The Wedding Trap (Second Service)

by Adrienne Bell

She looked around the room. "It's certainly bigger than my old room."

  He nodded.

  "And that sofa over there will make things far less awkward when it comes to sleeping arrangements."

  "That does seem like an important thing to consider when sharing a room with a gigolo."

  She shot him a glare, kicking off her heels. She looked at the wide bed in the room behind her. Then back at him. The war in her head showed plainly on her face.

  "Can I see the bathroom?" she asked, as if her answer hinged on it. As if her answer mattered at all.

  Regardless of what he felt for Beth—and he wasn't sure he knew exactly what those feelings were himself—she had become an important asset in his mission. He simply couldn't allow her to leave his side.

  "By all means,” he said.

  She tiptoed to the door in the corner. He stayed a few steps behind.

  She let out a long sigh when she looked inside.

  "There's a real tub, Charlie. One of those claw-footed ones. I've always wanted to have a bath in one of those." She gave him a guilty smile, like she didn't like the thought that she could be bought with the promise of a nice hot soak. "Always."

  He leaned on the door jamb next to her. He had to admit, the thought of her in that tub stirred him as well.

  "Maybe, just one night," she said. "We'll see how it works out."

  "Sounds fair."

  He wouldn't tell her that he’d already given up her old room, and there was no chance of getting it back. The Kensington was booked solid this weekend. He'd had to use every trick he knew to snag this one.

  She walked past him to the massive oak armoire that stood in the corner on the bedroom. She opened the door and made a little sound of pleasure at seeing her clothes already hung up for her. She pulled out something short and silky. A nightgown. She stopped and swiveled around.

  "I do get the bed, right?" she asked.

  "Of course," he said and swallowed hard. He glanced back at the couch about twenty feet away. The longest twenty feet Alex had ever seen.

  Chapter 4

  She should have let him have the bed.

  Beth rolled over for what had to be the thousandth time in the last hour and stared at the ceiling. He would have gotten better use out of it. She could toss and turn just as easily on a sofa as she could on this bed. At least then she would have better reason to.

  She’d fallen asleep easy enough. She hadn’t been lying when she’d said she wasn’t a big drinker. But her buzz didn't last long. The dreams had seen to that.

  She'd been at Isobel's wedding. Everything had been going great. Hell, she hadn't even been crying. Then suddenly, everything changed.

  Clouds had rolled in overhead. Rain started to fall. Isobel and Jordan started fighting. Her mother started yelling. Spencer started laughing. Everyone turned on her. They knew it was her fault. Everything was ruined, and it was all her fault.

  Beth had woken with a start.

  The room was dark. The only light was from the bedside clock that read 3:45. That was an hour ago, and sleep wasn't any closer.

  Beth sat up and peered toward the couch, but it was far too dark to make anything out. So instead, she sat and listened for signs of life. Nothing. No rustling fabric. No breathing. Charlie was dead asleep.

  Just like she should be. But she wasn’t, and dwelling on it wasn't going to get her there.

  Not that she could help it. Her mind was racing. A few nightmare scenarios were still rattling around in there, but the longer she stared in Charlie’s general direction, the more they faded. What replaced them were crystal clear images of her helping him out of his jacket. Working on the buttons down his shirt. Going for the zipper of his…

  What she needed to do was to take a walk. Just a little one, around the hotel halls, to clear her head.

  Beth slipped out of the sheets and felt for the wardrobe in the dark. She reached inside, and found her jeans and a zippered sweatshirt. They would have to do. It wasn’t like she would be running into anyone this early in the morning.

  She dressed, walked on tiptoes to the door, and cracked it open. A sliver of light from the hall fell across the couch. Charlie was there, eyes closed, body relaxed. He wore a plain white T-shirt on top. A hotel blanket covered his bottom half.

  Shame, she thought. She'd love to see what he was wearing under there. Boxers or briefs?

  She closed the door behind her with a soft click.

