Читать книгу A Seal's Desire - Tawny Weber - Страница 11

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“SAMMI JO, DID YOU hear who is back in town?” Fiona Green set down the last of the boxes of vegetables she was delivering to wave a hand in front of her face. “Hoo, baby, it’s gonna be a hot couple of weeks.”

“Because Laramie’s back?” Sammi asked absently, paying more attention to the order she was checking than to the tenth announcement today of Laramie’s return. All around her the kitchen hustled and bustled through breakfast service, the cacophony of voices, dishes and cooking soothing after a night of lousy sleep.

“Laramie. The man is drool worthy. He’s the kind of guy who just looks at a woman and, poof,” Fiona blew on her fingertips, “her clothes disappear.”

“Uh-huh.” Sammi Jo grinned as she signed off on the delivery. “Good luck staying dressed.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing.”

“You do?” Sammi’s smile dimmed. Fiona had been a couple of grades behind her in school. How young did Laramie like them?

“No, but I know women who have. And they’ve told me.”

“Ahh.” Relieved, and late, Sammi said her goodbyes and scurried around two waiters, the line chef and a busboy, double-timing it to the dining room.

What was it with everyone’s obsession with sex?

She tried to wrap her mind around it all.

First the bridesmaids—and in the stuff of nightmares, Mrs. Ross. Then her newest guests had asked to change rooms three times, all in search of a bed that gave the best bounce. If that wasn’t enough, her favorite sitcom had launched a new storyline about—yes, of course—sex.

Added to that, all the staff could talk about was the fact that Laramie was back in town. Two of the maids appeared to be wearing lingerie—while another had asked for the day off to go to the spa for a body buff and glow. Last night, even the kitchen staff had debated what foods were best to seduce the man.

Sammi Jo felt as if she should warn poor Laramie. Or she would if she wasn’t so irritated with everyone putting all of the sex thoughts in her head—and a little afraid that with this theme, she’d see her mother sashaying through at any time in Daisy Dukes and pink pumps.

And then there were the cheating rumors. Those she’d rather ignore, but the sidelong glances and pitying looks she’d garnered over the past few days warned her that the issue couldn’t be avoided.

Which meant she had to talk to Sterling.

Sammi glanced at the clock on the wall, winced and hurried through the staff entrance to the inn’s dining room. The morning sun already shone bright through the wide, arched windows. It was gratifyingly full for a Thursday morning. The dining room boasted twenty tables clothed in white with matching china and pretty carafe centerpieces. The window’s arch was echoed in the entry, where Sammi Jo had switched out the hostess stand for a mahogany piecrust table. The overall effect was elegantly cheerful, she thought as she moved through the tables, pausing to check with the head waiter to make sure nobody needed her help.

“Good morning,” she greeted when she reached the table next to the window. “I’m sorry I’m late. We’re a little short staffed in the kitchen.”

“I was afraid I was going to have to eat alone,” Sterling said with a wink as he set aside his iPad.

Sammi slid into her seat, smiling at her fiancé. Dark eyes contrasted with his wheat-blond hair, and while maybe his lips were a little thin and his chin a smidge weak, he had a clever personality and a Yale polish that made quite a package.

She was glad that he was so much more than a walking, talking erection with roaming hands and a one-track mind. Then her smiled dimmed. Maybe it was only with her that his mind never hit that track? They were to be married in three weeks. She knew he was interested in sex; there were too many rumors to pretend otherwise. But if she asked, what if she found out something she didn’t want to know. Like, what if he was a closet deviant? What if, after they married, he’d want to wear her new underwear and have her spank him with chilled vegetables? Was that worse than him not wanting her at all?

In reality, she didn’t want him. Not in that way, she admitted, twisting her fingers together in her lap.

“Sammi Jo? Is everything okay?”

No, she wanted to scream. She had no interest in sex, she didn’t like sex and she thought life was much tidier without sex. Yet, the only thing she could think about now was sex.

Her lips trembled, but Sammi managed to hold back the crazed rush of babbling nerves.

“I’m sorry. I’m just distracted by work. Don has us short staffed again, and we’re having some tech issues at the front desk. Add in the wedding hoopla, and I’m a little frazzled.” She swirled her hand in the air to emphasize her words, hoping he’d put her odd tone down to being overwhelmed. “I wish we could have something a little more low-key.”

Something that didn’t require Mrs. Ross, for instance.

“I know, I know.” Sterling set his coffee down, dabbed his napkin to the corners of his mouth, then gave her the smile that made him such a good salesman. Earnest and charming, with just a hint of persuasive guile. “But Sammi, this wedding is about more than us. It’s about the image we present to the community. Look at it as a networking opportunity. The guest list is impressive, the gifts will likely be cash and the entire event will make good press. That’s good for our businesses.”

