A Place with Briar (Harlequin Superromance) (2 page)

“This is where most of my guests like to come in the mornings to socialize, read the paper and check the weather,” she explained as she took them past this room and up the staircase to the private suites. “I hope you don’t mind being the only one here for the time being.”

“I like the quiet.” That at least was the truth. He pocketed his hands when they itched to finger the silken hair that fell straight to her shoulders. “I’m not much company.”

“Me, either,” she admitted with a nervous lilt of a laugh. She glanced back at him. “I try to find as many quiet moments as possible. A guilty pleasure, I reckon.”

“I imagine that’s difficult, finding time for yourself,” he said as they stepped onto the second-floor landing. “Operating a place like this.” The antique breakfront standing against the wall opposite the stairs added its own cedar scent to the corridor. The spicy aroma made him feel more at ease than the magnolia at the entrance and the evident polish of the interior. “Do you run it alone?”

“Yes.” Her smile slipped out of place for a moment before she recovered from the slight hitch and her eyes shone again. “It’s been in the family for some time, but it’s just me for now.”

He frowned. Seemed a great deal for one person to handle. Tiffany would be relieved, however, that there weren’t other owners to contend with.
For now,
at least. “It’s nice,” he offered.

“Thank you,” she said, leading him to his suite door. “This is yours. I reserved the best bay view for you.”

When he stepped into the room, surprise filtered through him.

The wooden floor gleamed under the morning glow just like the bay water visible through the wide window. The sleigh bed looked plush and oh-so inviting under a thick blue quilt, matching pillows plumped at the head.

There was an antique armoire with one door open to reveal a full-length mirror on the inside panel. Complimentary padded hangers dangled on the rack inside. Stems of flowers flowed out of crystal vases on the dresser, the cut glass shooting sunshine into his eyes. Irises and hydrangeas blessed the room with their sweet, earthy scents.

He couldn’t remember what he’d expected. Something more feminine. Chintz or pastels, something out of a Pottery Barn catalog...but certainly not this. A sense of comfort came over him—swift, almost foreign. “It’s...perfect.”

Small dimples dug into her cheeks as she smiled. “I’ll let you settle in. When you’re ready, I’ll give you a tour and explain mealtimes and other activities.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s my pleasure, Mr. Savitt,” she said as she walked around him to leave.

Instinctively, his hand reached up to brush her arm. At his touch, she froze, her face tipped close underneath his. Inches hovered between his lips and hers.

“Please,” he murmured, hardly able to grind the words out. “Call me Cole.”

An uncertain grin peaked the corners of her lips. His eyes drifted to them. A long, seductive chain heated and coiled, winding from the center of his torso around his navel.

She closed her eyes, breaking the connection and shaking her head as if to clear it. “Downstairs,” she said again. “I’ll see you downstairs.” And retreated.

When she shut the door behind her, Cole dropped his bag to the floor and blew out the breath he’d unknowingly been holding under her gaze. It wasn’t strategy or anything other than the blood he felt humming too closely to the surface that had made him want to lean over and taste that sweet, smiling mouth.

Damned if that was the way he was going to go about this errand. His job was to find out if the owner of Hanna’s had any investors and what her financial situation was. He wasn’t going to sink to Tiffany’s level and use the attraction he felt simmering between himself and Briar to get the information he needed. He’d bring out the detective he’d been before his life had gone to smithereens to get what he needed out of her.

And, no. The detective slumbering inside him didn’t think that kissing the innkeeper was a wise way to initiate his under-the-table investigation of Hanna’s Inn. As pretty as Briar Browning was...after Tiffany’s complete and utter betrayal, there was no way he’d risk entering even a harmless flirtation.

CHAPTER TWO

B
RIAR
CAUGHT
HERSELF
thinking far too deeply about the stranger in the bay suite. Especially after he chose to forgo lunch in the dining room and took off with a roar on his Harley.

As far as she could tell, Cole Savitt was a middle-aged man with no wedding ring, and apparently he carried all he needed for two weeks in a single backpack.

