Power Play. Nancy Warren

He and the lady in blue pajamas were both booked into the very last room in the hotel.

      “But that’s impossible,” Emily argued. Emily Saunders, that was her name; he’d found out as they went through the bookings. “I can’t share a room with a strange man.”

      “I’m not that strange once you get to know me,” he assured her.

      She sent him a glance that suggested she didn’t find this setup remotely funny.

      “I am very sorry, Ms. Saunders. There are simply no more rooms.”

      “But I booked a single room. In advance.”

      “Me, too,” he interjected.

      “Naturally, your money will be refunded in full,” he promised them smoothly, which didn’t exactly solve the problem.

      “What about the lobby?” she cried. “Isn’t there a cot, or a sofa or something he could sleep on?”

      “All the cots are in use. And, as you’ll recall, we only have wing chairs in the lobby.”

      “A sleeping bag on the floor, then.”

      Jonah was a pretty easygoing guy, but this was going too far. He had his team to think of. “I have an important day tomorrow,” he told her. “I need my sleep. You bed down on the lobby floor.”

      She stalked right up to him, nose to his collarbone. Their lack of equality in the height department seemed to aggravate her even more. “I have an important day tomorrow, too.”

      “I’m competing in a hockey tournament.”

      “I’m a bridesmaid in a wedding.”

      “My condolences.”

      The way her eyes suddenly widened, he got the odd feeling she agreed with his assessment of being stuck in a wedding party. “But this is ridiculous. There must be somewhere else you could stay.”

      He’d booked the hotel for a reason. He was too old to bunk in with a bunch of hockey players trading war stories and shooting the bull. Most of the others were too old for it, too, but it didn’t stop them. He thought with wives and kids at home, they needed the male bonding time a lot more than he did. At this point, he’d rather sleep on the floor of the Elk Crossing Lodge’s lobby than on the floor of a cabin with six guys, at least half of whom were bound to snore. But he’d much rather sleep in a nice comfortable bed right here in this room.

      “There isn’t anybody else I can stay with. What about you? Can’t you stay with somebody else from the wedding?”

      She blinked at him once, slowly, and then shook her head sharply. “Impossible.”

      He shrugged. “It’s not ideal, but we’ll just have to share for a night or two. There are two beds. I don’t snore.”

      She crossed her hands under her breasts and he tried not to notice. “It’s not your snoring that worries me.”

      “I don’t have evil designs on your body, either,” he said, trying to reassure her of his integrity. She was a good-looking woman and if they’d both stumbled into this hotel room in passion it would be one thing, but that wasn’t the case.

      If he could get her to see him as a platonic roommate, they’d be fine. “Look—” he indicated the hockey stick leaning against the wall “—I’m playing two, three games a day. I’ll only be in the room to sleep, and too tired even to think about women.”

      She raised one eyebrow as though finding that hard to believe, as indeed it was. He could probably be dead and still think about women. So he pulled his trump card. “You can trust me. I’m a cop.”

      She seemed less than impressed by this display of trustworthiness. “What are you going to do? Arrest the bedbugs?”

      “Thought I might shoot them.” For a second her mouth softened and she almost smiled, then caught herself.

      She turned back to the doorway.

      “Are you telling me there is absolutely no way you can force this man to leave my room?” she snapped at the three uniforms hovering nervously near the door.

      The hotel manager took a deep breath. “The computer was malfunctioning and you were both given the same room. Unless one of you is willing to leave…” The manager glanced from one to the other, but they both held their ground. “I’m so sorry.”

      “Can you at least tell me when I’ll have my clothes back?”

      “As soon as possible. We’ve put a rush on everything.”

      She turned back to him, her hair swinging in a silky curtain. “I carry mace. I’ll be sleeping with it under my pillow.”

      “Hey, it’s got to be better to share a room with me than bedbugs.”

      “Don’t flatter yourself.”

      3

      HAVING HER MINIMAL NEW wardrobe organized, Emily got out the nail polish. Tomorrow, the paper rose making continued, then, most of the out-of-town guests would have arrived so there was a big potluck dinner.

      Even though Emily hadn’t grown up here, she’d spent a lot of time in Elk Crossing as a kid, because so much of her family still lived in the area. It was going to be quite the reunion.

      It had been a weird day already, now she was supposed to share a room with a big, smelly hockey player?

      She tried to ignore him as he schlepped his big, stupid hockey bag over to his side of the room. At least he was taking the bed beside the curtain, leaving her with the one closest to the door and the bathroom.

      Once he’d settled himself, he said, “There’s no mini-bar or fridge.”

      “No. They don’t rent the room, remember?”

      He grunted and went out of the room, sadly not taking his belongings with him, only to return a minute later with a bucket of ice.

      He unzipped his monstrously large sports bag and dug out a six-pack of Budweiser beer. Perhaps he felt the force of her gaze on him, because he glanced up. His eyes were blue and twinkled as if he thought this whole thing was a great joke.

      He pulled a can out of the plastic holder. Held it aloft with his eyebrows raised. “Wanna beer?”

      He gave her his beefcake calendar grin, as though he thought she might have missed it the first time he flashed it.

      She figured they might as well try to get along since they were stuck here together, so she nodded. To her surprise he got up and brought her over the can, even popping the top when she looked helplessly at her wet nails. “Glass?”

      “No, thanks.”

      He nodded and went back to his bed. Stacked the pillows behind him and popped his own beer.

      “Are you really a cop?”

      For answer, he lifted his butt and dragged out his cop badge. She rose and went for a closer look. The badge told her that he was, indeed, a cop, and he was from Oregon.

      “Sergeant Jonah Betts,” she read aloud.

      He held out his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Emily Saunders.”

      It was so ridiculous she had to chuckle. “Likewise.” They shook hands. He didn’t do the he-man squish-all-her-bones thing, but it was still a firm clasp. His hands were big and warm, but she noticed he was careful not to mess up her still-damp nails.

      “Most people call me Emily.”

      “So, how was your day, Emily?”

      She returned to her seat at the desk and carefully painted her baby fingernail while she replied. “This has been a very strange day. Apart from the obvious bedbug thing, this morning. Let’s see, I went to Wal-Mart wearing clothes I would rather not have been