Sweet Talkin' Lover Page 7

  A petite woman in her mid- to late forties sporting a blond pixie cut, a navy boat-necked top, and a purple boa stood, her forehead wrinkled. “I’m Gwen.”

  Thank you, Jesus! “I have a reservation. Caila Harris.”

  Dawning horror crept over Gwen’s features. She blinked twice rapidly. “From Endurance.”

  With those two words, the expressions on the other women’s faces began to change, an assorted mix of embarrassment, hostility, and drunken amusement. One woman said, “Well, damn!” and yanked the silver glitter top hat off her head. Another, wearing a brightly colored feathered face mask, stood and scooted past Caila. A few seconds later, the music stopped in the middle of Carrie exhorting them to “run for your life.” The sudden, shocking absence caused a temporary ringing in her ears.

  “So that’s how you pronounce it. Kay-lah,” Gwen said. She grimaced. “I kinda wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.”

  Really? Such a warm welcome. They should put it on their website: Welcome to Sinclair House. We weren’t expecting you.

  “We’ll see ourselves out,” said a voice behind Caila.

  She turned and saw the woman who’d left to turn off the music, sans her mask and multicolored Mardi Gras beads. She motioned for the other women to follow her. There was some giggling, some grumbling, but the remaining six women filed past Caila, though none met her gaze. In the music-free quiet, the sounds of stumbling steps and the front door closing were apparent.

  “It’s our monthly bunco event.” Gwen twisted her fingers in front of her. “Do you play?”

  Caila stared at her. “I have no idea what that is.”

  “Right.” Gwen bit her lip. “You know, the fact that the Endurance rep showed up in the middle of our bunco game will be all over town by morning.”

  That’s what passed for news here? Although Caila shouldn’t be surprised. That was one of the main characteristics of a small town: Gossip spread like a forest fire during a drought. If that held true to form, it would take less than twenty-four hours for everyone to hear about her little performance at the diner, too.

  But right now, none of that mattered.

  “Do you have a room available for tonight or do I need to come back tomorrow?”

  “We have the rooms. It’s not a busy time. In fact, you’re my only guest.”

  “Tha—”

  “Now, if this were during the Civil War reenactment tour or the holiday parade of historic homes, it would’ve been a different story. We get people from all over during those times. Can’t throw a rock without hitting a visitor. But nothing much happens in October. Although maybe that would’ve been a better time for you to see Bradleton. When we’re at our best.” Gwen’s brown eyes widened, as if she realized she was babbling but she couldn’t make herself stop. “We do have the Harvest Festival starting this weekend, which draws a nice local crowd. You’d enjoy it if you’re still around . . .”

  Her words petered off and an awkward silence settled between the two of them.

  Jesus.

  Gwen rubbed her hands down the sides of her jeans, her fingers fidgeting with the scalloped edge of her shirt. “Come on, I’ll show you where to sign in.”

  Caila almost dropped to her knees as gratitude surged through her. Between the long day, meeting the too-sexy-for-his-own-good mayor, and the fear of being in the wrong house, the adrenaline roller-coaster ride was playing havoc with her equanimity. She didn’t care what happened next. She’d accept it with a smile on her face and a spring in her step. Despite what she’d said, there’s no way she would’ve been able to drive the hour back to Richmond. She’d been spared the privilege of paying for a sleepless night at the no-tell motel.

  Gwen led her out of the dining room and into an open area in the center of the house. Against the wall stood a beautiful cherry credenza that held a sign-in book and a bell.

  Caila added her name to the list of visitors who apparently enjoyed their stay in the “charming” and “welcoming” B&B.

  That remained to be seen.

  “I’m really sorry about this,” Gwen said, flicking her hand in the air, “but I thought your reservation started tomorrow.”

  Caila wanted to roll her eyes, but she squashed her instinctive annoyance.

  Smile on your face. Spring in your step.

  “My assistant called yesterday with my change of plans and one of your employees assured her it was okay for me to arrive early.”

