Christmas At Cupid's Hideaway

“I’m sorry. Did you say something?” Gabe had to give himself points. He’d recovered enough to sound perfectly normal. After all, the last thing he needed to feel on top of hopeless and discouraged was silly. “Something about romance?”

“Me?” Meg tried for a smile that she hoped looked a whole lot more seductive than it felt. It might have been easier if she wasn’t feeling so foolish. And if she didn’t know that Maisie had the kitchen door cracked a smidgen so she could watch the show. Her grandmother’s challenge still ringing in her ears, she refused to give up. Foolish or not, audience or not, she had a mission to accomplish. And right now, that mission was all about making Gabe pay attention to her.

Her steps slow and fluid, she moved across the room straight toward him. “Why on earth would I say anything about romance?” she asked.

“No reason. I guess.” He shrugged, ignoring the sway of her hips. And the hint of suggestion in her voice. He ignored it all. The cupids on the Christmas tree. The pink poinsettias that were everywhere. The picture above the fireplace that showed a sepia-toned couple in Victorian dress, the man in a top hat and tails and the smiling woman in nothing but a corset, a pair of fancy pantaloons and an elaborate red bow that had been taped to her rear in honor of the holiday.

It only proved her theory. If he didn’t notice the atmosphere in the romantic center of the universe, there was no way she’d ever get him to notice her.

A funny little sensation clutched at Meg’s insides and made her squirm. And that disproved her theory. The one about how much she didn’t care what Gabe thought of her.

Meg shrugged off the thread of doubt that wound its way around her self-confidence and choked off its air supply. If she could make the effort to be friendly, the least Gabe could do was be polite in return. Then again, maybe he’d pay more attention to her if she was a blank piece of yellow legal-pad paper.

She followed his gaze down to the empty pad and the full plate of food beside it.

“You’re a vegetarian.”

“What?” As if he’d forgotten she was there, Gabe flinched. “Vegetarian? No.” He frowned at the ham-and-cheese omelet and the pile of hash brown potatoes that was looking less appetizing by the minute. “I’m just not…” He pushed the plate away and grabbing the pen that sat next to it, tapped out a fitful beat against the tablecloth. “I’m not hungry.”

“I could fry up some eggs or throw together some pancake batter, if you’d prefer that. There’s yogurt, too, if you’re more interested in healthy things. And fruit and—”

“No. Thanks.” The comment was heartfelt and the smile Gabe gave her along with it so genuine, it nearly took her breath away.

Meg steadied herself, one hand against the table. She had walked in here thinking of flirting and fully expecting that no matter how hard she tried, Gabe would never respond. She’d figured that she’d try out a few of the come-and-get-it moves she hadn’t had the inclination or the opportunity to use in the last fourteen months, and that in spite of her best efforts, she would leave untouched—physically and emotionally. She was convinced she would win the bet and prove to her grandmother and, more importantly, to herself, that her mind was made up as far as romance was concerned, and that Maisie could stop with the matchmaking because it was just not going to work.

She hadn’t counted on him upping the ante with a smile.

Because she didn’t know what else to do, Meg held out the silver pot. “More coffee?” she asked, and this time, the breathiness of her voice was less her own doing than the fault of a heartbeat that refused to slow down.

“Sure.” Gabe held out his cup and she refilled it for him. While he drank it, she considered all the benefits of retreat.

She would have done it, too, if not for the quiet cough she heard from somewhere in the direction of the kitchen.

As tempted as she was to call off the whole bet, Meg was sure that if she gave up, she’d never hear the end of it. Not from Maisie. Not from her own ego, which had the tendency to remind her more often than she liked that she was piling up a list of failures.

She’d failed at life on the mainland. She’d failed to make a go of it in the big-city, trendy and very pricy restaurant she’d always dreamed would be the pot of gold at the end of her own personal rainbow. And even though she was self-aware enough to understand that most of what had happened between them was clearly Ben’s fault, she knew for a fact that she’d failed there, too. She should have pegged him as a loser long before he dumped her heart into his Cuisinart and took it for a slice-and-dice spin.

She wasn’t about to fail again.

She returned smile for smile and dropped into the chair next to Gabe’s. “That is the idea, you know. The romance, I mean.” She leaned closer. “Is it working?”

It wasn’t.

The words reverberated in Gabe’s head like the echoes of amplifiers at a rock concert.

The cupids weren’t working. The fussy, pink decor wasn’t working. Even the semi-suggestive picture over the fireplace wasn’t working. Nothing could possibly make him think about romance. Not when his head was filled with the knowledge of how empty his imagination was. And his stomach went cold every time he thought about the Tasty Time Burger people and the knock-’em-dead ad campaign he had promised to deliver to them in just two weeks.

Nothing. Until Meg showed up looking like a vision straight out of a dream. Not until she leaned closer and the perfume of strawberries tickled his nose.

