Читать книгу It's In His Kiss - Julie Kistler, Julie Kistler - Страница 11

A Tuesday in August

Maiden Falls, Colorado, 2004

ROSEBUD WAS A BUNDLE of nerves. Tonight. Ned was coming back to the hotel tonight. He was due to check in at about nine o’clock tonight according to the itinerary she’d filched from Beth’s desk. If she just waited a few more hours, she’d get to see him again. If she didn’t expire from anticipation first.

It didn’t help that the Inn was an absolute zoo and had been for weeks, with too many brides and grooms and Miss Arlotta watching her like a hawk. Here she was again, ready with a lecture.

“Your bride’s comin’ in any minute,” the madam said grimly, one hand on her wide hip. “Her and the groom’s got a fancy dinner tomorrow, stag parties the next night, wedding Friday night. They’re leaving the morning after the wedding, so you’ll have to get the fire blazing now.” She eyed Rosebud suspiciously. “You ready?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She tried to keep her physical image as indistinct as possible so Miss Arlotta couldn’t read her expression. She’d been so stunned when she first saw Ned that she hadn’t been careful, giving away too much. Her boss had gotten the idea pretty quickly that something was weird about this one.

“So you got all your plans locked and loaded for the Westicott gal and her intended? What’s his name again?”

“Ned,” Rosebud replied, trying to sound nonchalant. “Ned Mulgrew.” She’d verified that much from the files in the Sales office.

Mulgrew. What were the odds? It had never occurred to her to use her laptop to find out whatever happened to the people she’d once known, maybe because she’d acquired the thing so long after she left them all behind. It was a different world now. Who knew there would be Mulgrews in it?

But once she’d spotted Ned in the lobby, she had to know. Was there a connection? Was her memory playing tricks on her? Could it be?

It could. Her quick search on the Internet had found very little on Edmund, but he must’ve married into the money he’d wanted so badly back then. Or perhaps he’d stolen it. However he’d managed to climb the ladder of success, his children’s children had become the cream of Denver society. Including his great-grandson Ned Mulgrew, age thirty, a lawyer with a top Denver firm, engaged to the equally wealthy Vanessa Westicott. Rosebud didn’t understand a thing about Ned’s job—something about corporate mergers and acquisitions—but his face seemed to appear in the newspaper a lot. And it was a very nice face.

A lot nicer than his great-grandfather’s, she’d decided. Ned seemed to have a sincerity about his smile that Edmund had lacked. And maybe a tinge of sadness in his beautiful blue eyes. Of course, it was hard to tell without seeing him close up…

“What’s his problem? Too cold? Too hard? Not into the ladies?” Miss Arlotta interrogated. “Why did he and his intended land in our laps for a quick fix?”

“Well, I don’t know. I mean, I, um, only saw him that once. The day they came to look at the hotel,” Rosebud said hastily. “But he looked, well, fine. Extra fine.” With a little more enthusiasm than she’d intended, she added, “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with Ned.”

“Uh-huh,” her boss said with an edge of sarcasm. “So I gather you liked what you saw?”

She barely stopped herself from gushing, Oh, yesssss. Instead she murmured, “I don’t think he’s the problem.”

“So she is?”

“Vanessa?” Rosebud couldn’t keep the scorn from her voice. “She’s a piece of work, that one.”

She had now seen enough of Vanessa Westicott to last a lifetime. She might’ve forgiven the princess her tantrums and hissy fits if she’d only brought Ned back to the hotel with her. Rosebud had been on pins and needles hoping he’d come back. But no. Every visit since that first one Vanessa had made by herself.

And every time, she’d had new demands, new complaints, until everyone in the hotel was sick of her. If it weren’t for the fact that Ned Mulgrew’s uncle was one of the owners, Vanessa and her diva antics would’ve been tossed out onto the street long ago.

