Holiday Man Read online

  In truth, he didn’t know, but he vowed to seriously consider it.

  He clicked his cell phone back on and answered a few messages. His brother Grant had given him a newer, faster iPhone for his birthday, but Bram was still learning all the gadgetry details and, in an oddly sentimental way, still missed his old cell. Mostly because it reminded him of all the long phone calls he’d made to Shannon in the past few months.

  The memory brought a grin to his face, and he was still grinning ten minutes later when he headed outside to get some fresh summer air.

  It was a gorgeous summer day and, despite being bound to the business world by a pocket electronic device, he felt…well, almost free…hopeful. He liked the sensation.

  His cell phone vibrated against his hip.

  Damn. That was what he got for getting too comfortable and complacent. He lifted it to his ear and said, “Hartwick.”

  “I think we need to talk,” a man’s voice said.

  Bram looked at the Caller ID. It displayed Holiday Quinn’s main phone number. What the hell? “Who is this?”

  An arrogant sigh came through loud and clear on the line. “This is Jake Marcolis.”

  “Ah,” he said. “Shannon’s employee and friend.” He paused, letting his sarcasm sink in. “I’m standing right outside the inn, Jake. Why are you calling me on the phone?”

  “Because I care a great deal about my employer and friend,” the assistant shot back. “And I’d just as soon not have her see us trying to kill each other on the lawn.”

  Bram laughed. He had to hand it to the guy, Jake the Prick had balls. “Well, you’ve got my intentions right. I’d like to dismember you, piece by piece, especially after that stunt you pulled the other night. Long Island Iced Teas on an empty stomach? Why didn’t you just drug her?”

  There was a long pause. “Look, Hartwick, I’d only been trying to help Shannon relax. I hadn’t been trying to get her drunk, but I told her I was sorry it happened nonetheless. As for you, I don’t owe you any apologies. You’re a man who blew in here one cold night and then blew out again. The fact that you show up once every month or two, doesn’t mean you have what it takes to make a long-term relationship with her work.”

  Bram’s jaw dropped. “And you do? You’ve been with her all this bloody time, long before I showed up, and, yet, nothing has ever happened between you two. Explain that.”

  “Maybe I don’t look as impressive as you do on paper. But I suspect she’s not seeing all of the real you anyway. I’ll bet you’ve got a face you show to her when you’re here or when she calls you, but the man at home is someone else. Someone obsessed by stuff she’s not a part of. How long will it be before your ‘mystery’ wears off? How long before she realizes she’s just something else you’ve added to your collection, and that you wouldn’t alter a single important thing in your life for her?”

  For maybe the first time in a decade, Bram was too stunned to immediately reply. Jake’s accusations were all wrong. The kind of workaholic guy Jake had just described? Maybe Bram’s brothers fit that description, but he…he’d changed.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bram said finally, his voice as low and dangerous as he could make it. “And what happens between Shannon and me is none of your damned business. Just keep your fucking hands off her, or I’ll pound you to the ground with mine.”

  “Fine,” Jake said. “But don’t think I won’t be watching you, too.” Then he clicked off.

  Jake the Prick had hung up on him.

  Bram stared at the cell phone before putting it away. He wasn’t like his brothers, dammit. He was willing to make changes. He already had, with more to come. And Jake Marcolis could follow the devil down to hell for all he cared.

  His phone vibrated again a few minutes later—his secretary Miranda this time—but a sense of panic strangled him, even as he answered. What if he really was stuck in this chaotic life and couldn’t get out after all?

  Later that night, however, as he watched a very exuberant dancer guy recreate one of Fred Astaire’s most famous tap routines from Holiday Inn in the Crosby Room, Bram held Shannon’s hand, and he felt liberated again.

  She squeezed his fingers hard every time one of the firecrackers went off. The crowd cheered louder with each Bang! but, for much of the performance, Bram felt as though it were just the two of them watching the routine.

