“So it’s not a particularly historic piece?” he pressed gently.
“I guess the chandelier is an antique, even though it’s a reproduction.”
“A reproduction?”
Cindy nodded. “I was told the original crystal fixture came from France. Allegedly, three were delivered to the States in the twenties—one to our hotel, one to a hotel in Chicago and the other to a department store in Beverly Hills.” She smiled sadly as the doors slid open to the lobby. “But during the Second World War, all three chandeliers were replaced with glass replicas, and the originals donated to help the war effort.” She smiled and led the way toward Sammy’s. “Sorry to burst your bubble, Mr. Quinn.”
She was teasing him by using the name under which he’d registered. He played along—after all, she probably didn’t want to slip and use the name Stanton in front of her employees. “It still makes for an interesting story.” He extended his arm to her as they reached the entrance to the bar, already alive with moving bodies and Christmas music. “What happened to ‘Eric’?”
She smiled as she tucked her arm inside his. “Shall we, Eric?”
They walked down the two steps at the entrance, and heads turned. More than one set of eyebrows raised, telling Eric they were not used to seeing their boss on the arm of a man, or at least not on the arm of a stranger. He scanned the room for Manny, and as he suspected, the blond man, unaccompanied, had already captured them in his unwavering gaze.
The room glowed with strand upon strand of Christmas lights. A DJ sat on the elevated stage, surrounded by stacks of music selections. Tall speakers were currently blaring “Jingle Bell Rock.” He estimated two hundred people in sparkling dresses and fancy suits studded the room.
Cindy was soon swept up in a circle of employees, meeting spouses and shaking hands, introducing him simply as Eric Quinn. He asked what she wanted to drink, then excused himself and approached the bar. Jerry, dashing in a charcoal-gray suit and red tie, occupied a stool in the middle. Eric shouldered in next to him, then shouted their drink orders to Tony who was managing the open bar.
“Did you come alone, Jerry?”
The old man nodding, smiling. “Yep.”
“I thought you were married.”
“I said I’d been married,” the barber corrected, then his mouth split into a wide grin. “I’m between wives right now.”
“Ah.”
“Do you and Ms. Cindy have big plans tomorrow?”
Confused, Eric frowned. “Tomorrow?”
Jerry nodded his graying head. “Since you’re the reason she has the day off and all, I figured you’d be spending it together.”
Eric laughed. “Excuse me?”
“She didn’t tell you? Joel Cutter bet Cindy she couldn’t get a date for the party and if she did, he’d cover for her tomorrow.” Jerry slapped him on the back. “She must have wanted that day off mighty bad, son.”
Piqued, Eric frowned. Cindy had invited him as part of a wager?
“Ah, don’t get all down in the mouth about it, son. I’m sure she likes you a bit, too.”
Producing his best casual shrug, Eric said, “We’re just two people at a party having a good time. No big deal.” He collected the mixed drinks and headed back to Cindy. Approaching her, Eric experienced another pull of sexual longing. She was a beauty, all right. And smart. And sexy.
And off-limits, he reminded himself, swallowing a mouthful of cold rum and cola to cool his warming libido. And although at times he would have sworn he detected a glimmer of interest in her eyes, perhaps her invitation to the party had more to do with the silly bet than with influencing the man who held her livelihood in his hands. The thought cheered him. Then he frowned—either explanation ruled out the possibility that she was just plain interested.
When Cindy lifted her head to see Eric threading his way back to her, she acknowledged a thrill of excitement. He handed her a Fuzzy Navel and winked, warming her with his intense gaze. She sipped her drink, a feeling of bone-lessness overtaking her. Given the chance, she just might seize the moment and spend one night of abandon with this gorgeous man.
“Hey,” he said, leaning close, his eyes dancing. “What’s this I hear about a bet?”
Heat suffused her cheeks. “B-bet?”
His mouth twitched. “Yeah, word has it that my going rate is a day off with pay.”
Tingling with embarrassment, Cindy pressed her lips together. “It was just a harmless bet between friends.”
“And what was the wager?”
“If I won, Joel would cover for me tomorrow.”
