Sandra Steffen – A Bride Until Midnight / Something Unexpected: A Bride Until Midnight (страница 2)
An image sauntered unbidden across Summer’s mind. No matter how many dates she accepted, or how much she enjoyed the attention of the rugged, earthy men of Orchard Hill, her fantasy man wasn’t clad in faded jeans or chinos. He was loosening the button on a fine European suit.
Champagne taste on a beer budget.
“Believe your paths will cross, and they will,” Madeline said. “I’m living proof. Now open your eyes.”
All four of them opened their eyes at the same time. They were still blinking when lightning flashed across the horizon. As if in answer, the lights in the inn flickered.
“The universe just sent us a sign,” Madeline whispered in awe. “Your lover is on his way.”
Summer didn’t know if Chelsea and Abby believed in Madeline’s prediction, but they got in Chelsea’s car without disputing it. Madeline had always been intuitive and romantic. Since she’d discovered wealthy architect Riley Merrick and had proceeded to fall in love with him, she’d become even more wise and serene. She believed in destiny and positive thoughts manifesting into positive results. And she believed the flickering lights were a sign.
Summer believed in the cantankerous electrical system in her inn. If that storm came any closer, a fuse would blow, and her lights would go out. There was nothing magical about it, she thought, after Madeline left, too. And the balmy breeze fluttering the loose gathers in her dress’s bodice
It was just the wind.
Tall and muscular, the man crossing Summer’s threshold watched her watching him. Although she couldn’t see his eyes clearly, she saw his bold smile.
Bold with a capital B.
There were times when a woman didn’t appreciate such over-confidence. This wasn’t one of them.
His chest was bare. Why, she didn’t know. He didn’t seem to care that he was dripping on an impeccably tailored, white shirt lying on the floor. He kicked it aside with the toe of one worn boot. Summer knew there was something incongruous about his attire, but this was her dream, and she was enjoying it too much to rouse herself enough to analyze the inconsistencies.
Thunder rolled, ever closer, the sound moving through the darkness, approaching as rhythmically and steadily as the man. And what a man—a long, lean paradigm of natural elegance, honed muscle and masculine intent. Apparently unaffected by the fury of the storm, he smiled as he leaned over her. She held her breath as she waited to be awakened with his kiss.
Thunder cracked right outside the window, and Summer jerked awake. She blinked. Floundered.
Where was she?
Rain pelted the windowpanes, and thunder rumbled again. As she ran her hand over the cushion beside her, her memory gradually returned. She’d curled her feet underneath her at one corner of the settee in the central foyer to wait for the last guest to arrive. She must have fallen asleep. Had she been dreaming? The details of the fantasy escaped her, but there was a yearning in her belly that reminded her how long it had been since she’d known a lover’s touch.
Darn Madeline and her silly predictions.
Summer squinted into the darkness. Darkness?
The lights had been on when she’d curled up with her magazine. The power must have gone out. Luckily she’d anticipated the likelihood of that and had put her candle lighter and hurricane lamp on the registration counter soon after Madeline, Chelsea and Abby left.
Now that she had her bearings, she padded barefoot to the desk where she easily located the lighter and removed the glass chimney from the hurricane lamp. She was in the process of lighting the wick when a fist pounded the door behind her.
She spun around, the lighter still flaming. Lightning blazed across the sky just then, outlining the dark figure of a man on her portico.
She reeled backwards.
“I’m here for the room,” he said, water sluicing off his rain slicker.
K. Miller, the missing carpenter, she thought. Of course.
With her heart still racing, she took her finger off the lighter’s trigger then turned down the wick of the lamp. “The power’s out,” she called, after replacing the globe.
“It went out with that last streak of lightning as I was pulling in,” he said loudly enough to be heard through her front door. “I don’t need electricity. All I need is a dry corner to crash until morning.”
She unlocked the door. Leaving him space to enter, she slipped behind the counter where she normally greeted guests.
There was something oddly familiar about the way he stepped over the threshold. Which was strange, because she was sure she didn’t know him.
