Priscilla guessed she’d been watched as she parked, so the innkeeper would know she’d left her remaining cases in the backseat of her car. “That would be wonderful.” She handed over her car keys, then spotted the small sign on the counter that listed spa services available at the inn. Just what she needed. A glance at her watch told her it was almost six o’clock. “Oh, a massage would be terrific after— well, after being behind the wheel all day. Is it too late to set one up?”
“If you can wait about thirty minutes, I should be able to arrange something for you.”
“You’re an angel, Ms. Gates.”
“Please call me Minnie. All our spa services are done here on the main floor. Come down whenever you’re ready.”
Priscilla smiled her thanks, grabbed her bag and headed for the elevator. Once inside, she pulled Snake to her chest and graced him with a gentle kiss on his head. “Thank you for being a perfect gentleman with Minnie. I know the last couple of days have been rough and that scene down at the river didn’t help.”
Snake snuggled close and sighed. Priscilla remembered the first time the dog had done that. Her sister had brought the tiny creature home, presenting him with great fanfare, but then soon had gone off on another adventure, leaving Snake behind. A few days later the pup had followed Priscilla into her home office late one night. He’d weighed less than her briefcase when she picked him up and seconds later he’d made himself at home in her lap with the same contented sigh.
The elevator doors opened and Priscilla found her room at the end of the long hall. Stepping inside, she smiled as she took in the large space decorated in French country style. The bed linens, pillows and walls were done in soothing pastel colors such as aged ivory, lavender, pale yellow and green. The suite had a sitting area, complete with a fireplace on one side and a four-poster bed on the far wall. Her trained eye picked out the handmade, ornate Aubusson rug beneath her feet and the antique desk that sat directly in front of a set of windows that looked out over a beautiful garden and patio.
It didn’t take long to get Snake settled before her luggage arrived. Then she pulled out her cell phone to charge it, noting she had two more messages from her father. That made six since she’d left Beverly Hills.
Forcing herself to enter her passcode, she listened to the last one he’d left for her around lunchtime today.
“Priscilla, where are you? It’s been two days since the gala. An event you walked out on halfway through, I might add. I can’t reach your sister, either, but that’s no surprise. Call me. This situation needs to be handled. Now. This isn’t like you. You know how much I count on you being the responsible one—”
Cutting off the message before he could finish his lecture, Priscilla noted her father sounded more angry than worried by the fact he couldn’t seem to reach her.
She itched to return his call, to tell him someone else needed to handle things this time, but she’d already tried twice today and ended up leaving a message with his efficient secretary. She’d asked that he be told she was fine, still planned to be out of town for the foreseeable future and would call when she was settled.
Deciding that would do for now, she peeled off her damp clothes and slipped into a pair of dry panties, comfortable yoga sweats and a simple top. She hesitated for a moment, but then left her hair in the messy knot on her head and gave the large claw-foot bathtub in the adjoining bath a longing glance before realizing more than a half hour had passed and she was supposed to be downstairs.
First a massage, then she’d order some dinner from a local restaurant chosen from the list she’d found on the desk and crack open a gourmet doggy-food packet for Snake.
After all that, she should probably call Bobby and let him know—surprise!—she was in town.
She went downstairs and wandered around the first floor, walking through two beautiful parlors filled with comfortable antique furniture, fresh flowers and lots of books. But she didn’t see her host anywhere.
“Can I help you?”
Priscilla turned and found the nice young girl who had brought her suitcases to her room earlier. “I’m looking for Minnie. She’s arranged for me to have a massage and I fear I’m running late.”
“Minnie has gone to the carriage house out back—that’s where she and the Major live—but I can show you where to go if you like.”
“Yes, please.”
Priscilla followed the girl, who looked to still be in high school, back into the first parlor, when the old-fashioned ringing of a telephone filled the air. “Oh, I need to get that,” she said. “If you just go to the room on the other side of the foyer with the double glass doors, you’ll see everything is ready for you.”
Heading in the direction the girl pointed, Priscilla found a large ballroom on the other side of the foyer. It was empty, but she could easily picture it being used for parties and receptions. She walked deeper into the room, spotting the glass doors at the far end.
She stepped through them and found a converted porch with beautifully arched floor-to-ceiling windows that allowed light to pour in while honeycomb-shaped blinds assured privacy. A massage table draped in white linens had been set up in the center of the room with a nearby table holding scented candles, assorted lotions, a glass pitcher of ice water with sliced lemons and a stack of oversize towels.
Perfection.
No sign of the masseur or masseuse yet, but knowing she was already running late, Priscilla grabbed one of the towels and headed for the restroom in the far corner.
She quickly undressed and wrapped the towel around her. Leaving her clothes on a nearby chair, she headed for the table and perched herself on the edge, figuring she’d stretch out and wait. Before she could twist around to lie on her stomach, the glass doors opened.
“Sorry to keep you waiting.” A deep male voice filled the air. “Boy, I’ve had the craziest afternoon—”
Priscilla froze when the sexy Good Samaritan from earlier today entered the room. “You!”
