Stuck On You (25 page)

He nodded. “I’m pretty sure I can manage that. Just one thing.”

She leaned up on her elbows. “What?”

“Take out that phone, the one I gave you. You need to cancel your date.”

He looked around the room and took a deep breath to enjoy the calming scent of genuine artificial sea breeze. For once in his life, he was happy to know exactly where he was headed. Adventure was fun but only with a place to come home to. The Rock’n’Rolla might not look like a home but the family here was worth taking a risk on. Adventures were meant to be shared, after all.

Laura set the phone on the nightstand. “Done. And now I’ll probably need to track down another liquor distributor. Luckily, I am good at troubleshooting.”

KT pulled her down next to him. “You are. You know how I knew that there was no turning back?”

She shook her head.

He rolled his head. “It was that damn graph. I probably spent as much time staring at it as I did your picture.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I told you that was one hot chart.”

“I had my doubts.” KT wrapped his arms around her and relaxed for the first time since he’d walked out the lobby door on the way to the airport. “When I showed it to Gram and she looked at me like she was worried for my health, I knew two things: Love can make a man do crazy things and being separated from you might have caused me to lose my mind a little. But now and forever, I’m stuck on you.”

Love is in the air at the Rock’n’Rolla Hotel!

Keep reading for a sneak peek at

CAN’T HELP FALLING IN LOVE,

the next book in this fun and flirty series from Cheryl Harper.

Coming in August 2013 from Avon Impulse.

An Excerpt from

CAN’T HELP FALLING IN LOVE

W
HEN
R
ANDA
W
HITMORE
pushed open the limo door, the furnace blast that was Memphis in August nearly knocked her over. She cursed under her breath about this latest assignment and straightened her shoulders before she slid over the cool leather seat to stand on the sidewalk. Thanks to the shade in this drop off area at the front doors of the Rock’n’Rolla Hotel, the concrete was solid instead of tarry goo as she’d expected. Eggs wouldn’t fry on the sidewalk; they’d sprout legs and run away screaming.

“Can I take your bags, miss?” Randa turned to see a tall young man wearing a tacky Hawaiian shirt. He had a pleasant smile even in this heat. His name tag said “Sam.”

She smiled her “Mother Theresa” smile and tilted her head to the side. “Why, Sam, I would appreciate that so much. Thank you. Could you take them on inside? I want to take a quick look at this beautiful hotel before I go inside.” She pressed a tip into his hand and nodded as he turned to the sliding doors of the hotel. She made a mental note that Sam seemed like a personnel asset.

“A very quick look,” she muttered as she forced herself out into the bright sunshine. The Rock’n’Rolla Hotel was boutique property situated right in the shadow of Graceland. Approximately 150 rooms, small meeting areas, and a full service bar and restaurant . . . all of them dedicated to the King of Rock and Roll. She shook her head. When the W Group bought it and renovated it, all of that would be washed away in a sea of beige sameness. Then it would match every other property of the W Group and every member of her family, for that matter.

The façade of the hotel was acceptable. Pink brick. White columns. It looked a little like what she’d seen of the pictures of Graceland. But when she turned the corner to check out the parking lot and the rest of the hotel, she knew she was in for an experience. Instead of the nice enough brick, these outer walls were painted with black silhouettes of music notes and records and the King, shaking his hips and doing his thing. Randa smiled as she tried to imagine hiring a mural painter who could translate pelvic gyrations. This one had done a damn good job. It was too bad it was about to be wiped away. This would never do on a Whitmore hotel.

She wiped the beads of sweat off her forehead and wished she’d put her hair up in a sleek ponytail as she walked back along the front of the hotel. Sweat was another thing that would never do on a Whitmore. Cold blooded, calculating, and nearly perfect was the way to be in her family. She hadn’t quite mastered any of those things but her father and brothers did their best to lead by example and sometimes by lesson. And when they were on a teaching spree, she ended up in places like the Rock’n’Rolla Hotel. In Memphis. In August.

Her Brazilian blowout was about to be tested mightily. It had been her first and last. The price tag was impressive but not nearly as impressive as her stylist’s gas mask. She was willing to suffer for perfection, but she had to draw the line somewhere.