Seriously? She was working double time to prepare the inn for its debut as a wedding destination, hearing honeymoon advice from the gardener and being nagged to death by Mrs. Ross over stupid details she didn’t care about while being overridden on the ones she did. And all for the good of their businesses?

Stomach tight, Sammi wanted to lean across the table and tell him that she’d had enough. Sterling wasn’t the one dealing with the wedding planner from hell. If he wanted to improve his damned business, he could take out an ad.

“You’re right,” she agreed, absently rubbing the knot in her shoulder. “I’m a little overwhelmed. Added to all of that are the new software changes your father wants implemented and the insane things my bridesmaids are saying. I suppose it’s just been a rough couple of days.”

Sterling reached out to lay his hand on hers again, this time giving it a quick squeeze.

“You worry too much, Sammi Jo. Let the wedding coordinator do her job and don’t let your bridesmaids drive you crazy,” he suggested, his smile a little less easy now. “As for the computer, I actually need to use it and your office this morning.”

“I’m scheduled to do office work until noon. Your father expects me to have the new computer software installed and all the files transferred before the first of the month,” she said before taking a sip of her sweet tea.

Sterling’s smile slid away to be replaced with a dark scowl. Sammi sighed. All it took was the mention of Robert Barclay to put that look on Sterling’s face. Oh, she knew Mr. Barclay could be difficult, but she was sure in time father and son would overcome their differences. It’d been her attempts to build that bridge when Sterling had moved back home last year that had brought her and Sterling together.

Someday, Sterling would appreciate his father for the great man that he was. As far as Sammi was concerned, Mr. Barclay had saved her life. It was thanks to Mr. Barclay that she’d gotten out of the trailer park and had made something of herself.

She owed him a lot.

The least she could do was try to help smooth things out between him and his only child.

But sometimes, the smoothing was a lesson in frustration.

“If you don’t want me using your computer, just say so.”

His words were stiff as he turned to greet the perky brunette waitress as she set a basket of minimuffins and pastries on the table. Darla refilled his coffee, asked Sammi if she wanted more tea and took their order before sashaying away again.

Sammi waited until she was out of earshot.

“I don’t have a problem with you using the computer,” she said quietly. “I can finish up my work this evening after my shift.”

Sterling took a moment, but finally gave a brief nod.

“So what silly ideas are the ladies coming up with?” His tone was somewhere between placating and cheerful, but the expression on his face made it clear he wasn’t happy. “Are they fussing about the dress choices?”

Sammi started to tell him about their silliness over Laramie, but found herself leaning closer instead and saying, “There are rumors that you’re having an affair.”

Again. The unspoken word hung in the air for a moment as Sterling blinked, then gave a deep sigh. He looked around as if to ensure nobody was listening, then reached over to pat her hand.

“First off, we’re not married yet. Whatever we do between now and the wedding is our own business, isn’t it? Besides, we’ve talked about this, Sammi. We’re perfectly compatible in so many other ways. Just not that one. Why is this an issue?”

How did he know they weren’t compatible sexually if they’d never had sex? Sammi pressed her lips together to keep from asking. Because he was right. Theirs wasn’t a love match. They were friends—good friends—with respect and affection for each other. They’d agreed that their marriage was going to be more of a partnership than anything else.

Still...

“We’ve also talked about how essential respect and consideration for each other is, and why it’s important to both of us to do our best to keep up appearances. We’d agreed that for all intents and purposes, we would give the impression of a love match.” Despite the nerves clenching tight in her belly, Sammi managed to keep her words steady. “Rumors that you’re sleeping with a cocktail waitress three weeks before the wedding are at odds with that impression, don’t you think?”

Sammi held her breath, carefully watching his expression. Because those rumors would be nothing compared to the ones that’d explode if Sterling called off the wedding. She could just see the pitying looks and knowing nods. Those were the kind of rumors that could ruin a woman’s life.

After a long moment, Sterling’s remote expression shifted into a rueful smile.

“You’re right. Totally right. That was my bad.” He shrugged. “I promise, you won’t hear any more gossip like that.”

Sammi could only stare, and wonder. Did he mean he was done fooling around and that once they were married he’d only have sex with her? Or did he simply mean he’d be more careful about the gossip?

Before she could ask, they were greeted by a booming voice.

“Sterling, you old dog. And Sammi Jo. Aren’t you a pretty thing.” As big as his voice, Ben Martin grabbed a chair from an empty table and, without asking, joined them. “Gotta talk business, my friends. I hear you’re looking for a discount on some long-term ads in the newspaper.”