He pursed his lips. “And if you lost?”
She sighed. “Joel would get my parking spot for a month.”
“And I thought you actually liked me.”
“Oh, I do—” She flushed. “I mean, believe it or not, I actually forgot about the bet.”
He grinned. “In that case, I’m sure Joel will be glad to hear—”
“Wait!” she cried, laughing. “I need the day off tomorrow.”
“In that case,” he said, capturing her hand and leading her toward the center of the vacant dance floor, “let’s dance and discuss my compensation.”
Her heart thudded at the touch of his hand against hers. “I’m not a very good dancer,” she protested.
“Just follow my lead,” he said smoothly, spinning her into a slow waltz to “I’ll Be Home for Christmas.” Other couples joined them.
Supremely conscious of his hand at her waist, grazing the bare skin on her back, Cindy kept as much distance between herself and Eric as possible, stiffly following his footwork.
“Relax,” he said, drawing her closer. “This is supposed to be fun.”
“I think it’s the song,” she quipped.
“Does it make you sad?”
“‘Stressed’ is a better word. My mother can be a little intense.”
“Such a shame,” he said lightly, “that you can’t choose your family like you choose your friends.”
Suspecting a deeper issue lurked in his words, Cindy smiled. “I’m sure parents feel the same way occasionally about their kids.”
He laughed suddenly. “You’re probably right.” Distracted by the conversation, she involuntarily moved closer to his body. Eric took up the slack immediately, his hand splaying across her bare lower back. “Now, about tomorrow,” he whispered.
“What about tomorrow?” she asked, fighting the urge to lower her head on his shoulder. He smelled so good, damn him. He moved with such grace. And his feet were so intriguingly huge.
“Since I’m the reason you’ll have the day off, I think the least you can do is spend some of it with me.”
Secretly thrilled, Cindy pretended to relent with a sigh. “And what did you have in mind?”
“Sleeping in.”
She missed a beat and stepped on his foot.
“Ow!”
“Sorry, I told you I’m not a very good dancer.” She couldn’t be sure he meant he wanted to sleep in with her.
“So we’d have to get a late start,” he said, picking up where he left off.
“I have Christmas shopping to do. Not exactly the most engaging pastime.”
He smiled wide. “The company will be engaging. You’ll be shopping all day?”
“No. I thought I’d walk the Golden Gate Bridge—it’s invigorating and the view is great because there’s no fog this time of the year.”
“Sounds wonderful. I have some shopping to do myself, and in all the times I’ve been to San Francisco, I’ve never seen the Golden Gate.”
Suddenly nervous, Cindy stalled. “Did I say the view was great? I meant to say ‘gray.’ Blah. And the bridge is not really golden, you know. Kind of rust-colored. Actually, there’s no gate, either. Come to think of it, the bridge isn’t all that special.”
“I believe you’re trying to talk me out of going,” he said in a low voice, winking at her for what seemed like the hundredth time. “Which is very naughty, considering I�
��m the reason you’re getting a day for fun and frolic.”
The song changed to the upbeat “Rockin’ around the Christmas Tree,” and Cindy allowed him to swing her into a fast waltz, laughing with every dip. After a few spins, she started feeling the alcohol bleed through her system. “I’m getting light-headed.”
“If we stop now, I’ll have to find something else to keep my hands busy.”
At his whispered words, Cindy’s breasts tingled. “Okay, one more song.” She had the deliciously dangerous feeling she was spiraling out of control, but she couldn’t deny she was enjoying the ride. He alternately brushed his body close to hers, then away for a spin. At last the song ended and everyone applauded.
“You’re a very good dancer,” she remarked as they walked off the floor.
“I haven’t danced in ages,” he said, almost to himself. “My kid sister used to make me jitterbug with her in the kitchen.” With a blink, he seemed to return to the present. “You’re pretty light on your feet yourself.” He winked.
There was that wink again—maybe he was getting drunk, she thought, concern creasing her forehead. The last thing she needed in her life was a man who sold sex toys and had a drinking problem. Then she chastised herself—this was only a potential fling, not a relationship. And she could relax her standards a bit for a fling.