  Gwen shook her head. “I don’t have any employees that would answer the phone and I’m pretty sure I didn’t talk to anyone from your company.”

  Caila thought back on her conversation with Diane. “She said she spoke with a young man who—”

  “A young man?” Gwen’s features hardened. “Kevin!”

  Caila jumped, startled to hear such loudness come from the tiny woman. Plus she hadn’t known anyone else was there.

  A voice from somewhere above them. “Ma’am?”

  “Did someone call and tell you they’d be coming tonight instead of tomorrow?”

  Silence. Then . . . “Crap.”

  Footsteps thundered down the wooden staircase facing them.

  “Sorry, Mom. I was going to tell you but then I—”

  A tall, blond, strapping boy wearing jeans and a dark green Bradleton High sweatshirt skidded to a stop on the landing.

  Gwen’s gaze bored into him. “We’ll talk about it later. Kevin, this is Caila Harris. She’ll be staying with us through the weekend.”

  The young boy’s lashes flickered and a flush crept up his neck, turning his already ruddy cheeks so crimson, he resembled a blond-topped tomato.

  Caila forced a smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Kevin.”

  Her voice pulled him from his suspended animation. He walked toward her, his movements jerky, his body appearing to act of its own accord. Unfortunately, he forgot the final few steps that led from the landing to the main level. He tripped but caught himself before he fell into a clumsy pile at her feet. He crossed his arms, uncrossed them, then stretched a hand out and leaned against the wooden banister. “Hey.”

  Gwen shot a look at her son, her delicate brows furrowed. “Kevin graduated from Bradleton High in the spring. He’s taking the semester off and working for me to make some money. He’ll start classes at the community college in January.”

  Caila nodded, growing increasingly more uncomfortable with his wide-eyed, unblinking stare. “That’s . . . wonderful.”

  Can I go to my room now? Caila knew what she’d just promised herself, but she’d dare anyone to endure another moment as an unwilling participant in this painful vignette from a Woody Allen movie.

  “Did you leave your luggage in your car? I can send Kevin out to get it.”

  “It’s okay,” Caila said. “I left it near the room with the TV and speakers.”

  Gwen nodded. “Kevin, grab Ms. Harris’s bags.”

  “On it,” he said, his eyes bright.

  Uhhh . . . “Thank you.”

  He nodded and ducked his head before loping off.

  “This way,” Gwen said, as she started walking. “Most of our bedrooms are on the second floor, but we have a larger suite on the main level. I thought you’d be more comfortable there, since it has a small seating area you can use as a workstation.”

  Caila followed Gwen out of the large antique-appointed parlor—finally!—and down a hallway on the other side of the house. Kevin caught up to them as they stopped at a wooden door.

  “Welcome to the Tulip Room.” Gwen turned the antique brass handle and opened the door.

  All five people gasped in unison.

  The walls were painted a luminous butter yellow, the color pairing delightfully with the bright green that adorned the curtains and the matching duvet. Across the room a round table and a yellow and green patterned armless chair comprised the work area Gwen had mentioned. It was a lovely, well-lit space.

  But that wasn’t why everyone stood motionless, eyes bulging, jaws on the
floor.

  “Shit!” Gwen’s hands flew to her mouth. “I forgot you were in here.”

  “Mom!” Kevin resembled a large fish gasping for air on land, his gaze glued to the queen-sized bed.

  Gwen moved like she’d recently acquired the power of super speed. “Go back to your room. Now!” She pushed her son out the door and closed it firmly in his stunned face.

  “I’ll be around if you need anything, Ms. Harris,” Kevin called through the door.

  Caila didn’t respond, unable to look away from the unexpected scene. A large white box labeled “Intimate Treasures” sat open on the bed. Scattered around it were dildos, vibrators, and anal plugs of all different sizes, shapes, and colors, along with fuzzy handcuffs, the occasional scrap of red and black lace, tubes of lotion, and jars of cream.

  Two women sat at the small table.

  Or, rather, they had been sitting.

  The redhead scrambled to her feet. “Oh God, oh God,” she moaned. Her shoulders curled forward so much Caila thought they’d meet in the middle.