Sterling slid an apologetic look toward Sammi, then, of course, started talking business. She frowned at the irritation spiking through her system. It wasn’t the first time one of their meals had been interrupted. Actually, it was rare that one wasn’t. And it wasn’t as if she could call Sterling out on his comment here in public.

She’d simply wait until after breakfast and go with Sterling to her office. They would talk in private. They’d hash it out and settle the issue like two reasonable adults. Because that’s what they were. That’s why they were marrying each other.

Some of the tension she’d been carrying since yesterday finally loosened in her shoulders as Sammi smiled her thanks as Darla set her huevos rancheros on the table. While the men talked business, she ate her breakfast while mentally rehearsing the best way to approach their discussion.

“Excuse me, Sammi Jo. Julio needs you in the kitchen.” From the frantic edge to Darla’s smile, Julio was having one of his tantrums. The man was simply not a good enough chef to be worth the drama, but Mr. Barclay insisted on keeping the guy.

“I’m sorry, gentlemen, but now my business calls,” she said, rubbing her napkin over her lips before sliding to her feet.

“Nice chatting with you, Sammi Jo.”

“I’ll see you up in the office when you’re finished,” Sterling said, lifting his hand to squeeze hers before she left. Her heart warming at the sweet gesture, Sammi squared her shoulders and prepared to do battle with a spatula-wielding diva.

Two hours later, she’d handled the kitchen emergency, fixed the reservation snafu, checked in three guests and had approved housekeeping’s request to call the repairman to look at the leaking washing machine.

And she still couldn’t get into her office. The last time she’d tried, Sterling had growled from his position hunched over her computer. She stood at the top of the stairs, debating going into her office to try again, or down to the lobby to find busywork.

“There you are. Let’s go to the bridal suite right away.”

For a brief second, Sammi considered opening a side window and jumping. But she had a feeling that even broken bones wouldn’t save her. Not bothering to hide her reluctance, she turned to face Mrs. Ross.

“This isn’t a good time to discuss wedding plans. How about tomorrow.” Or never.

“This can’t wait for tomorrow. Come, come, let’s do it now.” Dressed in eye-searing orange, Mrs. Ross gestured for Sammi to hurry up. “This will only take a quarter of an hour.”

Knowing the woman would nag her for longer than that, Sammy cast one last longing look toward her office where Sterling was probably still happily ensconced in front of her computer. Then, as she did with all distasteful things, she got on with getting it over.

As soon as she stepped into the still-being-remodeled bridal suite, her frown deepened to a scowl.

“What’d you do to my wedding dress? Did you cut it in half,” Sammi exclaimed. But after a second, her scowl faded. About three-quarter length now, without the yards of petal-like chiffon layers it might be a lot easier to move in.

Relief battled joy. She liked it.

“Of course not. This is the second dress.”

“Second... No.” Sammi shook her head. “I’m not wearing two dresses.”

Completely ignoring her, Mrs. Ross continued to roar around the room like a steamroller, bustling from the dress to her sewing basket and back again like a wide orange blur against the elegant blue room.

“You wear the formal one for the ceremony and after the first dance, this similar but less formal one for the reception.” Seeing Sammi’s mutinous expression, Mrs. Ross pursed her lips, then added, “Once I’d explained to Mr. Barclay that second dresses are all the trend, he agreed that it was a perfect idea.”

Sammi eyed the dress, then the martinet with the measuring tape. She wanted to protest. She wanted to put her foot down. She wanted to elope, dammit. But Sterling’s words about how important the wedding was rang in her ears. She unbuttoned her blouse.

“Tattoos are trendy, too,” Sammi muttered as the woman helped her into the dress, then pinned and tucked. “Were you planning on just me getting one, or the entire wedding party?”

“Perfect.” Mrs. Ross walked around Sammi ten minutes later, inspecting every inch. “The fit is just right. I have an idea for straps, though, for the more vigorous dancing. The fabric is in my car. Hold on. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

And with that, she was gone.

Leaving Sammi trapped in her second dress.

She debated calling down for one of the staff to come unbutton her, but before she could decide if it was worth the inevitable drama, her cell phone rang from the pocket of her cargo pants.

“Sterling?” she answered with a laugh. “I thought you were just down the hall using my—”

“Sammi, listen,” Sterling interrupted, his words an urgent rush. “Don’t say anything, just listen to me.”

“What’s wrong? Sterling, are you okay?” Her stomach leaden with fear, Sammi dropped to the bed. The dress fluffed around her legs like small chiffon clouds.

“Look, something’s come up. Something important.” His voice choked for a moment, then, sounding as if he were in pain, he continued. “I’m going to be away for a few days. Maybe a week. You have to cover for me.”

“What’s going on?” Fear was bubbling to the surface now, threatening to choke her. She pushed off the bed and headed for the door. “I thought you were in my office. When did you leave?”

