Holiday Man Read online

  “I could probably use one of those, too,” she said.

  He handed her a glass. “It’s good.” He didn’t know what else to add. Maybe he hadn’t gotten as much of his vocabulary back as he’d thought.

  She took it from him, drank about half of it, then studied him carefully and sighed.

  “Bram,” she said, touching his forearm and making his heart almost stop from the desire to hold her. “I was angry, but I shouldn’t have yelled at you, and I shouldn’t have run away from you like that. I’m sorry.”

  He felt a surge of hopefulness and nodded, silently accepting her apology, even though he hadn’t understood her outburst earlier. “Your fiery Irish temper got the best of you, huh?”

  She half smiled. “Something like that.”

  “I wasn’t trying to ‘acquire’ you, Shannon. And I wasn’t ‘mocking’ you with my costume. I thought you’d like it, but I guess I should’ve stuck with my original idea—Dracula.”

  She smiled the rest of the way. “Really? You have vampire teeth back in your room?”

  “In the garbage can, but yes.” He paused. “I don’t need them to bite your neck, though.”

  At this, she chuckled. To Bram’s ears, it was like hearing the Vienna Symphony Orchestra playing Mozart.

  She nudged him with her elbow. “Let’s go up there. You can show me.”

  He didn’t need to be asked twice. He hustled her out of the ballroom before she could change her mind and, when they got to his suite, he hastily removed every stitch of her flowing costume…from the blue tulle dress to the delicate wings to the soft ballet slippers.

  She responded by hurriedly tugging off his mask, untying his cape—which dropped to the floor with a swish of fabric—and pulling off his black shirt, black slacks and pumpkin-orange boxers until he was standing bare in front of her.

  His cock rose to meet her, trying oh so hard to bury itself within her.

  But Shannon insisted on playing with him first, running her fingertips up and down his shaft, kissing his chest with her lips—still cool and red from the spiked “potion”—and making these breathy, moaning sounds every time he touched her breasts, her ass, her legs.

  Bram just couldn’t take it anymore. He lifted her off the floor long enough to half lay/half toss her onto the middle of the king-sized bed. Then he sank into her at the same time as he bit the tender area of skin on the left side of her throat…alternating rocking deep within her and sucking hard on her neck until he finally got the Halloween scream he’d been waiting to hear from her lips.

  ***

  The next morning brought a harsh ray of sunlight, invading the room through a window blind he’d stupidly neglected to close all the way.

  Shannon stirred beside him. “I should go downstairs soon,” she said, her voice sexy and low with the huskiness of sleep.

  “Why? Can’t Jake be responsible for another hour or two?”

  Bram knew he shouldn’t bring up the name of that other guy but, dammit, couldn’t The Prick do something useful for a change? Anything besides playing tug-o-war with him over Shannon’s attention?

  She exhaled heavily. “I left the party early to be with you,” she reminded him. “I need to make it up to Jake today.”

  He all but growled at the thought of Shannon owing Jake anything, but he was proud of himself for dropping the subject. Instead, he tried to distract her. He ran his fingers down her back, holding her in place and reaching for the new body lotion he’d set on the bedside table. “Apricocious.”

  “Mmm. Smells like apricots and cream,” she murmured, as the scent of the lotion filled the air. “It’s making me hungry.”

  He warmed up a dollop of it in his hands and began massaging her shoulder blades, then her lower back, then the firm rounded cheeks of her delectable bottom. They’d had two rounds of flaming-hot sex during the night but, already, he wanted her again.

  “It would be perfect if I could spend all day making you feel hungry. Right here in this room. So cozy, so relaxing, so far away from everything stressful,” he mused.

  She shifted, moving a tad closer to him, and laughed lightly. “Not for me. It would be more perfect if we were on the Côte d’Azur or the Amalfi Coast. Somewhere so much more interesting and exotic than…Wisconsin.”

