IN ROOM 33 (12 page)

Wade labored to breathe. How the hell had the little squirt registered all that? She was just a kid, with the biggest, moodiest eyes he'd ever seen. The last memory came with a jolt and brought more. He'd talked his ass off that day and those moody eyes had stayed with him for every word. They were with him now, urging more words from him, words he couldn't hold back if he tried.

"I loved him," he said. "I'd never deny that. He was more a father to me than my own. He was a hardworking, never-say-die kind of man who kept his word and met his commitments." He paused, wanting her to be absolutely sure of his meaning, when he said, "But the Phil was his life, not mine." There might have been a time he'd thought otherwise, but Stephen put an end to that.

In the space between them lay the buzz of the coffee shop, the hiss of the milk steamer, cups hitting saucers, the chatter of the servers, and the scrape of plates shoved across the counter to waiting customers. It might as well have been the silence of the catacombs.

* * *

Joy chose to break it, her tone cool and glass level. "That's too bad, because I'd like to consider all the options on this properly. One of them being—if it's financially viable, of course—to renovate, bring it to compliance with city standards, and reopen." She'd thought about it all night, but saying it aloud brought a rush of enthusiasm she wasn't prepared for.

Wade stared at her for a long time. She saw the emotion in his eyes, surprise replaced by suspicion, suspicion replaced with intense speculation. "And why would you want to do that?"

"I don't know yet whether I do, but if I feel it's a good business move..." Uncertain where to go from there, or whether to mention her childlike emotional response to the Phil, she stopped.

"You know how many people go broke using 'feelings' to make financial decisions."

"Yes, I do, which is why I'm talking to you. I don't plan on doing anything stupid. If it turns out the smart thing is to sell, that's what I'll do. Right now, I need input, a professional's analysis, to see which idea is most viable—hold and renovate, or sell. According to David, you're a 'financial genius.' Exactly what I need."

"Tell me why I should give a damn about what you 'need?'" His face darkened. "I'm not my father. The care and feeding of a Cole woman isn't high on my priority list."

The air in Joy's lungs shifted. He'd used the exact words she'd used when she'd been thinking about her mother earlier. It was suddenly disturbingly clear how much Wade disliked Lana. He'd hate the idea of the proceeds from the Philip being used to ensure her financial future. But with barely a month to make a decision, she needed his expertise and knowledge of the hotel. She decided not to tell him. "That wasn't fair," she said. "I'm not my mother."

"You're right. Sorry." He didn't look sorry, he looked irritated.

She left his apology to float alone for a second. "Is there a chance we could talk about this—without the ghosts of Christmases past getting in our way?"

He locked his gaze on her. "Did David also tell you I recently spent time behind a wire fence?" Those mixed emotions again, shooting through his eyes, shame replaced by pride. Defiance.

"He told me." She took a drink of water. "He didn't tell me why." She was curious, knew it showed.

"You're better-looking than my first cell mate, but you sure sound like him. 'What ya in for?'" he mimicked, then laughed, sharply with an edge of sneer.

"You're not going to tell me, are you?"

"No."

"I can find out on my own."

"I'm surprised you haven't already. A smart girl like you should have figured out the risks of asking an ex-con for advice. For all you know, I'm an axe murderer."

"Doubt it. I read the papers. Hasn't been an axe murder in years."

His lips ticked up as if at a private joke. "Maybe not, but the thought did cross my mind once or twice."

"So you don't want to talk about it?" She wondered if he meant that smile to be so seductive.

"You could get me drunk, take me to bed. That might loosen me up. After sex, I'm a sucker for pillow talk."

His playful innuendo crossed the table between them like a gust of hot wind. Joy's mouth went dry. "I don't use sex as a bribe." She'd intended her comeback to be light, breezy. Instead, a preacher on the witness stand couldn't have sounded more righteous.

"What do you use it for?" There was humor in his eyes, along with undisguised male interest.

Her stomach fluttered. A change of subject was in order. "How did we get from my interest in renovating the Hotel Philip to sex?"

He cocked a brow. "It's a guy thing."

She couldn't help laughing. "Yeah." And when this guy talked sex, this girl wanted to listen. Bad idea. Very bad idea. She wanted to drop her gaze, but couldn't.

He watched her for a moment; then, with an abruptness that caught her off guard, he stood. "Let's get back to the hotel. We'll talk there."

"You'll think about my idea then? At least consider bringing the Phil back to life? If the economics work, of course?"

"There's more than economics involved."

"Like what?" She stood, scanned his face. The man's mood changed with the speed of light, or the turn of a phrase.

"People. Years back, the Philip stopped being a hotel, stopped being about nightly room rates and profit and loss. It became home to people who don't have a lot of choices. You don't just toss people into the street for the sake of a few bucks." He started for the door. "Let's go back to the Phil. I'll give you your tour. We'll talk after that. And talk is all I can promise."

Chapter 6

"You look troubled, David." Lana touched his bare shoulder, ran her hand down to squeeze his hand, shift it to a more interesting place on her naked body—a body still torrid from lovemaking. He obliged her by deftly drawing his finger through and over her sex-moistened pubic curls. She arched into his hand. "But not too troubled..."

