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“I’m not going to enter.”
“But you should,” a male voice from just behind her interjected, making Carrie jump.
It was Sam. For reasons she couldn’t explain, he had gotten even hotter in the three hours since they’d last spoken. It had to be his clothes. Instead of mountain-man flannel, he now wore a silky gray retro-looking long-sleeved shirt that made his hazel eyes seem blue. No tie. He’d stuck with his worn jeans, a decision she could only applaud.
“Sorry,” he said, “I was just coming over to make sure you had everything you need, then I overheard pumpkins and, well …”
“That’s okay,” Erin said. “I hope you can convince her. She’s really creative and talented, and I’ve seen her carve some great pumpkins.”
“It’s a good prize, you know. A massage in your room.”
Carrie wasn’t at all sure how to respond. Once again she knew she was blushing, even though she still wasn’t sure if he was flirting or not. As a good host, it made sense for him to wander from table to table. Hearing a conversation about a hotel activity made things easy for him, and she could appreciate that, as well. He’d have to be clever and quick to constantly chat it up with complete strangers. It wasn’t about her at all. Wait. “An in-room massage for free? Where do I sign up?”
“All you have do to is show up,” Erin said, before smiling up at Sam. “I must tell you this was one of the best meals I’ve ever had. In my whole life. How is your restaurant not on the cover of every food magazine in the world?”
“We have a special guest chef this week. Not that our regular chef isn’t great, but Jody’s amazing. We’re lucky to have her.”
“Trying to impress the ghost hunters?” Carrie asked.
Sam looked down before he met her gaze. “Just lucky. She’s an old friend. I’ll give you a word of advice. Don’t get too full. We’re serving dessert in the conference room, and take it from me, these are not ordinary desserts.”
“Good to know.”
Sam smiled at her and after a few seconds he got that look again. The one that seemed just a bit too focused. It made Carrie turn away as she fought her very physical reaction. He cleared his throat, then said, “Well, have a good night, ladies. If there’s anything you need, just give me a call.”
“Thank you.” Erin closed her menu and put it aside. “It’s safe,” she whispered a minute later. “He’s gone.”
Carrie looked up. “So, no pumpkin soufflé. At least not tonight.”
“The man is totally into you.”
“Stop it.”
“Come on, you want him so badly. You’re all blushing and touching your hair. I’m trying to think if I’ve ever seen you like this. I was there when you met Armand, and honey, you were not flirty and girlie. Not even a little.”
“He’s not Armand.”
“Thank god. But you’re not exactly you, either. But that’s okay. Because—”
“What?”
Erin signaled the waitress again.
“Erin? What are you planning?”
“Nothing.”
“Liar.”
Erin coughed behind her hand. “Could you have said that a little louder? I’m not planning anything. I don’t need to. You’re going to be with him, my stubborn friend. Without me lifting a finger.”
Carrie ignored the prediction, ignored everything but the fact that Sam, the dutiful host, went straight to the kitchen without talking to any other guests. Before the door swung closed, he looked at her again. A long, piercing stare.
SAFELY IN THE CONFINES of the bustling kitchen, Sam cursed to himself as he headed for the back door. He needed a moment of privacy.
This Carrie business was more serious than he’d thought. He’d known it the moment he’d walked into the dining room and seen her back. Yeah. Her back. He’d have known her even if she hadn’t been sitting across from her friend Erin.
He stepped out onto the lit patio. It was an employee lounge, mostly used in the warmer months, but even in the dead of winter people came out here to get away. Some to smoke, although there were few of those left. It was also the path to the trash bins and the storage shed. Well lit, it was difficult to make out much beyond the low fence. Sam went straight for the path that led to the edge of the forest. He had no desire to visit the woods this late, he just wanted to get away from the hotel, from the glare of the spotlights.
The farther he walked, the more detail he could see in front of him. A tree, vague in shape and still more two-dimensional than three. He stopped and smiled when he could discern the forest from the tree.
No wonder there were legends of this place. He’d grown up here and still it seemed otherworldly out here. Shadows upon shadows, the eye suspecting movement, attaching stories to the tricks of the night to ease the fear, as if the explanation alone would take away the danger.