  He tried to explain that she wasn’t appreciating enough of the beauty of her own home. “I’ve been to both of those other places, Shannon. They’re really pretty, sure, but not as special as you make them seem. The coastal view out this window is gorgeous, too. You’ve got this perfect location right here in Door County. You don’t have to travel the world to find it.”

  He hoped he was getting across to her that she didn’t need to change a single thing about her life or her experiences to impress him. But, instead of snuggling even closer to him so he could continue her backrub, she abruptly pulled away. She all but leaped out of bed and started gathering up her clothes.

  What did he do wrong now?

  “That’s, perhaps, easier for you to say because you’ve already done it.” Her words came out in a chilly, clipped tone. “I’d like it if, for a change, someone didn’t try to tell me what I should want or not want. What I should try or not try.”

  She slipped on her blue Tinkerbell dress and shot an accusing glare at him. “You’ve got this image of me stuck here at Holiday Quinn—a little domestic haven tailor-made for you to retreat to from the real world—but you don’t seem to be as interested in being around me when we’re away from here.” She crossed her arms, clutching her fairy wings to her chest. “I was right last night, wasn’t I? It’s this place you’re excited about and attracted to…not me.”

  Again, he was rendered nearly speechless, and all he could think in response was to murmur, “Of course I like this place, but it wouldn’t be the same without you.”

  “So, if I weren’t here, you wouldn’t ever come back?”

  He blinked. “But you are here. This is your inn, Shannon. Aside from being gone for a vacation or something, where else would you be?”

  She huffed out some air, glanced at the clock and said, “Look, I have to go, and we’re not getting anywhere with this conversation. Have a good day, Bram.” Then she strode out the door, slamming it behind her.

  WTF? He just didn’t get it.

  He picked up the ballet slippers that Shannon had forgotten at the edge of the carpet and wondered if this was a not-so-subtle hint that she was rejecting the Cinderella-story ending he’d been hoping for.

  Though he hadn’t wanted to admit it, he’d secretly been daydreaming about Prince Charming’s version of that particular fairy tale—where the guy and the girl get together, settle down and live happily ever after in the castle. Or, in this case, at their holiday cabin in the heart of the forest with occasional forays into the big city.

  What wasn’t to love about that? Why the hell was she being so stubborn? So unwilling to fall in with his beautiful, well-constructed plans? Granted, he hadn’t actually verbalized any of these plans to her yet…but still.

  He tossed his belongings into his bag, marched down to the front desk and put the slippers on the counter with a thud.

  “I’m checking out,” he informed Jake, the surprised but always on the verge of sneering employee, who had to have been wondering why Bram would depart several hours early.

  “Okay,” the assistant began. “Did you want to—”

  “You have my credit card information on file,” Bram said, cutting him off. “Just charge everything to that, and kindly see that Shannon gets her slippers.” He stepped away from the desk. “Thanks,” he added dismissively over his shoulder.

  He didn’t give The Prick a chance to respond and, though he wouldn’t have blamed the guy for gloating a little, he didn’t look back at Jake to read his expression, so he didn’t know for sure.

  Bram did, however, make it to his car in record time. He slid into the driver’s seat and started speeding westward.

  Hasta la vista, Holiday Q
uinn.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Thanksgiving

  A month later, Bram was still ticked. He and Shannon hadn’t been in contact even once since Halloween.

  No impromptu visits.

  No sexy phone calls.

  No flirtatious e-mails or text messages.

  He’d tried one night to get ahold of her, but he’d only reached her voicemail. Then, not that he’d admit this to any living soul, he’d chickened out and hung up because he had no idea what to say.

  He did, however, get both a smail-mail postcard and an automated text alert notifying him of the Holiday Quinn Thanksgiving Weekend festivities. There would be a Turkey Trot Dance-Off, a Pumpkin Pie Eating Contest, a Corn Husk Doll Making Demonstration and some kind of Traditional Feast of Gratitude.

  Bram wasn’t feeling especially grateful.