And when he’d taken off his sunglasses and she got a gander at the pain riddling his dark eyes, her heart reached out to him unequivocally. And...his broad shoulders and trim torso fit his leather riding jacket really well, too.

She cleared her throat and gave herself a mental shake. Damn her heart. It’d always readily reached out to the wounded.

There was no doubt in her mind Cole Savitt was a wounded man. But that kind of information was above and beyond what she needed to know about her guest. All she had to do was make his two weeks at Hanna’s as pleasant as possible. In the year she’d worked here, she had never failed to please anyone under the inn’s roof.

She hadn’t offered more than breakfast in bed to any guests, either, and she wasn’t about to start now.

Too much else to worry about.

In addition to Hanna’s Inn, Briar owned the adjoining property. At two stories, the building was painted white to match the inn. It held three shop spaces in addition to a roomy apartment on the back half of the second-floor interior. She rented the living space to her cousin, Olivia Lewis, who managed the adjacent first-floor bayside bar, Tavern of the Graces.

Briar leased the street-side shop space to Adrian Carlton, single mother and proprietor of Flora, Fairhope’s finest floral shop. Above it, the third commercial space sat on the second level, overlooking South Mobile Street and had been empty for years. Thankfully, someone had finally taken notice.

As Briar stood aside, listening to the clack of heels over tile, a potential investor, Roxie Honeycutt, strolled slowly around the room, doing her final walk-through. The woman had been eager to sign the lease and institute Belle Brides—a bridal boutique that would house the woman’s own line of bridal couture. But Briar had insisted on the final formality.

Roxie sighed, whirling to face her. She looked utterly chic in a strapless summer dress the color of money and matching peep-toe pumps. “I said it once, I’ll say it again. It’s absolutely perfect.”

Briar held back a sigh of her own, one of immense relief. “I had an exterminator give it a once-over. No termites or other pest problems. Though I wish I’d had the time to give it a fresh coat of paint.”

“Oh, the color will change, anyway,” Roxie explained, waving a hand. “I’m thinking pink. With vintage white mirrored accessories. Typical, maybe. But I advertise my gowns on a red-based pink backdrop and it really makes the designs pop.”

“I’m sure you’ll make the space look fabulous.” She shook Roxie’s hand. “Welcome to the building.”

Roxie beamed, her commercial-straight teeth as perfect as her Victoria Beckham coif and cornflower-blue eyes. “You’ve just made me the happiest woman this side of the Mississippi. Opening my own shop has been a dream for so long, I can hardly believe I’m finally doing it.”

Dreams,
Briar thought. It had been so long since she’d contemplated her own, she could hardly remember them. They had slipped through her fingers so quickly, she was no longer sure what she wanted. “When will you get started?”

“I’m hoping to open before July, just in time for the big holiday rush. So as soon as possible.”

“Well, if you need any assistance at all the other girls and I will be more than happy to help you settle in,” Briar said. “Shall we sign and make it official?”

As they stepped out, Briar locked the dead bolt while Roxie stood back, eyeing the shop face. “I had a bit of a brainstorm last night. I never sleep when I’m excited. Drives my fiancé, Richard, to insanity, me pacing up and down the halls at all hours. If you’re up for it, I think we could come up with a package deal.”

Briar leaned against the rail overlooking the small parking lot. “How so?”

“On top of designing, I’m a licensed wedding coordinator. I plan ceremonies, receptions, book caterers, photographers, venues, florists, etc. What I was thinking is we each shave a percentage off our prices for my couples—offer them my services and attire along with your honeymoon suite at a discounted rate.”

“Have you thought about adding Flora to the package? Adrian’s done weddings, and her bridal arrangements are divine.”

Roxie held up a discerning finger. “And don’t forget the Tavern. I love that wide veranda on the back. It’s just big enough for a reception space. With the right lighting, trimmings and that amazing natural backdrop of the bay, it’d be breathtaking.”