“It’s not supposed to be working,” he admitted. “I’ve got other things to think about. Other problems…” He tapped his pen on the legal pad. “And then you come in here and you’ve got me thinking about things I wasn’t supposed to be thinking about.” The whole situation was absurd, yet Gabe didn’t feel like laughing. “Then again, how could anybody not think about romance in this place?”

“The Hideaway always has this effect on people,” she told him, and from her tone, he wasn’t sure if that was good news or not. “Young or old, it doesn’t matter. I think there’s something weird going on. You know, maybe Maisie built the house over a Native American burial ground. Or it’s a regular stop on the UFO express lane to the universe. Or it might be hypnotism.”

Gabe wasn’t buying Meg’s rationalization but he sure liked listening to her explain. He liked the way a little V of concentration crinkled the spot between her eyebrows when she was deep in conversation and how she worked her bottom lip with her teeth while she was collecting her thoughts. He liked the way she made him feel and the way thinking about the sway in her walk and the purr of seduction in her voice made him think maybe there were more important things in the world than empty legal pads.

He liked the kick of awareness that buzzed through every inch of his body and he really liked the fact that when he leaned a bit nearer, Meg didn’t back off.

“I’m thinking it’s more physical than anything else,” Gabe said. “At least what I’m feeling is.” He paused for a moment. “Tell me, is there anywhere on this island where a man can take a woman? You know, on a date?”

She tipped her head, thinking and her hair spilled over her arm like a silky curtain. “There’s the bait and tackle shop,” she said and when his expression soured, she controlled a smile and went right on. “Then there’s the hotel over near the marina. They have a great buffet most nights and karaoke on Tuesdays but, of course, that’s a few days off. Let’s see…where else…There’s big doings in town tonight. Because folks can’t easily get to the island in December, we have our Christmas celebration in the summer. I hear there’s Bingo at City Hall. And free rides on the carousel in the park. It’s fun, but the ride only lasts a couple of minutes, and I don’t know…She gave him the once-over, her look so thorough and so frank, it actually made Gabe squirm. “Something tells me you’re the kind of guy who likes to take his time.”

“Think so?” Gabe liked a woman who knew what she wanted. “Glad you noticed.”

“I notice a lot of things.”

“Like…”

“You have impeccable taste,” she said immediately. “And you don’t mind showing it. Especially with clothing. You like fast cars and you’ve got a hair-dresser I’ll bet you’ve been seeing for years because he really knows how to handle your hair, even though it’s thick and probably not easy to cut.” She let her gaze flicker away for a moment before she settled it again on Gabe’s eyes. “You like to indulge yourself when it comes to life’s little luxuries,” she said. “Or did the expensive pen come from Latoya?”

“She spoils me shamelessly.”

“That must mean you’re a good boss.”

“I’m good at a lot of things.”

“I’ll bet.”

“I could show you.” There wasn’t much room between them but somehow, Gabe managed to close the gap. Meg’s hand rested on the lace tablecloth and he set his a fraction of an inch from hers. “You pick the excitement. I’m game for anything. That is, if you’re not busy here with lunches and dinners and—”

“There’s a reason it’s called a bed-and-breakfast.” Meg laughed and the sound of it shivered up Gabe’s spine. “One meal a day. That’s all we provide. You found that out last night, didn’t you? I hear you sent out for pizza.”

“It wasn’t nearly as good as your cooking.”

She called his bluff. “And you’d know that how?”

“Don’t have to know it. I can tell.” Snared by the dreamy sparkle of her eyes and the heady scent of ripe strawberries, Gabe lowered his voice. “I can guarantee that if you agree to spend the evening with me, we’ll have a terrific time. We can—” He slid his hand over hers.

As if he’d been zapped by a two-twenty electrical line, Gabe sat up straight in his chair and yanked his hand back.

“Dancing hamburgers,” he said.

“What?” Meg wasn’t sure she was hearing him right, but then again, she wasn’t exactly sure she was in her right mind, either. She’d come in here, determined that no matter what she did, Gabe wouldn’t notice her. And then she’d caved. Totally and completely. She’d fallen under the spell of the smile that wouldn’t quit. Gotten drunk on those intoxicating brandy eyes. And now he was talking about—

“Dancing hamburgers? Did you say dancing hamburgers?”

Gabe grabbed his legal pad and she saw him scrawl the words across the top page.

“Dancing hamburgers.” She read the words he’d written in his clear, distinct hand. “That is what you said. Only why—”

“I don’t know.” Still clutching the pad of paper, he bounded out of his chair, his eyes bright with excitement, his expression teetering just this side of bliss. “I don’t know why I said it. I don’t know why I thought it. I haven’t been able to think of anything. All these months, I’ve been trying and I haven’t had even a glimmer of an idea. And then I was sitting here talking to you and it came to me in a flash.”

“Dancing hamburgers.” Meg’s shoulders drooped. She wasn’t sure if she should be alarmed by the high color in Gabe’s cheeks and the excitement in his voice. Or disappointed that what had all the makings of an interesting encounter was suddenly over. When he spun around and headed for the door, disappointment won. Hands down.

“Where are you going?”

