It was nothing, in fact. They were going to be here for nearly a week. Of course people had to work.

No. What had been bad was that she’d said one hell of a lot more. She’d told him flat out that she was a complete loser who had exactly one real friend, and that the rest of her life was spent playing World of Warcraft and trolling Web sites. Awesome.

Reciprocity. That son of a bitch.

He’d told her his secret about selling the place, which was whoa. Major. So then she’d felt the need to reciprocate with a secret of her own.

If she hadn’t wanted to sleep with him, it wouldn’t be an issue. But, she’d realized the moment he’d taken the comforter and pillows that she did want to sleep with him. She liked him. Nothing earth-shattering, but she was ostensibly on vacation, and Vacation Rules stated that one could sleep with a very attractive hotel owner if one wanted to on the basis of like, which was quite different from Regular Life Rules. She was also allowed to eat at least one dessert a day, she didn’t have to work out and she could speak with a British accent if the mood struck.

But Sam had a life. He made important films about important issues. He lived in New York and traveled the country, not at comic book conventions, but living with the real people. He was friends with a world-class chef. She was friends with Hobbit107@inbox.com. It was the first damn night and she’d already blown it. Hence, staring at the ceiling in the wee hours of the morning.

The true tragedy was that she hadn’t even told him the worst of it. That she was there undercover, her sole intent to embarrass and malign people just like him. Oh, he’d love that. Who wouldn’t? She could just see how well that conversation would go. He’d probably kick her right out of the hotel, and who could blame him?

It was a miracle she even had Erin.

Anyway, Sam was going to find out about her. All it would take was a little Google action, and he’d discover her secret identity. She wrote under the name Carrie Price, but Price was her mom’s maiden name, and it wasn’t exactly a state secret.

She turned over and socked her pillow a few times, then tried to get comfortable. Fat chance.

Hell, maybe he’d understand. He was a New Yorker, for god’s sake. Just because he believed that ghosts were real didn’t mean he had no sense of humor. He was probably used to people making fun of him. Film people were notoriously cynical, right?

Crap. Even if he did get made fun of, he wouldn’t want to sleep with someone who openly disparaged his beliefs. That would be like her sleeping with someone who thought graphic novels weren’t real books.

Worse. Because a lot of people didn’t know squat about graphic novels. As far as the supernatural went, she was in the minority. A huge percentage of the world believed not only in life after death, but also ghosts and reincarnation and angels and demons. Most folks didn’t go a day without relying on something that couldn’t be scientifically proven. It was the norm, and she was the weirdo.

Nothing new there. She was used to being the odd woman out. She just wished she’d kept her mouth shut.

The only thing she had going for her was that he thought she was hot. It was right there all over his face. The way he looked at her? Oh, yeah. He wanted some vacation action.

Her smile fell. It was the first night in far too many nights that she hadn’t fallen asleep thinking about Armand. Was her attraction to Sam nothing but rebound lust?

After giving that a moment’s ponder, she turned over one more time. So what if it was? In fact, rebound lust was the whole damn point.

AT TEN TO FOUR IT WAS almost time for the first official event of the day. It, like all their indoor meetings, would be held in the ballroom. Sam had spent the morning with the buyers who continued to make nice noises without saying anything definitive, and left them in Beverly’s capable hands for a tour of the stables, the barn and the back fields. Sam had come to supervise the pumpkin-carving contest, which would be loud and messy, but fun. At least, that was the plan.

He wished he’d slept better. Thoughts of his conversation with Carrie had kept him up long after he’d hit the sheets. He’d dissected every word and come up with fifty different interpretations of what had gone down. He’d concluded he hadn’t completely blown his chances.

Naturally, he’d looked for her everywhere. At breakfast, although she’d be nuts to come down at eight after her night, in the ballroom, even in the kitchen. He’d been hopeful when they’d gone to the bar to grab lunch, but no go.

After that, Sam had taken Heartly and Mori into Crider City. The trip couldn’t have been timed more perfectly, as there were four buses parked at the IHOP and tons of tourists wandering through the decorated town. In Crider, Halloween was as big a deal as Christmas. The local legends about hauntings weren’t restricted to the hotel property, but had propagated all through the town. Most probably made up over a beer or two and carefully seeded across Colorado and beyond.

Instead of garlands of pine hanging over Main Street, there were flying witches and cut-out ghosts. Every window had some festive painted depiction of something mildly ghoulish, although appropriate for children. Some stores, like the Gift Emporium, went nuts.

Heartly and Mori resisted buying any ghost-related souvenirs, walked the length of Main and back, then Sam had returned them to the Inn. Mori had fallen asleep on the short ride, but neither he nor Heartly mentioned it.

“Sam?”

It was Wendy, one of the part-timers who was helping with the room setup.

“Yeah?”

“Are we only doing the one prize? “

“Why, do you think we should do more?”

