by Heidi Betts
Two
This was insane.
She was a former socialite turned chambermaid, not some stealthy spy trained to ferret out classified information. She didn’t even know what she was looking for, let alone how to find it.
Her cart was in the hall, but she’d dragged nearly everything she needed to clean and restock the room in with her. Sheets, towels, toilet paper, the vacuum cleaner… If there were enough supplies spread out, she figured she would look busier and have more of an excuse for moving all over the suite in case anyone—specifically Alexander Bajoran—came in and caught her poking around.
The problem was, his suite was pretty much immaculate. She’d been cleaning it herself on a daily basis, even before he’d checked in, and the Mountain View’s housekeeping standards were quite high. Add to that the fact that Alexander Bajoran was apparently quite tidy himself, and there was almost nothing personal left out for her to snoop through.
Regardless of what she’d let her cousin believe, she was not going to ransack this room. She would glance through the desk, under the bed, in the nightstands, maybe inside the closet, but she was not going to root through his underwear drawer. Not when she didn’t even know what she was supposed to be looking for.
Business-related what? Compromising…what?
Jessica couldn’t blame her cousin for wanting to find something incriminating. Anything that might turn the tables on the man who had destroyed the Taylors’ livelihood and a few members of the family personally.
But how realistic was that, really? It had been five years since Bajoran’s hostile takeover. He had moved on and was certainly juggling a dozen other deals and business ventures by now. And even if those weren’t entirely on the level, she doubted he was walking around with a paper trail detailing his treachery.
The sheets were already pulled off the bed and in a heap on the floor, so it looked as though she was busy working. And since she was close, she quickly, quietly slid open one of the nightstand drawers.
Her hands were shaking, her fingertips ice-cold with nerves, and she was shivering in her plain white tennis shoes. Sure, she was alone, but the hallway door was propped open—as was lodge policy—and at any moment someone could walk in to catch her snooping.
She didn’t know which would be worse—being caught by Alexander Bajoran or by her supervisor. One could kick up enough of a stink to get her fired…the other could fire her on the spot.
But she didn’t need to worry too much right that second, because the drawer was empty. It didn’t hold so much as a Bible or telephone directory. Mountain View wasn’t that kind of resort. If you needed a Bible or phone book or anything else—even items of a personal nature—you simply called the front desk and they delivered it immediately and with the utmost discretion.
Closing the drawer on a whisper, she kicked the soiled sheets out of her way and shook out the clean fitted sheet over the bare mattress as she rounded the foot of the bed. She covered one corner and then another before releasing the sheet to open the drawer of the opposite nightstand.
This one wasn’t empty, and her heart stuttered in her chest at the knowledge that she was actually going to have to follow through on this. She was going to have to search through her family’s archenemy’s belongings.
The bottom drawer of the bedside bureau held a decanter of amber liquid—scotch, she presumed, though she’d never really been in charge of restocking the rooms’ bars—and a set of highball glasses. The top drawer held a thick, leather-bound folder and dark blue Montblanc pen.
She swallowed hard. Once she moved that pen and opened the folder, that was it…she was invading Alexander’s privacy and violating the employee agreement she’d signed when she’d first started working at the lodge.
Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes for just a split second, then reached for the pen. As quickly as she could she flipped open the folder and tried to get her racing mind to make sense of the papers inside.
Her eyes skimmed the print of the first two pages, but nothing jumped out at her as being important or damaging. And the rest was just pictures of jewelry. Snapshots of finished pieces and sketches of what she assumed were proposed designs.
Beautiful, beautiful jewelry. The kind her family used to create. The kind she used to dream of being responsible for.
She’d grown up pampered and protected, and was pretty sure her parents had never expected her to do anything more than marry well and become the perfect trophy wife. But what she’d truly aspired to all those years she’d spent primping and attending finishing school was to actually work for Taylor Fine Jewels. Or possibly more specifically their partner company, Bajoran Designs.
Like any young woman, she loved jewelry. But where most of her peers had only wanted to wear the sparkly stuff, she’d wanted to make it. She loved sifting through cut and uncut gems to find the perfect stone for a setting she’d drawn herself.
All through high school her notebooks and the margins of her papers had been filled with intricate doodles that were in reality her ideas for jewelry designs. Her father had even used a few for pieces that had gone on to sell for six and seven figures. And for her sixteenth birthday, he’d surprised her with a pearl-and-diamond ring in a setting that had always been one of her very favorites.
It was still one of her favorites, though she didn’t get many opportunities to wear it these days. Instead, it was tucked safely at the bottom of her jewelry box, hidden amongst the much less valuable baubles that suited her current level of income.
But, heavens above, these designs were beautiful. Not perfect. She could see where the size of one outshone the sapphire at its center. Or how the filigree of another was too dainty for the diamonds it surrounded.
She could fix the sketches with a sharp pencil and a few flicks of her wrist, and her palms itched to do just that.
When she caught herself running her fingers longingly across the glossy surface of one of the photographs, she sucked in a startled breath. How long had she been standing there with a target on her back? All she needed was for Alexander or another maid to walk in and catch her staring at his portfolio as if she was planning a heist.
