Shiver / Private Sessions. Jo Leigh

used to live in San Diego?”

      He shook his head. “No. New York. Still do.”

      She wasn’t sure what was going on here. It probably should have been a lot more uncomfortable than it was, but then, she was used to weird conversations with highly intelligent but socially awkward geeks. “Documentary filmmaker?”

      “Yeah.”

      “Anything I’ve seen?”

      “Doubt it. Unless you go to small film festivals. I’ve done four major pieces, and a bunch of shorts. Mostly to do with human-rights activism.”

      “Wow, good cause.”

      “Yeah.”

      “No ghosts?”

      He studied her face. “No.”

      “Ah.”

      He took his hands out of his pockets, then rested one on her suitcase. It was a nice hand, strong, with long fingers and short, neat nails. A moment went by and then he straightened abruptly as if goosed. “You probably want to unpack, and I should let you do that.”

      “Uh,” she said elegantly, watching him back out of the room. He really did know the space well.

      “You should try the restaurant. And the pastries. Seriously.” He found the doorknob behind him. “Anyway, have a great stay.”

      “Thank you.”

      He paused. Again.

      As weird as this had become, and she was thinking eleven on a scale of one to ten, she didn’t mind. She rather liked it. Him. It. She smiled.

      He smiled back. That same great smile. Then he opened the door and slipped into the hallway. She heard the lock click and she sat down on the bed, still certain of nothing, but hopeful. Very hopeful.

       3

      SAM CLOSED HIS EYES as he shut the door behind him. He supposed he could have behaved more like an idiot with Carrie, but not without rehearsals. He’d recognized people in the past and not recalled the context, but never before had the situation turned him into a complete moron.

      With a blink to clear his vision, he made the executive decision to forget everything that had happened in room 204. There was a hotel to run, a hotel to sell, and he had no idea what 204 had even been about, so he wouldn’t think about it.

      None of the guests were in the hallway at the moment, so he took the time to check that the carpet had been properly vacuumed and the pictures dusted. The wall sconces weren’t lit, so he couldn’t check for bulbs that needed changing, but then he should know by now that even if there were things about the hotel that needed fixing or refining, the housekeeping staff knew how to do their jobs.

      There were few complaints with any of the staff. The lifers had been with the hotel for years, had considered themselves family when his dad had been in charge. The part-timers were paid relatively well and loved the benefits, such as the free ski passes, which meant that they were mostly reliable, and any troublemakers were weeded out quickly.

      He skipped the elevator in favor of the stairs, and by the second step down, he was thinking once again about Carrie. He liked her looks, her size, the way she talked. Although he felt sure she wasn’t nearly as enthusiastic about ghost hunting as she’d like him to believe. That seemed odd considering she’d signed on for a steady diet of nothing but ghosts. Yet another thing to be curious about.

      Where the hell had he seen her before? It wasn’t amusing anymore. He tried to picture her with shorter hair, maybe a different color, but that didn’t help. Nope, she’d looked like this the last time. He felt sure of it. But then, her looks weren’t what had captured his attention. Not completely, at least. It was something more. She seemed to occupy a bigger space than she should. Not her body; her personality. He’d seen it when she was standing in line. Among all the guests, Carrie Sawyer was a singularity.

      That’s what rang familiar. The way she stood out from the crowd. Maybe it was the contrast between her stature and her energy. Wherever he’d seen her before, he’d been struck by that very thing.

      It wasn’t unusual for him to pick up on strong personalities. He shot raw footage of people who weren’t celebrities. He’d trained himself to see past the superficial, to hone in on unique individuals. His camera would love her.

      Once in the lobby, he checked his watch, knowing his buyers would be arriving on-site in a few hours. He supposed he could go check up on the kitchen, or make sure the banquet room was set up properly for tonight’s meet and greet.

      He’d sent Beverly, the groundskeeper, to make sure that the ghost hunters setting up the camera equipment in the Old Hotel weren’t doing anything idiotic, like trying to climb the rickety stairs.

      The place was mostly a wreck, and wore its condemned sign like a beacon, but of course his father had made sure that the bottom floor was completely up to code. The insurance company came out yearly to do a check, and Sam had gone along on the last visit.

      His dad had done an admirable job of hiding all the safety measures, including the two new load-bearing walls. It would take a very good building inspector to see that what looked like a ruin was very sturdy, and would probably survive an earthquake better than any other building on the property. Not that Sam worried much about earthquakes.

      His father and all his family had wanted the ghost hunters to have a good time. That the building seemed condemned was a little extra bonus, but in the daylight it was no more frightening than Disneyland’s haunted house. Still, every group that set up equipment in the old place left satisfied that they had, indeed, detected spirits from the other side.

      There weren’t any tricks put in, either. The wind, the floorboards and the ambience did all the work on minds determined to find it haunted. Everyone’s expectations were met, all because they wanted to believe. Of course, that wasn’t the exclusive territory of ghost hunters. It was the human condition.

      And he supposed it was that very malady that set his thoughts back to Carrie. He wanted to see her again, which was tricky. It wasn’t a simple thing for him to view himself as an innkeeper. He knew that the staff were absolutely not allowed to sleep with the guests. He also knew a good half of them ignored that rule at times. But he had the feeling that during the next few days especially, he would be wise to keep his wants focused on one thing alone—the sale.

      On the other hand, maybe a distraction was exactly what he needed. There was only so much he could do about the sale. He knew the CEOs didn’t want him hovering, and his staff was perfectly capable of handling all the details about the convention.

      It had been a long time since he’d been so struck by a woman. That she was only here for a week was a bonus, and if he wasn’t mistaken, she was interested. There had been glances, a blush. That shiver when he’d put his hand on the small of her back.

      Sam grinned as he headed for the ballroom. This could end up being a far more interesting week than he’d ever anticipated.

      CARRIE FINISHED HER roasted squab dinner and had to force herself not to lick the plate. How was it possible that in this little smidge of an inn, she’d had one of the best meals of her life?

      The restaurant didn’t look like much. Lots of wood, of course. This rustic business wasn’t Carrie’s cup of tea, but she could see that people would expect it, considering the location and the landscape. There were maybe twenty tables, each with a simple floral centerpiece. The silver matched, the glasses were sparkling, the lighting subdued, even though the chandelier was made of horns. Deer, elk, she had no idea. All she knew was they were white and pointy and that she’d personally rather have fluorescent lights, which she despised, than chandeliers made from animal parts.

      The best thing about the hotel by far wasn’t the décor but the Internet connection. It was fast. Not quite as zippy as her cable at home, but for a hotel in the middle of nowhere, she couldn’t complain. Almost as good as her Internet speed was that,