The Perfect Hope

CHAPTER ELEVEN

EVERYTHING TOOK LONGER THAN HE’D EXPECTED, BUT that was nothing new. Rehabs ran on their own schedule, and when you bounced between two major jobs, schedules went to hell.

Unless you were Owen.

Still, one job had a roof ready to shingle, and the other was about to move into drywall and brick veneer. He glanced back across the lot, beyond the huge crane to the building. The new roofline changed everything, the shape, the sense of space and balance. He imagined even the untrained eye could see the potential now.

Then he put it out of his mind. He didn’t want to think about shingles and drywall. He wanted to think about taking Hope Beaumont to bed.

Actually, he didn’t want to think about it. He just wanted to act on it.

He let himself in Reception, took a quick glance around. Everything in place, as always. For a moment, he imagined himself as a guest, walking in for the first time. Yeah, he decided, he’d want to stay here, wouldn’t have a problem with that.

Even as he walked to the kitchen, she turned out of her office to meet him.

Everything in place there, too, from the short summer dress and the sexy stilts to the thick, shiny swing of her hair.

She pulled up short when his dog wagged his way over to her.

“Where I go, so goes the Dumbass,” Ryder told her.

“Oh. Well.” She gave the dog an absent pat. “I tried calling your cell.”

“I forgot to charge it.” And the fact that it hadn’t rung a thousand times to interrupt his work didn’t hurt his feelings. “If you needed me to bring something, I can go get it, as long as I can get it fast.”

“No, it’s not that. I—”

But he grabbed her, pulled her in. If she was going to go around looking the way she looked, she had to expect the man she’d agreed to sleep with would want a sample.

Sample hell, he decided in two seconds flat. They should head straight upstairs. If she wanted conversation, they could talk later.

A whole lot later.

“Let’s go upstairs. Pick a room. Grab a key.”

“Ryder, wait.”

“I’ll shower first.” He remembered belatedly he had a day’s worth of sweat and dirt all over him. “Better yet, you can shower with me.”

“Oh boy.” She let out a breath, holding up a hand as she eased back. “That sounds really good. Exceptionally good. But I have guests.”

What language was she speaking? “You have what?”

“Guests. Up in W&B. Walks-ins. They came to the door a couple hours ago. I tried to call you, but—”

“You’re not supposed to have anybody here.”

“I know. We were clear, but they came to the door and wanted a room. I can’t turn people away when we have room. You wouldn’t want me to turn guests away, would you?”

He stared at her. Short summer dress, endless legs, twist-your-guts-into-knots brown eyes. “Is that a serious question?”

“Ryder, it’s my job. Believe me, I wanted to say no, but I can’t do that.”

“You’re awful damn responsible.”

“Yes, I am. That’s one of the reasons your mother hired me. They eloped, or they’re in the process. They’re going to the courthouse to get married tomorrow, and they’d been driving for hours.”

“What’s wrong with a motel? I’ll take them to a motel. I’ll pay for the room.”

“Ryder.” Her laugh bubbled out, with frustration around the edges. “He wanted to give her something special since she’s not getting a real wedding. He found us on his iPad when they were at a rest stop, but he didn’t call ahead because he wanted to surprise her. They booked two nights so they can have what passes for a honeymoon because they both have to go back to work—and face their families.”

“Why did they tell you all this?”

“You’d be surprised what people tell the innkeeper. Added to it, they’re young, excited, in love, and maybe he was afraid I’d say no without a reservation without some romantic backstory. Even if it wasn’t my job, I wouldn’t have had the heart. Her father doesn’t like him.”

“I don’t like him either.”

“Yes, you do. Or you would. I’m really sorry, but—”

“What is that?” he interrupted, moving back toward the door. “Was that somebody screaming?”

“They’re at it again.” When he glanced back at her, frowned, she lifted her shoulders. “They really wanted a room.”

“That’s … wow.” Head tilted, he listened another minute. “We double insulated—floors, ceilings, walls. Do you always get an audio show?”

“No. No! Thank God. It’s an anomaly. I think it’s the frequency.”

