A Moment of Bliss (5 page)

“Then breakfast it is. I'll take that.” He took the empty mug from her hands, their fingers brushing in a brief caress that warmed him faster than any coffee, and had Madison glancing away. Roark didn't realize he'd stood as well, watching her go, until he turned to sit back down and found Devlin and Sophie grinning.

“What?”

They looked at each other.

“I didn't say a thing. Matter of fact, I have to make a phone call, so . . .” Dev got up to refill his cup before making a quick exit.

As soon as he left, Roark stared holes into his sister. “What was that look about?”

She smiled sweetly, unfolding her legs from beneath her. “Nothing.”

“You're a bad liar. Always have been.”

“Well, if you insist, Dev and I were silently confirming our shared thought.”

As they so often did. His brother and sister could have entire conversations without ever saying a word. Trevor too. He was the only one left out of the Bradley brain-wave loop.

“You and Madison.” Sophie grinned. “There's sparkizzle.”

“There's what?”

“You know, spark and sizzle. Sparkizzle. When y'all look at each other. Then you start talking to each other, and only each other, like Dev and I aren't sitting right there across from you.”

“We didn't . . .” Roark let the sentence go. They'd done exactly that.

“Uh-huh. Sparkizzle.” Sophie got up and smacked him good-naturedly on the shoulder. “Don't worry about it. We also silently confirmed that we think it's a good thing.”

No, not a good thing. He wasn't going to deny his attraction, but the fact remained, he didn't have time for any sparkizzle and he sure as hell didn't need to be sparking and sizzling with their most valuable business partner to date.

“There's no sparkizzle.” Roark stood, tucking his phone away. “We see eye to eye on how to handle business. That's all. We're both organized and . . .”

“Frustrated overachievers? You know what they say is good for frustration?”

“I'm walking away now.” He turned to do exactly that.

“Okay, but I have to meet with the head of housekeeping, so you two can talk business over breakfast alone.”

Roark stopped. If his brother and sister didn't think he could see straight through their little strategy, they were deluding themselves. “You're intentionally skipping out on me so Madison and I will have breakfast together.”

“No, I'm not.” Sophie's voice went up to that octave again that meant she was either fibbing or flabbergasted. “But I
am
skipping out on Beau. My meeting with Rose is in ten, so you can take care of his morning doggie time. It's your turn.”

“C'mon, Soph. I don't have time.”

“Then you better hurry before your breakfast date.”

“It's not a date.”

But Sophie had already traipsed away, leaving Roark with a not-date and a dog to walk.

M
adison drummed her fingers on her laptop bag, biting at the inside of her cheek as the elevator descended from the third floor. She'd gathered her things from her room, brushed her teeth, and given herself a much needed talking-to.

She was here to work.

With the booking of Honeywilde checked off her list, now was the time to line up all critical pieces of the wedding puzzle. Her career was everything, the only thing, and this wedding was vital. If the good word spread about her among the who's who of the highly affluent, she'd be secure for life. No more stressing from month to month. Even though she'd made a name for herself, no jobs were guaranteed. After Charleston, she'd still had to hope the next gig was a good one, and that it'd pay. Luck brought her Whitney, but hard work was going to bring her success.

Which was precisely why she did not need to pause her day to have breakfast with the hot innkeeper.

When it came to Roark Bradley, she would keep it polite and professional. Nothing could distract from this rock-and-roll wedding. Not even a man who oozed competence, confidence, and sex appeal—the combination of all three promising mind-melting bedroom times.

“Nope. Not going there.” She smoothed back her hair. All of that was secondary.

Too much to do and a limited time to do it in. Breakfast with Roark, even a breakfast meeting, was an indulgence she couldn't enjoy. A protein bar and coffee on the way to visit florists, that's what she would be doing this morning.

She'd tell Roark to never mind about breakfast. They could meet briefly and then she'd be off to work on her own agenda.

The elevator doors pinged open to reveal Roark standing there, thick red leash in his hand, big, woolly brown dog sitting next to him.

“Oh. Hello again.” She tilted her head at Beau, his hair falling over his eyes. He was adorable, and safer than looking at the man beside him.

“I have to take Beau out really quick, and then we can do breakfast. There's a table ready in the restaurant. I wanted to let you know in case you were looking for me.”

She should insist that she would not be looking for him, she was fine left to do her own thing, and he could do whatever he needed and didn't have to let her know anything. In most cases, that's exactly what she'd say, and this was the perfect opportunity for her to cancel.

But saying that to Roark would be rude. Not that she had any issue being curt and to the point, but he'd been so polite and hospitable. Even if being nice was his job, he seemed sincere.

Fine. She'd have one breakfast with him, and that was it.

