Kitabı oku: «Hot Sheets», sayfa 2
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.
“What time do your parents arrive tomorrow?” she asked.
“Their flight’s due early. A little after eight.”
“Great, plenty of time before the festivities start.” Looping her arm through Delia’s, she steered her toward the promenade. “Come on. Let’s get you checked in. We’ll talk while we walk. I’ve got an idea.”
Laura detailed her plan to have a limo pick up Delia’s parents at the airport for a grand tour of Niagara Falls. “Let’s give them a little VIP treatment and warm them up to the area before we bring them to the inn. You tell me what interests them, and I’ll assign a concierge to be their guide.”
She smiled, hoping to reassure an anxious Delia. “We’ve got a lot more than the falls around here and my staff is skilled at presenting our unique services. We’ll break the news about the events in bits and pieces, and I’m sure we’ll have them comfortable and ready to have fun before they even check in.”
Jackson smiled appreciatively. “Sounds like a great place to start.”
“And you’re sure this won’t be too much trouble?” Delia asked.
“Not at all, Delia,” she said. “I’ll have your folks back in plenty of time to get settled before the festivities. All you have to do is prepare them for the official Falling Inn Bed parents-of-the-bride VIP treatment. And now, are you ready for the unveiling?” Laura brought them to a stop beneath the entrance to survey the newly decorated lobby. “Ta-da! Here it is. What do you think?”
Delia and Jackson’s obvious pleasure made Laura smile. While they’d been involved with the construction of the new addition from the ground breaking, they’d left for their next project before the design crew had worked its magic. And the finished project—from the ornate ceilings and papered walls to the array of cranberry ware vases and the Mireille Marceaux displayed in prominence—was indeed magical.
“Laura, I can’t tell you what it means that you chose us as special guests for your grand opening,” Delia said.
“Special guests?” she repeated. “You’re the honorary bridal couple for the Naughty Nuptials. And who better to inaugurate the Wedding Wing? Not only did you help build it, but you got engaged here. You’ll be written into our history as the couple who started the matrimony ball rolling.”
And establishing what Laura believed with her whole heart and soul—that a perfect man existed for every woman. What better place than the Wedding Wing to begin a marriage?
There wasn’t one as far as she was concerned.
Motioning her bridal couple toward the wing’s check-in desk, she said, “I’ve got a few things I need to cover and then you can go settle in. The events won’t officially begin until the welcome reception tomorrow night, which is why I wanted you here early. You deserve to relax before your guests arrive.”
Accepting a package from the desk clerk, a box gift-wrapped in white silk and wedding bells that contained the introductory packet, she passed it to Delia. “Inside is everything you need to prepare. Program. Itinerary. Maps. Checklist. I’ve also included copies of the Bride’s Guerrilla Handbook and Groom’s Survival Guide.”
Jackson rolled his eyes. “The Groom’s Survival Guide?”
“I wrote these handbooks myself,” she explained. “And you need to know everything in them. Trust me.”
“Of course we do,” Delia said, coaching her fiancé.
“Good.” Now if her staff could just win over the bride’s reluctant parents, they’d be off to a good start. “Swear to me you’ll look over everything and call if you have any questions. I’m 1-1 on the house phone.”
After helping them to check-in, she saw Delia and Jackson settled before making her way up to her own honeymoon suite on the fifth floor. Beyond the door lay the suite she and Dale had designed together. A place for lovers.
And a man who might become her lover.
If he wasn’t angry about his date.
Taking a deep breath, Laura slipped the card key from her pocket and unlocked the door.
The Castaway Honeymoon Isle was a penthouse suite with an open floor plan arranged around a central focal point—a tropical oasis complete with lush plants, a heated pool and rushing waterfall. It had been dubbed Lovers’ Lagoon during construction and the name had stuck. Now it graced the promotional materials and the Web site.
The suite played to the fantasy of a couple being stranded on a deserted island alone, and every room in the place—including the bath—overlooked this oasis through a wall of glass.
There was a comfortable living area, a minikitchen and dining area, a master bath with a glass shower stall large enough for two and a bedroom with a bed large enough for plenty of sex play.
Laura had chosen the theme herself, a delightful Key West decor that was both airy and colorful and brought to mind translucent turquoise water and spun-sugar sand. Inhaling another calming breath, she closed the door and turned….
There he was, watching her from across the suite, where he’d sprawled in a chair with a vantage of the door. With his long legs outstretched and his elbows casually hooked on the chair arms, Dale looked equal parts expectant and predatory in a distinctly bad boy way.
She couldn’t help but marvel at how her body went on red alert at the mere sight of him, a result of his overpowering good looks—black hair, cleanly chiseled features and a lethal grin. He had this hint-of-a-dark-shadow thing going on along his jaw that only added to the effect.
Even sitting, there was no missing that Dale was a tall man, athletic, a man who could move with fast, strong motion and energetic grace. Add that to the way he idly fingered her invitation while watching her with those smoky gray eyes, and her heart sped up its beat until she could barely breathe.
“Hello, Laura.”
The minute he opened his mouth, Laura remembered exactly why she hadn’t been able to get this man out of her head. His voice was pure sex—whiskey deep and silky smooth, a sound that conjured up images of bare bodies gliding against each other in a distinctly rhythmic way.
