Hot Sheets

“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 better?”

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 a head 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 suites 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 things 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 tall, 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 Mènage 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 Bedding 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 a 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.

2

“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.

Dale,

I’d like you to be my guest for the Naughty Nuptials and to share the Castaway Honeymoon Isle suite. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since you left. Your visit will give us the perfect chance to enjoy ourselves.

Laura

“So what’ll it be, Casanova?” Annabelle looked smug. “Do I check you into the Castaway Honeymoon Isle or have Adam hold the limo?”

Under normal circumstances Dale wasn’t prone to mood swings. In fact, to hear his family and friends tell it, he was a downright good-natured guy. But, again, these weren’t normal circumstances. He’d swung from mad as hell to happy camper so fast he felt dizzy.

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.

Aside from the fact Annabelle was waiting for an answer about whether or not he wanted to make love to her co-worker, something coiled low in his gut…some wrenching feeling that was wholly unfamiliar.

He should feel guilty that Monique had flown clear across the country to turn around and make the trip back but he couldn’t work up an ounce of regret. Not when Laura had decided to enjoy herself with him.

“Will I need the Groom’s Survival Guide if I accept her invitation?”

“Check in and find out.”

Dale searched Annabelle’s expression. He thought she was joking, but given the events of the past twenty minutes, he wouldn’t bet money. As much as he wanted to heat the sheets with Laura, a stubborn shred of reason insisted on knowing what had made Ms. In-Love-with-Love drag her head from the clouds long enough for a solid tumble on terra firma.

“You’re not considering turning her down, are you?” Annabelle asked.

He’d spent too much time lusting after Laura to pass up this golden opportunity, but somehow when talking to Annabelle, he hated sounding easy.

“Around this place it’s always a good idea to be clear on the details.” An understatement, given the memory of Monique’s departure. “The Anal Atrium, Annabelle?”

“I pulled that out on a dime, can you believe it?” Her laughter rang out loudly enough to draw another glance from the desk clerks, who were working hard to give their sales director some privacy in the limited space. “So what’ll it be, Casanova?”

Tucking the letter carefully back into the envelope, he slipped it inside his jacket pocket. “The Castaway Honeymoon Isle, of course.”

“An excellent choice.” With a smile still on her face, she tapped out a mad burst on a computer keyboard, then handed him a card key. “Enjoy your stay at Falling Inn Bed.”

“I will.” He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. “Thanks, gorgeous. I know the way.”

“ALL RIGHT, ANNABELLE, who is she?” Pausing in the doorway of the sales office, Laura braced herself to hear about the curvy brunette who’d accompanied the man she’d waited too long to decide she’d wanted for herself.

“She’s gone.”

Laura must have braced herself too tightly because it took a second for that statement to register. “She’s gone?”

Annabelle nodded. “Dale’s date freaked when she found out we’re a romance resort. She made quite a scene at the front desk and demanded a limo to take her back to the airport. Adam calmed her down and sent her on her way.”

Laura had seen the brunette clinging to Dale and knew that two plus two did not equal four here. “All right, what did you do?”

“What makes you think I did anything?”

“Oh, please. I work here, remember? I know how we operate. Romance at all costs. If not you personally, then someone around here did something to chase her off. So fess up. What was it?”

Annabelle eyed her without remorse. “Do you really care when your date is in the Castaway Honeymoon Isle as we speak?”

Laura closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, letting the words filter through her and take hold in slow degrees.

No, she didn’t care. She’d fantasized about Dale Emerson for so long that those fantasies had interfered with her life. While he’d been in town building the Wedding Wing, she’d spent way too much time hanging around after work, making excuses to run into him when she should have been dating.

She’d expected the problem to go away post-construction, but no such luck. If anything, she’d become more preoccupied with the man after he’d left, as if her subconscious worked overtime to make up for his absence. Only after she’d exhausted herself trying to banish Dale from her fantasies once and for all had she finally given in and decided to take action.

“Laura, are you all right?” Annabelle asked.

“You gave Dale my invitation?”

She nodded.

“What did he say?”

“He asked if he had to marry you.”

Tension burst out as nervous laughter. “What did you say?”

“I told him to check in and find out.” She winked. “I’d never tell him he couldn’t marry you. You’d be good together.”

“Oh, Annabelle, please. We’ve had this conversation before. I’m looking for a man with a compatible lifestyle and a career that doesn’t make him a nomad.”

Laura had learned the hard way to be very selective about who she got involved with. After growing up with her head-over-heels parents, she had a healthy respect for the power of love. If she was going to fall for any man, she was going to make sure he was the right man.

But Dale had proven himself a special case. Even though he had heartbreak written all over him, she couldn’t steer clear of him, not even after he’d left Niagara Falls for the West Coast. She’d been forced to resort to damage control—in this case a fling during Naughty Nuptials. Pure fantasy. Limited time frame. And work, work, work to distract her. She’d barely have time for sex, let alone a chance for her feelings to run away with her.