“How many times can he bang her in a couple hours?”

“Not that kind of frequency,” she began, then saw him grin. “Although, ha-ha, there’s that, too. I meant like radio frequency. Plus they have the windows open.”

“Yeah?” He moved to the door, stepped out. He listened to the cries, moans, squeals while Hope tugged on his hands.

“Stop!” She struggled with another laugh. “It’s rude. It’s intrusive. Come back inside.”

“I’m not the one banging with the windows open. I deserve to get off vicariously.”

“No, you don’t. In fact …” She managed to get him back inside, then hurried to the counter, turned on her iPod.

“What did you do that for?”

“Eavesdropping Tom.”

“Like you didn’t listen.”

“Only until I realized what it was. And maybe for a short period thereafter. I’m really sorry, Ryder, but—”

“We can work around them.”

“Excuse me?”

“They’re busy.” He jerked a thumb at the ceiling. “Really busy doing what they’re doing, so they’re not worried about what you’re doing.”

“I can’t. It’s not only awkward—and unprofessional—but I have to be available for them. They’re going to come out eventually, want food.”

“Burning a lot of calories.”

“I imagine so. I need to be available when they do come out.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “I bet you were a Girl Scout.”

“You’d lose. I didn’t have time for scouts. Listen, I have all this food. Avery made this wonderful food so I’d just have to warm it up. You could at least have a drink and a meal.”

Damned if he wanted to go home and scrounge something up. “I need a shower.”

She smiled at him. “Pick a room—except for W&B.”

“I’ll just take the one down here—it’s the farthest away from … guests.”

“Good choice. I’ll get the key.”

“I’ve got a change of clothes in the truck.”

He walked out before she could tell him to take the dog. “Stay right there,” she ordered D.A., then went to her office for the key. Hoping the dog listened, she went to Marguerite and Percy, opening the door, turning on the lights, giving the room a quick innkeeper’s scan.

When he came back with a small duffle, she offered the key. “You know how everything works?”

“Everything but you, but I’ll figure it out.”

“It’s not that complicated.”

They stood together in the doorway a moment. “You know, you could just put out a sign. Leave them Vesta’s number and a six-pack.”

“Yes, that’s the kind of service we pride ourselves on at Inn Boons-Boro.” She touched a hand to his arm. “I have tomorrow off. I could be off-campus until nine, maybe ten. I could come to your place.”

“That should work. I don’t allow walk-in guests.”

“Consider this booking a reservation.” She stepped back so he could close the door.

He’d taken it better than she’d expected. And, truth be told, better than she had herself initially.

She went back into the kitchen, took out the food Avery had prepared. She’d just put it on low so they could eat whenever it suited him. Then she opened a bottle of wine, let it breathe.

She deserved a glass of wine.

Tomorrow, she promised herself. She’d focus on personal business, including driving over to Ryder’s. That was probably better anyway. No chance of interruptions, problems, no ghost who might decide to play games.

Just the two of them. She glanced down to where D.A. snoozed on the floor.

Well, the three of them.

She got two glasses from the cupboard, was about to pour her own when she heard feet on the stairs.

Naturally, she thought, and put the glass down again.

Chip Barrow’s sandy hair stood up in mad spikes. Along with his tattered jeans he wore the faded Foo Fighters T-shirt he’d worn for check-in. Only now he wore it inside out. She doubted he realized it.

He gave her a sleepy, sex-drugged smile she envied bitterly.

“Hey.” He cleared his throat. “Sorry to bother you.”

“You’re not. What can I do for you?”

“Me and Marlie were wondering about maybe some dinner. Like I could get takeout so we could just …”

“Couldn’t be easier.” Though there would be one in their room packet, Hope opened a drawer for Vesta’s menu. “They’re right across the street, and they’ll deliver if you like.”

“Really? Awesome. Pizza’s like just right. It’s good, right?”

“It’s very good. I’d be happy to call the order in for you when you decide.”

“I know what Marlie likes.” His face shone as he said it. “We could do a large, with pepperoni and black olives. And some of this dessert here. This Chocolate Decadence. Sounds awesome, too.”

