One-Night Man. Jeanie London
her.
Yes, a big one, but Lennon wasn’t going to tell him that. She could sense him towering over her, and his voice resonated through her like a caress.
Jeez! Who’d have guessed the black sheep would have grown up to be the stuff sinfully delicious heroes were made of? Not her, for sure. She hadn’t thought much about Josh Eastman since she’d been ten years old. She may have heard about him from his grandfather, but for some reason Great-uncle Joshua hadn’t mentioned how seriously attractive his grandson had grown to be.
Taking a deep, calming breath, Lennon turned around and lifted her gaze.
His eyes, greener than the lawns along Rue St. Charles, gave her a jolt. Another deep breath. “They can’t upgrade my suite to a two bedroom.”
“I don’t mind sharing a bedroom with you, chère.”
He smiled, only his wasn’t a smile as Lennon had ever thought of one. His smile lit his face with arresting candor, drew her attention to how his white teeth dazzled in contrast to the dark shadow of stubble along his chiseled jaw.
For her last three books, she’d begged her editor to find a cover model with such strong, cut features, only to have Ellen laughingly tell her that those heroes didn’t exist anywhere but in the stories she wrote.
Wrong. She’d be sure to tell Ellen when they next spoke.
Turning back to the desk clerk, Lennon handed her the credit card, but Mr. Hero plucked it from the clerk’s grasp.
“Use mine,” he whispered in her ear, a burst of warm breath that tickled her hair and sent goose bumps down her arms. “You’re my client, which means I pick up the tab from now until the case is over. Standard procedure.”
Lennon didn’t argue. The man was a reputed professional, after all, and she had no desire to wind up scattered in pieces all over the parish. She had to do whatever she could to help Josh contain any threat to her great-aunt’s safety.
But she didn’t have to abandon her own plans.
Auntie Q may have thrown her a curve by providing her with a roommate, but Lennon was here to scope out Mr. Right. Josh Eastman was not Mr. Right. Near as she could tell, he lived in the wrong part of town, worked in the wrong career, and he didn’t even look the part of a decent husband with his too-long black hair, rugged hero face and green bedroom eyes.
And, jeez, he must be nearly as tall as Olaf, a strikingly obvious fact as he towered above the bellhop after they arrived in the Carriage House. An intimidated bellhop, if the way the young man jumped at his directions was any indication.
Lennon wanted to rear normal children, and any child of Josh’s might grow to be a giant. Not such a bad thing for sons, when she thought about it, but she didn’t want her girls to tower above their classmates. Of course, tall girls could always become fashion models or basketball players….
That settled it. Josh was Mr. Wrong incarnate. And how difficult would it be to find Mr. Right with Mr. Wrong dogging her heels all weekend? Lennon didn’t want to think about it.
Placing her laptop on the table, she checked out the suite. As a turn-of-the-century addition that occupied the rear of a lovely inner courtyard, the Carriage House afforded her privacy.
If not for her new roommate, the suite would have been perfect. Though not large, it comprised a bedroom and living area spacious enough for a neat arrangement of antique chairs and a sofa. With fourteen-foot-high ceilings and French doors that opened onto a small balcony, the airy layout should offset the addition of her unexpected guest. Hopefully.
“That looks like the last of it, sir,” the bellhop said, and Lennon couldn’t miss the hopeful note in his voice. “Was there anything else you needed?”
“That’s it.” Josh tipped the boy.
Lennon hoped he’d been generous, given the ridiculous amount of electronic equipment he’d brought, and decided he must have been when the bellhop disappeared with a smile and an enthusiastic, “Let me know if you need anything else.”
An adjoining suite with another bed would have been nice.
But Josh seemed more interested in taking stock of their surroundings than with the sleeping arrangements.
Lennon opened her laptop case and checked the battery. She’d brought it to try and catch up on her deadline. This manuscript was due on her editor’s desk by the end of the month, and she had to leave time to edit, make corrections, then add Ellen’s revisions…. Lennon shook her head. She just couldn’t think about all she had to do without getting overwhelmed.
Heading into the bedroom, she exhaled in resignation. What she’d considered quaint and charming on her tour of the hotel a year ago seemed completely inadequate now. The petite Queen Anne sofa occupying the living room would be nowhere near large enough to accommodate a man of Josh’s size, leaving this king-size sleigh bed as the only alternative.
Hefting her garment bag over her shoulder, Lennon headed back out to the living room.
Josh stood from where he’d been crouched beneath the table, presumably connecting a surge board to the power supply. “Problem with the closet?”
“I want my things out here, where I’ll be sleeping.”
His green gaze caught hers, potent with amusement, making Lennon suddenly feel self-conscious. “Problem with the bed?”
“No. But there are only two places to sleep—this sofa and that bed.” She glanced through the doorway at the item in question. “A rollaway won’t fit because the suite’s so small, and the sofa won’t work for you. You can have the bedroom.”
Josh followed her gaze and a smile curved his lips. “All right, charity case, let’s cover some ground rules.” Half sitting on the edge of the table, he folded his arms, drawing her attention to the way his strong biceps stretched the cotton of his white Henley shirt. “I’m here to protect you, and I can’t do that if I’m asleep in the bedroom while you’re out here.” He inclined his head toward the balcony. “Especially with those French doors. Anyone could break a pane and come in for a visit. Not safe.”
The man had dressed in jeans, a casual outfit markedly similar to the one he’d shown up in at the gallery. While it wasn’t inappropriate for check-in at the Château Royal, he might have worn newer jeans, or at least a pair that didn’t ride so low on his hips they were distracting.
“All right.” She willed the observation from her mind and hoped she sounded nonchalant. “If my suggestion won’t work, what do you recommend?”
“We’ve only got two choices, chère. I sleep out here with you or you sleep in there with me.”
“Are you offering to sleep on the floor so the bad guys have to crawl over you to get to me?”
“That wouldn’t be my first choice, no. I’m not real fond of tile floors when there’s a bed big enough for two.” His smile widened, carving deep lines in his cheeks and narrowing his eyes to lushly fringed slits. “Afraid you won’t be able to resist me?”
Lennon sighed. The only things missing were a cape and a sword to make him a perfect rogue. “I’ll control myself.”
Eyeing him with what she hoped was unruffled coolness, Lennon swept back into the bedroom with her garment bag. She wouldn’t dignify his teasing. He might find the situation amusing, but she had concerns. How could she concentrate on finding Mr. Right with Josh under her nose—and in her bed?
She had no easy answer, but luckily Josh gave her time to mull over the problem while he remained in the next room unpacking his equipment. She did manage to put their sleeping arrangements from her mind—until he turned up in the bedroom with his own garment bag.
Hanging it over the bathroom door, he helped himself to a seat on the bed. “I need to assess potential threats. I’ve studied the information available online and what the press has written, but