It would be easy to believe that a spirit would come back here. The woods, the mountains, all the secret places. Especially if they’d been loved. Been mourned.
He turned his gaze to the hotel, the illumination from the windows as inviting as a warm bed, a hot meal. Carrie.
He wanted her.
He’d been on his own too long. But he had to be discreet. And make damn sure she was amenable. The last thing he needed was a sex scandal when the potential buyers were in residence.
No, he had a strong feeling Carrie was interested. There was something about the way she looked at him.
He shivered, hard. “Well, shit.” He felt like an idiot as he started back double time. He hadn’t even bothered to put on a jacket. This was what happened when a man who hadn’t been with a woman in ten months met someone like Carrie. He got poetic. He got cold. And if he had a brain in his head, he got laid.
4
THE BALLROOM WAS BIGGER than Carrie had imagined. And much more crowded. There had to be at least sixty people milling around, most of them in line for food or drinks. She recognized some of the people from the shuttle, including Elbow Guy, who looked as though he’d showered, and the lovely lady who’d spoken so musically. Most of the crowd would fit right in at Comic-Con, the biggest and most extravagant of the comic conventions she attended. Tonight T-shirts were the hot ticket, ninety percent of them with some kind of paranormal picture, quote, or both. Of course, the TV Ghost Hunters show was the most popular, although Halloween itself ran a close second.
Despite Erin filling her in about the hobby, Carrie had no idea there was so much ghost paraphernalia. Not that she was one to talk. She wrote online comics. Graphic novels. She had her own online merchandise store, which did a brisk business. Kudos to the spirit world, although she doubted the ghosts were making any royalties.
Two bars had been set up on either side of the long room, and she’d bought three tickets for herself at the registration table in the hall. Erin had purchased a couple, but she’d also brought a thermos to fill with coffee, her favorite tea bags, a recorder, a notebook, two different sweaters, a pair of sweatpants, a scarf, a blow-up pillow and three paranormal books to be autographed, all carried in a tote bag that was nearly as large as her suitcase.
“Oh, man, the treats look utterly yummy.”
Carrie turned at the rapture in Erin’s voice. The food tables lined the front wall by the entrance, and it looked more like a brunch spread from the Four Seasons than a Podunk Inn an hour from Denver. Not only was the fruit artfully arranged, but there was also an ice sculpture in the middle of the biggest table.
As for the pastries, Sam hadn’t exaggerated. It was an astonishing array. Éclairs, petits fours, napoleons, petits pots au chocolat, tarts, cheesecakes, sponges. It was a veritable cornucopia of deliciousness, and Carrie could already feel the pounds expanding her hips. The closer she got to the table, the harder it was to care.
Not that she could get too close. Those who weren’t standing in line for drinks were attacking the desserts like starving wolverines. No one was talking, and if someone didn’t back down, there would be bloodshed near the petits fours.
“Think maybe I’ll get a drink,” Erin said.
“Shouldn’t we mark our territory first?”
They both turned to the rows of seats facing the stage. Carrie was impressed by the high-tech equipment on display. A movie-theater-sized screen, several big monitors and a sound board, which was weird. She nodded at the stage. “What’s with all the TVs?”
“Only a few people at a time can go to the Old Hotel. Everyone else watches remotely from here.”
“Watches what?”
Erin got that look in her eye. “Apparitions, sometimes. Flashes of light. They’ll see whoever’s in the hotel, of course, and then there are all the monitors for sound, temperature fluctuations, electromagnetic shifts. It can be pretty compelling stuff, if you open your mind. I know there’s activity here. I’ve already felt … things.”
“Hands on your ass, perhaps?”
“Carrie. Stop it.”
“Sorry. I promise. I’ll be good. So when do you get to go to the scary hotel?”
“First shift. Midnight,” she said, right before she frowned. “Tomorrow.”
“Well, I hope there are apparitions and specters and flashes and everything you’ve ever wanted, but not until you’re there to see it in person. Seriously.”
“Don’t tell anyone, but me, too,” Erin said.