Confusion crossed his face for a moment as he studied her. Then he flashed her that same confident grin he’d sent her way earlier today. “Well, this is a nice surprise.”
She couldn’t believe it! Of all people, why would he be— “What are you doing here?”
“Ah, you’ll have to forgive me for not recognizing you right away....” His voice trailed off as he took a step into the room, his gaze darting around the floor. “You look a little different without your sunglasses.”
His perusal stopped the moment it landed on her bare toes and his smile deepened as he slowly let his gaze travel up her legs. By the time he reached the edge of the towel that rode high on her thighs, a warm flush had enveloped Priscilla.
She should be annoyed at his deliberate scrutiny, but for some reason she was—pleased? No, that couldn’t be right. Just because her ex had rarely taken his nose out of his financial journals, even during a dinner conversation, didn’t mean she thought that she felt—
“Or without your clothes,” he added.
Okay, pleased or not, he shouldn’t be in here. “Look, I don’t know who you are—”
“Dean Zippenella.” He moved to stand right in front of her and held out his hand. “We never got around to introductions down by the creek. At least, not the human kind.”
Placing her hand in his was an automatic gesture, thanks to her years of philanthropic work, but the zing of sensation dancing across her palm the moment they touched was new and totally unexpected.
She tried to draw her hand back. Too late.
His fingers closed around hers and held tight as he took another step toward her. This close, she could see the touch of gray in his closely cropped dark hair; the stubble on his jaw was the same dark color. A mix of sage, suede and musk invaded her nose, a spicy scent that must be his cologne. Despite sitting on the table, she had to ti
lt her head back to look at him, something that didn’t happen often, seeing as how she was just a few inches shy of six feet tall.
Without her heels.
Priscilla gave a gentle tug, a universal signal it was past time for him to release her, but his gaze flicked down over her shoulders and the exposed upper curves of her breasts, pausing for a heartbeat there before returning to her face.
“And you are?” he asked.
Her other hand involuntarily tightened where it kept hold of the towel’s overlapping edges. He didn’t look like the sort who would attack a woman, much less someone who read gossip magazines, but would he recognize her name? Would that make any difference?
“Priscilla Lennox,” she answered after a pause.
“It’s nice to meet you, Priscilla.” No flicker of recognition crossed his face at the sound of her name as he finally released her. “And please, let me apologize again for earlier today.”
He sounded sincere, but that still didn’t explain why he was here. “Apology already accepted. You didn’t have to chase me down—”
“I didn’t, even though I was glad to see your car in the inn’s parking lot. I’m here for an appointment.”
She noticed he’d changed his clothes. Gone were the khaki trousers and collared shirt he’d had on earlier. He now wore a simple black T-shirt that hugged his chest and shoulders, the word ARMY spelled out in big block letters across the front. Well-worn jeans, faded in some interesting places, and black boots— Wait, did he just say appointment? He looked more like a member of a motorcycle club than a masseur, but in a town this size...
She sighed, accepting that fate wasn’t quite done messing with her yet. “Well, I guess I’m that appointment.”
His left eyebrow shot up. “Excuse me?”
She had no idea why he looked so surprised. But they might as well just make the best of it. In a much-practiced move, Priscilla stretched out on the table and turned over on her stomach, all the while keeping the towel securely in place.
Resting her suddenly pounding forehead on her folded hands, she closed her eyes and said, “Just get started, please.”
* * *
Dean had to admit he wanted nothing more than to get his hands on this beautiful creature, but not like this. Obviously, Priscilla Lennox thought he was here to provide a massage, a service contracted by the inn, but she must’ve gotten her rooms mixed up.
This area was reserved for his weekly appointments with the retired marine who owned the inn. The old man hated hospitals so much he refused to come to the veterans’ clinic where Dean worked for his physical-therapy sessions. Considering the hell the still-spry veteran had gone through as a prisoner of war in Vietnam, Dean believed he’d more than earned the right to feel any damn way he pleased.
So every Friday afternoon Dean—being former military himself—ended his work week here at the inn, in a less clinical setup.
He’d noticed the familiar red convertible when he’d arrived at the inn and hoped for the chance to run into the pretty blonde again and make a second and better impression this time. But not this way. “Ah, look, I think I should explain about the massage—”
“No, you look. No more explanations. No more apologies.” She propped herself on her elbows, glaring at him over one shoulder, the move causing a single blond curl to fall across her blue eyes. Very beautiful blue eyes. “I’ve had a really long day, after what has been a terrible—a terribly exhausting week. Getting knocked on my butt into a riverbed earlier didn’t help.”
Dean kept his boots planted firmly tableside, forcing his gaze to remain on her face when he caught sight of the edges of her towel slowly giving way. He’d noticed the yellow rosebud tattoo just above the towel’s edge a moment ago, but now her jerky movements were leaving even more of her curves on display.
