Hot Sheets. Jeanie London

guests along the promenade, her graceful steps putting more and more distance between them and giving him an incredible shot of the way she moved, all elegant swaying and subtle energy.

      Running a hand through his hair, Dale stared after her, wondering what it was about her smile that made every nerve in his body tingle. Tingle, damn it.

      “Remind me again why you bothered bringing me along.” The demand in the accented voice jolted Dale from his thoughts enough to remember the woman beside him.

      “Monique love, I brought you along to enjoy your company, of course,” he said automatically.

      “Then why are you staring after that blonde like some lovesick puppy?”

      Lovesick puppy?

      Glancing down at the beautiful French woman with cascades of rich brown hair and a pouting frown, Dale wondered how in hell to answer that question. He couldn’t recall being lovesick in his thirty-three years, not even as a kid. He’d dived into dating headfirst and hadn’t looked up since.

      “How could I look at any woman with you on my arm?” He lifted her hand and brushed his mouth across her smooth skin.

      “You promised to show me a good time.”

      “And I will.” He directed her gaze to the lush main lobby that surrounded them. “Look at this great old place. We’ve got three weeks together to enjoy ourselves in five-star luxury, far away from our lives. What could be better?”

      From what he’d heard, Monique had needed a diversion after being dumped by some actor she’d been dating. When her scowl faded, he knew she’d forgiven his screwup and was looking forward to this vacation and putting her West Coast lover behind her.

      “Let’s check in and I’ll give you a tour. Between these accommodations and the grand opening events, we’ll have fun while we get acquainted.” He only hoped Monique didn’t let his mistake set the tone for the weeks ahead.

      “Welcome back!” a familiar female voice called out.

      “Great to be back, gorgeous.” In his fantasies at least. “Monique, this is Annabelle Simmons, the inn’s sales director.”

      With a regal expression, Monique held out her hand.

      “Welcome, Monique,” Annabelle said cordially but he didn’t miss the assessing way she took in Monique. “You’re in for an exciting visit. And, Dale, I’m so glad you could make it back for the grand opening. How’s it been going?”

      “Appreciated the time off.” He appreciated a break from his Laura obsession, even if he hadn’t gotten it under control.

      “All that hard work—you deserve a chance to enjoy the fruits of your labors.”

      “I was on this property a long time, so I know all the hours you’ve put in, Annabelle. You make sure to pencil me in on your dance card because I expect you plan to follow that advice yourself.”

      Annabelle grinned. She was a hardworking, old-school businesswoman with a head full of gray curls who’d always struck Dale as out of place in a hotel that held weekly marketing strategy sessions to discuss new and improved ways to get their guests to do the nasty.

      “All right, all right,” she said. “No argument. There’s always so much to do around here. You know that as well as anyone. But the staff intends to lighten up for Laura’s grand opening and celebrate our achievement.”

      “Sounds like we’re in for an interesting few weeks.”

      “Oh, we are.” She rolled her eyes and motioned them to the front desk. “So come on. We’ve got to get our celebration underway. There’s a whole new wing filled with sexy suites that need couples to play in them. Let’s choose your poison.”

      Dale didn’t know what to make of that statement, but when he caught sight of the new assistant general manager near the concierge desk, he steered the conversation back to business. “How’s Adam making out? Have you worked your magic and gotten him into the spirit of things yet?”

      Annabelle didn’t slow her brisk steps. “Let’s leave it with he’s been trying to interject sanity into our grand opening.”

      “He’s got his work cut out for him.” Dale gave a low whistle before explaining to Monique, “There’s nothing sane going on in this place on a good day.”

      She followed his gaze to the assistant general manager in question and he watched her take in the tall, athletic man with a penchant for custom-tailored suits and sanity in the workplace. She seemed to approve when she said, “He looks up to the job.”

      “We haven’t given up hope for him yet,” Annabelle told her. “Let me get behind this desk, and I’ll check you in myself.” Disappearing through a door, she reappeared behind the front desk a second later. “Now let’s decide where to put you.”

      “The VIP treatment for the house architect, of course,” Dale teased.

      Annabelle nodded. “What else?”

      Scanning the system, she kept them waiting for so long Dale began to wonder if there was a problem. Monique gave an impatient sigh, clearly disliking the delay. Dale patted her hand, silently imploring her patience, and she finally stepped away, flipped open her purse and withdrew a compact.

      While reapplying her lipstick, she ran her dark gaze over a new arrival, checking the man out as thoroughly as he did her. Dale frowned, but apparently long hair and multiple piercings weren’t to Monique’s taste because she turned back to him and asked, “You did say five-star hotel, didn’t you?”

      One look at this grand lobby with sparkling crystal-cut chandeliers, mint-condition antiques and elaborate floral displays should have answered that question, but Dale nodded.

      “Here we go,” Annabelle finally said, and he pulled Monique closer to discourage her from checking out any more guests.

      “I’ve got availability in the Bondage Boudoir with the chains on the walls and the Fetish Flat with the whips and spanking paddles. Or if you’d like, I could put you in the Waxworks Room. But you’d have to move next week. It’s already booked for Risqué Receptions.”

      She delivered all this with such a straight face that Dale could only stare. She’d obviously lost her mind in the time he’d been gone, which surprised him since Annabelle was the most normal member of the Falling Inn Bed staff with the sole exception of the new sanity-loving assistant general manager.

      “What are you talking about, gorgeous?” He forced a laugh. “Did you build some new suites while I was away? Or did you change some names?”

      Falling Inn Bed was nothing if not upscale. There were romance-themed suites galore, but nothing so gauche as a Fetish Flat. If Annabelle wanted to prove she could lighten up for the grand opening, she’d hadn’t gotten her mark. And he wasn’t the only one who missed the punch line. Monique was scowling again.

      “Just put us in a guest room on the third floor,” he said.

      “A guest room, Dale?” She shook her head. “You know better than that. You’re practically one of the staff. You get nothing but VIP treatment around here.”

      “Excuse me, ma’am,” Monique said, emphasis on the ma’am and the age difference that must indicate dementia. “This hotel has bondage and fetish suites and a…a waxing room?”

      “The Bondage Boudoir and the Fetish Flat,” Annabelle corrected. “And the Waxworks Room isn’t a waxing room in the conventional sense, although we do offer that service in our new spa if you’re interested.”

      Lifting a questioning gaze to Monique’s exquisite—and momentarily stunned—face, Annabelle peered myopically as if checking to see if any waxing services were needed. “The Waxworks Room is a suite with protected furniture so couples can safely play with hot wax. Some people enjoy dripping it all over themselves. In fact, Dale, we just received a shipment of Busty