She stopped in front of the doors but they automatically swung open. The music notes were probably a nod to the gates of Graceland. They weren’t so bad. She decided to take a picture and think about it before she made a recommendation to replace them. And the air conditioning that wafted out was as beautiful and welcome as the smell of fresh-baked cookies. If she were a cartoon character, she would have floated in with her eyes closed in ecstasy.

Sam nodded as she waved and she stopped to absorb the lobby of the Rock’n’Rolla. It was green. Really, really green. And not like green paint or carpet. Green like the rainforest. Plants exploded along one wall of the lobby and she could hear the faint trickle of a waterfall. Heavy wood chairs were scattered around and the floors and walls were some kind of natural stone. What she could see of them. She could feel the cool stone through her shoes and she wanted to sigh with relief.

But she was distracted because right in the middle of the lobby floor was what appeared to be a dead dog. Well, not dead, but surely dead to the world. Every now and then, the loose lips would twitch. She approached it carefully because while Randa Whitmore thought she loved dogs, she didn’t really have much practical experience. Dogs didn’t work with the all-white, all-designer, all-expensive Whitmore design aesthetic. Her mother had told her that often enough.

Randa squatted and teetered on her four-inch heels for a minute before she reached out to pet the dog’s silky long brown ears. Little green bows fluttered as the dog drowsily stretched and moved closer to her. She knew she was wearing a stupid grin, but the softness of his—no, her—droopy ears, and the satisfied “hmph” she let out before she went back to sleep were reasons to smile. Randa didn’t care who saw it.

“Can I help you?”

Randa glanced up across the empty lobby to see a thug in another ugly Hawaiian shirt standing behind the front desk. Thug might be too harsh. He was tall and dark but not handsome. Close-cut hair gave him a military look, but the dark ink that ran from his wrist to the sleeve on his left arm said he was dangerous. Or different. Or both, but he
was
wearing a Hawaiian shirt after all. Unless he was robbing the place, he was part of the staff. She spent most of her life swimming in deep waters where the sharks were hard to see behind designer labels and expensive haircuts. This man was so different that he might have been a whole new species. One with really nice muscles, big hands, and enough controlled power to merit a second and third look.

She straightened slowly and felt his stare sweep a hot path from her long blonde hair to the ridiculously high heels. She had the impression that he cataloged every inch in between efficiently and she hoped that was a gleam of appreciation she saw. Maybe it was just a trick of the light. She teetered precariously for a quick second before she pulled herself together and put a little extra prowl in her step as she walked over to stand in front of him. No one had ever actually asked her to sashay on the catwalk, but when she was younger, she’d practiced her walk in the mirror. Randa knew she hadn’t lost the skill.

Instead of showing his appreciation with a smile, a wink, or even a catcall, all time-honored responses to her prowl, he raised an eyebrow. And that was it. He didn’t say another word.

She pulled out her mental ledger and put an “X” next to “Tony.” He didn’t have the outward appearance expected of a Whitmore employee, certainly, but he clearly didn’t have enough sense or good manners to show his appreciation for a very fine walk. She ignored her father’s voice in her head, the one that told her men didn’t enjoy it quite as much with thighs like hers. She also did her best to shove the small ping of hurt and doubt that flared up over his disinterest. She was Randa Whitmore. He was a hotel clerk. His opinion should be beneath her notice. If she could just get it through her head that it wasn’t necessary for everyone to love her, she’d do a much better job at being a Whitmore.

“Good afternoon, Tony. I’ll be checking in now.” She put enough frost in her tone to make it clear that she was so far above him that he should be glad she acknowledged his presence. Randa had never had to practice that tone. It was like the Whitmore family’s unifying superpower: the ability to freeze someone in his or her tracks with the right tone and a cutting word or two.

He nodded once. “Reservation?”

Randa pushed her shoulders back and her best assets forward as she flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Oh, I don’t have a reservation. I’ve just heard such good things.” She glanced around at the empty lobby. “Surely you have one room available.”

Tony didn’t heave a sigh but something about the way he click-clacked on the computer said that he really wanted to. “For how many nights?”