“All I want is for you to work out the kinks,” she continued, her tone clipped, “and if you could manage to do that in silence, that would be preferable.”
Well, if Miss High Society got that pretty little nose any higher in the air, she might just topple backward off the table.
Dean glanced at his watch. It wasn’t like the Major to be running late. He was sure the old man was going to show up before he even got his hands on her.
He bowed slightly. “Your wish is my command, Miss Lennox.”
Pursing her lips together, she eyed him in silence. He was sure she was going to say something else, but instead she went back to her prone position.
Dean rubbed his hands together, eyeing the perfection of her porcelain skin. His trained gaze picked up on the tension in her neck and her shoulders. The woman did look as if she could use a good rubdown. It would serve her right if he peeled that towel right to the edge of the swell of her nicely shaped backside so he’d have plenty of room to touch all her interesting spots.
Flexing his fingers, he reached out—
The clicking of the Major’s cane against the glass door announced his arrival only seconds before his booming voice filled the air. “Sorry to be late to the ball game, son. The kitchen sink went FUBAR on me and the damn wrench broke— Oh, excuse me, ma’am.”
This time Priscilla jumped, lifting herself up on her elbows as she snapped them to her sides.
Dean laid a hand against the plush terry material in the center of her back, holding her in place. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he said, keeping his voice low.
Her head whipped around. She glared at him. “What—what is going on?”
“Have I interrupted something?” Elwin Gates asked. “I didn’t mean to walk in unannounced.”
“No worries, sir,” Dean answered. “Just a slight mix-up.”
Keeping his back to the old man, Dean reached for the terry robe draped over a nearby chair. The Major usually donned it after their session, but Dean had a feeling Miss Lennox needed it more at this very minute.
“Why don’t you rise slowly, facing the other way, and slip into this?” Dean continued to speak in quiet tones, holding up the robe for her. “And then maybe you’ll let me explain?”
Her eyes narrowed, but she rotated away from him, grabbing at the towel and tucking the ends in place again as she rose up on one hip. He laid the robe across her shoulders and waited as she slipped her arms inside. The terry material pooled as she sat upright, then flowed around her thighs when she slipped off the far side of the table.
Dean turned around and found the Major standing in the doorway, a grin on his wrinkled face. He offered the old man a quick wink. “Are you all set, Miss Lennox?”
“Y-yes, thank you.”
He looked back over one shoulder, watching as she stepped around the table, head held high as if she were wearing a ball gown instead of an oversize robe.
Dean made the introductions. “This is one of your guests, Priscilla Lennox. I’m afraid she mistook this room for the one used for spa services provided here at the inn. Miss Lennox, this is Major General Elwin Gates, United States Marine Corps, Retired, and proprietor of the Painted Lady. He’s here for his physical-therapy session.”
“It’s very nice to meet you, sir.” She stepped forward, offered a bright smile and held out her hand. “I do apologize for my error and for taking over your private session.”
“Apologies aren’t necessary, miss.” Elwin returned her handshake. “And you can call me Major. Everyone does. Now, I’m going to see where my wife disappeared to so we can get you to the right place.”
“Oh, you don’t have to leave on my account. I’ll just gather my clothes and let you two gentlemen get to your session.”
She backed up a few steps and walked right into Dean. He grabbed her waist to steady her, but she whirled around, the sweet politeness replaced with a contemptuous look that had him holding up both hands in mock surrender.
“Hey, I tried to
tell you.”
“You didn’t try very hard,” she retorted, her voice low.
“You don’t have to whisper. Major’s gone to find out where your massage is supposed to be taking place.”
“That’s fine, but I’m leaving, as well.”
She tried to sidestep around him, but Dean latched on to her arm. “Hold on. You’re not going anywhere yet.”
“Oh, I’m not?” Her eyes turned icy, but the toss of her head and the squaring of her shoulders told him a little spitfire lay inside this cool beauty. Dean liked that.
“Look, we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. Twice.” He eased his hold, his fingers gently massaging the inside of her elbow through the material. “Let me make it up to you. Have you eaten? We could grab something after our respective appointments.”
“I’m not—”
A low rumbling interrupted her. She slapped her free hand over her stomach.
He grinned.
Women like Priscilla Lennox—classy, wealthy, high society—were way out of his league. A lesson he’d learned the hard way a few years back before he’d moved out west to Destiny from his home in Sea Point, New Jersey.
Heck, he’d bet her car cost more than what he’d spent on his couple of acres of land north of town and the log home he’d had built there last year. But he’d been spending too much time alone lately and it didn’t hurt to hit one for the fences every now and then. And Daisy actually seemed to like her.
“You were saying?”
She lifted her chin. “I’m not hungry.”
“You sure I can’t tempt you with the best burgers this side of the Rockies? The Blue Creek Saloon has great food, cold beer, and on Friday nights there’s usually a band playing kick-ass country music. It’s not as fancy as what you’re probably used to, but I think you’d enjoy it.”
Destiny's Last Bachelor? Page 3
