A Not-So-Innocent Seduction. Janice Maynard

“Well, old girl. I guess this is where I’m hanging my hat for a little while. I’ll get you towed as soon as I can. In the meantime, enjoy the view.”

      * * *

      Liam Kavanagh spotted the slender blonde the moment she set foot in the lobby. She would be hard to miss under any circumstances, but carrying a guitar case and wearing a multicolored cotton skirt that swished around her ankles, she looked like a 1960s love child returning from an outdoor rock concert. The bounce in her step and the upward curve of her lips gave her a girl-next-door appeal.

      The highly trained staff at the Silver Beeches knew to greet guests with warmth and charm. Liam had watched them in action time and again. He rarely took the time to personally interact with visitors unless they were close friends of his.

      He didn’t know this woman. At all. But some powerful response propelled his feet forward. Before Pierre, the concierge, could offer to help, Liam intercepted the eye-catching female. “Welcome to the Silver Beeches Lodge. May I help you?”

      The woman hitched a large raffia tote higher on her shoulder and gave him a winsome smile. Her eyes were the blue of a summer sky. “I’d like to check in, please.”

      He lifted a mental eyebrow. Rooms in the hotel started at eight hundred a night and went up from there. This beautiful creature hardly seemed the type to avail herself of the upscale amenities, but he’d been surprised before. “Do you have a reservation?” he asked.

      “I do. Made it online an hour ago. Is that a problem?”

      He deserved her frown. The tone of his voice had come across as suspicious. He shrugged. “Of course not. I thought I had looked at all of today’s check-ins, but I must have missed yours since it was recent. Welcome.” He motioned for her to accompany him. “Marjorie, there at the desk, will take care of you. Please let me know if you need anything at all. Our wish is to make you as comfortable as possible.”

      “So gallant,” she said, smiling at him in a way that made the back of his neck hot.

      Was she mocking him? It wouldn’t be the first time someone had accused him of being too serious. “It’s what we do,” he said, wincing at the stiffness he heard in his response. He didn’t intend to be a stuffed shirt, but he’d been the head of a large and rowdy family since his father disappeared over two decades ago. The weight of his responsibility—and a certain bitterness about his father’s lack thereof—didn’t leave much room for lightheartedness.

      He nodded briefly and excused himself as Marjorie took over. Crossing the lobby to where Pierre held court, he kept an eye on the newcomer. “Not our usual clientele.”

      Pierre pursed his lips. In his sixties now, he had worked for the Kavanagh family since he was a young man. He wore his formal black tuxedo with pride and ruled his realm with a firm hand. “Pretty,” he said.

      Liam nodded absently. He couldn’t place her age. Pale skin so pure and fine it seemed almost translucent made her seem youthful, but in her serene gaze he saw the patina of experience. He wasn’t sure why she fascinated him so. Perhaps because she was the antithesis of the expertly made-up women who often checked into the Lodge.

      Visitors to the Silver Beeches were either retirees with plenty of disposable income, younger generations whose careers afforded them fame and fortune, or merely those who wanted to hide from the world. Privacy was an unspoken amenity. From rock stars to movie idols, from politicians to European royalty, every guest was pampered.

      As a bellman came in from outside with the new guest’s single suitcase, Marjorie handed a key card to the young woman and pointed her toward the elevators. When the bellman and his charge disappeared, Marjorie slipped from behind the desk and approached Liam and Pierre.

      Liam frowned slightly. “Problem?”

      Marjorie, a stout woman in her mid-fifties with salt-and-pepper hair, shook her head. “Not exactly. But I thought you’d want to know. She booked a basic room for six weeks.”

      Both men stared at her. Liam recovered first, though his gut tightened with unease. “Any problem with authorizing her method of payment?”

      The seasoned receptionist shook her head. “Platinum card. No limit. But tell me—who books a reservation like that on the day of arrival? Spontaneity is one thing, but this is weird, don’t you think?”

      Liam kept his expression neutral with effort. Red flags were popping up all over the place, but he didn’t want his staff to see that he was perturbed. “I’m sure she has her reasons.”

      Pierre straightened his spine, his gaze fierce. “I’ll keep an eye on her, sir. If there’s any funny business, I’ll let you know.”

      Maeve Kavanagh appeared from the direction of the back stairs, her bun slightly askew and her reading glasses dangling from a chain around her neck. Liam’s mother was a vibrant sixty-year-old with dark snapping eyes and a nose for sniffing out trouble. “You all three look like you’ve eaten a lemon. What’s going on?”

      Liam kissed her on the cheek. “Not a thing. Marjorie checked in a new guest. We were merely speculating about her background.”

      Maeve sniffed. “Not your place,” she said firmly. “You know I can’t abide gossip.”

      Liam smiled wryly. “Yes, ma’am. I remember.” Inwardly, he was far less amused. The irregularities about the new guest’s booking set his teeth on edge. He hated mysteries and secrets. His father’s hidden life had nearly destroyed their family. And in the end had led to Reggie Kavanagh’s premature death.

      The one trait Liam couldn’t abide in a woman, or a man for that matter, was a predilection to bend the truth. Even if the potential prevaricator came wrapped in a very appealing package.

      Before he could give in to the temptation to initiate further contact with the blonde, he managed a smile for his mother and Pierre and Marjorie. “If you three will excuse me, I have some calls to make.” Striding down the hall to his office, he told himself he was jumping to conclusions. The newcomer could have any number of valid reasons for deciding on the spur of the moment to stay alone at a pricey hotel for six weeks.

      Trouble was, despite his best efforts, Liam couldn’t come up with a single one.

      * * *

      Zoe grilled the bellman on the way upstairs. “So tell me. Who’s the yummy guy that looks like a young Harrison Ford?”

      The teenage bellhop grinned. “That’s Mr. Kavanagh. Mr. Liam Kavanagh. His family owns the Silver Beeches. Well, that and most of the town, as well.”

      “He works for a living?” She was surprised. In her experience, the überrich kept to themselves as much as possible.

      The young man waited politely for her to step out of the elevator when they reached the top floor. “Every one of the Kavanagh men does something. They were brought up to respect a hard day’s work, even though the whole family is richer than God. Mr. Liam manages the hotel along with his mother.”

      Inside the room, Zoe reached in her bag for a generous tip that made the kid’s eyes light up. “Thanks for your help,” she said.

      He bowed awkwardly. “All you have to do is dial the front desk if you need anything. Room service is available 24/7. In the center drawer of the dresser you’ll find listings about all the restaurants here and off-site as well. Welcome to Silver Glen.”

      Alone in her luxurious new quarters, Zoe opened the armoire and smiled as she imagined how little of the space her belongings would fill. Learning to travel light had been a necessary lesson, and one she had mastered long ago. Nevertheless, she carefully unloaded her suitcase and put away everything she had brought with her. Being neat was perhaps a relic of her parents’ influence, the one trait she couldn’t shake.

      There were still a few items in the van, but nothing she needed urgently. She turned in a slow circle, taking in every detail of her new accommodations. Here in the mountains of North Carolina, one might have expected a