Unfortunately, Annabelle wasn’t buying it, and she wasn’t the only one who didn’t. Laura’s parents had been debating her views for years.

“You’re looking for Mr. Perfect,” Annabelle said. “And I hate to burst your bubble but he doesn’t exist.”

“I’m looking for Mr. Perfect-for-me and he does exist. I just haven’t found him yet. But I’ve clarified exactly what I want from Dale in my invitation. I was clear, don’t you think?”

“Very clear. You want to enjoy the celebration with him. You want to enjoy him.”

“He really agreed?”

Annabelle nodded.

“I’m really going to do this?” It was a question. It shouldn’t be. Laura could handle Dale Emerson. Of course she could. And there would never be a more perfect time.

“You issued the invitation, my girl. It would be poor form to change your mind now. Especially since I chased off his date.”

“I knew it!”

Annabelle only steepled her hands before her and smiled.

While Laura appreciated the effort, she did feel a pang of guilt. Yet if the curvy brunette who had been hanging all over him was scared off by the concept of a romance resort, she was out of her league.

Laura hoped she was the only one.

“Well, I won’t change my mind.” She took a deep, fortifying breath. “As the bedding consultant around here, it’s up to me to set a good example.”

“Agreed. Which means you need to get upstairs and greet your guest. He seemed…eager.”

“Did he?”

Annabelle smiled. “Very.”

Well, most men would be eager with an invitation for sex in a room designed for lovers, wouldn’t they? Especially a man with Dale’s appetite. Alleged appetite.

Laura glanced down at her watch. “I can’t go just yet. I’m waiting for Delia and Jackson. Oh, and don’t forget, we’re set for dinner with our featured couples and the press at seven.”

“I’ll be there with bells. But you need to make time to greet Dale. And don’t worry. Your invitation was crystal clear.”

“Okay.”

“You’re a beautiful young woman who has worked very hard to accomplish what you have, Laura. Celebrate. You like Dale and he likes you. Have a good time together and don’t stress out about anything else. When will you ever get another chance to join in the fun and games around here? You’re usually slaving away behind the scenes. This is a unique opportunity.”

Wise advice. “What would I do without you?”

“You’d waste a lot more time angsting, no doubt,” Annabelle said with a feigned scowl. She hated the mushy stuff. “You did the right thing by inviting the man to be your date. Now greet your guests and go have fun. You’re wasting valuable time—yours and mine.”

“I’m gone.” Blowing her friend a kiss, Laura slipped back out the door.

The arrival of her featured bridal couple delayed thoughts of the man awaiting her upstairs, and she met her guests in the main lobby, genuinely pleased to see them.

Like the Knights, Delia Wallace and Jackson Marsh were the perfect couple to act as the honorees of her grand opening. Not only were they a very attractive pair—Delia was as blond as her fiancé was dark—but as interns on Dale’s construction team, they had a history with the Wedding Wing.

“Delia, Jackson, welcome back. It’s good to see you again.”

“You, too.” Delia extended her hands and gave Laura’s a welcoming squeeze. “We’ve missed this place so much.”

“Are you two ready for your big day?”

“Beyond ready,” Jackson said. “This wedding has become a full-time job.”

“How’s that? You’re supposed to be letting Falling Inn Bed do all the work.”

He wrapped a protective arm around Delia. “That’s what I thought. But my fiancée spends all her time explaining to my ultraconservative future in-laws that being the guests of honor at your Naughty Nuptials isn’t the same thing as having our wedding featured in an X-rated movie.”

Delia sighed. “I shouldn’t have told them about the documentary.”

The Worldwide Travel Association had sent a photojournalist to document the Wedding Wing’s grand opening and as the featured bridal couple, Delia and Jackson would be front and center of the coverage. She could see where ultraconservative future in-laws might have trouble connecting the Naughty Nuptials with a legitimate hospitality industry documentary.

“What can I do to help?” she asked, needing more information to figure out how to address the problem. “I reserved your folks a regular room on the same guest floor where you’ll be staying until the ceremony. They shouldn’t run into anything too controversial there.”

Unfortunately, that was about the only place they wouldn’t run into anything too controversial.

“As long as we don’t invite them to see our honeymoon suite,” Jackson said.

“Oh, God, no,” Delia agreed. “The Shangri-la Paradise would be enough to make my mother faint. And to be honest, I haven’t figured out how to break the news about the sex-toy shower, either.”

Laura understood. Falling Inn Bed dealt exclusively in sex and as sex was an intensely personal subject…by necessity, the staff had become skilled in assessing guests’ reactions to put them at ease with the subject matter.

Fortunately, she had the advantage of knowing Delia. Beneath her fashion-model looks was actually a very shy woman who’d taken a while to warm up. And if Mom was anything like daughter…

Jackson wouldn’t have mentioned the situation unless he needed help. He knew Laura’s specialty happened to be converting her guests into romance enthusiasts.