“I can tell you that she’s the one who wants to get married, and she’s in a hurry so he won’t change his mind.” Rosebud frowned. “What I don’t know is why he wanted to marry that ice princess in the first place.”

“If all the brides and grooms were perfect, there’d be no need for us, would there?” Miss Arlotta asked darkly. “So you need to put a little giddy-up in her gallop. Shouldn’t be too hard if the boy is as fine as all that.”

Rosebud had no idea what that meant but it sounded unpleasant. “Giddy-up in her gallop. Right. I’m on it.”

“What’s your plan?”

“Oh.” She blinked. “Well, I’m kind of playing it by ear.”

“You’ve had a month to plan, Rosebud,” Miss Arlotta said ominously. “Don’t let me down. Make it work. Stick with the bride if she’s the problem. Feed her some oysters and a lot of wine, shove her right into his bed and turn up the heat. Tonight. Time’s a-wastin’.”

Rosebud winced. Ned in bed with Vanessa? That was an image she didn’t need infecting her brain. “I’ll do my best, but…”

“But what?”

But I don’t want him with her! I just found him, and I only got to see him once, and I don’t think it’s at all fair that I should have to help some other woman have him.

And the idea of supervising or improving their erotic activities? Eeeeuw!

“What?” Miss Arlotta asked again, more forcefully this time. “What’s the holdup?”

“Nothing,” Rosebud said quickly. “I’ll do my best.”

Her best what she left unspecified. She would worry about the pesky problem of how to help Ned and Vanessa in bed later. As for right now…

Rosebud felt excitement sizzle through her veins. Ned is coming. Tonight. She glanced at the cuckoo clock over Miss Arlotta’s desk. Five-fifteen. Less than four hours, and Ned would be here.

She had been waiting for this moment ever since she’d laid eyes on him. Ned. The spitting image of her beloved, that rascal Edmund.

Once he was here, she didn’t know whether she should kick him or kiss him. She had spent the better part of a month debating exactly that. Which was why she hadn’t bothered to come up with a plan for Vanessa.

She was much more interested in Ned. Who was he? Would he be anything like his great-grandfather? And what was he doing engaged to a witch like Vanessa?

She itched to find out.

“I don’t know why you’re still up here. Your bride is already checking in,” Miss Arlotta noted, making a shooing motion with one ghostly hand. “Day late and a dollar short before you even start. Rosebud, I swear, you’re gonna be the death of me yet.”

Rosebud refrained from pointing out that Miss Arlotta was already dead. Jittery with nerves over the idea of seeing Ned later—and having to deal with the odious Vanessa first—she murmured, “I’m going, I’m going.”

But as she flashed down to the lobby, she heard Miss Arlotta’s unamused voice in her ear. “Don’t even think about botchin’ this one, Rosebud. I’m keepin’ my eye on you.”

“Don’t worry,” she responded sweetly. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Luckily for Rosebud, the hotel was packed to the gills, so she knew it wouldn’t be as easy as all that for Miss A to monitor her, especially when the other girls were providing such good cover with their own assignments. Mimi had been complaining since yesterday about a frightened virgin of a bride who kept locking herself in the bathroom, while Glory wanted everyone to drop everything and check out her groom, because she said he had the smallest equipment she’d ever seen and it was going to be impossible to strike any sparks with that tiny thing to work with. Every time she started to describe her groom and his “Wee Willie Winkie,” she dissolved into giggles, which got Desdemoaner going with the honking snort she called a laugh.

That meant there were two ghost harlots rolling around the attic, wheezing with laughter, while Mimi swore in French and stamped her tiny foot and demanded help with her fraidy-cat bride. Not to mention Flo and the usual whines about her constricted corset and the snooty Countess offering unwanted opinions on the side while everybody told her to tend to her own assignment.

