by Jo Leigh
“I didn’t say a word.”
“But you did. You got him to talk.” She crossed to the bed and shoved his legs over to sit down.
“You know what they say about assumption. It makes an—”
“Oh, cut it out. Tell me.”
“We have an appointment tonight. With Darren Colker himself.”
“You’re kidding? How?”
Mitch lost his smile. “Boy, a beer would taste really good right now.”
“Oh, would it?”
He looked at her with puppy-dog eyes. “I’m too tired to talk and get a beer.”
She rolled her eyes and went over to the small refrigerator. She got his beer, then went back to the bed, but held the bottle just out of his reach.
“Hey,” he said, the second time she pulled it away.
“Promise you’ll never, ever try this little trick again?”
He put his hand back behind his head. “I’m not that thirsty.”
She opened the bottle and waved it close to his nose. “Mmm. Beer. Cold.”
He made one more grab, but she was too quick for him. “Okay, I promise,” he said.
She handed him the bottle. “Now, what were you saying?”
Narrowing his eyes, he gave her a reappraising glare. “How did I ever think of you as a pushover?”
“You know what they say about assumptions. They make an ass—”
“Okay, okay. Point made and taken.”
“So tell me about Colker.”
“He’s short, I mean short short. Like four foot eleven short.”
“So?”
“He’s also old. And he has this hair.”
“Hair?”
Mitch nodded as he took another swallow. “Long hair, in a ponytail. Which wouldn’t be so bad, except he’s bald on top. It’s…”
“Ugly?”
He nodded. “But he didn’t run off when he found out I was from the Times. He wasn’t thrilled about it, but he didn’t call the cops.”
“So what did you tell him?”
“That we wanted to do a piece on him, that we’d respect his privacy and not say where he was staying—if he’d give us an hour.”
“In other words, you blackmailed him.”
“Nah. I like to think that I charmed him with my stunning good looks and charisma.”
“I like to think I’m Princess Di. That doesn’t make it true.”
Mitch smiled, and her heart swelled unexpectedly. It was the warmth, the appreciation, she saw on his face when he looked at her that did her in.
“Come here,” he said, patting a space close to his chest. “You’re too far away.”
She scooted up, a little nervous about that other look in his eye—the one that let her know that hormones were at work. “I forgot to tell you,” she said. “There’s a buffet for the wedding guests tonight. Then a bachelor party for you and a wedding shower for me.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I mean it,” she said, getting goose bumps from the way his hand was exploring her back. “We have to go.”
“I see,” he said, sitting up so he was very, very close to her. He didn’t kiss her lips, opting for a nibble of her neck instead. ”How can we go to the parties,” he whispered between nips, “when we have the interview at the same time?”
Her eyes had closed by then, and her reason had slipped away in a puddle by the bed. “Parties?” she whispered. “Oh, right there. That makes me crazy.”
He’d found her earlobe and was doing very wonderful things to it, things that puckered up her nipples and curled her toes. “Do that again,” she said. “That was very, very—”
He kissed her quiet.
For a long time, she floated in his kiss. She tasted him, the hint of beer not at all unpleasant. Her hands found his shirt, and she pulled it up out of his jeans. Then she ran her hands over his chest, marveling at how masculine he felt. And how very feminine that made her feel.
“What time is this buffet thing?” he said, his voice raspy and low.
“Six-thirty.”
“It’s almost six now.”
“Who cares?” She curled her arms around his neck and got down to business. She kissed him with everything she had. All the moves, all the style.
He gave as good as he got, making her bones melt right inside her body. She was still sitting sideways, which made certain activities very difficult, so she pulled away and stood up, ready to sprawl right next to him.
He moved over, then, before she could lie down, he sat up and swung his legs over the bed.
“What?” she asked.
“It’s six. We need to get downstairs. The buffet.”
“Screw the buffet.”
He smiled at her, but there was a sadness there that dampened her enthusiasm.
“You’re not going to tell me I’ll regret this, are you? Because I won’t. Believe me, I won’t.”
“Maybe I will,” he said, his voice serious. He took her hand and pulled her until she was sitting once more. “Maybe I can’t deal with it.”
“Why?”
“I like you a hell of a lot, Brewster, but I’m not a fool. I know it’s the circumstances, the storm, Hawaii that’s making this seem like a swell idea. Once we’re home…”
“You really think I’m that shallow?”
He shook his head. “I think you’re perfect. But I also know that I’m not Carter. I never will be.”
“So?”
He kissed her cheek. “Honey, you deserve a Carter. And I know you’ll find him.”
She stood up, pulling her hand away. “Dammit, Mitch, stop thinking for me. I’m fully capable of making my own decisions. You don’t see me deciding things for you, do you?”
“Don’t you get it? I’m not thinking for you. Weren’t you listening last night when I told that charming little story? Were you paying attention?”
“I heard every word.”
“But did you listen? We’re miles apart, sweetheart. From different galaxies.”
“But…” She almost said it, almost said, “You love me,” but the words wouldn’t come.
“Hey, look. It’s going to be a lot more fun working together, isn’t it? Now that I know how tough my competition really is, I’m going to have to be on the ball. No slouching.”
