Early to Bed

by Cara Summers

  With a sigh, Lily opened her eyes and moved toward the open door on the second level. She was tired. What she needed was a good night's sleep. Then her perspective would come back to her. Everything would be as clear as it had been on that beach in Tahiti. But the moment she stepped into the bedroom, her eyes widened. This time, it wasn't the view of the Manhattan skyline that drew her gaze. It was the huge bed, raised on a platform, that nearly filled the room. As she moved toward it, she was vaguely aware of a fireplace to her left, but she didn't take her eyes off the iron-frame bed.

  It was definitely the kind to take a lover in. The thought had slipped into her mind the moment she'd run her hand over the smooth, satin coverlet. This time she couldn't blame Dame Vera entirely for the direction her thoughts had taken. The older woman might have planted the seed, but Lily had to admit that the idea of a lover had taken root in fertile ground.

  It had been a long time since she'd had a man in her bed. For the past two years—ever since she'd broken her engagement with Giles Fortescue—she'd devoted herself entirely to making herself over—getting her MBA and apprenticing herself to a small but exclusive hotel chain in Europe. There hadn't been time for a man. And before that, there'd been Giles. She hadn't thought of him, hadn't wanted to think of him, in a very long time.

  She could still picture him in her mind—the lean, tanned face, the blond, Viking good looks. He'd been thirty-three—ten years her senior. She'd been fresh out of college, twenty-five pounds heavier, and not used to the social whirl her stepmother had swept her into. Giles had taken her under his wing the moment she'd been introduced to him, and she'd fallen for him. He'd been so kind and attentive that she'd grown to believe that he'd fallen for her, too.

  Suddenly she realized that it didn't hurt to think about Giles anymore. Slowly, she grinned. How ironic that the sight of a bed made for lovers would somehow set her free from the man her family had handpicked for her. Unfortunately, he'd also been a man who'd found her so fundamentally unattractive that for three months, he'd never attempted to do anything more than kiss her good night. When he had made love to

  her, the experience hadn't exactly rocked her world. Nor had it rocked his.

  Afterward, he'd told her not to worry about it. He didn't really think of her in that way. Oh, he'd wanted to marry her because if he married J. R. McNeil's only daughter, then the merger between Fortescue International and McNeil Enterprises would rest on a foundation that would appease the boards of both companies.

  It was then that she realized that her father and her stepmother had arranged the whole "courtship." By marching down the aisle, she and Giles would perform their duty to the new company. Then they could each go their separate ways. He, of course, would find other women to satisfy his needs. Meanwhile she would run his home and entertain for him while he worked to take his place at the helm of Fortescue-McNeil Inc. Of course, eventually, they would have to produce an heir.

  Shuddering at the thought, Lily climbed up and settled herself on the foot of the bed. For the first time in two years, she was able to think of Giles and not feel that horrible wave of inadequacy that had swamped her for so long. Perhaps, the success seminar in Tahiti really was working. Or maybe, it was the bed—a bed where two star-crossed lovers had found happiness together for twenty years. A bed that represented real love, real passion.

  Whatever it was, she felt relieved—no, she felt quite happy that Giles had never become her husband. She certainly couldn't imagine rolling around on this bed with the very proper and very staid Giles Fortescue. The image flashed into her mind then—bright and vivid—she was lying on the bed, her body entwined with the tall man she'd just seen in that photograph.

  No. She frowned. That was not going to happen She'd come here to do a job. And just because she'd finally freed herself of the black cloud that had been Giles Fortescue, that didn't mean that she wanted to jump into bed with someone else—especially one of the Romanos. That would lead to disaster.

  She slid from the bed and walked quickly back into the main room to pick up her bag. She was going to stick strictly to business. And the first step was to take a shower, go to bed and get a good night's sleep.

  Her past was not going to equal her future. She was going to get what she wanted.

  Tony stared at the chunk of plaster that had loosened itself from around the light fixture and fallen smack onto the middle of his bed. Look on the bright side. That was his father's credo, and Tony had adopted it as his own.