With all that, Miss Arlotta had her hands full, and Rosebud felt very comfortable that whatever tricks she got up to with Ned’s bride would go unnoticed. Hadn’t she always been the smartest Fallen Maiden around? Wasn’t it a dead certainty she could outfox Miss A and the others long enough to have a little fun with…

Uh-oh. Rosebud skittered to a stop at the bottom of the main staircase, a few feet from the front desk.

Ned. Here. Now. Early. She wasn’t ready. And yet…

She’d been waiting so long. As she saw Ned standing there in the lobby, Rosebud’s mouth went dry and her knees went weak. She felt stirrings in places that hadn’t been stirred in 109 years. Wide-eyed, immobile, she clasped both hands hard against the front of her corset, forgetting to breathe for just a second.

He looked amazing. No suit today, just a soft, form-fitting dark sweater and black trousers. He had his hands jammed in his pants pockets, lounging there as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

She wanted to touch him. She wanted to press her lips against his. What would it feel like for him if she did? Would one little ghostly kiss trigger anything in him? And how much trouble would she get into if she tried it?

No sign of the other girls or Miss Arlotta. No one to see if she…

Out of nowhere, he turned, narrowing his gaze, staring right at the spot where she lingered by the bottom of the stairs. And then he smiled, white teeth flashing between perfect lips, as if he sensed her presence. As if he wanted her presence.

No wonder he was a lawyer. Juries probably melted every time he smiled at them and he never lost a case.

My stars. That was potent stuff. She was a ghost, but still she began to melt from the inside out. Why did he have to be so handsome? The fascinating blue eyes, the enchanting smile, those marvelous lips…

There was a reason she had so easily lost her virtue back in 1895. And she was looking at him.

“Damn you, Ned Mulgrew,” she whispered.

“That’s weird.” He glanced around the bustling lobby. “I could swear somebody just cursed at me. Damn you, Ned Mulgrew. That’s what I heard. But who would say that?”

“Hmm? What?” Distracted with the check-in process, as well as keeping an eye on the bellman who was carting all fifteen pieces of her matching Louis Vuitton luggage, Vanessa gave her fiancé a glance. “Ned? Did you say something?”

“Nothing important.” He leaned over to kiss her on the cheek, moving in closer behind her at the front desk, angling an arm around her in a cozy gesture. Rosebud decided right then and there that kicking him was definitely smarter than kissing him. One minute he was sending come-hither smiles at her across time and space, and the next he was cuddling with the odious Vanessa. Swine.

Maybe he was as greedy and insincere as his ancestor, and he was fleecing Vanessa for every dime of her trust fund. Rosebud hoped so. But it didn’t look like it from here. Okay, so his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes when he looked at Vanessa. And his features seemed a bit strained. Still…

He was planning to marry the twit, wasn’t he?

Rosebud crossed her arms over her chest, debating whether to drop a chandelier on both their heads. Nah. Miss Arlotta would know who did it. But it was tempting.

She flitted up the stairway to get herself a little farther away from temptation, perching her frilly bloomers on the smooth mahogany banister about halfway up, where she could still eavesdrop. All she needed to do was find out what room they were in, and she could go on ahead, leaving them to their pathetic canoodling at the desk. Then she would ponder a plan of action, and decide whether it would involve pushing them together…

She smiled. Or pulling them apart. That spinning bed thing had worked nicely on the last couple she didn’t like.

“You’re in the Lady Godiva Suite,” the front desk clerk said pleasantly. He pushed a folio across the desk toward Ned for his signature. “That’s our best honeymoon suite. I have you down for four nights.”

Pulling the paper over her way, Vanessa scrawled her name on it. Then she leaned over and nabbed the brass key out of the clerk’s hand. “It’s five nights.”

“Five? I’ll have to check on that. Let me just get another key for Mr. Mulgrew,” the clerk murmured, turning back to the wide expanse of cubbyholes where the keys were kept.

“No.” Vanessa’s lips pressed into a thin scarlet line of displeasure. “He doesn’t need a key. The suite is for me.”