She grabbed at something to say so she wouldn't have to stand there, watching him look irresistible with the giant walking hair ball. “So . . . is the dog yours or everyone's?”

“Beau is the family dog, though technically Trevor bought him.”

Trevor. The brother with the suite downstairs. The one she'd only seen on their website and never met. He was supposedly the inn's recreation supervisor, whatever that meant.

“Is Trevor out or . . . ?”

Roark glanced down at Beau, sitting obediently by his side. “Something like that. A vacation of sorts, I guess. Sophie, Dev, and I are dog-sitting while he's off doing whatever it is Trevor does.”

Madison nodded, tapping a finger on her bag. Of course the Bradley siblings were taking care of their brother's dog. While they'd stared daggers at each other a couple of times when they thought she couldn't see, they were clearly a close family. Close enough to communicate nonverbally and give each other hell.

She couldn't imagine having a couple of brothers and a sister, able to read her mind, always on hand to do whatever she needed.

Watch the dog for me, refill my coffee, run a resort inn with me.

Part of her envied Roark, the other part knew she'd get hives from having someone in her business like that.

Roark tugged on Beau's leash. “Go ahead and order if you'd like. I'll be back in a minute.”

“Okay.” She shifted the strap of her bag farther up her shoulder and watched him leave.

When he turned back, he caught her gaze with a smile. “There's Wi-Fi all over the inn, by the way, including the restaurant.”

“You gave me the password at check-in.”

“Oh, that's right . . . okay, cool. Back in a bit.” He tugged the leash and the dog bounded after him.

Madison took a steadying breath and headed to Bradley's. “Cool.”

The hostess seated her at a table by one of the floor-to-ceiling windows, with a perfect view of the mountains and the lake. A waitress immediately showed up with a steaming cup of coffee followed by a small basket of biscuits and a lazy Susan containing butter, what looked like molasses, and honey.

Madison leaned over and inhaled a big whiff of biscuit.

“Oh dear lord,” she said on exhale.

No wonder a world-traveling music star remained obsessed by this place. Whitney was from the Southeast, and Honeywilde provided all of what was best about the South: the food, the warm, welcoming environment, the relaxed atmosphere, the gorgeous weather.

Madison grabbed a biscuit, cut it in half, and slathered it with butter before Roark could return and see how much she'd put on each side. The temptation to hurry and eat one now, and pretend like a second one was her first, was immense. She took a sip of her coffee while the butter melted. Roark appeared in the restaurant doorway a moment later.

Damn.

Not because she'd missed her opportunity for biscuit scarfing, but
damn
.

He spotted her and strolled over, saying hello to a few of the guests. His face was full of color from the morning air, his dark hair slightly tousled from the wind. He was still put together, top to bottom, in dark gray slacks and what looked like a ridiculously soft polo shirt, but she could easily imagine him less cleaned up.

Ruffled from the outdoors, his hair mussed up even more, smelling like sunshine and evergreen, and a day or two of scruff on his jaw. He was the kind of man who could work a bit of stubble. The kind who made your lips pink after kissing him, and rubbed deliciously against you in . . . other places.

Madison jerked her gaze down to her biscuit. Work, work, work. Job, job, job. She was not here to salivate over biscuits and Roark. She grabbed a menu, ready to fan her face when she caught herself.

“Hey.” He pulled his chair out and sat down across from her. “Chillier than usual this morning, huh?”

She put the menu back down. “Yeah. Chilly.”

He smiled at her, his little dimple and eye crinkles very close and undeniable. She hadn't girded enough for this meeting.

“These are unreal. Good luck eating just one.” Roark reached for the basket of biscuits.

She bit into hers and her taste buds danced a can-can. “What is
in
this thing?” she asked, struggling not to moan and melt in her seat.

“Flour, eggs, the usual. But more buttermilk than you'd care to know about.”

She took another bite. Maybe if she focused on the inn's other attractions, she could ignore the one sitting across from her at breakfast.

Time to put her train of thought back on the tracks. “I was going to say, a biscuit is all I have time for. I need to find a florist,
today
if possible.”

He shrugged. “Eat and run. I understand. But if you're only having the one biscuit, you have to try it with our honey.” He turned the lazy Susan so the little pot was in front of her.

She twirled out a bit and let it slowly swirl over her biscuit.

Roark smiled at the waitress as she came over to pour him coffee and top off Madison's. He told her they were only having coffee and biscuits and waited until she walked away to lean forward. “You mentioned florists earlier.”

“Yes, Whitney wants a specific style, so I need one who's willing to work with me on being untraditional.”

