by Adele Buck
“Fine.” She would have to take the luggage in stages. The tote was already dragging her shoulder down. There was no way she’d manage both it and the suitcase in one trip. “I’ll just leave this here for the time being. It’s not like anyone is going to make off with it.” Kathleen gestured at the grounds, which were empty. Alicia’s fiancé had reserved all the rooms in the boutique hotel on the Chesapeake Bay for the wedding weekend.
And it wasn’t like anyone was interested in stealing the wardrobe of an itinerant actress.
Before she could start for the wide portico of the old Maryland mansion, a large, black BMW sedan swooped into the drive and pulled up next to her shabby little Kia. The driver’s door opened and Alicia’s fiancé jumped out.
“You got away early,” Alicia said, her big brown eyes alight as Colin rounded the car and pulled her to him for a long, lingering kiss. Kathleen knew she should look away, but she ogled the pair shamelessly.
“Get a room. Oh, I forgot. You got all the rooms,” said a deep voice.
Startled, Kathleen ripped her attention away from the lovers to seek the source of the voice. Another man was getting out of the car, and Kathleen found a pair of dark, humorous eyes fixed on her.
A bolt of immediate attraction ripped through her. Big, brown eyes were set in a face with deep brown skin that had an appealing softness, speaking of sympathy and understanding. And when his smile deepened. Dear lord, a dimple. Did someone take my personal order? Because this guy is…adorable.
“Sorry, mate.” Colin’s deep baritone sounded anything but apologetic as he pulled back to look at Alicia. She leaned back against the circle of his arm, her short, silvery blond hair falling back off her forehead as she regarded her future husband. The two were wrapped up in their own little bubble. Hermetically sealed. Kathleen snuck another look at the guy who had accompanied Colin. He was looking straight at her. The look warmed her right through.
That’s just the heat of embarrassment. Sure.
While Colin and Alicia mutually appreciated their gorgeousness, the adorable guy rounded the rental car and grinned at Kathleen’s suitcase. “Need some help?” He turned that lethal grin on her and Kathleen willed her knees not to buckle.
“Yeah. I may have overpacked a trifle.” Kathleen bit her lip and looked at her suitcase. It looked enormous in comparison to the modest weekend bag he was carrying over one shoulder. A garment bag dangled from his fingers. Another light packer.
“Allow me, my lady.” The man gave a short bow and hefted her suitcase without apparent strain, heading for the portico of the hotel.
“Can I at least get my white knight’s name?” she asked, trotting after him, shifting her tote to keep it from sliding off her shoulder.
He winked at her over his shoulder. “Russell. Russell King.”
#
“And may I get the name of the fair lady I am aiding?” Russell strove to make his handling of her suitcase seem effortless, but it was a struggle. What does she have in this thing? A house?
“Kathleen Fitzgerald.” She hurried to walk side by side with him and he looked her over appreciatively. She looked familiar, but he couldn’t put his finger on where he might have met her before.
“That fits,” he said. Her long, wavy hair was deep brown, the spring sunshine revealing copper tones. Auburn, he guessed it would be called. She pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head, revealing hazel eyes and a smattering of freckles across her nose. He forced his eyes to stay on her face, but he had already registered the curvy figure under the soft blouse and tight jeans. Bless skinny jeans.
“Yeah. Irish as Guinness, Jameson’s, and corned beef and cabbage.” Her voice had a soft lilt as she said the words and Russell stopped in his tracks.
“Wait. You really are Irish, then?”
She laughed, a deep, unselfconscious sound, and continued to walk toward the portico of the hotel. “Irish-American. But you know actresses.” She waved a hand back at Alicia who was still enjoying a moment with Colin. “We’re like flypaper for accents.”
“You’re an actress too?” Russell racked his brain as he crunched across the gravel drive with her. Where had he seen this woman before? He turned and squinted at her. “Wait—were you in Romeo and Juliet a year or so ago?”
Kathleen nodded. “Yeah, it’s how Alicia and I met. We’ve been friends ever since. I can’t believe you remember that. Lady Capulet’s not exactly the biggest role in the play.”