“I can tell you it is.”

“Um. Can they maybe bring it up to the room? Just like knock on the door?”

“No problem. Would you like a complimentary bottle of wine?”

“Seriously? Yeah, that’s great.”

“Red or white?”

“Um, why don’t you pick? Ah, could we get a couple of Cokes, too?”

“Give me one minute.”

She got a tray, an ice bucket, screwed two Cokes into the bed of ice. Added the wine she’d opened for herself, the two glasses.

“This is so cool. Marlie’s blown away by the room. We even turned on the fireplace. It got pretty warm, so we opened the windows, but it’s, you know, romantic with the fire going.”

She bit down on the inside of her cheek. “I’m sure it is. I’ll—Oh, Ryder. This is Chip.”

“Hey,” Chip said.

“How’s it going?”

“Awesome.”

“Would you like me to take that up for you?” Hope offered.

“No, thanks. I got it. And you’ll order the pizza and stuff?”

“Right away. Give it about twenty minutes.”

“Cool. Marlie’s going to dig on the wine. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

As he carted the tray out, Hope pressed her lips together to hold back the laugh. “Awesome,” she murmured.

“What is he, twelve?”

“Twenty-one, both of them. She had her birthday just last week. They looked so young I carded them.” She got out another bottle of wine. “Why don’t you open that wine while I call this order in? If you’d rather beer, there’s some in the fridge.”

“Wine’s okay.” A little change of pace, he decided. Like the woman. He poured a glass for each of them, sampled his own. And decided he could develop a taste for change of pace.

After she’d placed the order, he nodded toward the stove. “What’s cooking?”

“Warming, since I can’t take credit for the cooking. Beef medallions, roasted fingerlings, butter-glazed carrots and peas. And there’s a little scallop appetizer.”

“Sounds good.”

She got out the appetizer. “Try it and see.”

He took a sample. “It’s good. Red Hots has the touch.”

“She does. She worked in a pizza joint when we were in college. I always knew when she’d made the pie. It was just that much better.”

“She dove right into Vesta, and she makes it work.”

“She’s the dive-in type.” Deciding she might as well go with the first part of her evening plans, she added a dish of olives, slid onto a stool. Appetizers and conversation here, dinner in The Dining Room. Phase Three would have to wait until tomorrow.

The dog bellied under the stools.

“Were you surprised when Avery and Owen got together?”

“Not especially. He’s had a thing for her since we were kids.”

“And Beckett had one for Clare since high school, and carried that spark all those years.”

“He always knew she was with Clint. He never messed with that. Suffered in secret,” Ryder added. “Unless you lived with him. He used to write really crappy love-ripped-my-still-beating-heart-out-of-my-chest songs and sing them in his room till Owen and I threatened to beat him with bricks.”

“Really?” She laughed, trying to picture it. “That’s so sweet. The songwriting, not the bricks. Were you friends with Clint?”

“Yeah, not close, really. We played football together, got drunk together a time or two. Mostly he was centered on Clare, like she was on him, and looking to join the service.”

“So young, both of them. Like Chip and Marlie.”

“Who?”

“Wesley and Buttercup—the almost newlyweds. I didn’t meet Clare until she moved back to Boonsboro and Avery introduced us. After Clint died.”

“Hard time for her. She looked—”

“Go on,” she said when he broke off. “Tell me.”

“Delicate, I guess. Like you could shatter her with a hard look. The two kids, basically babies, the runt still in the oven. But she wasn’t. Delicate, I mean; not down into it. Clare’s got more spine than anyone I know.”

She thought it might be his longest single discourse on any one person since she’d met him. More, the bone-deep affection and admiration came through.

She’d seen that affection and admiration for her friends, but hearing it touched her.

“I’m lucky to have her and Avery in my life. If I didn’t, I’d probably be in Chicago now instead of here. That’s where I thought my compass would point after Jonathan. Here’s better.”

“Can’t figure what you saw in him.”

Hope sipped her wine, studied Ryder. “Do you want to know?”

“We’re sitting here.”