He kept his voice pitched low. “I know a great florist in town. We use her for the inn and she's open-minded about whatever we have in mind. There were some crazy lantern-flower things that Dev wanted last Halloween, and she managed to find them. Anyway, she'd work with you on whatever you want, won't ask a lot of questions about who's getting married or blab all over town about anything.”

“Sounds promising. Did she do the gladioli in the reception area?”

“She did.” He grinned. “And the arrangement over there.” He nodded to a magnificent natural spray with greens and browns that flowed perfectly with the restaurant's rustic yet classy feel.

“Nice.” Madison bit into her honey-covered biscuit half, and immediately gawked at Roark while reaching for the little honeypot. “The food here is ridiculous. You know this, right? The honey is . . .” She drizzled more in lieu of more gushing.

“That's why I said you had to try it. It's our honey too. We keep the bees right here. My grandpa was a keeper, hence the resort name. Honeywilde was his baby, from the ground up.”

“Kudos to your grandfather.” She closed her eyes, toes curling in her shoes. The butter was the right saltiness to compliment the honey's sweetness, and the biscuit was out of control. All of the food so far was out of control. No wonder the restaurant had a steady flow of patrons, even if inn traffic was slow.

“Anyway, flowers.” Roark chuckled, probably because she looked like she was having a religious experience. “The florist I mentioned, Brenda, she's the one who suggested Honeywilde have a signature color too. Apricot. I'm telling you, she's your top choice in town.”

“What's the name of her shop?” She was tempted to leave the biscuit stuck in her mouth as she leaned over and pulled her portfolio from her bag.

“Brenda's.”

Naturally. No fancy flower shop names for Windamere, North Carolina. “I'll call her for an appointment. Maybe I can speak with her later today.”

Roark laughed, shaking his head. He ate his biscuit and kept shaking.

“You don't think I'll be able to speak with her today?”

“You can speak to her all you like, but with less than three weeks' notice, she's going to show you the door when it comes to getting flowers. She stays booked up.”

“Then why did you—”

He held up the other half of his biscuit. “
But
, since she does stuff for us all the time up here, I could talk to her. She likes me.”

Madison bet she did. “You'll call and put in a good word?”

“Things will go more smoothly if I go see her with you. I need to talk to her about our fall arrangements anyway, and Brenda is . . .” He broke off to look out the window, amusement toying with his face, his dimple dipping in, fine crinkles at his eyes. “She's a lot more likely to cut you a deal with me there.”

This was not part of what she'd had planned. Roark was a big, tall glass of distracting, and she needed to focus. Less time around him, not more. She didn't want to rely on him more than she already did, but if it got her a deal on the best florist in town, she'd be crazy to say no.

One of his dark eyebrows eased up. “Unless that's a problem.”

Why would his help and accompanying her be a problem? If she made out like his joining her was an issue, then it would be. And she was the one with issues, not him.

“I only want to make sure this wedding is the best it can be, for both our sakes,” he said.

“I know. It's not a problem.”

They ate their biscuits in silence, Roark glancing at her like he wasn't quite convinced. True, spending the morning with him was a complication she hadn't counted on. But it wasn't his fault she wasn't prepared to partner so closely with him on this event. She knew the wedding was going to be a concerted effort, but knowing a thing and actively doing the thing were two different things.

He squinted over at her again, and Madison jumped to a topic to stop him from trying to figure her out.

“Did you leave Beau outside?”

He shook with an exaggerated shudder. “No. Beau is an indoor dog. He's up at reception now. Our woolly welcome wagon.”

“He does have some wild hair.” But she liked it. Beau's hair was disturbingly similar to hers if she got out of the shower and didn't do a darn thing to it.

Roark chewed and nodded. “That's because he's a Double Doodle.”

Her laugh was a half cough of coffee. “A what?”

“Labrador retriever, golden retriever, and standard poodle mix.” He cocked an eyebrow as if to say
I know, right?

“I never knew such a thing existed.”

“My sister found him when Trevor
had
to have a dog. The mix doesn't shed and he's as laid-back as they come. Perfect inn dog.”

She eyeballed another biscuit, decided what the hell, and doused half of it in honey.

“What about you? Any pets?”

She almost choked again on the absurdity. “No. I—no. I travel a lot with my work. I can't even keep a houseplant alive.”

Roark drank his coffee, barely making a sound, his quiet consideration making her skin tingle. It took every ounce of her control not to fidget under his gaze.

As quickly as she could, Madison finished the rest of her coffee and half of her biscuit. “Are you ready to hit the road?”

“I'm set.” Roark stood, pushing his chair in before helping to pull hers back. “I can drive us into town.”

“You've got the Southern gentleman routine down pat, huh?”

“What do you mean
routine
?” He sounded more amused than offended.