A Moment of Bliss (26 page)

L
ooking at the Bradley brothers was like staring into the sun.

A beautiful, blue-eyed sun, so big and bright the sight hurt a little, but Anna still studied them with a sharp eye as they buzzed around the check-in area.

They were all tall, with hair the color of rich coffee, and in the kind of rugged shape that came from working in the mountains. The family photo on the resort's website didn't do them justice, especially not the rakish-looking one in the corner.

He was more like a sun god.

A sun god sent to whisk a weary traveler like her away from the ever-tightening grip of big city reality. Pamper her with luxury and cater to her every whim and wish.

Good Lord, she was word vomiting in ad copy.

Her brain whirred on high speed work mode when she was supposed to be checking into the Honeywilde Inn and Resort to relax and recover.

Her therapist was right. The time had come. She either took a break or had another break down. The choice was hers.

“You'll be in cabin number five,” one of the other Bradley brothers said. His name badge announced him as Roark Bradley, General Manager. “Trevor will show you the way up. Cabin five sits at the highest point on the property.” He turned to who she guessed was the youngest of the three. “Trev, take my truck and have Ms. Martel follow you. Five can be tricky to find until you know your way around.”

While he murmured to Trevor about offering to help with her luggage and watching the steep bend in the last turn, the third brother stepped out of his corner.

Devlin Bradley, Hospitality Manager, his name badge read.

Devil
Bradley might be more fitting.

The slow, sly drag of his gaze up her body, from the tips of her toes to the sunglasses on top of her head, would be lewd if he didn't look so adorable trying to hide it.

Arms crossed over his body, he leaned against the reception desk and scratched along his temple, checking her out around the side of his hand and in between his fingers.

Smooth.

All of this she noticed from the corner of her eyes because she was
not
checking him out too. But if she were checking him out, she'd say he was easily the handsomest of the three.

No, handsome wasn't right. His brother, the manager, was handsome.

Devlin was sexy.

Tall and filled out, he was still a little leaner than his brothers. His dark hair was too long on top to be considered professional, eyes hooded like he'd recently woken from a post-sex nap, and his jaw line would make any model jealous. Broody in a classic James Dean way, but with a hint of boyish charm.

He was the type they hired to advertise trendy clothing lines, and she was half tempted to call her office and let them know.

But she was not working right now. She was supposed to be on vacation.

Just a woman on vacation, admiring a good looking guy as he proceeded to fake cough so she'd look in his direction.

Anna pinched her lips together to keep from smiling.

Devlin was tempting, no doubt a handful, and she couldn't deal with any of that at the moment.

Taking a break from her burgeoning career, leaving her job in the lurch, that was enough to handle. Following her therapist's advice of rest, recovery and “participating in the process of grief” would likely prove too much.

She had no room in her vacation for blue-eyed devils, she sucked at relaxing, and the process of grief could take a flying leap off this mountain.

“Are you all set, ma'am?” Trevor Bradley straight up ma'am-ed her as he walked by.

Fantastic.

With a smile that weighed more than her luggage, she nodded. “I'm ready if you are.”

Trevor bounded toward the front door and she turned to follow. But her gaze snagged with Devlin's.

She meant to look away. Follow the harmless younger Bradley who would lead the way to her cabin.

If she had, she would've avoided the sensuous curl of Devlin's lips, the flicker of interest. She returned his smile unwittingly, and that got all of his attention.

His smile spread wider, revealing perfect white teeth and an all too knowing look in his eyes.

Heat rushed up the back of her neck, pin pricks dancing across her skin.

Encouraging him was a horrible idea, but her physical reaction was even worse. Whether she admitted it or not, her body knew what was up.

Devlin Bradley was all kinds of hot, and his being the last thing she needed to tangle with right now only made him hotter.

If his lingering looks were any indication, he didn't think she was too shabby either.

Anna turned on the heels of her wedge sandals and got the heck out of there.

By the time she left the lobby of Honeywilde's Inn, the back of her neck was on fire. Hopefully her hair hid everything, because once it flared up, her skin would be cherry red back there.

Trevor led the way to cabin five in a big black pickup truck, the wheels of her Lexus spinning a couple of times as she tried to keep up on the curvy incline.

Her car wasn't made for off-road mountain driving.
She
wasn't made for off-road mountain driving, but she'd been told to choose a vacation at a legitimate resort
or
one of those “retreats.” The kind where she'd be in therapy and meditation all day because she couldn't cope with what life had dealt her.

No thanks.

She'd opted for the first appealing vacation spot that popped up on her Google search for upscale North Carolina mountain getaways.

If she was going to take time away from work, it had to be the mountains. Maybe then she would stop putting off her responsibility. But upscale meant she wouldn't wind up in a pup tent or a cabin with no running water.

Honeywilde boasted peace and quiet, lovely strolls around the lake, hiking, delicious dining, legendary sunsets, and a warm, luxurious atmosphere.

Sold, she'd booked in to one of their private cabins immediately, for two and a half weeks.

Take my money,
she'd thought.
Just please don't let me fall apart.

The black pickup stopped in front of a sturdy log cabin, a covered porch stretched across the front with two Adirondack chairs and two rockers.

A little sign post at the bottom of the stairs read:
Cabin Five: Highpoint Escape.

Escape. “Perfect.” She popped the trunk of her car.

Before she could get out, Trevor was at the back, unloading both of her suitcases.

“I've got it.” He pulled out the shoulder bag as well, but Anna took the bag from his hands. That one was precious. “I'll get this”—she played it off—“I know my two suitcases aren't light.”

Had she over packed? Probably. But did she have any idea what a person needed to bring for a vacation in the mountains? Absolutely not.