  He tossed the postcard in the trash and deleted the text, but he kept hoping—perhaps a bit irrationally—that Shannon would call him personally to talk about the upcoming inn events. And, while she was at it, she’d tell him what the hell was going on with her and explain why she’d mistakenly thought he was the bad guy in all of this. If she said she was sorry or reached out to him at all, even in some small way, he knew he’d forgive her in an instant.

  But he wasn’t going to be the one to fold first. In his not so humble opinion, he didn’t have anything to apologize for anyway.

  So, instead of driving to Wisconsin to see Shannon or celebrating the national holiday with his too-busy-as-always brothers, he accepted a dinner invitation from his favorite married couple, the Wainwrights. Gina and Trevor were both Midwestern transplants—she from the South and he from the West Coast—and they were hosting a big Thanksgiving “friends who are like family” gathering at their house.

  “There’ll be a few interesting ladies there,” Gina informed him with a spirited laugh. “I think you’ll have fun.”

  Bram assured her that he would, particularly since he’d be there as one of only a couple of bachelors.

  He’d been downplaying his holiday visits to see Shannon, so the Wainwrights didn’t know the depth of his hurt. Still, Trevor eyed Bram with sympathy when he arrived alone at the house.

  “Ah, thanks for the fine wine,” his buddy said, taking the bottle of white that Bram offered him. “A Viognier, I see. Delicious.”

  “I hope you and Gina will enjoy it.” Bram glanced at the small clusters of people around the dining room table, standing in the foyer and sitting on the living room sofa. A collection of strays if Bram ever saw one, but a well-dressed and—from the sound of the conversation—a very articulate collection.

  “Please make yourself at home,” Trevor said. “There are munchies on the table and I can make you whatever drink you’d like. Or,” he pointed toward the table, “there are glasses of warm spiced cider to combat the November chill.”

  “I’ll start with that,” Bram said, thanking his friend, and he strode over to where the cider was being served. Steam rose from each of the stoneware mugs.

  A leggy blonde in a pink mini, who introduced herself as Candy-somebody, handed him one of the mugs when he approached the table.

  “Thank you,” he said, appreciating not only the kind gesture but, also, her flirtatious smile. And the simple fact that someone who was hot, sweet and—best of all—available seemed excited to see him.

  “You live in the area?” Candy asked, indicating with a lift of her fair, carefully tweezed eyebrow that she hoped this was the case.

  “Yes,” he replied, and then he asked a few questions about her.

  How did she know the Wainwrights? Gina and I went to college together.

  What was her profession? A copyright lawyer in the Twin Cities.

  Did she have any pets? Yes, a pair of parakeets named Romeo and Juliet.

  He laughed. She was charming and delightful, and he and Candy chatted at length and joked with ease.

  Even so…even though she wasn’t hard to spend time with, Bram knew his heart wasn’t in it. That fiery spark he’d seen in Shannon, the one that had attracted him to her from the moment they’d met in a way that was both unexpected and undeniable…that wasn’t what he felt as he talked with Candy and the other single ladies at the dinner party.

  He could recognize them as being pretty (in some cases, even beautiful), but none of them were compelling. None would hold his interest for longer than an evening or two.

  After about three hours of small talk, Bram managed to detach himself from Candy so he could hide out in the dense shadows of the den. He just needed a few minutes away from the group to sit silently and alone, sip his bourbon and attempt to rub away an impending headache with his fingertips against his temples.

  He suddenly spotted Gina lugging two heavy bags of trash and a box filled with various papers and wrappings down the hall to the garage.

  Bram leaped up to assist her and said, only half joking, “Why isn’t Trevor helping you or doing this for you?”

  Gina grinned. “Oh, he would if I asked him, but when I saw that the trash bin was overflowing, he was in the middle of a conversation with his friend Liam. The two of them have been so busy with work lately that they rarely have a chance to really talk. I just didn’t want to interrupt them.”

  Ah, that was sweet, Bram thought.