She wasn’t planning to share the honeymoon suite with her fiancé? Now that was interesting. Ned. Lady Godiva Suite. Both dark and delicious. Honestly, how could anyone think about those two items and not want to put them together? Immediately.

“There is a separate reservation for my fiancé,” the bride-to-be continued, starting to sound a little testy. “For a separate room.”

Well, maybe she was a virgin and she wanted to stay one till her wedding night. Rosebud gave her the onceover. “If she’s a virgin, I’m Buffy the Vampire Slayer,” Rosebud groused. “So why doesn’t she want to share her suite with Ned?”

“Hmmm.” The desk clerk consulted his computer. “I don’t see anything…”

“Get the manager,” Vanessa seethed. “Now.”

“Van, it’s okay. We’ll figure it out.”

“You didn’t make the arrangements, Ned. I did. I checked and rechecked everything, and that moron of a wedding consultant assured me we were all set. I am stressed out enough with the wedding plans and I need my sleep.” She shook her head. “I told you this place wasn’t good enough, but you insisted. And now they’re making all kinds of mistakes, just like I knew they would.”

“We were lucky to get in here,” he reminded her. “Uncle Jerry pulled major strings to make it happen. I would’ve been happy to wait till next year or whenever we could get whatever palace it was you wanted, but you insisted it had to be now.”

“Do not take that tone with me,” Vanessa snapped.

Oooh, goodie! Fireworks! Rosebud took a jaunty slide down the banister to get closer. It was beginning to sound as if she wouldn’t need to do much work to keep these two apart, what with the separate rooms and all the hostility.

Ned sighed. “Van, we’re getting married in three days. Do you really want to argue about this now? Trust me. We’ll fix it.”

He sounded so calm. Darn it. Fizzling all the fireworks before they got started.

To the desk clerk, Ned said, “Do you have another room you can give me? Anything is fine.”

“Well, sir…The Inn is packed, I’m afraid. All I have is a small single room tucked into the back of the third floor.”

Rosebud gulped. What? A small room tucked into the back of the third floor? There was only one room at the Inn that fit that description. Her old room. The one Miss Arlotta had sent her to on that Sunday night back in 1895.

The clerk continued. “It’s available because it’s a single, and frankly…” He grinned. “We don’t do a lot of business with singles, if you know what I mean. I think it’s a nice room, just small. Sometimes an extra bridesmaid takes it. I don’t know if—”

“It’ll do,” Vanessa interrupted. “He said anything was fine.”

As Vanessa took off in the elevator with the bellman and all fifteen pieces of her luggage, bound for the Lady Godiva Suite, Rosebud stayed where she was on the banister, her mind reeling.

How bizarre. How intimate. Ned, the instant connection, the instant longing, and now…He would be staying in her old room?

If she didn’t know better, she might’ve thought this was all kismet or destiny or something. Impetuous, romantic Rose Elizabeth Tate had been a firm believer in those things. But Rosebud the cynical spirit, stuck floating in the rafters for the past 109 years, was not.

With his key in hand, Ned picked up his bag and made straight for the big, ornate staircase that curved around behind the desk. Straight for her. Startled, she toppled sideways, falling off the banister onto the bottom step. Ouch.

“Sir, you’re on the third floor. You might want to take the elevator,” the clerk called out.

“Nah, I’m good.” He smiled again and Rosebud weakened, standing up and edging more toward the middle of the staircase, that much closer to his path. It couldn’t hurt to reach out, to touch him ever so slightly, could it? He’d never even feel it.

But when he swept past, when she brushed her invisible fingers gently along the line of his jaw, Rosebud began to tremble. My stars. She felt warm and shaky and…That was intense. She slammed backward with a thump, hitting the newel-post.

“What the hell?” Ned paused on the stairs. With his hand cupping his jaw, right where she’d touched him, he turned around, glancing up and down the staircase.

“Are you okay, sir?” the desk clerk asked from down below.