“I think there are gonna be kids here, not many, but enough that we should do something about it.”

He gave it some thought as his gaze caught on the wheelbarrow of pumpkins teetering as it was brought down the center aisle. “After everyone’s here, take a head count of anyone under eighteen and make a note of the little kids, although I don’t think they’ll be many. Pick out gifts for all of them, and charge them to the party.”

The way she smiled at him was a little surprising. Although he didn’t know her that well. So far, she’d been a reliable worker, someone who didn’t complain about filling in with double shifts. She probably just liked the idea of looting the gift shop.

His attention went back to the pumpkins. They were being stacked in front of the stage, on two levels, some on the carpet, some on bales of hay. The tables had been equipped with multicolored markers, stencils, ice-cream scoops for the innards, big bowls and lots of paper towels. Of course, each table was covered in thick plastic and paper, and the rules of the contest were in block letters, posted on four walls. Even so, he would read them aloud before the competition got started.

The monitors were on stage, still recording evidence of the supernatural, but during the contest itself, there would be music of the Halloween kind piped in. The food table wasn’t festooned with prize-winning pastries, but it was certainly cheerful. Punch and fruit and too many candy treats, all holiday themed, would please guests of any age. The two bars were in the process of being stocked.

The rules were pretty simple. All cutting into pumpkins was done by a staff member. All participants, either as individuals or teams, drew their design on a pumpkin. At the end of the evening, the crowd voted on the winner. Not only did the winner receive an in-room massage, but their pumpkin would also be featured in the Crider City newspaper on the front page.

He heard Jody’s voice behind him and when he turned, she was pushing a cart that carried her pumpkin creations. They were so expertly crafted and clever they should have been displayed in a gallery.

Sam went to help her set up. Dry ice swirled in the corner just under the table and around Jody’s feet.

“I heard you were all over the place with the buyers this morning.” She kept her voice low as she placed the first pumpkin.

“Yeah. They couldn’t stop talking about last night’s meal, though.”

“That was the plan. By the time Heartly leaves, he’s never going to forget my name, or my cooking.”

“You’d better work fast. He and Mr. Mori are out of here tomorrow. Early.”

“I know. And don’t sweat it, sweetie. I’ve got it covered.” She placed another pumpkin, then shifted the first. Before she got to the third, she took a long sweeping look at the room. “She’s not here yet.”

“Who?”

Jody shook her head. “Everyone knows, Sam. Even Mikey, and he never even leaves the kitchen.”

“Knows what? “

“That you’ve got it bad.”

He almost argued. Then sighed. “I used to be more subtle than this. How is it possible I’ve gotten worse at picking up women? It’s got to be the sale messing with me. ‘Cause this is not how I roll.”

“How you roll?” Jody laughed, loudly and long. “Who are you talking to? I’ve known you since we were freshmen, buddy. I’ve seen your moves. James Bond, you’re not.”

He stared at her, openmouthed. “What the hell are you talking about? You’re just jealous you didn’t marry me when you had the chance.”

“We’d have been miserable and you know it. We both had a lot of growing up to do. But you know what? You’ve turned into someone I like quite a bit. Not as much as my husband, but still.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I heard you were down here last night after one in the morning, when you should have been getting some beauty rest.”

“How do you know this?”

“I work in the kitchen. We know everything.”

He handed her the next damn pumpkin. “Yeah, well. I’m not sure it did any good.”

“Stop. You’re gorgeous and wonderful and she’d be an idiot not to like you. Just a thought, though. Tomorrow I’d go back to flannel and hiking boots. Let those bigcity boys get a taste of the real Crider experience, and let this woman see that you’re a rugged outdoorsman.”

“Talk about false advertising.”

“What do you care? It’s only for another couple of days. And you look damn good in those old jeans of yours.”

“Does your husband know you talk like this?”

She grinned at him happily. “He thinks I’m adorable.”

“I’ll have to talk to him about that.”

“Speak of the devil,” Jody said, nodding toward the entrance.

He expected to see Jody’s husband, but it was Carrie standing by the door. Although he wanted to, he didn’t turn. “So, everybody’s talking about me and Carrie, huh?”

“You know the kitchen staff, Sam. Biggest bunch of gossips in the world. Except for maybe housekeeping. Or would that be reservations and front desk?”

“Fine. How about using those extraordinary eavesdropping skills on something useful? Like finding out who’s going to buy this joint and for how much.”

Jody put another pumpkin in place. “Go talk to her. She keeps looking at you.”

“You’re just making shit up now.”

“Am I?”

Sam studied Jody’s face. She was still a beauty. Marriage and having a kid agreed with her. He knew some of that glow was due to working again after such a long hiatus, and that pleased him. He hoped she and Heartly could make a deal. As for her being all-knowing and wise, that was a bunch of bullshit. Nevertheless, he had no qualms about leaving Jody without a second glance.

AND THERE, LIKE A GIFT, was the very man Carrie had been searching for.