  He lifted the chunk off the mattress and tested it weight before he tossed it into the air and caught it. Well, the bright side was that he'd been playing poker at Sam's when the pipes had given out in Dame Vera's suite. Otherwise, about ten pounds of damp plaster would have landed right on his... No, he really didn't want to dwell on where the chunk might have landed.

  But he figured that the straight he'd been dealt at Sam's had not only won him fifty bucks, it had also saved his family jewels.

  Dame Vera had been right. His luck was definitely on the upswing. And it wasn't just the card game that had convinced him. He'd had a close encounter with a crazy driver on the way home from Sam's. The dark blue vehicle had come out of nowhere. He'd caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and raced for the curb just in time. The driver hadn't stopped, and Tony hadn't gotten a partial plate number to give to Drew, who was a cop.

  Just then, the overhead light dimmed and another chunk plummeted to the mattress.

  Tony sighed. Now, if his personal luck would just carry over to the problems at the hotel. Zach Murphy, who'd been patching the plumbing in the building for years, had predicted this particular scenario with the annoying regularity of a Greek chorus.

  "Ton, mark my words. If you don't replace the pipes in that building, the whole eighth floor is going to fall on your head."

  The damn thing about Greek choruses was that they were always right.

  Tony surveyed his room, the one he'd occupied since he was ten, and wasn't sure whether to laugh or to cry. He'd made a promise to his father eight years ago to keep the hotel running. It was the only home he and his family had ever known. His brother Drew, his cousins Grace and Lucy, his Aunt Gina—they all still lived here. And over the years, the profits from the hotel had provided a college education for each member of the family. Now, he had to figure out a way to keep the roof from falling on their heads.

  It wasn't in his nature to be a pessimist, but he didn't make a habit of lying to himself either. Henry's Place was in trouble. Though it was still operating in the black, he couldn't afford to close off any of the rooms because of plumbing problems. According to Lucy, the latest flood had moved from Dame Vera's suite down through the family's floor and on to four rooms on the sixth floor. They were all going to have to be repaired and repainted, and he was going to have to come up with the money for Zach Murphy to replace the pipes.

  Lily McNeil had promised to help him with all of that. He'd planned to pick her brain while she tried to lead him down the garden path. Why had she canceled at the last minute? He didn't think for a minute that McNeil Enterprises had lost interest in Henry's Place.

  First thing in the morning, he was going to call Ms. McNeil's office and find out why she'd canceled their meeting, and then—well, he'd just have to turn on the Romano charm.

  Suddenly, a yawn overtook him, and Tony realized that he was deep down bone tired. Whatever his plans for the morning, what he needed right now was a dry bed to sleep in, and as much as he hated it, that meant going to the roof. He was stepping into the hallway when another hunk of plaster hit the bed. Wincing slightly, he closed the door firmly behind him and strode down the hall to the private elevator. The thing to remember was that his luck had changed. He punched the button for the penthouse apartment.

  His first surprise came when the doors slid open and he saw that the room was ablaze with lights. Striding forward, he flipped lights off as he went. They'd even left the gas fireplace on. He'd have to speak with Lu
cy and Grace. They were the only ones in the family who came up here on a regular basis, but it wasn't like them to be so careless. He was heading for the table lamp next to the sofa when he saw her stretched out on the cushions, her hand tucked beneath one cheek.

  There was a moment, one stunning moment, when he felt his mind empty. He could have sworn that time stood still—or was it merely his heart that had stopped? One thought filled his mind. It's you.

  Then because the idea was so unprecedented, so ridiculous, he took a deep, steadying breath and moved closer. He was tired, the ceiling was probably still falling on his bed, and there was a stranger sleeping on the penthouse sofa. He studied her for a moment. Not sleeping beauty—he discarded the thought as soon as it slipped into his mind. Perhaps, it was the fact that one of her hands was curled into a tight fist. But something made him quite sure that this was no sleeping princess waiting for her prince to come. The reddish-gold curls fanned out on the pillow made him think of Goldilocks, a tough little housebreaker. He was nearly able to summon up a smile. Nearly, but not quite— maybe when his heart beat returned to normal. He took in the pale, almost translucent skin, the delicate features and the stubborn chin. Then he glanced at the curled fist again.