“I’m, uh, fine. Just fine. For a minute, I thought…” He dropped his hand. “Nothing.” And then he started back up the stairs.

It took her a second or two to collect herself, but then Rosebud made up her mind. Miss Arlotta had ordered her to stick with the bride, but she didn’t care. There was no way she was running over to the suite to check on the odious Vanessa, no matter how hard Miss A came down on her later for neglecting her duty.

“I’m sticking with him,” she whispered, hustling along to catch up.

By the time she got to the small room at the back of the third floor, he had his suitcase open on the bed to unpack. Rosebud hung back by the door, afraid to touch him or get in his way after that scary encounter on the stairs.

Who knew what might happen if their atoms collided? Would she burst into flame?

As she looked around, she realized she hadn’t been in this room in quite a while, preferring to spend her time in her hideaway in the attic. But it was a pretty room, especially since they’d renovated it along with the rest of the hotel. Now it had an antique sleigh bed in glossy cherry wood, a matching dresser and mirror and a lovely armoire that held the TV and minibar. Plus Ned. She smiled. Who could ask for anything more?

Busy unpacking, he didn’t seem to notice the extra presence in the room. Rosebud flitted around the corner to check out the marble bath and sink and then back into the main room, poking her nose into Ned’s toiletries and accoutrements. She told herself she was filing away information for later use, but the truth was, she was greedy for knowledge about Ned.

Ooh, he’d unpacked a tuxedo. Basic black, with a white formal shirt and a small black tie. She could only imagine what Ned would look like in that. A lot like Edmund, probably. She swallowed. She had, of course, seen Edmund in formal evening wear quite a few times, and the sight had been devastatingly handsome. But Ned…Ned was even better.

As he crossed to the phone, leaving a message for someone about picking up his tuxedo to take to the cleaners, she couldn’t hold herself back. She slipped over to finger the tucks down the front of his formal shirt, leaning into the closet, inhaling the scent of him that clung to his clothes. She began to pick through the hangers. Button-down shirts, a suit jacket in a smooth wool…

“I’m losing it,” he said out loud, taking a step toward the closet. “First I hear my name and there’s nobody there, then that weird thing on the stairs, and now my clothes are moving all by themselves.”

Ooops. She hadn’t realized she’d lifted the sleeve of his suit jacket up to her nose. As unobtrusively as she could manage, Rosebud let it drop back into place. She edged her way around the outside of the room, skirting carefully around Ned to the window next to the bed. Quietly she eased it open, letting in the cool mountain air. On the other side of the room, Ned was fixated on the closet, moving one hanger at a time, staring at his clothes as if he expected them to sprout wings.

Rosebud flailed her arms around, whipping up the lace curtains at the window. Gaining speed, she swooshed around the room a few times like the spirit of the North Wind. She even made a slight howling noise. It was the best she could think of on short notice.

Ned spun around. “Oh. The window’s open.” He sighed with relief. “Just a stiff breeze. Of course there’s a rational explanation.”

Of course. As he shut the window and pulled the curtains closed, Rosebud sighed with relief. Trying to stay out of the way and not get into any more trouble, she stretched out on the sleigh bed, careful not to squash the pillow or make an indentation.

It was strangely enjoyable simply watching Ned move around the room. The other girls were always snickering about some fine manly form or other, but she hadn’t paid attention in a long, long time. But now that she looked, she had to say, man-watching did make for a good show. The play of muscle under his shirt was very interesting. And the sight of his trousers, stretching against his tight bottom when he bent over to put away his socks…Mmmm…

Shameless, she told herself as she ogled his derriere. And not fair to Ned. Why, Rose, you’re no better than a voyeur.

He dumped the contents of his pockets on the dresser with a jingle of keys and change. Then there was a snap as he unbuckled his belt, and her breath caught in her throat. Why was he undoing his belt?

