Almost A Honeymoon. Susan Crosby
of character beneath. The perpetually bland expression hid a wealth of feeling. “You did a great job, as usual, Lloyd. And on particularly short notice.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Rye shook his head, exasperated, as he inspected the rest of the cottage—a bedroom sporting a huge four-poster bed and a second fireplace, also lit, then a bathroom containing an oversize tub. “Looks good,” he said.
“You may find the couch a bit confining.”
“I noticed. I’m so tired it won’t matter at this point. I may feel differently tomorrow night.”
“Get some sleep. I’ll watch from outside tonight.”
“Thanks, old friend.” He came very close to sighing. “Well, the princess awaits. I have a feeling it’s going to be a long, long assignment.”
“She doesn’t seem to, ah, particularly care for you, sir.”
“Ms. O’Halloran and I have a history of disagreement.”
“She’s quite attractive, if I may be so bold as to say.”
“You think so? Maybe I can’t see past the nitpicking Scrooge that I know her to be.” He pressed a button on a palm-size remote control as he returned to the car, unlocking it.
“How dare you lock me in,” Paige said, low and angry as she ignored his hand and slid out of the car.
“On the contrary, Harry, I was locking others out.”
“Well, you took your sweet time coming back to get me.”
“I wanted to check out the arrangements personally.” He plucked her coat and purse from her hands and tossed them to Lloyd. Before she could take two steps, he swept her into his arms.
“What are you doing? Put me down!” She shoved at his shoulders.
“Nuzzle,” he ordered her.
“Excuse me?” If frost could burn words, it had.
“I said nuzzle me. If you don’t, I’m going to kiss you. Your choice.”
“What are you talking about?”
“We’re being watched.”
Paige glanced around. “I don’t see anyone. Who cares, anyway?”
“A white-haired lady in a pink bathrobe has focused her romantic little heart our way from the main house. Dammit, Harry, nuzzle—”
“Not in this lifetime.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He tilted her his direction, bringing their faces close.
“Tell me why I should,” she said quickly, restraining him as she hoped the right amount of mutiny rang in her voice.
He turned a triumphant grin on her. “Because we are about to enter the honeymoon cottage.”
“You’re jok—”
He closed the small gap between them, but she jerked away after the merest graze of lips.
“So help me, Harry—”
Paige buried her face against his neck, and she smelled leather and...pure, unadulterated male. He breathed a regular rhythm, apparently unaffected by her. She wished she could say the same for herself. She wanted to cling, although whether from fear or excitement, she didn’t know. Both jockeyed for position. No one had swept her off her feet before, literally or figuratively.
“You can let go.”
His words infiltrated the battle she’d begun to wage within. She loosened her hold as he set her down, her heels sinking into a lush carpet. He continued to hold her elbow as she wobbled briefly.
“You all right?” he asked.
“Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” Her gaze took in the loveliness of the room, with its English countryside motif and warm, deep colors.
“You seemed to enjoy your role, wife.“
Paige ignored his grin. “I’m not stupid, Warner. I know it’s to my advantage to play the game.”
“Do you take that much convincing in bed, too?”
Paige gaped at his audacity.
“Personally, I like a challenge,” he continued.
“You smug, self-centered—”
Lloyd cleared his throat and stepped into the fray. “Miss O’Halloran, I’ve placed your bags in the bedroom. Is there anything I can get you before I go?”
The momentary cease-fire helped Paige find her center of control again. She turned slowly to the driver and extended her hand. “Please call me Paige. And you are?”
He accepted the gesture of friendliness. “Lloyd, Miss O’Halloran. A light snack awaits you, as you can see. I didn’t know your preference of beverage, so you’ll find a variety to choose from. If there’s nothing further?”
“Not unless you can snap your fingers and have this mess disappear.”
“Good night, then.” He touched two fingers to his forehead in salute. “Sir.”
Rye roused himself to say goodbye. He was so tired he could hardly stand. And Paige wasn’t making his life any easier. He watched her lift the cellophane off a tray of fruit and grab a bunch of red grapes before seating herself on the couch. He eyed the sofa hungrily, starved for sleep. His gaze shifted as she crossed one leg over the other. She arched her foot until her shoe fell to the floor, recrossed her legs and rid herself of the other shoe, then bounced her foot rhythmically as she popped one grape after another into her mouth. Her chewing slowed as she caught him staring.
“What?” she asked, the belligerent tone bringing him back to awareness.
Ignoring her, he slid out of his jacket and hung it on the back of a chair. Slowly, he moved to fix himself a plate of fruit, cheese and crackers. He uncorked a bottle of cabernet sauvignon and poured a glass. “Want some?”
No answer. He turned around and found her staring at the weapon tucked into the waistband of his jeans.
She lifted her gaze. “Where did you get that? You couldn’t have had it on the plane.”
“Lloyd passed it to me as I climbed into the car. The holster’s in my bag. Why? Do guns bother you?”
“I’ve never known anyone who had one. I guess it makes everything seem so real.”
“I don’t waste my time on games, Harry. Wine?”
“Umm, yeah. Thanks. I guess I should have offered you some food. Sorry. I can’t quite assimilate all of this yet.”
He passed her the glass. “Just work with me, Paige. I’ll try to make this as painless as possible. Maybe after we’ve spent a few days together, we’ll find a way to—”
“Days?” she repeated. “How many days?”
“I couldn’t even guess.”
“But what about...”
He sat beside her and sipped his wine before placing it on the low table before them. “What about what?”
“Christmas. It’s only four days away.”
Her voice seemed suddenly small and faraway. He wondered at it, and at the expression that settled on her face, worry mixed with hurt. A Scrooge who likes Christmas? Deciding not to taunt her with the observation, he instead held his plate toward her. “Have some, if you want. We may have you back in time for Christmas. I can’t make any promises.”
She absently picked up a slice of Cheddar and nibbled on it. “I have to be home for Christmas,” she said softly, adamantly, after a minute of silence.