Slamming the folder shut, she returned it to the bedside drawer and placed the pen back on top in exactly the same position it had been to begin with. She hoped.
With the nightstand put to rights, she finished stretching the fitted sheet over the other two corners of the mattress, then added the top sheet. She needed to get the room cleaned, and the best way to snoop was to search the areas nearest where she was working, anyway.
So she got the bedroom fixed up and cleaned but didn’t resupply the bathroom before moving back into the main sitting room. She ran the vacuum over every inch of the rug, just like she was supposed to, but took her time and even poked the nose of the sweeper into the closet near the hallway door. The only thing she found there, however, was the hotel safe, which she knew she didn’t stand a chance of getting into.
The only place left that might hold something of interest to her cousin was the large desk along the far wall. She’d avoided it until now because she suspected she didn’t really want to find anything. She didn’t want to be put in that spot between a rock and a hard place; didn’t want to hand something over to Erin that might put her cousin in an even more precarious situation; didn’t want to stir up trouble and poke at a sore spot within her family that she’d thought was beginning to heal over. She’d thought they were all moving on.
Apparently, she’d been wrong.
Leaving the vacuum nearby, she did a quick sweep of the top of the desk. There were a few sheets of hotel stationery with random notes written on them, but the rest seemed to be the typical items supplied by the lodge. Hotel directory, room-service menu, et cetera.
Inside the desk, though, she found a heck of a lot more. Namely a small stack of manila folders and a laptop computer.
Jessica licked her lips, breathing in shallow bursts that matched the too-fast beat of her heart against
her rib cage.
She was not opening that laptop, she just wasn’t. For one thing, that would be too much breaking and entering, and sticking her nose where it didn’t belong, for her peace of mind. For another, it would take too long. By the time it booted up and she figured out how to explore the different files and documents, her supervisor would surely be kicking in the door demanding to know why she was still in this suite when she should have been done with the entire floor.
She was sticking to her guns on this one. Erin might not like that decision, but she would just have to deal with it.
So she stuck with the folders lying beside the laptop, opening them one at a time and scanning them as quickly as possible.
Nothing jumped out at her as being out of the ordinary—not that she really had a clue what she was looking at or for. It was all just business jargon, and she certainly hadn’t gone to business school.
But there was no mention of Taylor Fine Jewels in any of the papers…not that she’d expected there to be. And there was no indication of anything else that put her instincts on red alert.
She was just letting out a huff of air that was part frustration, part relief when she heard a creak and knew someone was entering the suite behind her. Her eyes flashed wide and she all but slammed the desk drawer shut—but slowly and quietly to keep from looking as guilty as she felt.
Putting her hand on the rag that she’d left on top of the desk, she started to wipe it down, just as she was supposed to. Act natural. Act natural. Try not to hyperventilate. Act natural.
Even though she knew darn well someone was behind her…likely standing there staring at her butt in the unappealing, lifeless gray smock that was her work uniform…she didn’t react. She was alone, simply doing her job, as usual. The trick would be to feign surprise when she turned around and “discovered” that she wasn’t alone.
Schooling her breathing…act natural, act natural…she hoped her cheeks weren’t pink with the guilt of a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Luck was on her side, though, because as she finished wiping down the desktop and twisted toward where she’d left the upright vacuum cleaner, whoever was standing behind her, silently monitoring her every move, cleared his throat.
And it was a he. She could tell by the timbre of that low rumble as it reached her ears and skated straight down her spine.
The air caught in her lungs for a moment, and she chastised herself for having such a gut-level, feminine response to something so simple. This man was a complete stranger. Her family’s sworn enemy. And since he was a guest of Mountain View, and she worked for the lodge, he might as well be her employer.
Those were only the first of many reasons why her breathing should not be shallow, her blood should not be heating, and the clearing of his throat should not cause her to shiver inside her skin.
Doing her best to snap herself out of it, she straightened and twisted around, her hand still on the handle of the vacuum cleaner.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, letting her eyes go wide in mock startlement, praying the man standing in front of her wouldn’t see right through it. “Hello again.”
“Hello there,” Alexander Bajoran returned, his mouth curving up in a small smile.
Jessica’s pulse kicked up a notch.
It was nerves, she told herself. Just nerves.
But the truth was, the man was devilishly handsome. Enemy or no enemy, a blind woman would be able to see that.
His ink-black hair was perfectly styled, yet long enough in places to look relaxed and carefree. Eyes the color of blue ice glittered against skin that was surprisingly tan for a resident of the Pacific Northwest. But she knew for a fact it wasn’t the result of time spent in tanning beds or spray-on booths; the entire Bajoran family leaned toward dark skin, dark hair…and ruthless personalities.
She had to remember that. The ruthless part, anyway.
Never mind how amazing he looked in his black dress slacks and dark blue blazer. Like he belonged on the cover of GQ. Or Forbes, thanks to his ill-gotten millions.
Never mind that if she saw him on the street, she would probably give herself whiplash spinning around to get a second look.