Carrie wondered yet again how she’d gotten so lucky to find such a good friend. The thought was interrupted when she got a load of the chairs set out for those who didn’t get to freeze all night in a rickety death trap. They looked intensely uncomfortable, but then Carrie wasn’t planning to be in one for too long.
Erin headed out, readjusting her tote as she walked. “I need to put this thing down.”
Carrie hurried to catch up, but Erin was tall and she was fast. “As long as we’re not …”
Erin put her tote bag down in the front row.
“… in the front row.”
“We’re at the end. You can still get out when you need to escape.”
Carrie waved at her to shush. She’d already gotten dirty looks from people. “Fine. I wasn’t going to get alcohol, but you’ve changed my mind.”
“What booze goes with chocolate?”
“Enough of either one, and it doesn’t matter.” Carrie led her friend to the bar on the right. “But I’m going for a Kahlúa and coffee.”
“Oooh, that sounds good. Did you look at your program?”
“Yes. I did.”
“So you know about Marcia Williams.”
Carrie had no clue. “Absolutely.”
Erin folded her arms over her chest. “As often as you lie, you really should be better at it.”
“All right. Who’s Marcia Williams?”
“Only one of the most famous mediums in the world.”
“Oooh,” Carrie said, trying to sound as excited as Erin had about the Kahlúa.
“I bought you a reading.”
“Erin. You don’t have money to throw away like that, especially since you’re moving.”
Her friend looked wounded. “Really? You’ve decided to go there on the first night?”
People were looking. But that wasn’t why Carrie moved closer to Erin. “I’m sorry. I meant thank you.”
The anger disappeared in a blink of Erin’s blue eyes. “No fair. I have every reason to be mad.”
“There’ll be plenty of time for that. And ample opportunities, I’m sure. So let’s get drunk and fat and then meet and greet the hell out of this crew.”
THE BUYERS WERE ON their way from Denver, and instead of pacing the lobby until he drove himself crazy, Sam headed for the banquet room, which was packed.
He walked through the crowd, checking that the floor was clean, that the glasses and dishes were being bussed, that everyone seemed happy. He didn’t worry about the bartenders. Both of them normally worked in the pub, and they knew what they were doing. Gene had worked here over ten years, and he’d met his wife, Felicity, when she’d come on board. They’d been married in the garden right here on the property. Sam had been filming in Atlanta that summer. His father had signed their gift from the both of them.
Carrie was in Felicity’s line. She wore slim black jeans and a snug green sweater, and when she turned his way, he felt as if he’d been hit with an electric shock. Just a buzz, diffused through his chest and lower, a reminder of what his trip to the forest had told him. This was a woman he wanted to know better. Intimately. He headed her way.
It was clear the moment she noticed him, and he let out a held breath at her smile. There was nothing forced about it, nothing faked. He’d caught her by surprise and her first instinct was to welcome him. Excellent.
“Hey, you have any pull around here?” she asked. “We’ve been in line for hours.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Hours, huh?”
“At least three. Maybe five. I’m too parched to be sure.” Carrie had lost the grin, and replaced it with complete sincerity. It was Erin, and the fact that the ballroom had only been open for about twenty minutes, that gave her away.
“She’s like this all the time, Sam. It’s awful. You’ll see.”
“I think I can handle it.”
Carrie grinned prettily. “You can get us our drinks?”
“Sure thing. As soon as we reach the bar.”
“Oh, you’re no fun.”
“It’s only the first night,” he said. “I can’t go playing favorites. Yet.”
“Oooh.” Erin bumped Carrie’s shoulder with her own. “You’d better not hog all the good ghosts, missy.”
Carrie laughed, but when her gaze caught his, she stopped as if she’d just realized whom she was joking with. A stranger. An innkeeper in a haunted hotel. One who did peculiar things to her mind and her body.
“This looks fantastic,” Erin said, filling in what had just begun to feel like an awkward pause. “I can’t wait to get my hands on some of that dessert. Who is this chef? Some star of the Food Network?”
“She’s been on Iron Chef before. And won.”
Erin stepped out of line into his personal space and shoved his chest. Kind of hard. He didn’t mind exactly, although he was surprised. “You are kidding me.” Her voice had gotten half an octave lower, and he took another step back.
“Nope. Not kidding.”