The weather could be hot or cold, dry or damp. Was dinner at Honeywilde dressy or casual? Did she need hiking boots
and
sneakers? Until yesterday, she hadn't owned hiking boots.

Now she did.

Along with something called a rope bag and a pair of god-awful shoes one was supposed to wear in the river. As if she had plans to walk in the river.

The salesman at the outdoor store swore she'd need all of it. He'd known a sucker as soon as he saw her.

All that remained in the trunk was her train case, full of cosmetics, toiletries, and a bottle of Xanax she'd refused to crack open—so far. Anna grabbed the case and her purse and hurried after Trevor.

Once he'd off loaded her things, he wished her an awesome stay and took off, leaving her all alone in her Highpoint Escape.

“Well. Here we are,” she said, doing a slow three-sixty in the middle of the cabin's den, her announcement met with silence.

A two-foot-tall bear, carved out of wood, stared back from beside the fireplace.

He was cute, but fat chance of him responding.

When she was six or seven, her father brought her to North Carolina to see the bears. She'd been terrified, but he'd assured her everything was safe. The bear cubs were cute, the momma bear not so much.

Anna grabbed her phone to take a picture. Her dad would get such a kick out of the bear statue.

The phone suddenly turned to a block of cement in her hand, the picture on the lock screen shaking before she tossed it back in her purse.

Her father was gone. She could no longer send him anything. No funny pictures, no one-line comments that only he would appreciate.

She sank to the arm of the sofa, the wave of sadness like gravity.

She'd asked her therapist, Susan, about inviting a friend or boyfriend to join her on her break, phrasing the question like she had a boyfriend or knew anyone who'd be willing to put their lives on hold to go away to the mountains with her.

In her mind, she'd figured a traveling companion might make the time more enjoyable. Distract her from loss and the ripple effect that was ruining her life.

Susan's answer was a hard and fast no.

The point of her time off was to focus on herself, not others; no distractions so she could overcome her denial of grief, reflection and yadda, yadda something about actualization. Anna was supposed to be taking the time to think about what she wanted out of life and how she'd function in this “new normal.”

God, if she never heard that term again it'd be wonderful.

She carefully set her shoulder bag on the coffee table and made herself get up and look around. Missing her father was not going to dissolve into wallowing again.

She'd already tried that, and it didn't help.

The one bedroom, one bath cabin turned out to be as lovely as the pictures on the website. Everything was on one level except the loft-style bedroom. The floors were rich hardwoods, with big windows, and no over-the-top moose or bear themed décor. Just the one cute bear guarding the fireplace.

The place was tastefully decorated in neutrals with warm apricot accents, exactly how she would've set up a log cabin if she happened to own one.

Except—

If cabin five were her place, she probably would've remembered one
very
important detail.

Nice Jacuzzi tub, porcelain pedestal sink, and the toilet looked shiny and clean.

And completely without a seat.

“That is not going to work,” she announced to the cabin.

How the heck did you forget a toilet seat?

Then again, if three brothers ran the place, toilet seats probably didn't top their priorities.

Normally she'd unpack first and worry about it later, but later might be too late and she was here to visit the mountains in style, not cop a squat in the woods.

Flipping through the handy binder by the phone, she found the number for guest services. It only rang once before somebody answered.

“Thank you for calling Honeywilde. How may I be of service?”

Good Lord, the voice on him.

Deep and warm, raspy as if recently over-used, with a southern accent slightly thicker than the ones she usually heard in Atlanta. The way the words dripped from his lips made the question sound pornographic.

She'd bet anything, with nothing more to go on than a voice, she was talking to Devlin.

“Hello. May I help you?” His voice filled her ear, sending goose bumps down her arms.

“Yes. Hi. This is cabin five.”

“Ms. Martel,” he said, before she could get any further. “Are you settling in okay?”

“Uhm . . .” No. She wasn't settled at all, now that he'd purred in her ear, thank you very much. “Yes, everything is great, but there's one tiny problem. In the bathroom, there's no toilet seat.”

Silence ruled for a few beats, then, “You're kidding.” His voice remained phone sex material, but the dry note of wit made her smile.

“No. I wish was.”

“I am so sorry.” Embarrassment and urgency replaced the drawl. “We'll have someone over there immediately.”

“Thank you.” Hanging up, she realized she was still smiling. Smiling about a missing toilet seat.

When she opened the door to the cabin a few minutes later, the reason why was confirmed.

“Sorry again about the missing seat, but I'm here to take care of it.” Devlin's eyes crinkled at the outer edges. In one hand, he held a still boxed and wrapped toilet seat, in the other dangled a tool belt. “At the start of the summer season we replace a lot of things and, unfortunately, your toilet seat was overlooked.”

“I understand. Come on in.” Lord help her, what if he put on that tool belt?

She stepped aside to let him in, and he headed straight through the den and past the kitchen.

As he reached the short hall, he jerked to a stop as if catching himself. “I'm Devlin, by the way. I didn't get to introduce myself earlier.”

No, but he'd made quite the impression anyway.

“I'm Anna. Nice to meet you. Officially.” For lack of knowing what else to do, and since his hands were full of tool belt, she gave him a slow, wide wave.

Because sometimes she was a giant goober.

“You too.” The impish smile on his full lips made her breath catch.

Then he was gone, ducked into the bathroom.

Heat skittered up her neck again, and it wouldn't do. If she let her nervous reaction get out of control, she'd be all blotchy and itchy.

A super attractive look.

Once a stranger had asked if she was allergic to peanuts or shellfish or something. Nope. Just her body hated her.

She hung back, in the hall, furiously fanning her neck.