Dale Emerson noticed the lovely Laura as soon as he walked through Falling Inn Bed's front door. She stood showcased in the open area that led to the promenade, breathtaking, her suit hinting at all the sleek curves hidden beneath its tailored lines. Not to mention showing off a great pair of legs.
Her gaze lingered over him as if she'd been waiting for his arrival, as though she somehow knew he hadn't been able to get her out of his head in the month since he'd left Niagara Falls.
Laura…what was it about her?
Dale couldn't answer the question, damn it. He only knew his own gaze lingered as if he'd been waiting every day of the last month to see her.
As always, she wore her long hair swept back in an elaborate French braid that hung heavily down her back. He'd had fantasies about unraveling her white-blond hair and draping it across his naked body. He'd had fantasies about how he'd enjoy her naked body, too, and about those long, long legs sweated up enough to glide sleekly through his.
Even the way she moved made him think of sex, all that graceful, breathless energy…just the thought made him aware, and too damned horny.
Oh, man, he so didn't want to see Laura again. If not for his obligation to attend this grand opening, he'd have spun the invitation back without opening it. But as project architect for the new addition, Dale was obligated.
This Wedding Wing marked his firm's first foray out of historic restoration and into construction, an expansion that had been solely his idea. He hadn't wanted to leave his firm for another job, but he had wanted to direct a team of his own, which meant finally breaking up the dynamic duo that he'd been with his buddy—the company's owner—Nick Fairfax.
He'd come up with the compromise of the expansion, a decision Dale hadn't made lightly. He'd been Nick's right hand for along time, and the two of them had not only earned significant recognition with their restoration work, but had entertained themselves by chasing women on job sites all over the globe. But ever since Nick had married a fellow preservationist, things had been changing.
The beautiful Julienne had consumed Nick from the get-go, and Dale had laughed like hell while watching Nick do the bump and grind of making himself a serious contender for her affections.
He was still laughing when he stood beside Nick at the altar as his bride had walked down the aisle.
But Dale's humor eventually had started to fade when he discovered the thrill of chasing women wasn't nearly so much fun when he was pursuing them alone. He hadn't lost his best friend exactly…it was just damned hard to discuss the finer points of the opposite sex with a man who had everything he wanted in his bed every night.
This was a concept Dale flat-out didn't understand.
He'd never had a hard-on for a woman that the next beauty who walked by couldn't cure. Except for one…
The one who had zeroed in on him across an entire lobby of milling guests.
If it was any consolation—and it wasn't—Laura Granger had always been as aware of him as he was of her. When their gazes clashed across the distance, every muscle in his body galvanized at the appreciation he saw in her crystalline blue eyes.
They'd been wired with some sort of sex radar, and after all the time he'd spent working with her, he should be used to the effect. He wasn't. He'd been telling himself this acute awareness was nothing more than a side effect of this project The Wedding Wing equaled sex, which had meant conversation after conversation about the topic with Laura.
He wouldn't be surprised if they'd talked more sex that he'd actually had in his lifetime—and he'd had his fair share. But sex had become an obsession with the Wedding Wing's bedding consultant, and while that might seem like a good thing given their chemistry, it wasn't.
Laura was an idealist She believed in romance with her sex. Knights in shining armor, who rescued their damsels on white horses. She believed that fairy-tale weddings translated into happily-ever-afters.
She was exactly the kind of woman who usually shut off his libido like a spigot. Except that every time she smiled one of those breath-stalling smiles, his temperature shot to full-blast and all he could think about was his body tangling around hers beneath that cool silk hair.
Almost as if she knew he was mentally undressing her again, Laura gave him one of those smiles. Then she took off, leading her guests along the promenade, her graceful steps putting more and more distance between them and giving him an incredible shot of the way she moved, all elegant swaying and subtle energy.
Running a hand through his hair, Dale stared after her, wondering what it was about her smile that made every nerve in his body tingle. Tingle, damn it.