  A fighter, he thought, and this time he did smile. She was wearing a plain tank top and worn gray sweatpants that looked as if she did more than sleep in them. The toned muscles in her arms added to the impression. Delicate and tough, he thought, intrigued by the contrast. And then he let his eyes linger on her legs. They were long, slender, and...

  The desire that moved through him like a sharp, hot blade had him breathing a little sigh of relief. That was a response he could understand. And it was a lot more comfortable than the one he'd had when he'd first looked at her.

  He wasn't going to think about that stab of recognition he'd felt because it was absurd. He'd never met this woman before. He didn't have to wonder how she'd gotten into the penthouse. Lucy had obviously let her in. She was probably some refugee from the flooding on the sixth floor.

  Dragging his eyes from her, he swept his gaze around the area. A neat gray suit was draped over the chair near the fire—and he caught a glimpse of lace and satin spread nearby on a stool. She'd had no trouble making herself at home. Then bending down, he studied what she'd spread out on the table. There was a small notebook with a silver pen lying next to it and a series of sketches. He skimmed the neatly printed list on the open page of the notebook. Repair the plumbing, renovate the lobby, turn the penthouse into a five-star restaurant—Henry's.

  Tony frowned as he picked up and examined each one of the sketches she'd drawn. If he was reading them correctly, they were of different floor plans for expanding the penthouse suite into a restaurant. And they were good. He glanced at her again. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that she was writing about his hotel.

  Who in the hell was she?

  He swept his gaze more carefully over the area again, noting the small suitcase and the leather briefcase. A niggling suspicion formed in his mind even as he reached to examine the tag. One glance confirmed it—this was Lily McNeil.

  Sitting back on his heels, he studied her again as questions lined themselves up in his mind like so many toy soldiers. Why was she here? Or perhaps more spe-

  cifically, why had she canceled her reservation and then changed her mind? Or had she planned to sneak into his hotel incognito and gather information without his knowledge?

  He watched the play of the firelight over her features. So this was the owner of that voice. She wasn't exactly the way he had imagined her. Nor did she seem to fit the voice. Looking at her didn't make him think of hot, sweaty all-night sex. Instead, she made him think of the slow, thorough, take-your-time-and-savor kind. His gaze shifted to her mouth, and he imagined her taste—not sweet, but tart at first. The sweetness would lie beneath. He wanted to explore that mouth, linger until he'd coaxed out all the flavors. He reached out to touch one of her curls. He could see the different colors, cool gold with a hint of fire here and there. He wanted to touch her—to run his hands over that skin. Even as the images formed in his mind, desire tightened in his center as if his body already knew what it would be like to feel her softness arching against him. Muffling a sigh, Tony reined his wandering thoughts in and dropped the curl he was still rubbing between his fingers. Then because he couldn't help himself, he ran his finger lightly down her cheek to her chin before he dropped it to his side. She wasn't a sleeping beauty, he reminded himself—and he wasn't the prince meant to wake her up. This was Goldilocks, and the fictional girl who'd caused quite a bit of havoc in the bears' lives. It was his job to see that Ms. Lily McNeil didn't do that to the Romanos. The family was his responsibility, and he had to put them first.

  She stirred, and her lips parted. Tony stilled. Once again he felt his mind empty, and then all he knew was an almost overpowering desire to fit his mouth to hers and throw caution to the winds. If she struggled, that would be the end of it. If she responded... He ruthlessly clamped down the images that poured into his mind. He couldn't. It wouldn't be fair to her. And it wouldn't be smart. He forced himself to rise and then switched off the lamp next to the couch.