  The other woman, a brunette with long curly hair, rose more nonchalantly. “Is everything okay? I thought I had another two hours.”

  Caila wished she could take a picture of the room at that moment, without being noticed. It would’ve made a wonderful visual for when she recounted this story to Ava, Nic, and Lacey.

  “You did, but my guest showed up early,” Gwen said. She grabbed the box, put it on the table, and began dumping the wide assortment of sex toys and lingerie into it. “Caila Harris. From Endurance.”

  The brunette’s brows rose. “Got it.”

  “When it’s slow, I let Evelyn use one of the bedrooms to hold a trunk show,” Gwen said, a whirling dervish in motion. “I get a small percentage of everything she sells.”

  “We did pretty good tonight,” Evelyn said.

  “This is supposed to be private,” the redhead cried.

  “Calm down, Daisy.” Evelyn ushered her to the door, rubbing soothing circles on her upper back. “I already have your order. I’ll call you tomorrow to get your credit card.”

  Once they left, Caila and Gwen stood there. Alone.

  Again.

  Caila closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. Was this uncomfortable silence number three or four?

  Gwen sighed and shoveled a hand through her short blond strands. “Do you want another room? You can pick whichever one you want. Or . . . I’ll . . . I’ll understand if you want to stay someplace else. I can make a few calls. Jenna has a nice place over on Somerset. It’s a ten-minute drive from here. The Newell Inn, on the other side of town, has a pretty good breakfast buffet.”

  The thought of getting back in her car and driving to another B&B with no guarantee of what she’d find?

  No thank you. She might not be as lucky next time. She could walk right in on a séance. Or an exorcism. This was the situation she knew, and she only planned to be here about five days. A week at the most. “This is fine.”

  And it was. It wasn’t the sleek modern furniture she was accustomed to—in both the hotels she frequented and her own apartment—but it possessed a comfortable, relaxed feel that suddenly reminded her of Pop-Pop’s house. Especially the cushioned window seat on the far wall that recalled the reading nook he’d made for her.

  Impending tears stung the backs of her eyes. She exhaled through pursed lips, lowering her lashes and busying herself with wheeling her suitcase into the room and placing her items on the bed.

  “That door leads to your en suite bathroom,” Gwen said. “The library is down the hallway on the other side of the kitchen. And the wifi passcode is ‘sinclairhouse,’ one word, all lowercase. We provide breakfast and lunch, but I don’t offer a dinner service.”

  Caila nodded. Speaking of dinner . . .

  “Can I use the kitchen to microwave my takeout?”

  “Of course.” Gwen held out her hand. “Here, I can do it for you.”

  Caila gave her the bag. “Thanks.”

  “Feel free to use the kitchen whenever you need.” Gwen shook the bag. “Turk’s is the best but there are some fast-food places if you head back out of town, and a couple of cafes, too.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “And here’s a key to the front door. You shouldn’t need it unless you get back after eleven.”

  Caila almost laughed and took the key she was offered. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d used an actual key to gain entrance into a place. Her own apartment had upgraded to key fobs several years ago.

  “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  Leave me alone so I can pass out? “Not at this time.”

  Gwen smiled. “I’ll bring your food as soon as it’s heated. Thank you for staying. I promise I’ll make your stay as nice as possible.”

  She strode briskly to the door and closed it behind her.

  Peace at last! Peace at last! Thank God almighty, peace and quiet at last!

  Caila exhaled, spread her arms wide, and fell spread-eagle back onto the bed.

  She sneezed.

  Great. The mattress was more comfy than she’d anticipated but it was a good bet the sheets, blankets, and fabrics weren’t hypoallergenic. A field day for the dust mites.

  She stared up at the wooden slats of the ceiling fan. How had she gotten here? A few weeks ago she’d been on her way to a partnership and now she was in bum fuck nowhere with buncos and dildos, doing a task that was levels beneath her. And why? Because one night she’d had a little too much to drink at dinner?

  It was more than that and you know it.