They stopped by the buffet and piled their plates high with quiche and sausage balls and fruit, then joined Manny, Samantha and Sam’s date seated around a table. Eric excused himself to go and get fresh drinks.
Samantha, stunning in a long green dress, had invited a Trekkie friend who apparently thought “black tie” meant the type of tennis shoe laces to be worn. Manny looked incredibly bored.
“Cheer up,” she whispered.
“Easy for you to say,” he muttered back. “You’re getting laid tonight.”
Her mouth dropped open. “I am not.”
“I’ll betcha Mr. Quinn thinks you are.”
“Simply because I danced with him?”
“No. Because you’ve been winking at him every twenty seconds.”
“What are you talking about?”
“How are the lashes?”
The winking. “Oh, my goodness, Manny—you’re right. I’ve been winking at him nonstop. He probably thinks I’m being fresh.”
Manny smirked. “I’d say ‘fresh’ would be a safe under-statement.”
“Knock it off, here he comes.”
“So, Cindy, how’s the Christmas tree in the lobby progressing?” Sam asked.
“The decorators said they’d be finished by morning.”
“That’s great. Oh, and how are things going with our difficult Mr. Stark?”
Cindy sighed. “I made sure he’d be off the premises tonight. I hope he doesn’t have any other bizarre room experiences to report.” She smiled at Eric as he rejoined them. Sam’s date pulled her to the dance floor.
“I heard the tail end of your comment,” Eric said, popping a grape into his mouth. “And speaking of bizarre, I’ve been meaning to mention a rather strange incident.”
“What?” Cindy asked. Manny leaned forward.
“This is going to sound crazy,” Eric said, shaking his head, “but I think someone stole a pair of pajama pants from my room and replaced them with a new pair, same color, same brand.”
Cindy swallowed hard, refusing to look at Manny. “Really?”
“Yeah, sounds nuts, huh?”
“Insane,” Manny agreed, nudging her knee.
“The thing is,” Eric continued slowly, “the pants were a gift—probably expensive, too—but I never cared for them.” He laughed. “The pervert who took them obviously wanted something worn, but little did he know, he didn’t have to replace them.”
Now you tell me. “Eric,” she said, playing with the end of her napkin, “if these um—pajama pants, did you say?”
He nodded.
“If these pajama pants are the same color and same brand, what makes you think they’re not the same pair?”
“Because,” he said simply, “my initials were monogrammed on the pocket.”
“Your initials?” she squeaked.
He bit into a tiny quiche, nodding. “Odd, huh?”
“I might go as far to say ‘warped,’” Manny declared. “Desperate, sick, disturbed—”
Cindy gouged him in the ribs. “If there’s anything the hotel can do—”
“I’m not looking for compensation,” Eric said. “I just wanted you to know you might have a weirdo on the loose.”
She conjured up a watery smile. “Thanks for the tip.”
The hours slipped away. She drank and ate and danced with Eric until she was giggly and exhausted—and more turned on than she could have imagined. Her apprehension increased as the minutes ticked away. Surely they would share another good-night kiss, but what if he suggested more? Should she explore the unbelievable chemistry she detected between them? She smiled at him and, feeling languid, rubbed her foot against his leg.
In the middle of telling a funny story, Eric jerked, then cut his eyes to her.
“Hey,” Manny said sternly. “Hands on the table, Cindy.”
Everyone laughed, and to her astonishment, Eric actually blushed. Suddenly Joel appeared. “Eleven-thirty, Cindy. Ready to play Santa Claus?”
Cindy blinked. “Santa Claus?”
“Don’t you remember? You said you’d do it the other night after you set one of my tables on fire.”
Cindy stared, her memory sliding around. “Oh, yeah, I did say something about being Santa.” When I presumed I’d be coming alone.
“Follow me,” he said. “The suit’s in the back.”
Just when she thought she’d get through the next few hours with a scrap of dignity. She glanced at Eric, and he winked. Propping up her lazy eye with her index finger, Cindy sighed and slid out of her seat.
“NO WAY,” SHE SAID, looking at the outfit.