“We seem to have conflicting schedules this week,” he said in a light, amused tone. His voice immediately touched deep, dark places inside of her that she really didn’t want to think about.
He gave her a look, one she’d seen thousands of times in her adult life and had no trouble recognizing. Then his voice dropped a fraction, becoming sensual and suggestive.
“Or maybe they’re matching up just right.”
The heat of his voice was like sunshine on budding little seedlings, making something low in her belly shiver, quiver and begin to unfurl.
Oh, no. No, no, no. No more charming-but-dangerous men for her—and Alexander Bajoran was the most dangerous of all.
She’d been hit on and leered at by any number of male guests in her time at Mountain View. Traveling businessmen, vacationing husbands with a wandering eye, rich but useless playboys with a sense of entitlement…. But whether they’d pinched her on the rear, slipped her hundred-dollar tips or attempted simple flattery, she had never once been attracted to a single one of them.
Yet here she was, face-to-face with the man who had stolen her family’s company and whom she was supposed to be spying on, and caterpillars were crawling around under every inch of her skin.
He took a step toward her, and her hands fisted, one around the handle of the vacuum, the other near her right hip. But all he did was set his briefcase—which was really more of a soft leather messenger bag—on the nearby coffee table before sinking into the overstuffed cushions of the sofa behind it.
Releasing a pent-up breath and sending some of those annoying creepy-crawlies away with it, Jessica reached down to unplug the sweeper and started to coil up the cord. The sooner she got out of there now that he was back, the better.
“I can leave you alone, if you need to work,” she said, because the growing silence in the room was killing her.
But even though he had the brown leather satchel open on the glass-topped table and had pulled out several stacks of paperwork, he shook his head.
“Go ahead and finish what you were doing,” he told her. “I’ve just got a couple of things to look over, but you won’t distract me. In fact, the background noise might do me some good.”
Well, shoot. How was she supposed to make a smooth but timely exit now?
She guessed she wasn’t.
Dragging the vacuum across the sitting room, she set it in the hallway just outside the door of the suite. Then she gathered up an armful of fresh towels and washcloths for the bathroom.
It wasn’t hard to go about her business this far away from Alexander. It was almost as though the air was normal in this tiled, insulated room instead of thick with nerves and guilt and unspoken sexual awareness. From her standpoint, at any rate. From his the air probably seemed absolutely normal. After all, he wasn’t the one snooping, breaking the law, fighting a completely unwanted sexual attraction to someone he was supposed to hate.
She spent an inordinate amount of time making sure the towels hung just right on the towel rods and were perfectly even in their little cubbies under the vanity. Even longer putting out new bottles of shampoo, conditioner, mouthwash and shaving cream.
There were decorative mints and chocolates to go on the pillows in the bedroom, but she didn’t want to go back in there. From the bathroom she could wave a hasty goodbye and get the heck out of Dodge. But if she returned to the bedroom, she would have to pass by Alexander. See him, smile at him, risk having him speak to her again.
That was one corner she was willing to cut today. Even if he complained to her superiors and she got in trouble later, missing mints were easier to apologize for than snooping or blushing herself into heat stroke in front of a valued guest.
Stepping out of the marble-and-gilt bathroom, she rounded the corner and was just congratulating herself on a narrow
escape when she lifted her head and almost ran smack into Alexander, who was leaning against the outside wall waiting for her.
She made a tiny eep sound, slapping a hand over her heart as she bounced back on her heels.
“Sorry,” he apologized, reaching out to steady her. “Didn’t mean to scare you, I just wanted to catch you before you took off.”
If ever there was a word she didn’t want to hear pass this man’s lips, it was catch. Was she caught? Had he noticed something out of place? Figured out that she’d rifled through his things?
She held her breath, waiting for the accusations he had every right to fling at her.
Instead, as soon as he was sure she wasn’t going to topple over, he let go of her elbow and went back to leaning negligently against the wall. It was a casual pose, but all Jessica could think was that he was standing between her and the door, blocking her only exit from the suite.
“I know this is probably out of line,” he murmured, “but I was hoping you’d have dinner with me tonight.”
His words caused her heart to stutter and then stall out completely for several long seconds.
“I’m here on business, so after I finish with meetings and such during the day, my evening hours are a bit…empty.”
He shrugged a shoulder, and because he’d taken off the blazer, she could see the play of muscle caused by the movement beneath his crisp white dress shirt. Something so minor shouldn’t make her hormones sit up and take notice, but they did. Boy, howdy, did they ever.
Licking her lips, she cleared her throat and hoped her voice didn’t squeak when she tried to speak. It was bad enough that her face was aflame with nerves; she could feel the heat all but setting her eyelashes on fire. She already looked like a clown, in many people’s estimation—she didn’t need to open her mouth and sound like one, too.
“Thank you, but fraternizing with guests is against resort policy.”
Ooh, that sounded good. Very confident and professional—and squeak-free.
Alexander lifted a brow. “Somehow I find it hard to believe a woman with blue hair is afraid of breaking a few rules.”