  Not twenty minutes later, he walked through the kitchen to find Trevor simultaneously soaking a pot and scouring away a wine stain on the counter. Gina brought in a few more items and said, “You’ve dealt with so many of the dishes already, honey. I can wash up this batch—”

  “Nope,” her husband told her. “I’ve got this one, too. You go ahead and grab yourself a piece of pumpkin pie. I know you haven’t had any yet.” He pecked a kiss on her nose and shooed her away. “That lady works too damn hard,” he told Bram with a smile.

  But, although Bram didn’t say anything about it, he couldn’t help but recognize how thoughtful Gina and Trevor were with regards to each other. How unselfishly they both behaved. It was, Bram realized, exactly what a loving couple should do—both sides always keeping in mind the little ways they could help the other. Gifts of time and effort that made their spouse’s life a bit easier.

  And he found himself thinking about Shannon again (honestly, when had he ever stopped?) and wondering what she was really feeling these days. Had he actually considered her point of view? She wasn’t a company he could “merger” or—as she put it—someone he could “acquire.” She was a complicated woman…one who, maybe, hadn’t expressed herself on this issue as well as she should have.

  Still, if he were to be just like his happily married friends, shouldn’t he be working harder to see the world through her lens? To give her whatever it was that she needed, more than what he alone knew he wanted?

  Bram got the uncomfortable feeling that, perhaps, he hadn’t been doing nearly enough of that.

  ***

  Shannon found herself swamped with work once the Thanksgiving weekend was underway. But, when she was able to slip out for a few hours, she spent it by going no further than The Ashland Hotel. To have a quick holiday luncheon with Margaret.

  Her mentor was her usual lively self.

  “So, when was the last time you saw that handsome Minnesota businessman of yours, hmm?” Margaret asked around a mouthful of Ricardo’s famed cranberry and pecan stuffing. “Is he coming in for the weekend?”

  Shannon shook her head. She’d managed to avoid spilling her guts to Margaret in the weeks since Halloween, but she realized that she could really use some wisdom and advice. She found herself trying to explain what it was that had frustrated her so much about Bram’s comments last month. His quick dismissal of her travel dreams. His inability to be comfortable with their relationship anywhere outside of Holiday Quinn. His insistence that she stay in the tiny box in which he’d placed her.

  Her older friend listened intently before speaking. “Shannon, there are many things I regret about your parents dying so young. Not only do I
miss them as friends and neighbors, but I’m aware of how much responsibility their being gone has put on you.”

  Margaret reached across the table and clasped Shannon’s hands in her own. “The thing is, you’ve handled it well, but it came at a heavy cost. I think you know the time is now to take stock of your life and where it’s going. Time to look at the patterns you have in place and decide which you want to keep and which you’d prefer to change. Any man who might have a chance at being part of your world long term needs to be let in on these decisions. Much as you may wish he were psychic, you can’t necessarily expect him to know what you want and what you feel without telling him.”

  Shannon nodded. What Margaret was saying had the deep ring of truth to it. Looking back, perhaps she had been expecting Bram to understand too much. To be able to perceptively see what she’d hoped for and dreamed of without ever spelling it out for him.

  And, in truth, there had been a number of plans and ideas she’d barely acknowledged to herself. Hopes for the future that she hadn’t dared to say aloud for fear they wouldn’t work out…or, perhaps, for fear they would.

  Back at Holiday Quinn that evening, Shannon found herself looking at her current life with the sentimentality of someone about to leave it. The regulars who visited the inn—like the Bakers—and the staff that worked all the major events—especially Jake—had become her surrogate family. She truly cared about them.

  And she cared very much about Margaret, too. A woman who understood—in a way Shannon suspected a parent might—that, at some point, most kids needed to leave the nest in order to grow up.

  If they later chose to come back, they’d know then exactly why they were returning.

  On Sunday morning, as the final guests were checking out and preparing to drive to their respective homes, Shannon came to a decision. One that, on some deeply subconscious level, she knew had been made for months. Its execution, however, was going to depend on others.