  He hadn't grown up in the hotel business without developing a canny instinct about people—and Lily McNeil was trouble, both professionally and personally. Getting involved with her would definitely not be. smart. He let his gaze rest on her again. But it sure as hell would be fun. And when was the last time he'd let himself think of doing something just for the fun of it? Not since his father's death when he'd had to shoulder the responsibility of the hotel. Eons ago, it seemed.

  Giving his head a quick shake, Tony made himself walk to the upper level and through the bedroom door. What he needed was a good night's sleep. Whoever the hell Lily McNeil was, he was going to need all of his wits about him. And he'd better keep his libido under control.

  Just then, lightning flashed. He saw it split the sky, and the thunder clapped so loud, so close, that the windows rattled. A warning, he thought. A second later, the lights flickered and went out.

  Definitely a warning, he thought as he made his way into the bedroom.

  Lily fought her way up from a dream. She'd been with her lover. He'd touched her hair and her cheek. His fingers had been callused, arousing. She'd been so sure he was about to kiss her. In that moment when he'd seemed to hesitate, she'd wanted so badly to open her eyes, to reach out and cover his hand with hers, to draw him closer. But she'd been trapped in that paralysis between sleeping and waking. Don't go. She'd tried to say the words, but no sound had come out. And then he'd moved away. The sharp sting of rejection brought her fully to the surface, and the moment she opened her eyes, she realized the suite was pitch black. A glance at the windows told her that nearby buildings were dark, too. A power failure. Rain pelted the glass in an unrelenting rhythm. In the distance, a flash of lightning forked through the sky, followed by a rumble of thunder. The noise from the storm—that's what had pulled her out of her dream, not her lover walking away. The dull pain of failure still lingered from the dream. Ridiculous, she thought as she sat up. She was not going to let her fear of failure creep into her dreams, too.

  After pushing herself up off the couch, she used the furniture to guide her as she made her way to the upper level. Failure was a part of her past, and she was going to make sure it did not seep into her future. She was going to go back to sleep in that bed made for lovers. Then she was going to conjure up her dream lover and make sure he didn't pull away.

  Running her hand along the wall, she made it to the door she was sure opened into the bedroom. The darker shadow three feet in front of her had to be the bed. Once she reached it, she felt her way to the side near the windows where she recalled seeing the step-stool. There. Once her foot connected with it, she climbed up on the mattress and slipped beneath the covers.

  A yawn overtook her as her head settled on the pillow. The bed was so warm, so welcoming; as if a lover was already the
re, waiting for her. Her lips curved in a smile. Dame Vera had promised her one, after all. So what if it was only one conjured by her mind? A dream lover didn't interfere with your life. Closing her eyes, she emptied her mind of everything, then concentrated on calling up a picture of her dream lover. Visualization. That was the key. She hadn't seen him too clearly in the dream, so he could be anything she wanted him to be.

  Slowly, she brought his features into focus. A strong nose, Roman, she decided. And the cheekbones of a warrior. His mouth was masculine, but the whole effect would be softened by dimples that appeared only when he smiled. And then there were his eyes. They were the color of dark, forbidden chocolate. Irresistible. The warmth of the bed began to seep through her. As she felt herself begin to sink into sleep, her dream lover's features became even clearer in her mind. Her last thought before sleep overtook her was that she'd seen her dream lover somewhere before.

  ______3______

  Tony drifted somewhere in the twilight zone between waking and sleeping. The last thing he wanted to do was surface from the dream he was having. His Goldilocks was sleeping in his bed. And it felt just right.

  She was nestled against him like a spoon, her back to his front. Each time he inhaled, her scent rilled him. He would have recognized it anywhere. Spring flowers, the kind his mother had taken such care to grow in terra cotta pots on the roof.

  With lazy pleasure, he slipped one hand beneath her to keep her near and ran the other down her from her shoulder to her thigh. The contrast of warm silky skin and more roughly textured cotton had a warm flame of desire moving through him. She shifted, pressing more closely against him, and the flame eased into a slow,

  searing burn.