Joel lifted his finger. “Ah, ah, ah. You already said you would, boss.”
“But you said I’d be wearing a Santa suit.”
“This is a Santa suit.”
“Joel, it’s a long-sleeved mini-dress with fur around the edges.”
“Well…it’s red.”
She crossed her arms.
“And look, there’s a pair of black boots with it.”
“They’re thigh-highs!”
“And the hat—don’t forget the hat,” he said, dangling a red stocking cap with a white ball on the end.
“Who bought this ridiculous getup?”
A tolerant expression came over his face. “The lady who runs the gift shop came across it in a clearance catalog. I don’t think she realized what she ordered. She paid for it out of her own pocket.”
Cindy sighed, her shoulders dropping. “If you’re trying to make me feel like a dog, it’s working.” Joel smiled triumphantly. “You’d better be glad I’ve been drinking,” she declared. “And I am not wearing those boots.”
“Okay, okay. The thing looks a little big for you,” he said, holding up the red dress. “At least it won’t be skintight.”
She yanked it out of his hands and pointed toward the door. “Scram.”
“I’ll get the gifts ready—everyone is going to love this!”
“Ho, ho, ho,” she mumbled, waving him out of the supply room. She shimmied out of her dress, then hung the black gown on a hook next to a mop. The fuzzy white hem fell just below her knees, the furry cuffs down to the tips of her fingers, and the dress bagged around the waist. Spotting a wide plastic black belt on top of the preposterous boots, she wrapped it around her middle and cinched up a couple of feet of fabric.
Feeling like a complete fool, she set the cap on her head, and flipped the white cotton tip over her shoulder. At a tap on the door, she took a deep breath and stepped outside. Joel stood holding a bulging red velvet bag, grinning ear to ear.
Cindy lifted a finger. “Not a word.”
He pressed his lips tog
ether and handed her the bag.
Eric watched for Cindy’s return, but he heard the roar of laughter before he actually saw her. When she came into view, he grinned and joined the ranks of those around him. She didn’t look nearly as amused to be wearing the baggy red dress, obviously made for a much taller, more buxom Santa. She was a good sport, though, and made the rounds, passing out envelopes to all her employees while the DJ played “I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas.”
From the good-natured ribbing she received, it was apparent to him that Cindy’s bubbly personality made her popular with the employees. Unfortunately, in his experience, well-liked managers were not always the most efficient, because they let personal relationships influence their decisions. He swallowed a large mouthful of his drink. Which was precisely why he had to maintain a proper distance from Cindy, at least until he finished his job at the Chandelier House.
Of course, he acknowledged wryly, if he recommended that the hotel be sold, or that Cindy be replaced, that personality of hers might undergo a quick change from bubbly to boiling.
When she stopped at their table, Cindy made sheepish eye contact, then handed Manny and Sam identical envelopes. “You’re in luck this year. You get the same gift regardless of whether you’ve been naughty or nice.”
“Speaking of nice,” Eric remarked, toying with the cotton ball on the end of her cap, “love the outfit.” A vision of her wearing nothing but the hat flashed through his mind.
“I wanted to make sure no other woman at the party would be wearing the same dress,” she said with a mock-serious face. “I’m almost finished. Will you still be here when I get back, or are you completely humiliated?”
He laughed. “I’m completely humiliated, and I’ll be here when you get back.” Sam and her date hit the dance floor again, leaving him alone at the table with Manny. Eric’s gaze strayed to Cindy as she finished passing out the envelopes, and his body swelled in…anticipation.
“Cindy’s a gem,” Manny said crisply, interrupting his musing.
Eric started, then turned to the concierge and nodded. “She’s quite a lady.”
Manny leaned forward. “Just so you know, she told me why you’re here.” His tone was even, his expression serious. “Normally I couldn’t care less what a person does for a living, but in this case, it matters because Cindy matters. You’ll be leaving in a few days and Cindy’s the one who will have to deal with the fallout.” The blond man pursed his mouth, then said, “Cindy means a lot to me, sir. I don’t want to see her get hurt.”
12 Stocking Stuffers Page 59