Wet, his hair was the color of her favorite coffee, dark and rich and thick. His eyebrows were straight and slightly lighter than his hair, his eyes too shadowed for her to discern their color from here. A drop of water trailed down his cheek before getting caught on the whisker stubble darkening his jaw. He hung his jacket on the coat tree next to the door then started toward the desk.
Green. His eyes were green and so deep they shot a bolt of electricity straight through her. The atmosphere in the room thickened—desire at first sight. He must have felt it, too, because he wasn’t moving anymore, either.
“Are you the innkeeper?” he finally asked, dropping his duffel bag at his feet.
“Summer Matthews, yes. Welcome to The Orchard Inn.”
Maybe it was the lamplight. Maybe it was the late hour and the rain, but her voice sounded throatier and somehow sultrier in her own ears. If one of them didn’t put an end to this soon, clothes were going to start falling off.
“Everyone else arrived hours ago,” she said, taking a stab at normalcy.
He delved into his back pocket. It took her a little longer than usual to realize that he was probably fishing for his credit card so he could register.
She pushed the leather-bound book toward him and said, “As long as the power is out, my computer is, too. If you’d just sign the registry, we can settle up in the morning.”
He hurriedly wrote his name. Leaving the book open on the other side of the counter, he turned his attention back to her. That delicious warmth uncurled deep inside her again.
Well well well. Here she was having sexy thoughts about a rugged, earthy man who definitely was not wearing a two-hundred-dollar tie. There was hope for her yet.
“You’re in Room Seven.” She handed him a key, since the electronic key card wouldn’t work during a power outage, the number seven dangling from a metal ring. “Upstairs, to your right, then all the way to the end of the hall.”
He accepted the key and her venture back to decorum without saying a word. After picking up his duffel bag, he headed for the stairs.
“Wait,” she called.
He turned around slowly, his gaze steady and bold. Bold with a capital B.
Outside, thunder rumbled. Inside, lamplight flickered like temptation.
“Yes?” he asked.
“You’ll need this flashlight.”
He wrapped his fingers around one end of the light. The logical corner of her brain that was still functioning knew she was supposed to release her end now, but she couldn’t seem to do more than tip her head back and look at him.
He was handsome but not in a classical way. His features were too rugged for that, his jaw darkened with beard stubble and damp from the rain. His face was lean and angular, forehead, cheekbones, chin; his lips were just full enough to cause a woman to look twice. There was a small scar below his nose, but it was his eyes that caused a ripple to go through her. Something about him brought out a yearning to hold and be held, to touch and be touched.
He must have felt it, too, because his gaze delved hers before dropping to her mouth. From there, it was a natural progression to her shoulders, bared by her sleeveless dress, and finally to the V that skimmed the upper swells of her breasts.
He drew a slow breath, and it was as if they were both suspended, on the brink of taking the next step. If either of them made the slightest movement, be it a gentle sway or the hint of a smile, there would be no turning back.
She finally garnered the wherewithal to release the flashlight and step away. Giving herself a mental shake, she said, “I hope you enjoy your stay at the inn. Good night, Mr. Miller.”
She’d surprised him. No doubt a man with his masculine appeal was accustomed to a different outcome. But he didn’t press her. Instead, he turned the flashlight on and followed the beam of light up the stairs.
“It’s not Miller,” he said, halfway to the top.
“Pardon me?” she asked.
“My name isn’t Miller. It’s Merrick. Kyle Merrick.”
The thud of his footsteps had quieted, and his door had closed before Summer moved. Looking dazedly around the room, her gaze finally fell upon the open registration book. She ran to it and spun it around. By the light of the oil lamp she read the bold scrawl.
Kyle Merrick.
Oh no.
A few hours ago Madeline had said that neither of Riley’s brothers was planning to attend the wedding. So what was Kyle doing here?
Regardless of his reasons, the wealthy, world-renowned journalist with a nose for scandal and a penchant for stirring up trouble was spending the night right upstairs, and it was too late for Summer to do anything about it.