Sex And The Sleepwalker. Donna Sterling
Brynn moved away to fill cups for the more congenial guests. She would have to find a way to draw these young women into the fun-loving spirit of the weekend.
Before she could make an effort to change the girls’ spoilsport attitudes, her radio beeper went off, and Trish asked if she’d take a look at a faulty air conditioner. Brynn hurried upstairs to handle the problem. August in Georgia definitely required air-conditioning.
Forty minutes later, after nearly dismantling the wall unit, Brynn called a repairman. It was at times like these that she truly appreciated Trish’s help. At least she knew the front desk was being run properly while problems kept her elsewhere. She hated missing high tea, though, especially when her Kappa Alpha guys would be trooping in there—with a twelve-pack of beer, probably—and unwittingly annoying the beauty queens. Hopefully Lexi would keep things amiable, regardless of what tactics the guys might use to get the attention of the three young ladies.
Hoping for the best, but fearing the worst, Brynn finally made her way downstairs. If things hadn’t gone well between the Kappa Alphas and the beauty queens, high tea may have ended prematurely, which wouldn’t bode well for the weekend. A congenial atmosphere was vital during football season, when people wanted the freedom to make fools of themselves and have others appreciate them for it. Brynn had to do her utmost to promote a fun-loving spirit among her guests.
Armed with that resolve, she marched toward the parlor, passing Trish, who was deeply involved in a phone conversation at the reception desk. A glance toward the kitchen showed Lexi retreating with an armful of empty snack trays.
Assuming that the tea had ended early, Brynn was surprised as she drew closer to the parlor to hear lively voices and peals of laughter, both masculine and feminine. Mystified, she paused at the parlor entrance and gaped. The guests were clustered around a table—the Kappa Alpha men, the beauty queens, a married couple who were both retired professors, and big, gruff old Mrs. Hornsby, all watching some central action.
Only when Brynn crept closer did she realize that an arm-wrestling match was taking place. Smitty, the Kappa Alphas’ earlier spokesman, was involved in the match, his beefy face red with exertion, his brawny arm raised and quivering under the strain, his hand clasped in a death grip with a darker, leaner hand.
Brynn then caught sight of the other contestant’s face. And the breath left her body. God help her…it was Cade Hunter!
Why was he here? Had he come to see her? She couldn’t imagine why he would. They hadn’t parted on friendly terms. And if he’d come for a social visit, why was he involving himself with her guests?
The beauty queens looked pleased at his presence; they were clustered around him in seductive poses, their gazes glued to his lean, strong-jawed face. The men, all caught up in the macho contest, cheered their fellow Kappa Alpha on, and even the older guests watched with interest. Cade’s attention was trained solely on his opponent.
Brynn couldn’t help but take the opportunity to study the man who had broken her heart nine years ago—the last man she’d been “crazy” about. His shoulders looked broader now, his chest and arms more powerful, but that might have been because of the muscles flexing with exertion. His jet-black hair was as thick and wavy as ever, but cropped shorter than it had been then. Subtle strands of silver now gleamed near his temples. Surprising, considering he was only thirty. His skin, a dark, natural bronze, looked more weathered, giving his already rugged face a craggier look than she remembered. But his eyes, the amber color of sunlit honey, glinted with the same look of wry amusement and quiet intelligence that had first attracted her to him.
He had no business being here! This get-together was for guests only, not the general public. She had to set him straight on that matter.
Unless, of course, he was a friend of the Kappa Alphas, just dropping in for a visit. She couldn’t chase off a friend of her guests. But her Kappa Alpha men were at least ten years older than Cade; he wouldn’t have attended UGA at the same time they had. And Cade hadn’t been in a fraternity. He’d belonged to a different kind of brotherhood—the criminal-justice majors, who hung out together at the gym, pumping iron, or at the firing range, honing their aim in hopes of entering the police academy or FBI. Her brother had been one of his crowd. Brynn’s sorority sisters had referred to them as “cop wannabes.” Because they weren’t in a fraternity, they were generally considered beneath the notice of the Delta Zetas. At the same time, most red-blooded women couldn’t help but admire the rock-hard physiques and protective attitudes of those criminal-justice boys.
Cade had never lacked for female admirers.
Which brought up another possibility—that he’d come to visit one of the beauty queens. But they were recent graduates, and Cade hadn’t been in Athens for nine years, as far as Brynn knew.
Before she had time to reflect on other possibilities, Cade pinned his opponent’s arm to the table. Cheers erupted from the beauty queens, who congratulated him as if he’d made the winning touchdown at a championship game. His defeated opponent flushed, laughed and mumbled something about tennis elbow.
“My turn to take him on,” another Kappa Alpha announced, nudging his frat brother out of the chair. “And this time, use your right arm, buddy. I’ll put you down, anyway.”
Brynn realized that Cade had been using his non-dominant arm, probably as a handicap against the age difference. Interesting. In arm-wrestling, he actually had scruples.
But he had no business being at her high tea.
It was time to assert her authority. “Excuse me.” She shouldered her way through the Kappa Alphas, who were hunkering around the table for the next match, while the girls fluttered and cooed around Cade, expressing their faith in his endurance. “I hate to interrupt the action, but…”
Cade’s attention swung to her then. Her breath halted. Her stomach dropped. She’d forgotten how powerful his gaze could be. She felt as if he’d physically grabbed her and lifted her high into the air. She actually experienced the heady rush of vertigo.
Coming to her senses, she shook it off, and reminded herself who he was and what he’d done. It had been years since she’d confronted him in anything but her fantasies. Oh, how she’d torn into him then! And how she longed to do that now. She couldn’t, of course. She had to think of her guests, and the harmonious spirit she intended to promote.
Restraining herself, she said in an admirably civilized tone, “I’m afraid this function is for registered guests of the inn only.”
Cade confused the issue immediately by smiling at her as if he were mildly pleased to see her. Only mildly, mind you. But that was enough to distract her, to kick her pulse into high gear. “Hello, there. You remember me, don’t you? From UGA. Cade Hunter.” He extended a hand to her—a smooth, practiced move that she automatically responded to. His grip was firm, warm and dry—and the fit of his palm against hers was utterly perfect. Immediately intimate. Frighteningly familiar. “You’re…Brenda, right?”
Brenda. Brenda!
Brynn pulled her hand back from his and stared at him. He’d forgotten her name. All these years, she’d been harboring fantasies of whittling him down to size with her sharp wit and icy demeanor, while he hadn’t given her a thought.
“Brynn,” corrected Mrs. Hornsby in her gruff, cantankerous voice from somewhere behind her. “Her name’s Brynn.”
“Brynn,” Cade repeated. “That’s right. Sorry. I’m terrible with names. How’ve you been?”
Delusional, it seemed. She’d been sure he would never forget her. How dared he forget her? “This gathering is for registered guests only, Mr…Hunt, did you say?”
“Hunter.” His smile didn’t waver as he reached into the pocket of his tight jeans, pulled out a room key and held it up for her inspection. “And I am a registered guest.”
Stunned for the second time in mere moments, Brynn stared at his room key in horror. Registered! He’d registered as a guest? He would