A few hours later we were headed back up the mountain. It had been a fun night, lots of laughing and storytelling and name-calling. Trudy made me promise to come over for dinner, and soon. I’d enjoyed meeting Oscar, and while Archie seemed to have literally not a thing in common with him, they got along quite well.
Chad and Logan seemed to get it—once it came out that I was working up at the mountain house, they’d exchanged a quick look and then a subtle nod in my direction. I’m sure I’d have to explain at some point, but for now it was contained.
Even contained, this was a risk and I couldn’t have that. This only had one possible outcome from where I was sitting, and there was no way it could end well. I chanced a glance over at Archie’s profile as he drove. Those long fingers wrapped around the steering wheel, gracefully tapered. Strong nose, chiseled jawline, full lips, now turned up in a small, secretive smile. He’d enjoyed himself tonight. Had it been a while? I kind of got the feeling it might have been.
“Do you get out much?” I asked.
“Explain.”
“Out,” I repeated, tucking my legs underneath me and facing him across the console. “Out and about. With friends. With . . . whoever.”
“Not really, no,” he answered, turning smoothly into the driveway toward the resort.
“Which part?”
“I tend to be pretty buried up at the hotel, if that’s what you’re asking, not a ton of time for a social life.”
“I see.”
“And if you’re also asking whether or not I’m dating anyone, which I think you are, the answer to that is the same.”
“I wasn’t asking.”
“Okay.”
“Because we work together.”
“You work for me, technically,” he replied, with more than a hint of humor.
“I work for your father, technically. And anyway, it doesn’t matter, because what happened back there, the whole make-out by the trash cans, it can’t happen again.”
“Agreed.” He nodded.
I looked at him carefully. He’d agreed awfully quickly. “I’m serious, Archie, it’s a bad idea.”
He pulled the car over suddenly, off to the side of the road. Killing the lights, he turned to me. “I know what a bad idea it is, Ms. Morgan. I know every single reason why this cannot and will not happen again.”
“Good,” I said uneasily. “Then we’re in agreement.”
“We’re in agreement.” He nodded. “We’re also in agreement that what we both want me to do right now is pull you across this console and see how fast I can get you naked on my lap, but that’s not going to happen.” His jaw clenched. “Because we’re in agreement.”
“Oh Jesus, yes, I am so agreeing,” I said, aware that I was panting as I said it.
Carefully, and with great effort, he put the car in Drive and we headed back to the hotel.
Chapter 11
“If you close the east wing for renovations, and fill the west wing to capacity with your existing bookings, you’ll be able to save some money on housekeeping by not bringing on the extra help for the summer season so early. Plus, then guests won’t feel so spread out.”
“Spread out?”
“Dude, I’ve practically got my own floor, do you know how spooky it is down there?”
“Fun fact: did you know that at the turn of the century, the twentieth not the twenty-first, something happened in a room just a few down from yours when—”
“If you finish that story I will walk out of this meeting so fast, Mr. Bryant, your head will spin. Have you ever read some of your online reviews? This place is known for its, and I quote, ‘abundance of spooky hallways.’?”
“Duly noted, Ms. Morgan. Spooky hallways. Got it. Continue.”
Archie and I were meeting over breakfast in a quiet corner of the dining room. I’d insisted we be in public, in a brightly lit area to boot, to make sure no making out occurred. And we were back to Mr. Bryant and Ms. Morgan. But I couldn’t deny the innate thrill I felt when he called me by my name.
Clara.
He said it like he enjoyed saying it, like he was happy to string those letters together in the hopes of getting me to turn my head.
And inside my own head was the only place I’d be indulging this thought; I couldn’t let it manifest again and run wild. Again.
So I took steps to make sure. When he came in this morning, I’d already commandeered a large round table against the window and had my plans spread out everywhere. We needed to hash some things out once and for all before we brought it to everyone else this afternoon. And having a few feet of table in between was incredibly important, especially when he got that hungry gaze and started looking around for something to push me up against.
“Why did you stick me in that room anyway?” I asked, tucking into a bowl of steel-cut oats. It was raining again today, so while I couldn’t run outside I’d managed five miles on the treadmill, and I was starving. The breakfast buffet here was pretty good, hard to mess up breakfast, and was full of anything and everything you could think of. Unfortunately they set out a spread like there was a full house when there were fewer than fifty guests here right now. The amount of food was insane.
“You think I had anything to do with that?” he asked all serious. But it was his eyes that gave him away, dancing behind those tortoiseshell rims.
“Is it common practice to stick a guest two miles away from the next one?”
“You seemed like a girl who’d enjoy some . . . privacy.”
“Do I also seem like a girl who keeps bread crumbs in her pocket? Because I practically have to drop them to find my way back each night.”
He rolled his eyes. “I didn’t put you at the end of the hall, I put Melanie Bixby at the end of the hall.” He gave me a pointed look. “Clara Morgan wasn’t due to check in that night.”
“Point taken. Now that we’ve established I’m a sneaky fucker, I’ll be switching rooms. Suite, please and thank you.”
“You want a suite now?” He laughed.
“I checked with Becky in reservations, the Tower Lakeside suite isn’t booked until mid-April. Gimme.”
“That’s the most luxurious suite we have.”
“I’m aware.”
“We normally keep that suite empty in case of last-minute royalty.”
“Last-minute royalty? I sometimes wonder if you even hear yourself.”
He had the decency to look sheepish. “I admit, it doesn’t happen that often anymore, but it has in the past.”
“Right, in the past. And the woman who’s here in the present to save your future would like to move in by noon.”
He studied me for a moment, seeming to weigh my words. “Done,” he finally pronounced. “Pack your bags, Ms. Morgan, you’re moving on up.”
“Story of my life.” I grinned.
“I’d like to hear that sometime,” he replied, and my grin froze. “Have you always lived in Boston?”
“Mm-hmm.” I nodded through my frozen smile. “I’d like to go over some thoughts about the room renovations, particularly what you call the Victorian rooms.”
“It’s the oldest part of the hotel,” he answered, looking at me carefully. “What part of Boston, where’s your family from?”