Run for Covers

She motioned to the life-size painting showcased in the lobby. “Your bedding consultant knows how to use the press to her advantage, too. That’s why she arranged the loan of the Falling Woman from Westfalls. To create spin. She told me so herself.”

Adam followed her gaze, unable to argue the point because his co-worker Laura Granger—the inn’s bedding consultant and the woman who’d conceptualized the Wedding Wing—had acquired the painting to stir up interest in the Naughty Nuptials.

This had been a noteworthy acquisition because the artist, a French woman named Mireille Marceaux, was apparently a local mystery. Adam glanced at the painting, a woman surrounded by a summer-green forest and mist from the falls.

“I still can’t believe she managed to get this painting on loan. Talk about using personal connections,” Tori said, referring to Laura’s status as friend to the headmistress of the exclusive preparatory school that owned the painting.

Adam nodded, but as he gazed at the painting he noticed something he hadn’t before. The redheaded semi-nude reminded him of the brash young reporter standing by his side. Something about the way the red hair, refined facial features and delicate curves came together struck him as similar.

Of course, this shouldn’t come as a surprise. The sight of Tori Ford in that skimpy robe still burned in his brain. Like the Falling Woman, she was the stuff fantasies were made of and he wasn’t likely to forget the sight any time soon.

“Laura’s acquisition of this painting was a promotional stunt, but I don’t believe it falls under the same heading as gossiping about our guests in print.”

“Gossiping? Don’t you think that’s a little harsh?”

He shook his head. “You’re capitalizing on a decades-old feud between your family and Laura’s, as well as your connection to the senator. That strikes me as sensationalism.”

“It’s Laura’s job to create public interest in her Wedding Wing. It’s my job to create public interest so my readers buy newspapers. People around here enjoy reading about our families, so where’s the difference?”

If Tori didn’t understand, Adam wasn’t about to debate the point. He would have thought Senator Prescott’s youngest granddaughter would have been more concerned about where she directed her media attention. Apparently not.

But while he was entitled to his opinion, Adam wouldn’t purposely antagonize the woman responsible for the reviews on the Naughty Nuptials. Upon learning the Niagara Falls Journal would be sending her estranged cousin to cover the events, Laura, his normally professional, if somewhat quirky co-worker, had told management about her troubled history with the senator’s family. These families were so estranged, in fact, that Laura had feared coverage would be biased as a result.

Falling Inn Bed, and Breakfast needed rave reviews, so Adam was doing his best to earn them. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been assigned to this job because he was the best fit, but because he was the only male on the executive management staff who could escort Tori Ford to couple events.

He intended to enforce what damage control he could and, at the very least, not make matters worse. But he hadn’t counted on Tori turning him into her pet project, either.

“We’d prefer the inn to attract interest on its own merit,” he said to segue through the stiff moment. “Surely you can understand that.”

While Tori might have understood, he could tell by the way she notched her chin that she didn’t agree. And he didn’t give her a chance to embroil him in another debate. Touching her elbow, he guided her toward the grand ballroom, where the Wallace/Marsh reception currently was taking place. She moved along by his side without further comment, and he greeted the ushers posted at the main entrance before escorting her inside.

Laura had indeed outdone herself with this event. The ballroom boasted a sweeping wall of doors that opened onto a forest. With the June sun streaming through, the wedding party and guests looked like a scene on a postcard in the inn’s novelty shop.

Adam had been on the property for over ten months now, yet sometimes the place still caught him by surprise with its unique combination of nineteenth-century grandeur and atmosphere.

And sex.

It was subtle, but everywhere. Glancing up at the ornate friezes separating lofty ceilings from gleaming white walls, he recognized the whimsical sculptures depicting couples with limbs entwined. Mouths and hips thrusting. Rubenesque women in varying degrees of nudity looking dreamy and sated as they pleasured their equally nude men.

Then again, perhaps the sex around here wasn’t always so subtle. Adam thought about the restaurant’s grand opening specialty menu with its bold header scrawled across the front—Inter Courses. And the inn’s promotional materials weren’t much better. The lineup of romance-themed suites in the main hotel boasted names like the Demimondaine’s Boudoir and the Wild West Brothel. The new Wedding Wing had followed tradition with honeymoon suites called the Egyptian Pleasure Pyramid and the Cast-away Honeymoon Isle.

His current charge had been installed in the Wedding Knight Suite, which reminded Adam of a sex dungeon with its Dark Ages furnishings and handy supply of bondage gadgets. Even the bed had a choose-your-pleasure theme, with specialty sheets like the Kama Sutra Sports Set and the Fetish Collection.

“Looks like the receiving line has finished and the bridal couple are gearing up for their first dance,” Adam said. “So where to first, Ms. Ford?”

Tori scanned the crowd, her gaze darting from her photographer, who snapped shots of the bridal couple, to the sidelines, where Laura stood applauding with the Wedding Wing architect. “To the bar. I can’t mingle without champagne.”

Together they skirted the edges of the crowd, and Adam greeted the elderly bartender. “Hello, Clyde. Ms. Ford would like a drink.”

Clyde had a head full of cottony hair and a quick smile that flashed against his wrinkled black skin. “What’s your pleasure today?” he asked Tori.

“I’m a champagne cocktail classicist. What can you do for me?”

“I can fix you up right. Just tell me whether you want to visit the Alps, the Mediterranean or head south to Cuba.”

Tori laughed, a bright sound that managed to spiral through him as if it were alive. A reminder of their chemistry that he didn’t need.