He looked good. Skinny black pants, hunter-green button-down shirt all very hotel-ownerish. But his hair, that was all renegade filmmaker. It wasn’t quite as messy as just-rolled-out-of-bed. No, it was more just-finished-making-out-in-the-backseat hair.

As he approached his smile swept away all doubts that she’d screwed up her chance with him. She adjusted her sweater, smoothed her hair, although she’d just checked out the ponytail five minutes ago. She was just doing the mating dance of the Prowling Twentysomething Female, dressed in her finest plumage. Well, the finest she’d brought, which consisted of jeans, a thrift-store cardigan, navy ballerina flats and an estate-sale broach she’d found in East L.A. Sam looked her up and down, and from what Carrie could see, he approved.

“You’re early,” he said as he stepped in close. “That means you can have your pick of pumpkins.”

“How nicely alliterative. Perhaps I’ll pick the prettiest pumpkin.”

He opened his mouth, then let it close with a sigh. “I’m just going to give that one to you. I’m not up to the challenge.”

“Why not?” she asked as she walked with him to the pumpkin patch.

“I’d have to think. That’s probably not gonna happen tonight.”

“Ah. How about answering questions? Up to that?”

“Depends. What’s the question?”

“Who, exactly, will be giving the prize-winning in-room massage?”

Sam put his hand on the small of her back. They were almost at the pumpkins so this was going to be a fleeting moment. As fleeting moments went, this one was a little bit spectacular. Her body broke out in little bumps, her breath hitched and her step slowed to stretch things out to the last second.

Yeah, she definitely wanted to see how Sam looked when he rolled out of bed.

“We have a terrific masseur who comes up to the hotel. His name is Michael, and he’s studied touch therapy for years. He runs a well-known studio and school in Crider. Even if you don’t win, you should try and make time for one of his massages.”

“Oh,” she said, as she looked at the great pile of pumpkins.

“What’s wrong? You sound disappointed.”

With her heart beating fast, her courage at maximum, she turned to look him straight in the eyes. “I was hoping, if I won, that you’d give me my massage.”

His pupils dilated. She’d wager he was blushing as hard as she was, but she didn’t move her gaze an inch.

“I think that could be arranged.”

“What if I don’t win?” she asked.

He smiled. She could tell by the lines at his eyes. By his eyebrows. “It could still be arranged.”

She let out her held breath, then turned back to pumpkin picking. It wasn’t that she was playing it cool. On the contrary. If she’d kept staring at him like that, and if he’d kept looking back at her with the blatant hunger in his hazel eyes, she’d have kissed him. The last thing she wanted to do was embarrass him or herself, not so early in the evening, at least. Besides, now there was this between them. Much stronger than before, when it wasn’t a sure thing. Now, it was all tension and subtext and potential. So delicious she shivered with it.

“People,” he said, just above a whisper.

“What about them?”

“They’re coming. I should … do … things.”

She nodded, still not looking at him, smiling at his failure to be the least bit suave. It was tempting to tease him, to discombobulate him as the conference attendees came rushing into the ballroom, eager to snatch the best seat, the best pumpkin. It was quite possible that Erin was among them, and Carrie should have cared about that as she was supposed to have picked out their seats. Not that they’d discussed the contest arrangements, but between them, it was the way things were done. The first one there secured seating or tickets or places in line. But Carrie didn’t care where they sat. Or if they sat. She wanted to think about the sex, think about Sam. Think about sex with Sam.

“Have you decided?” he asked, startling her with his volume.

“What?”

“Which pumpkin you’d like.”

“Oh. Okay, sure. That one.” She pointed down and to the right, which turned out to be not the most perfect of pumpkins. In fact, it was unusually tall, but as soon as she saw, she knew exactly what she was going to draw.

He picked up her selection and when he stood, he met her gaze once more, only something had changed in the few seconds since his question. Somehow, she guessed through some decision he’d made, he’d become far more confident, relaxed. And damn, sexier than ever. “Let’s get you a seat.”

She followed him, not saying a word as he found a table near the back, on the end. He put the pumpkin on the butcher paper between the markers, then he touched her upper arm. “Do you think Erin has a particular pumpkin type? “

Carrie shook her head. “Oddly, we’ve never discussed the issue.”

“If you had to guess?”

“I’d said asymmetrical. Something interesting.”

“I’ll be back.”

She watched him walk through the burgeoning crowd, and though his hair still rebelled, he was all long legs and easy grace, and Carrie gave herself a quick hug, so proud of herself and her bravery she could just spit. She wasn’t one of those women who could snare a man with a come-hither glance. Her confidence was primarily in her pen, on paper. In sharp retorts and wicked double entendres, all the things she’d promised to keep under wraps for the duration of the conference. And yet, she’d managed to say just the right thing at the right time. What would happen from here was anyone’s guess, but things were definitely looking up.