“Don’t be flippant about this,” she said, walking over to the closet. “I mean it.”
She stared at her clothes, her vision blurred by threatening tears. Then she felt him behind her, and his hands came to rest on her shoulders.
“I’ve never been more serious,” he said. “In a perfect world I think the two of us could have been great together. But it’s not like that, is it? You and I have responsibilities, commitments. Life-styles. Once we’re away from hurricane central, things will go back to normal. You with your class act, me with my traveling circus. But I’ll always remember this.”
He lifted her hair behind her right ear and kissed her tenderly on her warm skin. “This will be my memory. The one that will take me through jobs and old age and the whole nine yards. I’ll never forget that for a short time, we had the happiest marriage in the world.”
That’s when she understood. It wasn’t that he was thinking for her. He was telling her that he wouldn’t fit in to her life. That he couldn’t fit in. And that she’d never fit in to his.
She thought about Babs and Danny, Stephanie and the house in Boston. The trust fund. The cottage in the Hamptons. Maybe Mitch didn’t want to fit in. He was a free man, the only truly free man she’d ever known. Would he trade that in for a seat at the Boston symphony? Never.
She stepped away from him. Not far, just enough to break contact. Holding her head up and forcing the tears to back off, she reached for her dress. “We’d better get down there,” she said. “They’re expecting us.”
He didn’t move for a minute. Then he turned and walked away.
Chapter Fifteen
Mitch walked into the Lanai room expecting to have a lousy time. He did
n’t want to be here, he didn’t know the groom, he wasn’t even part of the family. If these people knew who he really was, they’d either ask him to bus the tables or just plain tell him to leave.
But Bentley needed him to make a good impression, and that’s what he was going to do.
It was a small crowd. Well taken care of, though, by some rather lovely ladies wearing wraparound skirts and bikini tops. God bless the USA, Mitch thought. The land of the free and the home of bikini tops.
Big buffet tables lined the walls, and the food rested in canoes. Babs was a creative thinker, all right. She also seemed to have solved the liquor problem, because the two bars were stocked for the coming millennium.
The only person he knew was Dan Brewster, who stood between two big guys with good tans. Before he could face that, he went to the bar and ordered himself a bourbon.
After taking a shuddering gulp, he turned to Danny, who welcomed him with a bonhomie that suggested too much alcohol or nerves, maybe both.
“It’s about time you met your future brother-inlaw, Carter.” He looked at one of the tall men, a big, strapping guy with movie-idol looks. “Jack, this is Carter DeHaven, Bentley’s husband.”
Mitch took the hand that was extended, expecting the macho squeeze routine, but got a firm yet friendly handshake instead.
“So you’re the one who caught Bentley,” Jack said with a hint of admiration. “Good for you. She’s a remarkable girl.”
Mitch smiled. “I think so, too.”
“Jack is an Amazon guide,” Danny said. “Really. And so’s his friend, Rik.”
Mitch shook hands with the other man, surprised at their profession. Amazon guide? Wasn’t that a bit like being an astronaut or a treasure hunter—jobs that existed only in books and movies?
If he’d felt out of place before, it was only a rehearsal for the way he felt now. Not only was he not able to compete money wise, he didn’t have nearly enough testosterone to be a part of this clan. He would have felt better if he’d never met Jack or his friend. They both looked more like Carter than he ever could, and he was sure if he stuck around, these two would catch on.
“So you work for CNN?” Jack asked. “I know some people there. What division?”
“News. Background news. Research.”
Jack nodded. “So you do know Cary.”
Mitch nodded, wondering if Cary was male or female. “Good old Cary.”
Jack’s brow went up. “When I worked with him, there was nothing good about him.”
“I don’t like to tell tales out of school,” Mitch said, planning his escape. He had two objectives: get out of here before his ruse was discovered, and get up to the sixteenth floor for the interview with Colker. There was only one thing to do. He gauged his timing, and when Danny went to welcome another guest, Mitch stepped in as if he’d been bumped and poured his glass of bourbon down his shirt.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Danny said. “I didn’t realize you were standing there.”
“It’s okay,” Mitch said as the three-piece band started playing “Huki-lau.” He pulled the sticky wet shirt away from his skin. “I’ll just run upstairs to change.”
Before he could move, there was a commotion at one of the doors. Mitch watched as a giant wedding cake was rolled in, and he cursed his timing once again. There were few things in life as entertaining as a giant wedding cake. He’d learned that early and well.
But Danny handed him a wad of napkins to clean the bourbon off his shirt, and then the lights flickered once, twice, then died completely. It was pitch-black in the room, but the band kept playing. A chorus of disappointed moans contrasted with the plink-plink of the ukulele.
“I’ll go get candles,” Mitch said. “Hold tight.”
He only bumped into four people and two tables as he floundered toward the door. Once he was outside the ballroom and the door was shut behind him, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the keyfob flashlight. It was small but powerful, and he could just make his way toward the lobby.
The wind howled against the tarps, threatening to break through, drowning any hope of conversation. But the staff was on the ball. Candles were already lit on most available counters. He grabbed one and shielded the flame as he hurried toward the small room where Bentley was showering the absent bride.