"Remind me again why you bothered bringing me along." The demand in the accented voice jolted Dale from his thoughts enough to remember the woman beside him.
"Monique love, I brought you along to enjoy your company, of course," he said automatically.
"Then why are you staring after that blonde like some lovesick puppy?"
Lovesick puppy?
Glancing down at the beautiful French woman with cascades of rich brown hair and a pouting frown, Dale wondered how in hell to answer that question. He couldn't recall being lovesick in his thirty-three years, not even as a kid. He'd dived into dating headfirst and hadn't looked up since.
"How could I look at any woman with you on my arm?" He lifted her hand and brushed his mouth across her smooth skin.
"You promised to show me a good time."
"And I will." He directed her gaze to the lush main lobby that surrounded them. "Look at this great old place. We've got three weeks together to enjoy ourselves in five-star luxury, far away from our lives. What could be bettor?"
From what he'd heard, Monique had needed a diversion after being dumped by some actor she'd been dating. When her scowl faded, he knew she'd forgiven his screwup and was looking forward to this vacation and putting her West Coast lover behind her.
"Let's check in and I'll give you a tour. Between these accommodations and the grand opening events, we'll have fun while we get acquainted." He only hoped Monique didn't let his mistake set the tone for the weeks ahead.
"Welcome back!" a familiar female voice called out.
"Great to be back, gorgeous." In his fantasies at least. "Monique, this is Annabelle Simmons, the inn's sales director."
With a regal expression, Monique held out her hand.
"Welcome, Monique," Annabelle said cordially but he didn't miss the assessing way she took in Monique. "You're in for an exciting visit. And, Dale, I'm so glad you could make it back for the grand opening. How's it been going?"
"Appreciated the time off." He appreciated a break from his Laura obsession, even if he hadn't gotten it under control.
"All that hard work—you deserve a chance to enjoy the fruits of your labors."
"I was on this property a long time, so I know all the hours you've put in, Annabelle. You make sure to pencil me in on your dance card because I expect you plan to follow that advice yourself."
Annabelle grinned. She was a hardworking, old-school businesswoman with ahead full of gray curls who'd always struck Dale as out of place in a hotel that held weekly marketing strategy sessions to discuss new and improved ways to get their guests to do the nasty.
"All right, all right," she said. "No argument. There's always so much to do around here. You know that as well as anyone. But the staff intends to lighten up for Laura's grand opening and celebrate our achievement."
"Sounds like we're in for an interesting few weeks."
"Oh, we are." She rolled her eyes and motioned them to the front desk. "So come on. We've got to get our celebration underway. There's a whole new wing filled with sexy suits that need couples to play in them. Let's choose your poison."
Dale didn't know what to make of that statement, but when he caught sight of the new assistant general manager near the concierge desk, he steered the conversation back to business. "How's Adam making out? Have you worked your magic and gotten him into the spirit of thing
s yet?"
Annabelle didn't slow her brisk steps. "Let's leave it with he's been trying to interject sanity into our grand opening."
"He's got his work cut out for him." Dale gave a low whistle before explaining to Monique, "There's nothing sane going on in this place on a good day."
She followed his gaze to the assistant general manager in question and he watched her take in the tail, athletic man with a penchant for custom-tailored suits and sanity in the workplace. She seemed to approve when she said, "He looks up to the job."
"We haven't given up hope for him yet," Annabelle told her. "Let me get behind this desk, and I'll check you in myself." Disappearing through a door, she reappeared behind the front desk a second later. '"Now let's decide where to put you."
"The VIP treatment for the house architect, of course" Dale teased.
Annabelle nodded. "What else?"
Scanning the system, she kept them waiting for so long Dale began to wonder if there was a problem. Monique gave an impatient sigh, clearly disliking the delay. Dale patted her hand, silently imploring her patience, and she finally stepped away, flipped open her purse and withdrew a compact.