"You're the most beautiful woman I've ever known, Lana, and you feel like silk." He dipped his fingers into her, and she drew in a near painful breath. "How can I be troubled with you stretched out in front of me like a feast. A very mouthwatering feast." He moved his hand from her pubis to her breast, tugged on a nipple and bent to kiss its tip. He let out a breath then and propped himself on his elbow to look down at her, his face drawn, his eyes dark.

Lana couldn't get enough of David Grange. She took his head between her hands, drank in his deep but worried gaze. "You say such perfect things," she whispered against his mouth, before kissing him until she weakened.

"Maybe making love with my ideal woman brings out the poet in me." His breath hot against her cheek, he pulled back from the kiss.

She couldn't stop looking at him—his finely chiseled face, midnight blue eyes, the sensuous mouth designed to give her so much pleasure. In so many ways.

Fear rooted in the lower region of her stomach.

She called him her blond beauty, knowing it both irritated and pleased him. But he was beautiful and he was
hers.
She stroked his thick, golden hair, tried to suppress the fear unfolding in her depth. She was dangerously close to being unable to live without this man—perhaps even in love with him, an emotion she'd spent a lifetime avoiding. So much better being the one loved than the lover.

Abruptly, David swung his legs over the side of the bed. He looked worried again. She wished she hadn't told him about her and Joy's conversation at the Marriott. He'd been troubled since the words were out of her mouth. He massaged his eyebrow, as he always did when he was preoccupied.

"She's actually thinking of renovating that old place. I can't believe it."

"Thinking is not doing, darling. Forget it. Joy's always had a tendency to overanalyze things. It's her nature. It doesn't mean a thing, just makes her feel smarter than she really is. She's being her usual mulish, inconsiderate self, that's all."

"She's got to sell me that hotel," he said. "She damn well has to."

Lana sat up, rested her head on the headboard of her king-sized bed. She was tired of talking about the Philip, and about her stubborn daughter. "If Stephen had done the right thing, none of this would have happened. That stupid, stupid will."

"It's not your fault." David finger-combed his thick blond hair, and stood beside the bed to look down at her. Naked—and marvelous—he began to pace. She watched him, enjoyed the sway of his large penis—another of his many attributes. He filled her in a way no other man had.

"I should have paid more attention," she said, adopting a rueful expression. "But Stephen and I had drifted apart in the last year or so and—"

David sat on the bed and stroked her cheek with the back of his hand."You can't blame yourself for that," he said. "I had something to do with the 'drifting apart,' as I remember."

She smiled."Yes, you did."

"Do you think he knew about us? Had suspicions?"

"No. Absolutely not." She refused the idea. She was much too clever for Stephen, always had been. No. It was more likely he saw himself as truly doing Lana a favor by forcing a reunion with Joy. The man was such a dreamer! And God knew—as Lana did—people staring death in the teeth became strange as their time drew near. Often ridiculously nostalgic.

David kissed her and she drifted away again, to that place he took her so effortlessly. A place with no money problems, no disturbing old hotels, and the only joy was her body releasing, releasing...

When David stretched out beside her and put his arm behind his head, Lana draped herself across his chest. "I did do one smart thing," she said and nibbled on his perfectly served nipple. She heard his breath stall.

"What's that?"

"I insisted she give me a time frame. A month. Not a day more. And"—she licked him before lifting her face to meet his eyes—"I made her promise to let us know before she made any commitments whatever. That will give us time to maneuver if she decides to do something foolish—which I really don't think she will."

"That's great." He rolled up and over her and his eyes were brighter, his worried frown eased. "It will buy me time with my investor, for now at least."

Lana didn't answer, tamped a surge of impatience. All these plans of David's were so mysterious. He'd mentioned partners, but never by name. Pools of capital, but not from where. Boring, every bit of it. She never encouraged him by asking questions, because to Lana only one thing mattered: how much money would eventually end up in her bank account when the Phil was sold.

"Can I ask you something?" David propped himself up again.

She lifted a brow.

"How do you really feel about Joy?"

"Feel?" Trick question, Lana decided. David knew there wasn't a traditional mother-daughter relationship, but that wasn't the same as appearing as an uncaring mother. "We have our differences, you know that. But she's my daughter. I love her, of course." Truth was, she didn't like to think about her feelings for Joy—or anyone else. It was easier to think about herself.

He studied her. That's what I figured." He closed his eyes a moment, then he opened them. Then what I'm going to ask of you won't be too hard."

She scraped his chin softly with a long, red fingernail. "And that would be?"

"Keep in touch with Joy. Get closer."

When Lana raised a questioning brow, David smoothed it straight. "I'm not asking you to knit afghans with her, sweetheart. Just to stay abreast of her thinking. I wouldn't want anything to happen to her—"

"Now there's a bit of melodrama. What on earth could happen to her?" She ran a palm over his chest, downward, determined to change the subject. Close to Joy? He might as well have asked her to bed down with a crocodile.

"I meant to say I wouldn't want anyone to get to her, encourage her in this stupid renovation idea she's come up with. It's important or I wouldn't ask. Will you do it?"

"If that's what you want," she said. But then she'd say anything to end this conversation, get on with more meaningful pursuits.

He kissed her lightly. "I owe you one."

"Yes, you do." She ran her hand down between their heated bodies, wrapped it firmly around the length of him, squeezed until his hot flesh quivered and jumped under her hand. "And you'll be happy to know I'll take it out in trade."