  After one particularly explosive display, he saw Jake across the room and his temper rose along with the crowd’s feverish excitement. Nothing—and no one—was going to keep Shannon from being his, even if he had to employ every big-business technique for acquisitions and mergers to make it happen.

  “The crowd loves the show,” Shannon said. “The firecracker-dancing guy really came through with that amazing performance. Wow.”

  Bram leaned in close. “Yeah, but he ain’t got nothin’ on us.” When she grinned at him, he added, “Let’s go upstairs and set off our own sparks, shall we?”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Labor Day

  Ah…freedom!

  The warm, late-summer wind ruffled Shannon’s hair through her car’s open window, the sun beat down on her skin and her entire body sprung to life despite the confinement of her seatbelt. Fast-paced swinging tunes from the “Golden Oldies” station poured through her speakers and flooded the car with 1950s and ‘60s favorites. If Shannon didn’t have to keep her eyes on the road, she would have closed them in bliss.

  Never had she felt freer than when she’d locked up Holiday Quinn and left it this morning.

  Never had a highway looked more beautiful than I-94 headed into Madison—Wisconsin’s lively capital city.

  Never had a weekend held more promise.

  Three days and two nights. With Bram. In a hopping university town. At a tasteful Victorian Bed-n-Breakfast.

  Emphasis on Bed.

  And the best part? No responsibilities for her! Her parents had never opened the inn specifically for the Labor Day holiday, and she didn’t plan to start that tradition. Plus, she’d taken vacation time away from The Ashland this weekend… So she could have “fun, fun, fun,” just like the Beach Boys sang, with or without a T-Bird, and not have to worry about working at all until Tuesday.

  She navigated through Madison’s vibrant downtown, alive with pedestrians and just-returning UW students. What an exciting, youthful city this was!

  Then, carefully following the directions Bram had e-mailed her, she pulled into the B&B’s tiny parking lot, which had room for maybe five cars, and spotted his silver Lexus right away.

  She grabbed her bag and all but sprinted into the lobby of the colorfully painted but well-preserved house. A bell jangled from the front door and, within seconds, a woman who looked like Mrs. Cunningham from those old “Happy Days” episodes, appeared before her with a warm smile and a plate of bakery items.

  “Hello, dear, and welcome to The Lakehouse B&B,” the woman said. “I’m Henrietta Tate. Scone?” She thrust the platter in front of Shannon’s nose. Blueberry. And they smelled heavenly. “I just pulled them out of the oven.”

  “Thank you,” Shannon said, reaching for one, her mouth already watering. “I’m meeting a gentleman here, Bram Hartwick, and my name is—”

  “Oh, I know, dear. You’re Ms. Quinn. Mr. Hartwick told me to expect you.” Henrietta winked. “He’s expecting you upstairs in the Marquette Room. First floor, second door to the right.” When Shannon paused to stare at her, the older lady’s eyes danced in merriment. “Go on up there, and why don’t you bring him one of these.” She handed Shannon another blueberry scone. “He seems the type to enjoy an afternoon snack.”

  Henrietta winked again and then, to Shannon’s continued amazement, bounded away.

  Shannon loved this place already.

  She gathered up her bag and the scones and raced upstairs. She didn’t have to hunt long for their room, though. Bram was waiting for her.

  Leaning up against the doorjamb, a half smile gracing his lips,
he had his long legs crossed at the ankles and his arms hooked in front of him as he watched her approach.

  “Heard your voice,” he said, his voice so husky it shot tremors of desire through her limbs.

  “I made it here.”

  He nodded. “I can see that.” He eased the bag and the scones away from her, set them inside the room then dragged her in also. He locked the door. “Two months apart is too long.”

  She stood, her back against the door, Bram’s body maybe three inches away from hers, none of him touching her. Well, enough of that.

  “Way too long,” she agreed, pulling him toward her until his chest was pressed tight against her t-shirt and she could feel the rush of his pulse through his clothing. “I couldn’t wait for our relaxing weekend away.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” He kissed her and the room thrummed with the stirrings of their passion. She didn’t have to think about any of the what-ifs that plagued her at home… What if a guest needed her? What if Jake interrupted them again? What if someone at the inn spotted them, their bodies entwined? She could concentrate only on Bram. On hearing him, seeing him, touching him.

