Suiteheart Of A Deal: Suiteheart Of A Deal / My Place Or Yours?. Wendy Etherington

      Just then, an attractive, fire-breathing redhead burst through the throng of tourists across the street and shouted, “Beck Mahoney, you snake. You said you’d call!”

      3

      THE STEAK PIT was exactly as Rainey remembered it. Rustic and cozy, with dark, rough-hewn wood paneling, an assortment of copper bric-a-brac and antique-stained glass lamps that cast a soft glow over each of the small, intimate booths.

      She had arrived early and been pleasantly surprised to learn that Beck had called ahead and reserved the best booth in the restaurant, near a bank of windows overlooking the dense forest and the rippling, pale-green waters of the glacier-fed Elbow River. Seated alone at their table, she gazed out the window into the woods. Shafts of twilight fell between the trees, giving the entire scene a golden glow. It took her breath away.

      She was calmer now, better able to think. In the past two hours she had more or less become resigned to her fate. After all, what options did she have? One: Buy Beck out. Hah! With what? Two: Kill Beck. Sure! Go to jail. Three: Convince him to act as a silent partner and leave the running of the inn to her. Right! She couldn’t imagine the guy being silent for ten seconds.

      Nope, for all intents and purposes it looked like she and Romeo would just have to get along—according to a few ground rules, of course.

      Her thoughts drifted to Trevor. After the meeting with Nate Frome, she had gone back to the Haven to find two telephone messages: one from him, the other from Dana. She had called Dana back right away but got only her machine. There were no hard feelings between them. After all, it wasn’t Dana’s fault if Trevor was a jerk. His message she tossed straight into the garbage. What could he possibly have to say that she would want to hear?

      Then she had wandered around the inn, poking her head into the big kitchen with its long wooden chopping table and antiquated ovens, the cluttered housekeeping quarters and each of the unoccupied suites. There were a lot of those—far too many for this time of year. It seemed to Rainey that when she was a child the inn was full all the time. She had clear memories of Lilly turning disappointed travelers away at the front desk.

      Oh, well, at least the place was spotless. Rainey smiled, recalling her impromptu encounter with Freda Norman, the head housekeeper.

      “I see you’re here!” someone had barked over Rainey’s shoulder as she peered into one of the empty suites. Startled, she turned around and came face-to-face with a barrel-shaped woman of perhaps sixty, with thick gray hair held back, oddly enough, with a series of purple plastic butterfly clips. Childishly cute, they seemed out of place atop the menacing scowl on her masculine face. The woman thrust out a huge hand and introduced herself as Mrs. Norman. Rainey got the message: there’ll be no first names here.

      “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Norman.”

      The women shook hands. Freda Norman had a handshake that would intimidate a grizzly bear.

      “What do you think of my inn?” she shouted, even though Rainey was just inches away.

      Rainey blinked. Her inn? “Well, frankly, Mrs. Norman, it looks a little tired.”

      “Humph, don’t we all!” Looking Rainey up and down with mild contempt, she added, “Came out here from Tronna, huh?”

      Suppressing a smile, Rainey replied, “Yes, just this morning.” Why did she think Mrs. Norman would be thrilled if she hopped on a plane and headed straight back to “Tronna?”

      “Hope you had a nice trip!” Mrs. Norman growled as if Rainey were just another guest at the Haven. With that, she abruptly excused herself to carry out a final inspection of the rooms. Rainey stood there for a moment, shaking her head. There had been no welcoming remarks, no best wishes for a good working relationship, none of the professional etiquette she was accustomed to.

      As for the wear and tear she had spotted this morning, that had turned out to be just the tip of the iceberg. On the outside the Haven still presented itself as a stunning example of Laurentian architecture. Its cedar roof shingles, dark wood siding and stone pillars were in relatively good shape. But inside the place was a wreck. The white plaster walls were crumbling and the oak floors creaked terribly. All the windows needed replacing and the furnishings were tired and dated. How could Lilly have let the place get so rundown?

      “Good evening.”

      Startled, Rainey jumped a little as Beck slid into the booth. He was clean shaven, his unruly hair neatly combed back. He smelled like sandalwood. A soft black sweater accentuated his tan and turned his amber eyes a deeper shade of gold. Up close, Rainey noticed little flecks of dark brown in those eyes.

      “E-e-evening,” she stammered, annoyed with herself for suddenly being nervous. Two seconds alone with this guy and her mouth was dry, her knees trembling slightly under the table. What was it about Beck? What special power did he have with women? He was gorgeous, no question about it, but lots of men were attractive without being so darned compelling. No, Beck had something else, something special.

      “You look absolutely beautiful,” he murmured. Eyes glowing, he frankly appraised every inch of her that was visible above the table. Rainey felt her skin grow warm. After changing her clothes exactly seven times, she had settled on a short-sleeved, loose-fitting paisley dress that was neutral enough for a business meeting but dressy enough for dinner. Beck’s penetrating gaze made it feel like the most daring lingerie imaginable.

      That was it. That was his unique gift, she realized—Beck had the rare and oh-so-useful ability to make a woman feel beautiful and sexy and cherished and safe just by paying her special attention. No wonder he was irresistible.

      Well, that was fine for Beck, but she just had to resist him. They were business partners, and if there was one thing Rainey had learned at the Royal York, it was not to get involved with a colleague. Trevor had taught her that one.

      She decided to hit him with ground rule number one. “You know, Beck, if we’re going to work together, I think you should stop flirting with me.”

      His eyes widened. “Who’s flirting? I mean it.”

      “You’re flirting. You’re always flirting.”

      He shook his head. “You’re right, you’re right. I’ll try to stop. But I have to warn you—a tiger can’t easily change its stripes.” He grinned.

      A pouty waitress sidled up to their table and fixed her adoring baby blues on Beck. Before Rainey could open her mouth, he took the liberty of ordering for both of them. Rainey should have been offended, but somehow she wasn’t. It was good that he had a take-charge attitude and a commanding presence. He was going to need them.

      “Very good, Beck,” the waitress intoned with more meaning, strictly speaking, than a steak deserved. Then she sashayed off to the kitchen without so much as a backward glance at Rainey.

      Beck turned his full attention to Rainey again. “I think if we’re going to work together we should get to know one another. I already know a little about you.”

      “Oh, really? What do you know?”

      “I know you were born and raised in Toronto. I know you vacationed here every summer until about five years ago. You’re an only child. You don’t smoke or use any drugs. You seldom drink and always socially. Your favorite color is yellow. You’re a hard worker. And you’re smart, but you lack self-confidence.” He picked up a bread stick and chomped on it.

      Rainey couldn’t believe her ears. “How do you know all that?”

      “Loose-lipped Lilly. She talked about you all the time.”

      “Okay, what about you? I don’t know a thing about you except that you’re a hopeless flirt.”

      “Okay, okay, I’m a fourth-generation native of Edmonton, but I prefer to live in Bragg Creek. I have twin brothers, both married, and three nephews. I love to ski. I love to fish. I love to fly.