Читать книгу The Best Man and The Wedding Planner - Teresa Carpenter - Страница 10

CHAPTER FOUR

THE B AND B WAS a converted farmhouse with stone walls, long, narrow rooms and high ceilings. The furniture was sparse, solid and well worn.

Lindsay carried the heavy garment bag to the wardrobe and arranged it as best she could and then turned to face the room she’d share with Zach. Besides the oak wardrobe there was a queen bed with four posters, one nightstand, a dresser with a mirror above it and a hardback chair. Kindling rested in a fireplace with a simple wooden mantel, ready to be lit.

The bathroom was down the hall.

No sofa or chair to sleep on and below her feet was an unadorned hardwood floor. There was no recourse except to share the bed.

And the bedspread was a wedding ring quilt. Just perfect.

Her mother would say it was a sign. She’d actually have a lot more to say, as well, but Lindsay ruthlessly put a lock on those thoughts.

Lightening flashed outside the long, narrow window. Lindsay pulled the heavy drapes closed, grateful for the accommodation. She may have to share with a near stranger and the room may not be luxurious, but it was clean and authentic, and a strong, warm barrier against the elements.

Now why did that make her think of Zach?

The rain absorbed the humidity and dropped the temperature a good twenty degrees. The stone room was cool. Goose bumps chased across her skin.

She lit the kindling and once it caught added some wood. Warmth spread into the room. Unable to wait any longer, she made a quick trip down the hall. Zach was still gone when she got back. He’d dropped off her luggage and had gone back for his. She rolled the bigger case over next to the wardrobe. She didn’t think she’d need anything out of it for one night.

The smaller one she set on the bed. She’d just unzipped it when a thud came at the door.

Zach surged into the room with three bags in tow.

“Oh, my goodness. You are soaked.” She closed the door and rushed to the dresser. The towels were in the top drawer just as the innkeeper said.

Zach took it and scrubbed his face and head.

She tugged at his sopping jacket, glad now she’d thought to give it back to him. “Let’s get this off you.”

He allowed her to work it off. Under the jacket his shirt was so damp it clung to his skin in several places. He shivered and she led him over to the fireplace.

“Oh, yeah.” He draped the towel around his neck and held his hands out to the heat.

“Take the shirt off, too,” she urged him. She reached out with her free hand to help with the task, but when her fingers came skin to skin with his shoulder she decided it might be best if he handled the job himself.

To avoid looking at all the tanned, toned flesh revealed by the stripping off of his shirt, Lindsay held the dripping jacket aloft. What were they going to do with it? He handed her the shirt. With them?

A knock sounded at the door. Leaving Zach by the fire, Lindsay answered the knock. A plump woman in a purple jogging suit with more gray than black in her hair gave Lindsay a bright smile.

“Si, signora.” She pointed to the dripping clothes, “I take?”

“Oh. Grazie.” Lindsay handed the wet clothes through the door.

“And these, too.” From behind the door Zach thrust his pants forward.

Okay, then. She just hoped he’d kept his underwear on.

“Si, si.” The woman’s smile grew broader. She took the pants while craning her head to try to see behind Lindsay. She rolled off something in Italian. Lindsay just blinked at her.

“She said the owner was sending up some food for us.”

As if on cue, Lindsay’s stomach gurgled. The mention of food made her realize how hungry she was. It had been hours since they’d eaten on the plane. “Si.” She nodded. “Grazie.”

The woman nodded and, with one last glance into the room, turned and walked down the hall.

“You have a fan.” Lindsay told Zach when she closed the door. “Oh, my good dog.” The man had his back to her as he leaned over the bed rummaging through his luggage. All he wore was a pair of black knit boxer briefs that clung to his butt like a lover. The soft cloth left little to the imagination and there was a lot to admire.

No wonder the maid had been so enthralled.

And Lindsay had to sleep next to that tonight.

“What about a dog?” He turned those whiskey-brown eyes on her over one broad, bare shoulder.

Her knees went weak, nearly giving out on her. She sank into the hard chair by the fire.

“Dog? Huh? Nothing.” Her mother had taught her to turn the word around so she didn’t take the Lord’s name in vain. After all these years, the habit stuck.

He tugged on a gray T-shirt.

Thank the merciful angels in heaven.

“I’m going to take a quick shower. Don’t eat all the food.”

“No promises.”

He grinned. “Then I’ll just have to hurry.”

He disappeared out the door with his shaving kit under one arm and the towel tossed over his shoulder.

Finally Lindsay felt as though she could breathe again.

He took up so much space. A room that seemed spacious one moment shrank by three sizes when he crossed the threshold. Even with him gone the room smelled of him.

She patted her pocket. Where was her phone? She needed it now, needed to call the rental agency that very moment and demand a car be delivered to her. They should never have allowed a party outside the reservation to cancel. They owed her.

The hunt proved futile. Her phone wasn’t in her purse, her tote or either suitcase. She thought back to the last time she’d used it. In the Land Rover, where it had been pitch-black. It must still be in the vehicle.

That was at the garage.

There’d be no getting her phone tonight. Dang it.

Stymied from making the call she wanted to, she took advantage of Zach’s absence to gather her own toiletries and yoga pants and long-sleeved tee she’d worn on the plane. And a pair of socks. Yep, she’d wear gloves to bed if she had any with her. And if she had any luck at all, he’d wear a three-piece suit.

There’d be no skin-to-skin contact if she could help it.

Loosen up, Lindsay. Her mom’s voice broke through her blockade. You’re young and single and about to share a bed with one prime specimen. You should be thinking of ways to rock the bed not bulletproof yourself against an accidental touch.

How sad was it that her mother was more sexually aggressive than she was?