  And on tasting him.

  His lips consumed hers with the wild strength of an untamed leopard and, yet, there was tenderness, too, in every motion of his embrace. Few things were sexier than a powerful man capable of such infinite gentleness.

  He removed her t-shirt and his. “I brought you something.” He led her to the queen-sized bed and tugged down the window shades. Then he unzipped his bag and pulled out a dark-pink bottle with the distinctive Lathericious label embossed on the front. “Sin-amon Spice,” he informed her, twisting the cap to release the pump. He squirted a mound of lotion into his palm. “Turn over. It’s time for your backrub.”

  She laughed but did as he asked.

  With one hand he unhooked her bra and discarded it, then he rubbed his palms together so, when the lotion first touched her skin, all she felt was silky warmth. The scent of cinnamon infused the room and swirled around her.

  “I’ve been looking forward to doing this for weeks,” he said, the pads of his fingers creating a pattern of fan-like whorls on either side of her spine. Her thirsty pores drank up the spicy cream and the as-yet-untouched skin on the front of her body craved his caress. She needed more of him against her.

  Preferably now.

  “Enter me from behind,” she whispered.

  “Not until I’m done with your back massage.”

  In a dexterous move, which she accomplished thanks to three years of Pilates workout videos, she reached behind her to her middle back and shackled his wrists with her hands. “This massage is officially over, Bram.”

  He chuckled. “As you wish.”

  She released his wrists long enough for him to sheath himself with a waiting condom and press his hips against the backs of her thighs. He encircled her with his arms and, a moment later, he thrust into her with the skill and the strength she’d come to expect from him.

  She was wet and unquestionably ready. She’d been ready for him since last Tuesday.

  “Deeper,” she said as he began to increase his speed, his fingers splayed against her belly, his groans growing louder. “Harder.”

  God, she knew she sounded like she was reciting the script from “Daphne Does Daytona,” or something as equally sexually explicit, but he brought out her wild, uninhibited side. And guess what? She liked it.

  Apparently, so did Bram.

  “Everything you say, every way you move…you turn me on, Shannon. Come for me.”

  She’d spent a lifetime accommodating people’s wishes. She had no intention of letting him down.

  Thankfully, Bram assisted nicely.

  He rocked her until her muscles trembled from the tension of wanting him, until she cried out in passion and heard him echo it, until they collapsed against the mattress together, sated.

  Bram brushed a kiss against her neck and slowly pulled his body a few inches apart from hers. “Now this is what I call a fantastic weekend away.”

  All she could manage in reply was a breathy “Yeah.”

  For heaven knows how long, she remained content to lie in his arms, feeling his fingertips draw designs against her breasts, her hips, her shoulders. Feeling her heartbeat race in double time against the ticking clock on the bedside table.

  She daydreamed about their possible upcoming international adventures, based solely on romantic films she’d seen: Driving down a winding road on the Italian Riviera with sunshine kissing their skin. Feasting on weiner snitzel and sacher torte at an outdoor café in Vienna. Watching a Parisian opera and then making passionate love all through the night.

  She stayed in the relaxing warmth of Bram’s embrace, enjoying the thrill of her reveries, until hunger roused her at last, returning her to the realities of the present.

  “I’m starving,” she said.

  He laughed. “Wanna order some carryout and eat in bed? If you’re in the mood for Chinese, Greek or Italian, I know of several places on State Street that deliver.”

  She considered this. Maybe her fantasies of being far away were still too fresh in her mind, though, or maybe she’d been cooped up in Door County for far too long, but she couldn’t help shaking her head.

  “Let’s go out. I don’t mind where we eat—you can choose. It can be McDonald’s for all I care, but I want to hold your hand and wander around downtown and window shop and do whatever strikes our fancy. Okay?”

  He kind of squinted at her, but he nodded his assent. “In that case, we’d better get dressed.”