  The hallway was bright and quiet. The light instantly cleared some of the fog from her brain. She padded down the hallway, not sure where she was going, but with each step the weight of her terrible dream faded a little more.

  Everything was fine out here. The world kept on spinning. Nothing she had done had brought it a stop.

  She took the stairs instead of the elevator. It felt good to keep moving. Unsurprisingly the lobby was almost as empty as the hall.

  "Hi,” she said to desk clerk. “I was just wondering if there was anything open right now around here.”

  The woman looked at the clock. "Not yet. But the cafe will open at 5 o'clock."

  Beth smiled and thanked her. Coffee would be perfect. And she could explore the hotel for another fifteen minutes, no problem.

  Beth wandered down the corridor that led past the restaurant and lounge. She turned corners and looked at old pictures on the walls. She found a flight of stairs that led down to the spa and another that led up to the hotel gift shop. After a few minutes, she wasn't exactly sure where she was.

  She pushed open a swinging door and found herself alone in an industrial part of the hotel. Giant washing machines whirled and hummed.

  The sound of hushed voices made Beth turn her head. She wasn't alone after all. Two men stood in profile at the far end of the room. She narrowed her eyes: Salvatore Munoz. Isobel's uncle. She didn't recognize the other man. He didn't look like someone from the Munoz family, just some random white guy in a dark suit.

  She couldn’t make out what they were saying, but she saw one pass a large manila envelope to the other. The second man glanced inside then nodded and pushed a briefcase across the table.

  Beth didn’t have any idea what was in that envelope, but it didn’t take a genius to tell what type of transaction she was witnessing. It was the kind that she was better off not knowing anything about.

  She snuck back a couple of steps, directly into a metal folding chair that had been leaned against the wall. It clattered to the floor.

  Both men swiveled around to face her.

  Beth raised her hand and bowed her head in the international sign for sorry, I got lost and wandered into someplace I shouldn't have, but I’m getting the hell out of here now.

  Salvatore made like he was going to move toward her, but the other man put his hand on his shoulder, stopping him before he could take a single step. She couldn’t hear what the man whispered to Salvatore, but by the way his lips moved she could have sworn he said, "not here".

  Beth decided not to stick around to find out. She turned and bolted out the door, then ran like hell back up the stairs.

  By the time she found her way back to the lobby, she’d stopped shaking. Even though it was still empty, the civilized feel of the place eased her mind a little.

  Salvatore Munoz had always given Beth a serious case of the creeps, and that was under the best of circumstances. Maybe it was the setting—the haze of the fluorescent lights, the well-worn industrial tile—but this incident spooked her more than usual.

  Or, it could have been the murderous look in Salvatore's eyes. But that wasn't unusual. In her mind, Salvatore always looked like that.

  What in the world was he doing meeting with someone in the Kensington’s laundry room at five o'clock in the morning? Never mind. She really did not want to know the answer to that. In fact, she wanted to forget about the whole incident. As far as she was concerned, nothing had happened. If anybody asked her about it she’d say that she had wandered into the laundry room and gone temporarily bl
ind. It was the damnedest thing.

  She checked the clock on the wall. It was still a few minutes to five, but she could wait outside the cafe until they were ready. Suddenly, it was very important that she saw a smiling face. At the very least, someone who didn't look like he wanted to kill her.

  ***

  Beth fumbled to swipe the key in the door while holding two paper cups and a folded paper bag. The first try didn't work. The red light just blinked at her. She was about to go for the second try when the door swung open.

  Charlie stood there, still in his white T-shirt and plaid boxers.

  Woohoo. That's what she'd been hoping for. Not that briefs would have been bad. There were very few games in life where everyone ended up a winner.

  "What are you doing up?" she asked, stepping inside.

  "I was about to ask you the same thing.”

  "I couldn't sleep, so I decided to go downstairs and get a coffee. I thought that you might like one too." She handed him the cup. "I didn't know what you liked, so I guessed."