“All right. I don’t want to compare myself to Clint—his service, his sacrifice, but like him, I had a life plan. It runs in my family. My sister wanted to be a vet since she was eight, and my brother always wanted the law. I loved hotels, the drama, the puzzles, the people, the constancy and the flux. All of it. So my life plan was to manage a hotel. The right hotel, in the right spot. That was the Wickham. Jonathan was part of the Wickham, and as classy—so I thought—and elegant as it is.”

“That’d be your type.”

“Classy and elegant has its pull,” she qualified. “And he was charming, believe me. He knew art and music and wine and fashion. I learned, and I wanted to. He pursued me, and that was flattering and exciting. His family opened the doors for me, and that was heady. My life plan expanded. I’d manage the Wickham, marry Jonathan. We’d be one of D.C.’s power couples. I’d entertain, brilliantly, manage the hotel, again brilliantly, eventually have two children we’d both adore, and so on … I know exactly how shallow all that sounds.”

“I don’t know about that. It’s a plan.”

“I thought I loved him, so that’s a factor. But I didn’t.” Realizing that had been both comfort and pain. “He didn’t break my heart, and he should have. He broke my spirit, and that’s lowering. He shattered my pride, and that’s hard to come back from. But he didn’t break my heart, so in some ways I understand, now, I used him, too.”

“Bullshit.”

His instant and terse opinion surprised her. “Really?”

“Really. He pursued you, your term. His family went right along with it. You had reason to believe things were going according to that plan. And you thought you loved him. Maybe you were stupid, but you didn’t use him.”

She considered. “I think I like the idea of using him more than being stupid.”

“It’s finished anyway.”

“Yes, it is. So. You. You have two brothers who hold long-term affection from a young age. Any torches held?”

“Me?” The idea amused him a little. “No. I leave that to Owen and Beck.”

“No broken hearts or spirits?”

“Cameron Diaz. She doesn’t know I exist. It’s tough to take.”

He made her laugh again. “I have that same problem with Bradley Cooper. What’s wrong with them?”

“Got me. We’re as hot as they are.”

“Absolutely. Plus, you probably look more natural in a tool belt than Bradley. Tool belts are also hot,” she explained. “They’re like gun belts—Old West cowboy gun belts. When a man’s wearing one—naturally—a woman knows he can handle himself.”

“That’s a lot for a tool belt.”

She pointed at him. “You like my shoes.”

“The stilts?”

“Yes, the stilts. You mention them, often, which tells me you notice. And you notice what they do for my legs.” She shot one out, turned her foot at the ankle. “They’re good legs.” She angled her head and her smile. “Maybe not as long as Cameron’s, but they’re good legs.”

“You’re not lying.” He gripped her calf, swiveled her toward him. When his hand started its slide up, she swiveled back, rose quickly.

“We should eat. I thought I’d set up in The Dining Room.”

He simply reached around her, turned off the oven. Then pressed her back, moved in.

Not just his mouth this time, but his hands, quick, impatient, just on the edge of rough. Desire, never far below the surface when he was near, punched through and made her knees weak.

Some sane part of her thought of the impropriety if one of the guests walked in. But that part simply wasn’t loud enough, strong enough to drown out the primal pull.

“Stay there,” he ordered the dog, who sighed and settled again.

Hope was still reeling when he grabbed her hand, dragging her out of the room. “Ryder—”

“They’ve got wine, pizza, and sex. It’ll be a miracle if they come out before morning.” He paused briefly at her office. Not M&P, he thought, not with those two doubles. “Not down here. We’re going to need a bigger bed.”

“I can’t just—”

“Wanna bet?”

And not her apartment. Damned if he was hauling her up to the third floor. He grabbed the key to T&O, pulled her out and toward the stairs.

“But if they need something—”

“They’ve got what they need. It’s time we did.”

He turned her on the stairs, pressed her back to the wall, and kissed her until even the idea of protest seemed not only impossible but absurd.

If she didn’t have him, and now, she might just blow apart. Then nobody would have an innkeeper.

“Hurry,” she managed, and began pulling him.