Oh, dear. Belt. Off. Tossed aside. And his hands moved to the bottom edge of his sweater, sliding it up an inch or two over his flat stomach. At the first glimpse of bronzed flesh, Rosebud’s eyes widened. What was he doing? He wasn’t going to undress, was he?

Why, yes he was. Rosebud went very still as he peeled off his shirt and tossed it toward the bed. Right on top of her. She didn’t move, but she did finger the fine silk knit where it slid sensuously over her hip. And she hungrily drank in the sight of him, naked to the waist.

She had forgotten how gorgeous a man could be. Ned’s skin gleamed, tanned and smooth in the golden light from the antique lamp on the dresser, and her eyes trailed over his hard chest and torso, ridged with muscle. There was a fine line of dark hair trailing between his ribs, disappearing into his pants. Her mouth watered. Did men look this delectable back in her day?

Ned stopped. His gaze skimmed right over her where she lay on the bed, and he frowned. “Why is there a bump under that shirt?”

Bump? A bump like her? What should she do? Slip out from under the shirt while he was watching, making it clear the unseen lump had moved away and something spooky was going on in his room? Or stay where she was, even if he advanced on her and felt under the shirt? His hand would go right through her while she was invisible. At least she thought it would.

Her heart beat faster, and she couldn’t think. Did she want him to touch her, to connect his protoplasm to her ectoplasm, to shock them both down to their toes, even if it meant some irreversible explosion of particles and electricity?

Oh, yes. Right now, after watching him undress, she was totally willing to risk it.

Foolish, foolish girl to get herself in this position. She felt her body suffuse with warmth under his intense gaze, and she had the terrible suspicion that a wash of hot color would show up there on his bed, like a reclining girl-shaped pool of pink. She glanced down but didn’t see anything. She’d never blushed before when she was invisible. How did she know what might happen?

Just when she thought she might pop from the strain, Ned’s phone rang. He jumped, she jumped, and his shirt slid off her hip at the exact moment he turned toward the phone. Saved by the bell. Rosebud was off his bed and safely huddled on top of the armoire, hiding up next to the ceiling, before he’d even answered it.

“Hello,” he said impatiently. But then his voice changed to a much warmer tone. “Hi, Uncle Jerry. Thanks so much for setting everything up. We really appreciate you making it happen. Your hotel is wonderful.”

She couldn’t hear what was said on the other end, but she could imagine. Blah blah blah best wishes on your upcoming nuptials…

“Listen, I will see you tomorrow, right? Yeah, the rehearsal dinner.” He glanced at his watch. “I’m supposed to be meeting Van for dinner tonight—some French place an hour from here—and I don’t want to be late, so…”

Something Uncle Jerry said got a laugh out of Ned. Rosebud rolled her eyes. Something amusing about the joys of coping with Vanessa, no doubt.

But Ned looked distracted as he spun back around, still holding the receiver. He peered at the bed, where the shirt he’d been wearing, the one that had landed on Rosebud, now lay flat. His expression grew even more perplexed. “Uncle Jerry, did you say there were stories about this place being…” He paused. “Haunted?”

Rosebud tried not to giggle. It was just the look on his face, as if someone were poking him with sticks and forcing him to ask that question. So Neddy boy was embarrassed to ask about things that went bump in the night. It was kind of sweet. Of course, she hadn’t believed in ghosts, either. Until she became one.

“No, honestly, I’m a total skeptic,” Ned said quickly into the phone. “I was starting to think there was something weird going on around here, but…Can’t be. That would just be stupid.”

He forced another laugh. “Aw, I’m sure you’re right. Just stress from the wedding. You and Aunt Win always have known me better than anyone else.”

Aw, how sweet. When she was young and desperate for guidance, it would’ve been nice to have a kindly aunt or uncle to turn to.

“Your support has meant everything to me, I want you to know that,” Ned continued. “I know I’ve been strange lately. I never thought I was the marrying kind to start out with, so this is all…”