  He pulled off the lid and peered inside. "Black coffee. You guessed right."

  "You seem the type. There's a muffin in the bag if you want it."

  He reached in and pulled out the oversized blueberry muffin.

  "Thanks.”

  Beth went over to the window and pulled back the drapes. The sky had just begun to lighten. A purplish glow bathed the concrete city across the bay. Beth curled up on the windowsill. At least there were benefits for being up so early.

  "I thought you'd still be asleep when I got back," she said.

  He moved to the opposite corner of the window and leaned his hip against it. "I heard you leave."

  "Sorry about that. I tried to be quiet."

  "I'm a light sleeper." He broke off a chunk of muffin and offered it to her.

  Beth shook her head. "I had a banana in the cafe."

  He looked at her for a long moment. "You didn't eat much at dinner last night."

  Beth looked out at the view and away from his gaze. "Yeah, well, I have a bridesmaid dress to fit into on Sunday."

  "You'll look great," he said, taking another sip of coffee.

  The compliment, even as off-hand as it was, made her blush.

  "Thanks.”

  He finished the muffin in three bites, and downed the coffee just as fast. There was a casual efficiency to every move he made that was almost hypnotic. He fascinated her, she realized. She liked watching him do even the most mundane things.

  But it wasn’t necessarily the best idea to spend too much time getting to know him. She might not know who he was, but she knew who he wasn’t. He wasn't really Charlie Parker, the music executive who lived in a luxury penthouse in Nob Hill. He was some nameless car thief who was up to God only knew what.

  Which meant that if she was any kind of smart, she'd get all her looking in now. She didn't have any plans to jump in bed with him, no matter what Isobel said. But looking? That was another matter entirely.

  "I'm going to take a shower," he said, pushing away from the wall. He crumpled the pastry bag and shot it into the waste basket on the far side of the room.

  Good shot. Great one, actually. Beth clapped, and he flashed her the kind of smile that had her holding onto the windowsill for support.

  She tried to talk herself out of watching him as he walked across the room, but it was no use. Halfway to the bathroom, he started to lift his shirt. Her eyes fixed on him as he pulled it over his head, revealing a back that was ripped with muscle. Beth couldn't turn away. She couldn't even close her mouth. Her hand dropped limply to her side.

  Please turn around. Please turn around.

  She repeated the prayer over and over in her mind. She didn’t even care if he caught her gawking.

  All right, maybe she would mind a little.

  But as it turned out, she didn't have to worry about it. He walked straight into the bathroom without looking back. A moment later she heard the water turn on.

  She took another sip of her hazelnut latte. Damn, what she would do to be in there with him. Hey, she needed to shower too, right?

  What would he do if she walked in there, stripped out of her clothes and joined him?

  Beth laughed. Yeah, right. Like she’d ever have the nerve to do something like that.

  She'd be better served by getting ready for her day. She went to the wardrobe and picked out a blouse and skirt. She'd have to shave her legs, and then make it downstairs before everyone else had breakfast. She was meeting up with the rest of the bridesmaids to get their nails done. After that, she'd promised Isobel that she would walk the four blocks to the florist and check on the order for the ceremony.

  There wouldn't be time for that long soak in the magnificent tub today. Maybe tonight. This morning she’d have to settle for a quick shower.

  Alone.

  Beth paused as she was pulling out the pink silk shirt she planned to wear today. All the clothes in the wardrobe were hers. She looked around the room. She didn't see anything that belonged to Charlie. No bags. No suitcases.

  She shouldn't pry. She knew she shouldn't. Remember what happened to that curious cat, she reminded herself.

  She looked at the bathroom door. It was still shut tight. The water was still running.

  One little look around wouldn't hurt anything. What if he was hiding something dangerous in their room? A bomb or something? She had every right to know about that, she figured.

  The only other door was the one to the closet.

  Just one look.

