Early to Bed?. Cara Summers
to making herself over—getting her MBA and apprenticing herself to a small but exclusive hotel chain in Europe. There hadn’t been time for a man. And before that, there’d been Giles. She hadn’t thought of him, hadn’t wanted to think of him, in a very long time.
She could still picture him in her mind—the lean, tanned face, the blond, Viking good looks. He’d been thirty-three—ten years her senior. She’d been fresh out of college, twenty-five pounds heavier, and not used to the social whirl her stepmother had swept her into. Giles had taken her under his wing the moment she’d been introduced to him, and she’d fallen for him. He’d been so kind and attentive that she’d grown to believe that he’d fallen for her, too.
Suddenly she realized that it didn’t hurt to think about Giles anymore. Slowly, she grinned. How ironic that the sight of a bed made for lovers would somehow set her free from the man her family had handpicked for her. Unfortunately, he’d also been a man who’d found her so fundamentally unattractive that for three months, he’d never attempted to do anything more than kiss her good night. When he had made love to her, the experience hadn’t exactly rocked her world. Nor had it rocked his.
Afterward, he’d told her not to worry about it. He didn’t really think of her in that way. Oh, he’d wanted to marry her because if he married J. R. McNeil’s only daughter, then the merger between Fortescue International and McNeil Enterprises would rest on a foundation that would appease the boards of both companies.
It was then that she realized that her father and her stepmother had arranged the whole “courtship.” By marching down the aisle, she and Giles would perform their duty to the new company. Then they could each go their separate ways. He, of course, would find other women to satisfy his needs. Meanwhile she would run his home and entertain for him while he worked to take his place at the helm of Fortescue-McNeil Inc. Of course, eventually, they would have to produce an heir.
Shuddering at the thought, Lily climbed up and settled herself on the foot of the bed. For the first time in two years, she was able to think of Giles and not feel that horrible wave of inadequacy that had swamped her for so long. Perhaps, the success seminar in Tahiti really was working. Or maybe, it was the bed—a bed where two star-crossed lovers had found happiness together for twenty years. A bed that represented real love, real passion.
Whatever it was, she felt relieved—no, she felt quite happy that Giles had never become her husband. She certainly couldn’t imagine rolling around on this bed with the very proper and very staid Giles Fortescue. The image flashed into her mind then—bright and vivid—she was lying on the bed, her body entwined with the tall man she’d just seen in that photograph.
No. She frowned. That was not going to happen. She’d come here to do a job. And just because she’d finally freed herself of the black cloud that had been Giles Fortescue, that didn’t mean that she wanted to jump into bed with someone else—especially one of the Romanos. That would lead to disaster.
She slid from the bed and walked quickly back into the main room to pick up her bag. She was going to stick strictly to business. And the first step was to take a shower, go to bed and get a good night’s sleep.
Her past was not going to equal her future. She was going to get what she wanted.
TONY STARED at the chunk of plaster that had loosened itself from around the light fixture and fallen smack onto the middle of his bed. Look on the bright side. That was his father’s credo, and Tony had adopted it as his own.
He lifted the chunk off the mattress and tested its weight before he tossed it into the air and caught it. Well, the bright side was that he’d been playing poker at Sam’s when the pipes had given out in Dame Vera’s suite. Otherwise, about ten pounds of damp plaster would have landed right on his…No, he really didn’t want to dwell on where the chunk might have landed. But he figured that the straight he’d been dealt at Sam’s had not only won him fifty bucks, it had also saved his family jewels.
Dame Vera had been right. His luck was definitely on the upswing. And it wasn’t just the card game that had convinced him. He’d had a close encounter with a crazy driver on the way home from Sam’s. The dark blue vehicle had come out of nowhere. He’d caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and raced for the curb just in time. The driver hadn’t stopped, and Tony hadn’t gotten a partial plate number to give to Drew, who was a cop.
Just then, the overhead light dimmed and another chunk plummeted to the mattress.
Tony sighed. Now, if his personal luck would just carry over to the problems at the hotel. Zach Murphy, who’d been patching the plumbing in the building for years, had predicted this particular scenario with the annoying regularity of a Greek chorus.
“Ton, mark my words. If you don’t replace the pipes in that building, the whole eighth floor is going to fall on your head.”
The damn thing about Greek choruses was that they were always right.
Tony surveyed his room, the one he’d occupied since he was ten, and wasn’t sure whether to laugh or to cry. He’d made a promise to his father eight years ago to keep the hotel running. It was the only home he and his family had ever known. His brother Drew, his cousins Grace and Lucy, his Aunt Gina—they all still lived here. And over the years, the profits from the hotel had provided a college education for each member of the family. Now, he had to figure out a way to keep the roof from falling on their heads.
It wasn’t in his nature to be a pessimist, but he didn’t make a habit of lying to himself either. Henry’s Place was in trouble. Though it was still operating in the black, he couldn’t afford to close off any of the rooms because of plumbing problems. According to Lucy, the latest flood had moved from Dame Vera’s suite down through the family’s floor and on to four rooms on the sixth floor. They were all going to have to be repaired and repainted, and he was going to have to come up with the money for Zach Murphy to replace the pipes.
Lily McNeil had promised to help him with all of that. He’d planned to pick her brain while she tried to lead him down the garden path. Why had she canceled at the last minute? He didn’t think for a minute that McNeil Enterprises had lost interest in Henry’s Place.
First thing in the morning, he was going to call Ms. McNeil’s office and find out why she’d canceled their meeting, and then—well, he’d just have to turn on the Romano charm.
Suddenly, a yawn overtook him, and Tony realized that he was deep down bone tired. Whatever his plans for the morning, what he needed right now was a dry bed to sleep in, and as much as he hated it, that meant going to the roof. He was stepping into the hallway when another hunk of plaster hit the bed. Wincing slightly, he closed the door firmly behind him and strode down the hall to the private elevator. The thing to remember was that his luck had changed. He punched the button for the penthouse apartment.
His first surprise came when the doors slid open and he saw that the room was ablaze with lights. Striding forward, he flipped lights off as he went. They’d even left the gas fireplace on. He’d have to speak with Lucy and Grace. They were the only ones in the family who came up here on a regular basis, but it wasn’t like them to be so careless. He was heading for the table lamp next to the sofa when he saw her stretched out on the cushions, her hand tucked beneath one cheek.
There was a moment, one stunning moment, when he felt his mind empty. He could have sworn that time stood still—or was it merely his heart that had stopped? One thought filled his mind. It’s you.
Then because the idea was so unprecedented, so ridiculous, he took a deep, steadying breath and moved closer. He was tired, the ceiling was probably still falling on his bed, and there was a stranger sleeping on the penthouse sofa. He studied her for a moment. Not sleeping beauty—he discarded the thought as soon as it slipped into his mind. Perhaps, it was the fact that one of her hands was curled into a tight fist. But something made him quite sure that this was no sleeping princess waiting for her prince to come. The reddish-gold curls fanned out on the pillow made him think of Goldilocks, a tough little housebreaker. He was nearly able to summon up a smile. Nearly, but not quite—maybe when his heart beat returned to normal. He took in the