She rushed down the hall toward her office, stopping short at the sight of the mess. The chair lay on its side, one wheel missing. Papers covered her desk, looking as if they’d been thrown like confetti and her computer monitor flashed from black to blue and back again.

“Oh, my God,” she breathed. “Sterling, are you in trouble? Should I call the police? I’m going to call your father.”

“No!” His breath came over the line sounding as shaky as the nerves in Sammi’s stomach. “Don’t call anybody. That’ll make it worse. Just do what I asked.”

No way in hell.

Sammi didn’t say a word, but apparently that was as good as declaring intent, because there was a scuffling sound.

“Prove it to her,” she heard a mean voice order.

“Who is that? Where are you, Sterling?”

There was a grunt, then a wheezing sound. Sammi ran to the landline. She didn’t care what he said. She was calling the cops.

“I’m switching to video call,” Sterling said before she could lift the receiver. “Sammi, look at it.”

With trembling fingers, she slowly pulled the phone away from her ear to look at the screen. And let out a small cry.

Sterling’s face was bruised, his hair disheveled and his eyes filled with pleading. Her heart was trembling as hard as her hands now.

“Sammi—”

“Shut it.”

Sterling shut it so fast, she saw his teeth snap together.

More scared to see how easily he acquiesced than she’d been already, Sammi tried to breathe through the panic. Her toes dug into the cool satin of her gilded wedding shoes, her fist clenched tight the fabric of her dress.

“Here’s the deal,” that same mean voice growled from offscreen. “You want him back, you do exactly what we say. You don’t do it exactly, you won’t be needing that pretty white dress.”

The meaty hand shifted so the barrel of a gun pressed alongside Sterling’s cheek.

“Yes,” Sammi gasped. “Whatever you want. I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Don’t tell anyone about this call. Don’t tell anyone he’s missing. You make damned sure that nobody has a clue.” Already menacing, the voice lowered to send chills of terror down Sammi’s spine. “If you don’t, we’ll know. And we’ll make him pay.”

“Listen to them,” Sterling insisted, his expression showing the same apprehension Sammi felt. “Sammi, do exactly what they tell you. Just cover for me. Make excuses. Find a way to make sure that nobody questions my being away. If you can do that, everything will be okay.”

“But—”

The cell phone went black. They’d ended the call. Sammi tried to breathe, but the panic kept bubbling up in her throat.

What was she supposed to do?

She couldn’t just pretend everything was okay.

But what choice did she have?

Her head pounded in time with the black dots dancing in her eyes, her heart throbbing so fast, so loud, that she could barely breathe.

She wanted to call Mr. Barclay and beg him to fix this. To find his son, bring him back.

But the menacing warning still sounded in her ears, a loud and clear hissing threat that terrified her to her very core.

Sammi pressed her lips tight.

She couldn’t tell Mr. Barclay.

They’d kill Sterling if she did.

But she couldn’t just trust that it’d work out. That the creeps with the ugly guns would keep their promise. Why would they? What did they want with Sterling, anyway? Nothing good, she was sure. But if they wanted a ransom, why didn’t they want Mr. Barclay to know?

Her head was spinning too fast for Sammi to find any of those answers. All she could do was lean against the wall and try to suck in air. She clenched the phone tight to her chest, but couldn’t bring herself to call anyone. Not with the threats ringing so clearly in her head.

She had to do something.

Anything.

Then, out of the blue, she remembered.

Laramie was in town.

* * *

“YOU SURE ABOUT THIS?”

“Yep.” The bridle in one hand, Laramie gave the horse’s neck a fond pat with the other before leading Storm out of the stable. Small dust clouds followed their steps through the scrubby grass toward the paddock where the sun beat down like hot spikes. Having served months in the Middle East, the heat barely registered on Laramie’s radar, other than to make sure he had a decent supply of water for the ride.

“You could stay here. Just a day or two.”

Checking his packs, Laramie slid a sideways glance at his uncle. The resemblance was there, but only if you knew to look for it. The shape of their eyes, although Laramie’s were hazel instead of brown. The arch of their brow and the full lips. Art and his younger sister had shared those features. Features she’d passed on to her only son. Otherwise, Laramie was the spitting image of his father.

“What’s wrong, Art?”

“Nothin’s wrong. Just think maybe you shouldn’t go up now. Go up next month instead.”

Laramie frowned at the intensity in older man’s voice. It wasn’t as if this trip was out of the ordinary. He came back once a year to make this sort of pilgrimage from his uncle’s spread outside of El Paso up to the family cabin in the mountains. But it was rare that he made it back the first week of June. It was just as rare that his uncle said anything about it, though.