“Welcome back, Dale.” She sounded breathless and that smile playing around the edges of his mouth suggested he’d noticed.
Not exactly the entrance she’d planned in her fantasies. She’d intended to breeze in and make herself comfortable and detail the game plan. But suddenly she needed him to react, to hear him say he’d accepted her invitation, that his arrival in this suite wasn’t just morbid curiosity about why Annabelle had chased off his date.
Or, worse yet, a joke.
“Are you angry about your date?” She couldn’t read a thing on his face.
“She’d still be here if she wanted to be.”
Okay. He clearly wasn’t too concerned about the runaway date. “Do you want to be my guest for the Naughty Nuptials?”
“I want to be your lover. I have since we met.”
She didn’t know whether it was his calmly issued declaration or the hungry look that sent a rush of awareness through her, but the pulse suddenly throbbing in her throat precluded any reply.
He held up the invitation. “This says you want to share this suite and have a good time. What’s going on here, Laura?”
She took another deep breath. She’d known this would come out of left field for him. It had come out of left field for her. There was only one thing to do here—be honest.
“I changed my mind,” she said simply.
“Now, after I’ve left town? How the hell did you reconcile our differences?”
“Do you mean declining to date you when you asked?”
He nodded.
“The limited time frame of the grand opening solves the problem, don’t you think?”
He looked skeptical. “One of them, maybe. I’m leaving in three weeks, so there’ll be no question about commitment.”
“Problem solved then. As long as we’re clear on what we want from each other.”
“I know what I want from you, Laura. I’ve always known.” His dark, silky tone promised enough bare skin and killer orgasms to send a shiver through her. “What exactly do you want from me?”
“I want to be your lover.” She gave his words back to him, needing to give as good as she got, that familiar feeling rising up like it always did with him, that…need to do something to catch his attention, to make him notice her.
“Really?” He arched an inky brow. “You wouldn’t go on a date with me because you don’t do flings and I’m not the man of your dreams.”
Now he shot her long-ago words back to her with that deep, sexy voice, his gaze holding hers so steadily that she could feel the effects low in her belly. “Can’t a girl change her mind?”
“What made you change it?”
“You’re the man of my fantasies.” She watched his reaction flash across his handsome face. His nostrils flared. His jaw tightened. His whole body tensed. “It’s this chemistry between us, Dale. It drove me crazy while you were here. I thought after you left I’d get over it.” She shrugged. “Read my invitation. It’s all there. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”
His eyes bored into her as if demanding her truths, questioning, not quite daring to believe his sudden good fortune.
“Three weeks in this suite seemed like the perfect opportunity to get this chemistry out of the way…unless you don’t want me.”
“You know better.”
The heat was pooling really low now, potent enough to make her take drastic action. Okay, so she’d have to convince him. Fair enough. She’d gone from red-hot to ice-cold when he’d asked her on a date so long ago.
Turning away, she opened the hall closet and slipped off her jacket. “I have to be back downstairs for dinner at seven.”
Here was another perfect opportunity, this one designed to convince him that she was serious about wanting a fling. Swinging her braid over her shoulder, she unfastened the button at her nape.
“Did you tell Annabelle to chase off my date?” he asked.
Laura shook her head. While she might earn brownie points if he thought she’d masterminded the deal, she couldn’t lie. Especially not when she still had pangs about the woman leaving.
“I only sent Annabelle to pick your brain. If you came in alone she was supposed to find out if you were expecting a date. If not, she could give you my invitation. If you arrived with someone, she was supposed to tear up my invitation and swallow the pieces so there wouldn’t be any evidence.”
He laughed. That husky-edged sound rippled through her but Laura still didn’t look at him. It was easier to be calm, cool and courageous when she wasn’t on the end of that gaze. Much, much easier.
Time to level the playing field.
Unfastening her skirt, Laura let it slip to the floor, leaving her standing in a shell, panty hose and practical pumps.
“What the hell are you doing, Laura?”
“I’m convincing you I’m serious about wanting a fling.”
After their long business affiliation, undressing in front of this man was beyond outrageous. But as much as she wanted to see his reaction, she refused to let him see how important his reaction was to her. She hung her skirt on a hanger, instead.
“How can I be the man of your fantasies but not the man of your dreams?” He sounded unconvinced. “Please explain the difference to me.”
His voice had lowered another sexy octave and Laura fought to keep her calm, as if stripping in front of an attractive man was a commonplace occurrence. “The man of my fantasies is a man I can enjoy myself with. When it’s over, it’s over. We both go our separate ways and take away some pleasant memories.”
She tried not to wax too poetic when she said, “The man of my dreams is the man I want to share my life with. He’ll be someone with similar values who wants similar things from life. He’ll share some of my interests and be willing to explore new ones that we can share together. He’ll bring out the best in me and I’ll do the same for him.”
Dale’s snort sounded less than amused, so Laura placed the hanger in the closet and chanced a peek at him.
The frown darkening his expression warned her a storm was brewing so she wasn’t entirely unprepared when he arched a brow and asked, “How do you know what I want from my life? I don’t recall ever having that conversation with you. Or one about values, either.”