“Going?” Gabe’s body might be at the door of the dining room, but it was clear his mind was a million miles away. He turned, but only long enough to mumble, “Love Me Tender,” then he was gone. His voice trailed behind him when he hurried across the lobby and toward the winding stairs to the guest rooms. “Now that the juices are flowing, there’s no stopping them. I need more paper. And the piano. And…”

Meg had no idea how long she sat staring after him. The next thing she knew, Maisie was standing at her side.

Her grandmother smiled. “I’d say that went very well.”

“You think?” Meg got up from her chair and reached for the breakfast plates, stacking them carefully. “I’d say you owe me dinner, and if I’m picking the menu—”

“Dinner?” Maisie laughed. “No, no, dear. That was only if I lost. Only if he didn’t notice you. And in case you missed it, he noticed, all right. Big-time.”

“Yeah, until the dancing hamburgers showed up.” Meg made a face. Just when she was convinced that one evening with Gabriel Morrison was worth losing a bet for, she’d been rejected. Turned down. Overlooked. Ignored.

Ousted by dancing hamburgers.

“He did leave rather quickly.” As if she couldn’t believe it, Maisie studied the spot where a minute before, Gabe had been sitting. “Was he upset?”

“Not as far as I can tell.” Meg lifted a load of dishes into her arms and carried them to the kitchen. “He seemed happy as could be.”

“That means…” Maisie scurried ahead and held the kitchen door open.

“That means the experiment is over. Done.” Meg set down the dishes and reached for her apron. Once she had it on and tied, she opened the dishwasher and started loading. “Give up, Grandma. You’re going to have to admit that this is one instance in which you did not know better than everyone else.”

“Perhaps you’re right, dear.” The lobby phone rang and, shaking her head, Maisie hurried out of the kitchen to answer it. “Perhaps you’re right, after all.”

“Of course I’m right.” Meg finished with the dishes, added detergent, then slammed the dishwasher door closed. “I was right all along,” she mumbled. “I said he wasn’t going to notice, and he didn’t. Well, not for more than a few minutes. I said he wasn’t going to fall for the Meg-as-a-seductress act and he didn’t.” She punched the buttons and when the dishwasher started its cycle, she crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the counter, absently rubbing at the spot on her hand where Gabe’s fingers had brushed hers. The spot where the skin still felt tingly. And hot.

“He’s definitely not interested,” she told herself. “He’s got a lot of nerve.”

Chapter Four

“Mr. Morrison?”

Somehow, the voice penetrated the fog in Gabe’s brain. Or maybe the voice calling his name wasn’t real at all. Maybe it was just an illusion. Like the taunting will-o’-the-wisp of an idea that had made him believe his writer’s-block days were over.

“Mr. Morrison?”

Hard to deny the voice was real when it was followed by a light rapping at the door of Love Me Tender.

Gabe shook himself out of the daze that had enveloped him. He was sitting on the piano bench, engaged in a stare-down with the piece of paper where earlier, he’d written those two tantalizing words. The words that had made him believe he was on the verge of a breakthrough.

“Dancing hamburgers,” he grumbled, and the sigh that followed sent the paper fluttering to the floor. It joined more than a dozen others—all of them covered with nothing but doodles—that littered the room like over-sized yellow confetti.

Did he say tantalizing?

Apparently, even dancing hamburgers weren’t tantalizing enough.

He hadn’t written another word—hadn’t had another idea—since.

“Mr. Morrison?”

When the door snapped open, Gabe spun around on the bench.

“Oh!” Her cheeks bright with embarrassment, Maisie stood where the elaborately patterned Oriental rug of the hallway met the green shag monstrosity that carpeted the room from wall to wall. “I’m sorry,” she said, taking a step back. “When you didn’t answer, I thought you’d gone out. I was just going to leave…” She gestured with the tiny box of expensive candy she held in one hand. “You know, as a welcoming gift.”

“Thank you.” The words came automatically, though how he managed even that, Gabe didn’t know. Putting two coherent words together was becoming more and more far-fetched by the moment.

“Mr. Morrison, has there been some sort of…” Maisie’s bright-blue gaze surveyed the wreckage, and though she was too good a hostess to come right out and ask what the hell was going on, it was more than obvious that she was a little concerned. She came further into the room. “Has there been an accident?” she asked. “Would you like me to call one of our housekeepers and—”

“No. No accident.” Because Gabe couldn’t stand the thought of Maisie’s discomfort, he pulled himself off the piano bench and picked up the discarded pieces of paper. One by one, they joined the stack until it was complete, the paper he’d written on at the top.

“Dancing hamburgers, huh?” The look Maisie aimed at the top paper was as innocent as Easter bunnies. And as curious as any Gabe had ever seen. When she saw that he was watching her, she grinned. “Maybe you need a break. Ready for dinner?”

“Dinner?” Still clutching the papers, Gabe stretched, working the stiffness out of his back. At the same time, he glanced over at the stained-glass window. It was lit from behind by a blaze of sunlight. Just as it had been the afternoon he’d checked in.

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