While reapplying her lipstick, she ran her dark gaze over a new arrival, checking the man out as thoroughly as he did her. Dale frowned, but apparently long hair and multiple piercings weren't to Monique's taste because she turned back to him and asked, "You did say five-star hotel, didn't you?"
One look at this grand lobby with sparkling crystal-cut chandeliers, mint-condition antiques and elaborate floral displays should have answered that question, but Dale nodded.
"Here we go," Annabelle finally said, and he pulled Monique closer to discourage her from checking out any more guests.
"I've got availability in the Bondage Boudoir with the chains on the walls and the Fetish Flat with the whips and spanking paddles. Or if you'd like, I could put you in the Waxworks Room. But you'd have to move next week. It's already booked for Risqué Receptions."
She delivered all this with such a straight face that Dale could only stare. She'd obviously lost her mind in the time he'd been gone, which surprised him since Annabelle was the most normal member of the Falling Inn Bed staff with the sole exception of the new sanity-loving assistant general manager.
"What are you talking about, gorgeous?" He forced a laugh. "Did you build some new suites while I was away? Or did you change some names?"
Falling Inn Bed was nothing if not upscale. There were romance-themed suites galore, but nothing so gauche as a Fetish Flat. If Annabelle wanted to prove she could lighten up for the grand opening, she'd hadn't gotten her mark. And he wasn't the only one who missed the punch line. Monique was scowling again.
"Just put us in a guest room on the third floor," he said.
"A guest room, Dale?" She shook her head "You know better than that. You're practically one of the staff. You get nothing but VIP treatment around here."
"Excuse me, ma'am? Monique said, emphasis on the ma'am and the age difference that must indicate dementia. 'This hotel has bondage and fetish suites and a…a waxing room?"
"The Bondage Boudoir and the Fetish Flat," Annabelle corrected. "And the Waxworks Room isn't a waxing room in the conventional sense, although we do offer that service in our new spa if you're interested."
Lifting a questioning gaze to Monique's exquisite— and momentarily stunned—face, Annabelle peered myopically as if checking to see if any waxing services were needed. "The Waxworks Room is a suite with protected furniture so couples can safely play with hot wax. Some people enjoy dripping it all over themselves. In fact, Dale, we just received a shipment of Busty Babe's Bodacious Beeswax. Your favorite. Did you want to go for the Waxworks Room and take a chance the reservation cancels?"
Busty Babe's Bodacious Beeswax? "Annabelle, what the hell are you—"
"Hot wax? Chains and spanking paddles?" Monique demanded on a rising crescendo that not only drowned him out, but drew the attention of the desk clerks, the long-haired guest and the assistant G.M. "Dale told me this bed-and-breakfast was called Falling Inn, not the pervert's palace."
"Annabelle's only joking, Monique. There's nothing perverted around here," he explained in his best attempt at damage control. He couldn't argue the existence of chains, spanking paddles and a multitude of other sex toys around here.
"You haven't quite got it right," Annabelle said. "Our name is Falling Inn Bed, and Breakfast" To prove her point, she handed Monique a promotional brochure from a display on the desk.
Monique darted her disbelieving gaze between the brochure and Dale. "You brought me to a bordello?"
"This isn't a bordello." He shot an equally disbelieving gaze at Annabelle. "Falling Inn Bed is a romance resort—"
"And we have Dale to thank for our newest addition." Annabelle swept her arms toward him in a motion reminiscent of a game show model pointing to the prize behind curtain number one. "He's the architect who designed the Bedding Wing, with five floors of sexy suites like the Coitus Chamber, the Manage Motel and the Anal Atrium."
The Anal Atrium did it Monique's eyes bulged, and she swung around to glare at him as if he'd sprouted a second head. "I thought you said the Wedding Wing, not the Bed-ding Wing!"