“Well, it was my first Shakespeare play,” he said, grunting slightly as he heaved her planetary-sized bag up the short flight of stairs to the hotel’s broad portico. Reaching the top, he set the bag down and pulled up the handle. His arm ached.
“Thanks, I can get that now.” Kathleen reached for the handle, but Russell shook his head.
“No way. I got it this far. Even in my enfeebled state, I think I can roll it to the front desk.”
“I owe you one. My hero.” She winked at him, looping her arm through his, and they strode into the lobby. It was a large, airy room with a huge rug with delicate patterns like an old tapestry that covered the parquet floor. At one end, a young woman sat at a desk, a computer monitor angled in front of her.
“Here for the St. Cyr/Johnson wedding?” the woman asked.
Russell nodded as he approached the desk, trailing Kathleen’s suitcase behind him. He gave his name, setting down the bags to dig out his credit card. Kathleen loosed his arm and wandered off to examine a severe oil portrait of a disapproving-looking man hanging over the fireplace.
The receptionist pulled up the reservation, taking his card and murmured to a bellman who approached, loaded the bags onto a cart, and walked away. “Two keys for you and Mrs. King?”
Russell’s first thought was to look around for his mother before he realized that the young woman was looking at Kathleen, who’d returned to his side.
“Oh!” they said simultaneously.
“I’m not—”
“We’re not—”
“Different reservation,” Kathleen said, her face bright pink.
“Oh. I am so sorry,” the young woman said. Handing Russell a cardboard folder with his card key, the receptionist pointed him to his room. “Ground floor, end of the East corridor.”
“Thanks,” he said. Turning back to Kathleen, he saw her high color had ebbed a bit. Awkward, he mouthed at her and her eyes crinkled with silent laughter. “I’ll see you around.”
“We can hardly miss each other.” Her eyes were twinkling now. “Thanks for the help with my bag.”
“Any time. It means I can skip arm day.” He winked and flexed his bicep before walking down the hall the receptionist had indicated, letting himself into the room and musing that he needed to go back out to Colin’s car to get his guitar…
Only to have all thoughts of anything else vanish from his brain at the sight of Kathleen’s monster suitcase sitting at the foot of his bed.
#
Sunlight streamed through the windows of Kathleen’s room. Dumping her tote on the four-poster bed, she drifted over to look at the view, hoisting the sash high and breathing in the salt smell of the bay. A green lawn stretched wide and level out toward the water. Kathleen gave a happy sigh, thinking about the wedding tomorrow. Alicia had initially balked at the idea of a ceremony at all, telling Kathleen she had informed Colin she would be just as happy with a courthouse wedding.
According to Alicia, Colin hadn’t pushed, but made it clear that he would prefer at least a slightly more traditional approach. “And…I’ve learned to compromise,” Alicia told Kathleen during a girl’s night in with a pile of wedding magazines and a bottle of champagne. “Though I never saw myself as the veil-and-big-white-dress gal, something small might be nice. And his family’s coming from England.”
So here they were. A hotel with twenty-five rooms, something shy of forty guests, and a weekend away from reality.
A knock pulled her attention from the view, and Kathleen strode to answer, eyebro
ws raised in curiosity. Swinging the door open, her jaw dropped when she saw Russell.
“Wow. Um.” Her brain raced with possibilities for why he could be here and her pulse picked up. Sure, they had shared some flirty banter and the misunderstanding about being married, but having him just show up at her room was a little creepy. Assume much?
“You might want this.” Reaching back, Russell drew her wheelie bag around to sit in front of him. “I imagine it might possibly contain everything you own, given its relative size and weight…”
Kathleen’s hand flew to her mouth, embarrassment flooding through her. “Oh, gosh. How did…?”
“The bellman must have overheard only the first part of the married couple misunderstanding and took it to my room.”
Searching his face for signs of annoyance, Kathleen was relieved to see a twinkle of amusement in his eyes instead. “Well,” she said, reaching for the handle, “thank you for returning it to me. I hope it behaved itself under your watch.”
Russell rubbed his chin. “Moderately. It was a bit unruly as I wrestled it up the stairs. It might have gained mass somehow with every step.”
Kathleen closed her eyes, mortified. “I can’t believe you hauled this heavy thing up stairs. Why didn’t you take an elevator? Or call me? Or call the bellhop?”