It was surprisingly easy to find her. She was standing in the hallway with a flashlight in her hand.
“I’ll never make fun of your safety precautions again,” he said. “You ready?”
“To climb sixteen floors?”
He nodded. “You’re in pretty good shape. I’ll pull when you get tired.”
“Okay. But how are we going to conduct the interview in the dark?”
Mitch patted his coat pocket. “You’re not the only Girl Scout around here. I’ve got my tape recorder.”
“Ah, Mitch. I’m so proud of you. I’m also amazed that you can stand. Whoa, that is some smell.”
“Yeah, well, it was my way of wishing Jack a happy wedding.”
“Dousing yourself in liquor?”
“Don’t ask. Let’s get going.”
She led him to the stairwell. Just before they entered, he blew out his candle. No need to worry about that now. He could light it again once they were with Colker.
IT TOOK QUITE A WHILEto climb the stairs. They kept meeting people along the way, some going up, some down. All of them seemed to be in very chipper moods. And friendly. Very friendly.
Bentley wished Jean and Ruth, the latest in a long string of new best friends, good-luck and continued climbing. Only two more flights and they would be home free. Mitch was beside her now, and she could hear his harsh but steady breathing. She’d surprised herself with her stamina. All that stair climbing at the gym had finally paid off.
When they got to the sixteenth-floor stairwell, they rested a moment. She smiled. “We just worked off an apple,” she said.
“What?”
She watched the bouncing circle of light from her flashlight. Every time she breathed, it jiggled, and she was breathing hard. “That climb. It burned off the calories of an apple.”
“That’s it? An apple? I think it was more like all the moon pies I ate when I was eleven.”
“Nope. Trust me on this. I know.”
“I grant you all the calorie wisdom,” he said. “You ready for the interview?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
He opened the door, and she pointed her light down the hallway. It was dark, so dark, and quiet. She couldn’t hear the wind from here, but once they were inside the suite, they’d have a bird’s-eye view of Hurricane Bonnie. She realized her quickened pulse wasn’t just a result of her climb. She was excited. Excited to see the storm, to meet Colker, to get the interview of a lifetime. To do it all with Mitch.
They reached 1602, and she was grateful Peter’s door was closed. Mitch knocked at 1600, then pounded on the door. No Colker.
“Maybe he can’t hear you,” she said.
He banged again, then tried the door. It opened. She shined the light in Mitch’s face, and his look of surprise matched her own.
“Should we?”
“We have an invitation,” he said.
They walked inside, moving slowly. Bentley used the flashlight to skim the room. It was loud in here. Scary, too. All the windows rattled, and she could just imagine them popping, one after another. Something big struck and she jumped, but nothing broke.
“Mr. Colker?” Mitch took out his little flashlight and joined in the search. “It’s Mitch Slater. From the Times.”
It was clear Colker wasn’t in the living room. Mitch signaled her and they went to the kitchen, then the bedroom. The decor was fabulous. She wondered if Colker had used his own decorator or if this was what the hotel provided.
“He’s not here,” she said, only she had to yell to be heard.
“I can’t imagine where he’d be,” Mitch said, also shouting. “He knew we were coming.”
“We didn’t t
ry the bathroom.”
He nodded and led her to the master suite bath. It was very large, and the Jacuzzi tub was big enough to hold four. Even there, the sounds of the storm frightened her. The world was blowing away, and she could swear she felt the building sway.
“He’s gone,” Mitch said. “We’ll wait.”
She nodded. They went back to the living room, and she walked toward the windows, mesmerized by the sharp prattle of rain on the glass.
“Don’t get too close there,” Mitch said. He grabbed her arm and pulled her back just as something huge crashed into the lowest pane on the right and shattered the glass.
It sounded like an explosion, a huge crash that tore a hole in the sky. She felt the spray hit her, and wondered if it was just rain or shards of glass.
“Come on,” Mitch said, pulling her toward the bedroom. “Let’s take cover.”
“Wait,” she yelled. “His things will be ruined if we don’t cover that hole.”
It’s too dangerous.”
“Help me move the couch.” She turned the flashlight on a love seat.
She put the flashlight on the end table, the beam pointing straight up. It gave just enough light for them to do the job. She took one end of the sofa, he took the other, and they moved it against the hole in the window.
It didn’t completely block it off, but it helped. As she went to get the flashlight, she kicked something hard. It was a coconut. That’s what had broken the glass.
Something new crashed against the window. The pane held, but Mitch grabbed her and pulled her behind him. “We’releaving. Now!”
He hurried her in the bedroom, but there was a big window on the right side, so he continued to pull her into the bathroom. Once inside, he shut the door, and the sound of the storm diminished sharply.
“I can’t believe this,” she said. “Are we safe in here?”
Mitch nodded. “I think so. Geez. Can you imagine what’s happening in the bad part of this hurricane? That’s some nasty wind.”
Bentley took the candle out of his hand and set it on the counter. He handed her a matchbook, and she lit the wick. Then she set up her flashlight so it shone in the mirror and reflected back. The bathroom was actually kind of romantic, and if she’d been alone, she would have drawn herself a bath on the spot.