“I like it,” Briar admitted. Something buzzed beneath her skin. Something that felt an awful lot like
possibilities.
Could this be what the inn needed to stay afloat? “You should discuss it with the others.”

“We’ll all have to sit down for drinks sometime this week,” Roxie said as she descended the steps to her waiting Lexus. “Who knows? This could be a lucrative venture for all of us.”

The wild roar of an engine snagged their attention. Briar’s stomach fluttered as Cole Savitt zoomed in on his motorcycle, coming to an abrupt halt under the magnolia.

As he cut the engine and pulled off his helmet, Roxie raised a brow. “One of your guests?”

“Ah, yes.”

“Mmm.” She slid Briar a teasing grin. “I might have to pop by sometime while he’s here.”

Briar laughed as Roxie got into her car. She waved her off then smoothed nervous hands over her skirt.
A lucrative venture.
The words echoed in her head as she stood alone on the gravel drive. The inn and her mother’s lifetime of work were slipping away slowly but surely. She had to find more investors before it was yanked from her hands and the state put it up for sale or foreclosure.

She owed her mother at least that much.

Loosening a sigh, she began the walk back to the inn. Her eyes fell on the lone vehicle in the drive, Cole Savitt’s Harley-Davidson. Where had it taken him? What all had he seen straddling its black leather seat?

Dreams.
She pondered them as she passed through the garden her mother—and now she—so lovingly tended. Once upon a time, her dreams had led her to Paris where she had escaped the obligation her father had been trying to press upon her. Back then she hadn’t wanted to leave Hanna’s—a long time ago, her dream had been to run the inn alongside her mother.

Her father’s wishes, however, had carried her off to law school. Her path had been laid before her. All she’d had to do was walk within it.

Instead, she’d taken a detour from law school in the States to Europe with friends and, to her father’s consternation, had wound up settling in Paris for a semester. There she had rediscovered her love of cooking and had enrolled in culinary school. And that had become her dream.

But soon after beginning her studies in culinary arts, she fell into some bad luck. Or, more accurately, she had run headlong into it, eyes wide-open. Since then, her dreams had gone down a rocky path and hadn’t returned.

She gazed up at the face of the bed-and-breakfast she had once wanted so much to be a part of. Was it still what she wanted?

Guilt swamped her, as it always did when she let her thoughts wander back to Paris, her culinary dreams and the niggling sense of uncertainty she kept locked up inside her. What did it matter what she wanted? What she
needed
was to keep her mother’s dream alive—to make sure Hanna’s Inn survived the test of time.

Though judging by the dismal financial outlook in the inn’s books and its empty guest calendar, it seemed as if her bad luck was back to haunt her and tear down the solid legacy it had taken decades for her mother to build.

* * *

C
OLE
’
S
FIRST
NIGHT
at Hanna’s turned out to be surprisingly restful. He sank into the plush bedding with the drugging fragrance of candles and the dim flicker of firelight lulling him into complacency and easy sleep.

He woke the next morning to the pale light of dawn and stepped into a hot shower, unable to remember the last time he’d woken so rested.

It’d certainly been a while since he’d dreamed of a woman’s face.

The vivid memory of the pretty innkeeper had lingered all through the night. He rubbed water over his face, trying to get the blood flowing as much as to scrub the vision of Briar Browning from the backs of his eyes.

As he stepped out and looped a towel around his waist, he recalled the way she’d watched him in his dreams. Never saying anything—just watching him with those soft honey-brown eyes. He’d felt their touch like a skin-on-skin caress.

Damn, the woman was making it difficult to focus.

He rubbed another towel over his dripping hair before he wiped a spot on the mirror clear in order to shave. Before he lifted the razor to his cheek, he heard the knock on the door. He paused, and called, “It’s open!” Making sure the towel on his waist was secure, he stepped into the room as Briar opened it.

She took one look at his bare chest, shrieked and whirled away. “I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed, gripping the knob. “I’ll come back.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said automatically. “Nothing to see here.”

She cast him an
easy for you to say
glance before her eyes veered politely downward. “You have a phone call. It seems rather urgent. And breakfast is ready.”