Sex didn’t work. She decided to try sparkling. “Why, I’m here for Elvis week, of course!” She looked very obviously down at her chest, which was covered in bling. Crystals outlined a silhouette of the King’s head and spelled out “Elvis.” She’d had to search high and low for a T-shirt she’d actually be seen in. And she still wouldn’t be happy if she were caught dead in it. Still, it did draw attention to her chest. And given the chance, Randa would always choose bling.

Tony flicked a glance at her T-shirt and sniffed.

That better be a summer cold he’s fighting and not a comment on what I’m working with
. Randa’s lips tightened and she started to get mad. She could tell. Her hands were ice cold.

“We’re all booked beginning on Friday. I can only give you two nights.” His face was impassive as he waited for her decision.

Randa fought the urge to jump at the chance to take only two nights at the Rock’n’Rolla Hotel. She might have enough time to take a good look at the hotel. She needed to get a report together for her father and brothers by the end of the next week. Whitmore properties was going to acquire the Rock’n’Rolla Hotel. The only question was how much it would cost. To come up with that figure, they needed to know just how much refurbishment they were looking at.

But no one here at the Rock’n’Rolla needed to know that. Not yet.

When Randa felt a warm weight settle against her leg, she looked down to see the dog looking up at her. She reached down and ran her hands over the dog’s head and fiddled with her ears as she tried to figure out which gambit would work here.

Before she could decide which play to try, a very short woman came out to stand next to Tony. “Hey, thanks for giving me a break. I can finish this up if you like.” Her nametag said “Laura.” He smiled down at her and Randa was amazed at the difference that smile made. His emotionless mask cracked and she could see respect and appreciation on his face. Softer and gentler was a very good look for him.

Randa thanked her lucky stars and pinned her hopes on this woman who had somehow tamed the beast. Maybe they were a couple. Hopeless devotion would totally explain his lack of interest in her. She normally had much better luck getting what she wanted from men than women, even married ones, but this Tony guy wasn’t budging. Not with her anyway. With Laura she would clearly have better luck. Randa cleared her throat as she shoved that annoying ping of doubt aside again.

She tilted her head and pasted on a smile. “Well, Laura, I’d like to check in but Tony tells me you can’t accommodate me here.”

Laura frowned and shrugged a shoulder. “He’s right then.”

Randa leaned forward. “Really? Couldn’t you check for me? Or maybe I could talk to the manager?” She didn’t want to go to the manager. She wanted to stay under the radar for as long as she could but to do that she needed a damn room. “I’d be willing to pay extra, maybe double the room rate. I’ve just heard such good things and I know staying here at the Rock’n’Rolla would make my Elvis week one to remember.” She tried a “let’s all be friends” smile.

Laura smiled back and shot a look at Tony. “Well, Ms. . . .”

Randa patted the desk. “Oh, please. It’s Miss Whitmore, but call me Randa.” She’d struggled over whether or not to come in with a false identity but couldn’t figure a way around the credit cards. Since she was the least-known Whitmore and she was standing here in Elvis attire, she hoped to escape notice.

Laura tilted her head as she studied her. “Well, Miss Whitmore, the truth is that there are no hotel rooms available on Friday. And Tony is the manager. He would know that better than anyone.”

Randa scratched the dog’s head and looked down into her warm eyes as she tried to figure out what to do. She didn’t want to be here at all, much less for more than a week. But failure wasn’t an option.

She tried one more play. “I apologize. Of course, I should have made a reservation. I have no one to blame by myself.” She tried a lip quiver and let her shoulders slump in what she hoped looked like dejection.

Neither Tony nor Laura bought it. She could tell by the looks on their faces. “Fine. Give me the two nights.”

Laura’s lip twitched as she looked up at Tony then said, “Well, you know . . . maybe we could set you up in one of the staff apartments. We’ve got a studio that’s empty.” She raised her eyebrows. “It’s not a great room, but you’d have access to the rest of the hotel’s amenities. If you’d like, you can stay on the first floor for two nights and then move on Friday.”

Tony huffed out a small breath but his face never changed.