Breathless from much more than a dash up a flight of stairs, she clung to him when they reached the second floor. Now her hands rushed and took, riding over his hips, up his back as they stumbled their way to the door.

“Hurry, hurry, hurry.” She chanted it, and fixed her teeth on his shoulder as he fought with the key.

His hand shook. He’d have thought it mortifying if he could think at all. He could only want, and want. When the key shot home, he pushed her into the room, barely had the presence of mind to lock the door behind them before they fell on the bed, into the canopied bower.

“Leave the stilts on,” he told her.

She managed a laugh, started to pull him to her. The laugh tumbled into a grateful gasp as he yanked the thin dress down to her waist.

His mouth, his hands, his weight, his scent. Everything she wanted, everything she so desperately needed. She wanted the thrust of him, hard, strong, crazed inside her more than she wanted to breathe.

“Yes. Yes.” She turned her face into his throat. “Anything, everything, everywhere.”

The tidal wave swarmed over her, roared through her, at last. The heat, the pleasure, the quick spikes of panic and madness. Hard hands on her flesh; a hungry mouth on her breast. Taking, feeding, destroying.

More. More. More.

He felt her hands on his belt, working, tugging, and her breath hot on his throat, against his ear. Everything blurred, the feel of her—smooth as silk and soft as water, and hot as lava. Her voice on a cry of release when he shoved up her dress and found her. Movement, all movement, her hips, her hands, her legs.

Her mouth found his, fixed greedily as her hips rose, ground to him. Knives of need tore through his body when she shoved his jeans down and closed her hand around him.

And her legs locked around his waist. They took each other in a kind of madness, all speed and desperation breaking on pleasure so keen it sliced.

She clung to him while her body quaked, while the glory of those aftershocks trembled and shook. Then weak, her hands slid away. Spent, he collapsed onto her, and lay there waiting for his mind and body to make a connection.

She’d … annihilated him, he realized. And that was a first.

He understood, dimly, he still wore his boots, and his jeans were somewhere down around his ankles while her dress was a fragile bunch at her waist.

Not exactly the way he’d planned it. And a far, far cry from what he’d expected of her.

At length she let out something between a moan and a sigh. “God. God. Thank God.”

“Are you praying or thanking me?”

“Both.”

He managed to roll off her so they lay side by side as they were, still mostly dressed, dazed, and utterly satisfied.

“I was in a hurry,” she said.

“Tell me about it.”

She sighed again, closed her eyes. “I’ve been in the desert where sex is concerned. It’s been more than a year.”

“A year? Jesus, I’m lucky to be alive.”

A laugh sounded low in her throat. “Believe me, you are. I can’t believe I spent all this money on new underwear. Neither one of us appreciated it.”

No, he thought, nothing like what he’d expected of her. On every level, a whole hell of a lot better. “Were you wearing underwear?”

“See? And I still am. Just not where it’s meant to be worn.”

Still flat on his back, he reached over, down, skimmed his fingers over the lace-edged bra bunched with the dress around her waist.

“You can put it back where it goes. Then I’ll appreciate it later before I peel it off you. We’ll go for full naked next time.”

“I could use some full naked. You’ve got a really nice body, but—well, in a hurry …”

She turned her head, studied his profile—those strong bones, those hard curves. After a moment, he turned his so they stared into each other’s eyes.

So damn beautiful, he thought. It ought to be against the law to look like that. It messed up a man’s head.

“We must look ridiculous,” she murmured.

“Don’t look.”

“I won’t if you won’t. Are you hungry?”

“That’s a loaded question, considering.”

She smiled as she worked her bra back into place. “Why don’t we go down and eat, pretend we’re civilized adults.”

“Too late for the second part.”

“It’s never too late to be civilized.”

“You’re starting to think about the kids in W&B.”

“Avery made us a beautiful meal, and we should eat it. And it gives me the opportunity to be available in case. Then we can bring the wine—should there be any left—back up here. You can appreciate my new underwear.”

“It’s a good plan.” He levered up enough to pull up his shorts, his jeans. “And maybe next time I’ll manage to get my boots off before you jump me.”

She wiggled back into her dress, smiled. “No promises.”