“No elevator, ma’am. And why would I call a bellhop when I could see you again?” Russell’s voice was soft and Kathleen’s eyes snapped open again, searching his face. His expression remained amused, but there was something else there. Uncertainty? Hope?
“You’re going to see me all weekend,” Kathleen said, reaching out to squeeze the hard plastic handle of her luggage and draw it to her.
Russell nodded. “Okay then. I’ll see you at the rehearsal dinner tonight.” He started to turn away and regret flooded through her.
“Wait. Can I buy you a drink? To thank you for returning Penelope to me?”
His eyes crinkled with sudden humor. “You named your suitcase?”
She looked down at the navy behemoth and back to his warm brown eyes. “Just now. It was an impulse naming. Drink?”
“Does this hotel even have a bar?”
Kathleen let her voice slide into the County Kerry lilt of her grandfather. “Darlin’ you’re with an Irishwoman now. Care to be comin’ in?”
#
Amused, Russell followed Kathleen into her room, wondering what she had up her sleeve. She parked the huge wheelie in a corner and turned to the bed, rummaging in her almost equally big tote.
“Aha.” Straightening, she flourished a flask.
Russell almost laughed. “Irish whiskey?”
Cocking an eyebrow, she walked to the chest of drawers. The usual hotel coffee maker was absent, but the equally usual ice bucket and glasses were present. “Do you need rocks, or…”
“Up is fine with me if it’s fine with you.” Russell’s chest constricted. He hadn’t meant the double entendre. Well, not consciously, anyway. Kathleen’s hazel eyes flicked to meet his and he deepened his breath with an effort. Be cool.
Kathleen poured two fingers into each glass and handed him one, clinking the one she retained against his and lifting it high. “‘Up the English’ as my Irish grandfather would say.”
Russell choked. “I think our host might have something to say about that.”
Kathleen smiled and sipped her whiskey. “He gets a pass. He makes my friend happy.”
“Ah.” Russell took a drink, the smooth liquid tasting of vanilla and heat as it slid down his throat. “Nice whiskey, by the way.”
“Thank you.” She canted her glass at him, then set it down so she could shrug out of her jacket. Russell moved forward, abandoning his own glass on the chest of drawers in favor of helping her. She looked at him over her shoulder, eyes sweeping up to meet his as she smiled, letting the jacket trail down her arms. He kept his hands away from those bare arms, resisting the urge to trace his fingertips across smooth skin, freckled lightly like her nose. Instead, he took the jacket and draped it on the bed next to her tote bag.
Damn, this woman is sexy.
He retrieved his glass at the same time as she did, tongue-tied as a teenager. “So—”
“What—” she said at the same time.
They both laughed, nervousness clogging the air in the room. “You first,” he said, gesturing with his free hand and stepping back a pace.
“I was just going to ask you what you did when you weren’t at weddings. How you knew Colin.”
Russell chuckled, resigned. Here it goes. Any idea of glamour that she might have about me will now be gone. “I’m a professor.”
Kathleen’s eyes narrowed and the index finger of the hand that held her glass pointed towards him. “Wait. Professor…Law professor?”
Startled, Russell huffed a laugh. “How did you know?”
A feline smile spread across Kathleen’s face. “I have my methods.”
Acknowledgments
As always, thank you to all of my friends, no matter if we’ve gotten together online or off. I get so much support and love from my writing community and I appreciate all of it.
Harper Miller: thank you for your frank and incisive sensitivity read of this book. Any errors in representation are entirely my own.
Thank you to Beverly Jenkins for your friendship and for saying “yes” when I asked if it was okay that I had written a scene about your books.
About the Author
When not writing, Adele is a librarian at a Washington, D.C. law school. Prior to that, she had a short stint as an index editor and over a dozen years in corporate communications and executive relationship management. Even prior to that, she was an actress and stage manager.
She holds a theatre degree from Syracuse University and graduate degrees from the University of Maine School of Law and the University of Maryland's iSchool.
A New Hampshire native, Adele has lived in the D.C. area for over 20 years with her fantastic husband and the requisite number of neurotic cats.
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