  She rushed over to the door and slid it open. Just a crack. The suit he'd been wearing yesterday hung on the rack. There were two more, just as fine, next to it. There was also a duffle bag on the floor. That was it. Nothing that pointed to who her Charlie really was. But at least she hadn’t found anything dangerous.

  Not unless it was in the duffle bag.

  She stared at it. It was a plain-looking thing, military green and made out of a thick, well-worn fabric. It had seen some use. Years of it, given the wear around the edges. It was also incredibly out of place next to the Italian suits.

  If there was anything real about her Charlie in this hotel room, it was in there.

  It was closed up tight, except for one zipper that was undone on the far side.

  Beth leaned forward, then stopped herself. She couldn't. It wasn't right. She'd flip out if she caught him going through her personal stuff.

  But wasn’t that essentially what he had done by moving her to this room? Someone had to move her things from the first room to here. Someone had to hang her clothes in the wardrobe. He'd arranged all that without asking. If she'd had any secrets, they would have been discovered.

  She still couldn't bring herself to do it. Brazenly spying on him just wasn't her style. But if by some accident she happened to sneak a little peek inside, well, that was different.

  She let the empty coffee cup in her hand fall to the floor next to the bag.

  "Oops," she said. She bent down, peering into the unzipped compartment. A glint of metal caught the light from the fixture above her.

  Beth jetted backward, her paper cup forgotten. Her breath was heavy and fast. She struggled to control it.

  She didn't need a closer look to know what was hiding inside the pocket of the duffle bag. She recognized the barrel of a gun when she saw one.

  "Are you okay?" a calm voice asked behind her.

  Beth shot up to her feet.

  Charlie was standing in the doorway of the bathroom. A towel was wrapped around his waist, giving her a clear view of his chiseled bare chest. It was every bit as glorious as she’d hoped it would be, but she didn't spare it a second glance.

  "Y-yeah," she stuttered. "Everything's cool."

  Dear God, she shouldn't have done that. When would she ever learn to listen to that warning voice in her head? She liked it so much better just a few minutes ago. Back when she’d been able to believe the fantasy she'd created about this stranger she was sha
ring intimate space with. That he was some kind of gentleman thief—more Robin Hood than common criminal.

  His eyes went from her to the open closet door. His gaze became guarded. Beth tensed, waiting for what came next.

  "What's going on?" he asked, his voice even and measured.

  "Nothing," she said too quickly. "I just dropped something."

  "In the closet?"

  "I was just poking around the room." She tried to play it cool, but she couldn't have acted guiltier if she tried. But she was guilty, and that guilt was quickly turning into fear.

  He was armed. Maybe heavily. Who knew what else was in that bag? He could have a whole damn armory in there. What in the world was he planning to do with it?

  He didn't move away from the door. He just stood there, his eyes steady on her. The seconds crept by in silence, and Beth felt every one of them. She felt the pressure to say something weighing heavy on her shoulders, but there wasn't any explanation she could give. She could ask him what he was planning to do with the gun, but she feared he might answer her.

  "Did something happen?" he asked. There was a world of meaning behind that question.

  "Nope. Everything’s fine."

  He took a step forward, and she skittered back. He stopped. His grip tightened on his towel, the first sign of tension that she'd seen in him.

  "That's right, Beth. Everything is fine." He said the words slowly. His voice was low. He was trying to calm her down, she realized. She questioned his motivations. Was she really safe, or did he just want to keep her quiet?

  After another second, he started for the closet. Beth pressed her back into the wall behind her as he passed. He glanced inside and seemed satisfied that nothing had been touched. He slid the door closed.

  "Is there anything you want to ask me?" he said, turning toward her.

  Beth shook her head.

  "Are you sure?" he asked. He inched forward, but Beth didn't sense any menace in his movements. Still, she remembered the shining barrel of the gun in the closet. People didn't keep those things around for petting puppies.

  She forced herself to lift her head and look him in the eye. "I just want to know if everything is going to be all right.”