  ***

  Bram watched Shannon nibble on her eggroll at The Imperial Mandarin. Her fingers played with the crispy shell, peeling off little bits to pop into her mouth at random intervals. Then, with her tongue, she swiped the duck sauce off her bottom lip in one swift, luscious movement designed only, he decided, to make him insane with lust. His appetite stilled as he fixated on this intricate and mesmerizing dance between her mouth, her tongue and her hands.

  After two months of fantasizing about her during dull business meetings and in the shower every morning, his recollections of Shannon’s laughter had soaked deep into his skin, and her scent had invaded his consciousness. Huh. And this was when he was a long day’s car ride away from her.

  Now, with her sitting in front of him at long last, driving him crazy with the intensity of her presence, he could hardly handle his chopsticks well enough to eat half his portion of ginger chicken and fried rice. No way in hell did he want to hang around this place for dessert when the tastiest treat of all would be to thoroughly devour her back at The Lakehouse. They could grab the check and a couple of fortune cookies to go.

  Shannon, however, had other ideas.

  “Excuse me,” she said brightly to their waitress. “We’re in town for only a few days. Are there any special events going on this weekend that we should know about?”

  “Oh, yeah,” the waitress said. “Madison will keep you on your toes. I’m not sure who’s playing tonight, but there’s almost always a concert at the Civic Center. I know they’re showing a few indie films on campus. And someone’s lecturing on travel at one of the UW conference halls.”

  The waitress held up her index finger in a wait-just-one-second gesture and then racewalked across the room. She returned with a folded newspaper and a handful of flyers that she thrust into Shannon’s hands, a grin covering her freckled face. “There are tons of things listed in here. Check ‘em out and keep whichever pages you want. You guys’ll find something really great, I’m sure.”

  “Thanks so much,” Shannon said, already flipping through the newspaper, her blue eyes glued to the seemingly endless event listings like a kid perusing Santa’s toy catalogue.

  Once the waitress left, Shannon turned to Bram. “We’re going to have a blast tonight! What are you up for? A Best of Blues concert at The House of R&B? Jazz guitarist Mickey Stern playing live at the Civic Center? Karaoke and half-priced ales at Lindsey’s Pub?
A chance to view—”

  Karaoke? God protect him.

  “—long-anticipated works from the photography collection by artist Karen Jamison? Or the travelogue series Trekking in Tibet on campus at seven tonight?” She shot him an excited look that telegraphed high expectations.

  “Well…” he began.

  She rifled through a few more flyers. “Oh, and look!” She flashed one of the pages at him. Neon yellow. It said something about a rock group making a big comeback. “Local favorites the Scarlet Warlocks are playing. AND—” she held up another page, turquoise with jaunty black type. “The Cannes Festival hopeful ‘Love Is a Monkey Wrench’ is being screened tonight at nine.” She squinted at the small print. “Says it’s subtitled in English with the original dialogue in Finnish. Wanna go?”

  “Uh…” he managed.

  “Or, wait, maybe we could see—”

  He couldn’t take much more of this. “Shannon?”

  She glanced up at him from behind a fan of multicolored flyers. “Yeah?”

  “I haven’t seen you in person in two months. I—” How to put this gently? “I’m not sure I want to share you with the, um, Scarlet Warlocks tonight. Any chance we could just go back to our B&B? Relax a little? Maybe listen to some music—in bed—with the lights out?” He beamed a grin at her.

  For a split second the twinkle in her eyes dimmed and a decided frown crossed her lips. Not the reaction he was hoping for.

  “Well…sure.” She refolded the newspaper and straightened the papers into a single tidy stack in front of her. She smiled carefully at him. A sweet smile, but it lacked the aura of excitement that’d been bursting from her just a minute ago.

  Damn. He hadn’t meant to kill that.

  He reached across the table to caress her hands with his. “Or, maybe I just need the rest of the day to recover from my work week. What if we take tonight off but choose something on the wilder side for tomorrow?”