Amused by the way her eyes averted him, he asked, “What’s on the menu?”

“Cinnamon rolls,” she explained. “And fruit salad. I’ll serve you in the kitchen when you’re ready.”

He nodded. “Sounds great.”

Her lips quirked into a brief smile. “Sorry I barged in on you.”

“It’s nothing,” he said with a shrug. When she shut the door, a wide grin broke over his face, though he couldn’t have said why as he reached for the phone on the bedside table. “Savitt,” he said, raising it to his ear.

“You didn’t call yesterday. I was beginning to think you’d changed your mind.”

The grin vanished quickly along with all the good feelings left over from his early morning encounter with Briar. “Tiff.”

“Enjoying your vacation?”

His back teeth ground together in frustration. “I haven’t found enjoyment in anything since you began your dirty deeds. But that’s exactly what you wanted, isn’t it?”

Tiffany’s laugh filtered over the line. “Don’t whine, Cole. It doesn’t suit you. I called to make sure you haven’t backed out of our deal. And to remind you what’s at stake here.”

How could he possibly forget about Gavin? “For you or for me—because I’m not quite clear on the former.”

“The less you know, the better,” she said. “Isn’t that what you used to tell me when you’d come off a crime scene? As if my delicate, feminine sensibilities would swoon just for thinking about what my flatfoot husband had encountered.”

“I’m no longer your husband,” he reminded her. And he’d learned well that there was nothing
delicate
about Tiffany. Hard and unyielding, like a hammer, was more like it.

“You’ve got that right. Though Gavin does seem to miss you, on occasion.”

“Don’t,” he said, the word coming out on a fierce growl as every muscle in his body tightened in defense. “Don’t dangle him in front of me any more than you already are.” He couldn’t stand it.

“All right. Just remember what I said. Get inside her head, her files, whatever you have to do to find out everything there is to know about the inn, the adjacent property and if she has investors. If she does, I want to know who and how much.”

“Are you going to buy them off, too?”

“If necessary. I’ll need a progress report every night, Cole.”

“So you can keep tabs on me, as usual.”

“So I know you’re doing your job. I’m not paying for you to stay there so you can lounge under the sun, drink mai tais and work on your tan.”

“Yeah, don’t worry. Nobody knows that more than me. I’m out.” He hung up and took a moment to steady himself. The woman could wind him up quicker than a Matchbox car. It was sickening. Fighting the urge to put his fist through one of Briar’s lovely walls, he dug through his backpack until he found something clean to wear.

* * *

B
RIAR
HAD
MADE
the mistake of looking at him again as she closed the door to the bay-view suite. And this time, her gaze had taken its time perusing freely. Beads of water had rolled down his chest from the wet, tousled tips of his black hair. The lure felt more than magnetic—it melted her. Turning away from the tempting sight, she had shut the door smartly at her back, hoping her hormones would get the message
No!

Her legs wobbled on the stairs. When she made it safely to the kitchen, she managed to sink into one of the breakfast table’s chairs before she could shrink to the floor.

She fought to cool her heated cheeks, banishing the image of her guest’s sculpted chest from her memory.

It had been a long time since she’d been so drawn to a man—and where had that gotten her? Into a whole heap of trouble. The last thing she needed now was a repeat of what had happened in Paris....

Knuckles rapped against the frame of the screen door. Briar glanced up. Relief swelled at the sight of sure distraction.

“Hey, let me in!” her cousin, Olivia Lewis, called through the door.

“I’m sorry,” Briar apologized, springing up. She unbolted the screen and pushed it open with a creak so Olivia could breeze through. “I was distracted.”

“Yeah?” Olivia said in her characteristically lurid voice. “You looked it.” She held up a large crate. “The wine you ordered.”

“Oh,” Briar said, remembering. “Right.” She took a knife from a drawer to pry the lid open, glad for the activity as Olivia made herself cozy at the table. “Staying for breakfast?”

“Yeah. I thought I’d check up on this new guest of yours.”