"I did—"
"Dale's one of our featured guests for the Naughty Nuptials. We've got weeks of erotic events planned and there'll be media to cover—"
"Monique, this isn't what it sounds like." He glared at Annabelle.
"Liar!" The word shot out as an enraged screech.
Annabelle's eyebrows disappeared into her hairline and every guest within earshot turned toward them. Adam Grant headed their way, clearly determined to bring sanity to the chaos.
"You men are all the same," Monique delivered in an explosion of sound. "'I need you to come for business,' you said. I'll take you across the country and pamper you until you forget Gerald ever existed.' You just wanted to get me into this bordello to have sex."
Dale caught her hand the split second before it connected with his cheek. "I came here to work."
"So I heard. You built this bordello."
"It's not a bordello," he ground out between clenched teeth. He was too busy dealing with Monique to handle Annabelle. But she was next in line. Guaranteed. "Let's get out of this lobby so we can talk. I'll explain. There's nothing disreputable about a romance resort."
"Get out is right" She tried to break his grip—to have another go at slapping him, no doubt—but Dale hung on.
"You're overreacting—"
"Me, overreacting? You're & pervert." She pulled away so forcefully, he had to let go or risk breaking her wrist.
She obviously intended to storm away, but found her way blocked by Adam, who said, "Excuse me. Is there a problem I can help with?"
Before Dale could open his mouth, Monique demanded a limo to take her to the airport.
Adam didn't miss a beat "Of course, if you'll join me at the concierge desk, I'll make all the arrangements."
"Not necessary," Dale said. "I'll take you home, Monique. No problem. Let's go."
He'd think of something to tell his boss.
"Pervert," Monique snapped. "I'd walk back to California before I sat on a flight with you." In a swirl of red silk, she spun on her heel and headed toward the concierge desk.
"I'll take care of her," Adam said, his stoic gaze warning Dale to let him handle the arrangements before his date created even more of a scene.
Dale had never been abandoned like this before, so it took a moment to realize that he had no choice but to back down graciously. Monique obviously didn't want to be reasoned with, or to be here with him, either.
Fishing out the information for the return flight, he handed it to Adam and told him to bill her charges to his room.
Adam took off, and to his credit, he quickly calmed Monique down enough so the lobby couldn't overhear their conversation.
What the hell had Dale been thinking to bring a woman on the rebound to this event? Under
normal circumstances, he would have been able to produce a more suitable date.
Unfortunately, these weren't normal circumstances.
Being the boss of his own job had meant enforced good behavior while building this bordello, so finding someone to attend an excursion had been a test of his social connections. After spending nearly two years in Niagara Falls constructing the Wedding Wing, his friends back at his West Coast home barely remembered what he looked like.
If he'd had any sense, he would have attended the grand opening alone. But the thought of three weeks spent lusting after Laura had driven him to action. Now he'd paid the price.
As Adam escorted Monique back to the entrance, Dale heard him reassure her that both she and her bags would be on their way to the airport immediately. She swept past, shooting Dale a dark look that should have shriveled him on the spot.
Turning to Annabelle, Dale thought about how this whole scene could have been worse. If Laura had been here to witness the carnage…
She'd hear about it, of course, but Dale didn't care. By then he'd have vented his anger on Annabelle, who had some serious explaining to do about why he was suddenly facing three weeks of erotic events alone.
Chapter Two
"The Anal Atrium?" Dale sounded a lot calmer than he felt.
"It did the trick, didn't it?" Annabelle said.
"You chased her off on purpose."
"I did." No repentance whatsoever. "I saved you from a miserable three weeks. Monique wasn't your type, Dale. I'm surprised you even brought her."
"All I ever did was work around here, Annabelle, so what would you know about my type?"
She handed him a white envelope and a letter opener.
Scowling, Dale sliced through the heavy paper and withdrew what turned out to be an invitation. He flipped it open and found himself riveted by the familiar handwriting inside.
Hot Sheets Page 2