  There was a knock on the door.

  “Come in,” Caila said, expecting Gwen with her reheated dinner.

  Evelyn stuck her head in. “I’m so sorry, but I forgot my box . . .”

  Caila couldn’t help it. Amusement bubbled up and exploded from her. She laughed until her cheeks hurt and tears were streaming down her face.

  She waved the other woman into the room and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, attempting to catch her breath. “I haven’t laughed like that since I heard about . . . in a long time.”

  “Well, you’re welcome,” Evelyn said, smiling as she lifted the box.

  Caila eyed her. “And the orders are confidential?”

  “Absolutely. It’s a small town. I wouldn’t make any money if people thought I’d blab to their neighbors about their purchases.”

  “Good.” Caila reached for her wallet. “I won’t be here long enough to place an order. Which of those vibrators do you have in stock?”

  Chapter Six

  Wyatt knew lots of women and had dated his share. So why couldn’t he banish the memories of Caila Harris that had monopolized his thoughts since last night?

  The muscles in his shoulders stretched as he carefully smoothed the planing sled over the thick slab of wood contained between its rails, flattening the surface to use as a coffee table. The jig vibrated in his hands and kicked up a dense cloud of sawdust.

  Of course you’re thinking about her. She’s the representative from Endurance who holds the fate of the plant in her hands. The plant that’s vital to your town’s economic survival. She’s all you should be thinking about.

  That would make him feel much better if his musings were relegated to the business implications of her presence in Bradleton and coming up with strategies to defeat her plan. Instead, he couldn’t help entertaining all sorts of inappropriate thoughts about her.

  Thoughts where they stood so close he could see each individual strand of her lashes and breathe in her warm, enticing scent.

  Where he brushed his thumb across her plump lower lip and discovered it was as soft as it looked.

  Where they were alone in Turk’s, under the flickering fluorescent lights, and she’d agreed to his suggestion of an additional use for that pinball machine . . .

  Wyatt shook his head in another futile attempt to eliminate her from his mind and began another pass over the wide, textu
red slab. The tool’s muffled whine provided a familiar and soothing ambient sound.

  He’d noticed her the moment she’d first entered the diner. He’d been listening to what felt like the millionth conversation about the plant closing when he’d observed a sexy feminine form in his peripheral vision. He’d instinctively turned to see who it was; his first thought was that he didn’t recognize her.

  His second thought was now that he’d seen her, he’d never forget her.

  Dark, wavy hair fell around her shoulders and framed a face with skin the color of dark gingerbread, round cheekbones, and a sharp chin. She was tall, with a body that made his palms itch to discover all its dips and curves, hills and valleys. When she took her seat at the counter, she moved with a long-limbed grace that couldn’t help drawing gazes.

  Her clothes and handbag screamed city money. Not that Bradleton didn’t have wealthy women; some were in his family. But they dressed differently. Bright colors instead of slick, sharp neutrals. Pearl necklaces instead of diamond studs.

  He’d stared at her strong profile, willing her to look in his direction. He wanted to see her eyes, heeding some nascent whimsical notion that her eyes would tell him . . . everything. She never glanced his way, and since he didn’t want to act like the stalker they’d accused Vince of being, he’d returned his full attention to the conversation. But it wasn’t long before the hair on the nape of his neck stirred.

  “Don’t look now, but someone is staring at you,” Dan had murmured.

  Considering it was what he’d craved only minutes before, Wyatt longed to ignore his friend’s directive. But he didn’t. “Does anyone know who she is?”

  “I never said it was a woman, let alone a particular one,” Dan countered, sliding him a sidelong glance.

  Wyatt winced. Busted!

  Dan shook his head, his mouth screwed into a mocking twist. “No idea, although I heard her say she was staying at Gwen’s.”

  So she wasn’t just passing through. She was specifically visiting their town. Why? Sure, Bradleton was situated close to both Washington, D.C., and Richmond, but most people traveling between the two cities or doing business in either usually stuck to places along the Interstate 95 corridor, not venturing miles west to find their small town.