“I knew I liked you from the moment we met, Clyde,” she said. “I’m in the Mediterranean mood today. Just can’t resist those beaches. And please double my order, so I can share.”

Adam wasn’t sure what a champagne cocktail classicist was, but the look Tori shot his way told him he would soon find out.

Accepting a flute, she passed Adam a second, then accompanied him from the bar.

“Mediterranean?” he asked.

“Bubbly with a dash of pomegranate and orange liqueur.”

They wound their way to a spot in the crowd where they could view the proceedings before Tori tipped back her first sip. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she sighed appreciatively.

“I love that man. And I’ll give you one thing around here, Adam—you know how to pick staff. Clyde’s the perfect man for his job. And Laura…the bedding consultant.” She chuckled, and he wondered what she found so amusing. He didn’t ask.

“You’re the only one I haven’t been able to figure out yet, Adam. What do you bring to this place?”

He would have said sanity but as he hadn’t accomplished that ambitious goal yet, he said, “You’ve formulated your opinions of our staff quickly.”

“I work fast.”

No doubt there. “And you have a lock on everyone but me?”

“It’s been two days,” she said as if that explained it. Then she glanced back at the bar. “Take Clyde for example. He’s a retired businessman who took the job as your head bartender because his wife died.” She tipped her flute in salute. “I thought his devotion to your hotel might be to avoid being home alone. So I asked him. You know what he told me?”

“No idea.”

“That he came to Falling Inn Bed because the romance around here helps remind him of all the years he had with his Alice. Isn’t that sweet?”

Adam nodded, surprised. While he would expect a reporter of Tori’s caliber to dig up intimate details on a man’s life, he hadn’t expected her to be influenced by them. A thoughtful smile played around her mouth, and there was a softness to her voice he’d never heard before.

“Are you impressed?” she asked.

“I am. You learned more about Clyde in two days than I have in the past ten months.”

Not that it had ever occurred to him to ask personal questions. Clyde did a superb job running the house bar, and Adam hadn’t needed to know anything else about the man.

Tori flashed him a high-beam smile that told him his praise had pleased her. She tapped her flute against his in a tinkle of crystal. “Now drink up, Adam. Think of this as an adventure. You’ll always be able to say you tried one.”

He wasn’t sure who would care whether he’d tried a champagne cocktail, but he’d rather taste it than engage in another debate on the importance of adventuring in life. He sipped. He swallowed. He said, “Good.”

Her frown suggested she’d guessed he was humoring her, but he was spared from further debate when the emcee invited couples to join the bride and groom on the dance floor.

Taking a long drink of her champagne, Tori deposited the glass on the tray of a passing waiter. “Come on. Dancing is a divine way to loosen up and have a good time. It gets the blood flowing and the heart racing—a fun way to stay healthy.”

Adam wouldn’t mention that to make up for the personal life he’d left back on the West Coast, he’d nearly doubled his normal workout schedule. Staying healthy was not an issue when he was training with a martial arts master five days a week.

So he disposed his glass and led her onto the dance floor, reconciled. As her escort, his life for the next two weeks would be subject to her whim. After the way she’d greeted him in her suite a short time ago, he’d pick his battles.

As the band slid into a slow tune, Adam twined his fingers through hers and slipped his hand around her waist. Tori melted against him until he could feel the brush of her curves everywhere, and he found himself remembering the way she’d looked without her gown, all creamy curves and bold challenge. The effect was double-barreled, forcing him to call upon every ounce of his will to keep his body behaving appropriately.

She wanted a reaction. He wouldn’t give her one.

“What makes you so convinced there’s a scoop to be had around here, Ms. Ford?”

“Would the Worldwide Travel Association send a photojournalist with Tyler Tripp’s credentials to film a documentary if there wasn’t a story?”

“You are aware that Tyler has a connection to our inn.”

“I know, I know,” she said snuggling closer. “Once upon a time, he covered the inn for WTA’s annual contest. His coverage earned you the Most Romantic Getaway Award and a substantial promotional package. Tyler’s been very forthcoming. But he and I are looking for different things in our stories.”

“What’s so different, Ms. Ford?”

“He’s filming an industry documentary on your bedding consultant and the Naughty Nuptials. He’ll showcase what Falling Inn Bed does as a way of helping other hotels to find their niche market and capitalize on it. He’s already sold on this place—”

“But you’re not?”

“Oh, no, I’m sold. I live in town, remember? But I want more. I want to know how you serve romance to your guests and why it works. People are fascinated with this inn. I intend to answer all my readers’ questions, and to do that, I have to experience the magic firsthand.”

She glanced up at him, her expression suddenly serious. “You know, that gives me an idea….”

To Adam’s surprise, she stepped out of his arms. He let her go, appreciating a reprieve from all those taunting curves while she rummaged through her purse and pulled out a small electronic device. Bringing it to her lips, she depressed a button and said, “What about an FAQ section? Frequently asked questions for readers who are just tuning in. It’ll be the perfect way to keep readers up to speed while welcoming new readers. Three weeks is a long time to keep everyone’s attention.”

Adam watched, shielding her from the dancers while she stood unselfconsciously talking into her recorder.

She finally dropped the device back in her purse. “Sorry. I have to get my ideas down when they happen or I forget them.”

Nodding, he guided her back into his embrace again, only this time keeping her at arm’s length. “Now I have a question for you, Ms. Ford.”

“Shoot.”

“Why do you think you need to get personal?”

She peered up at him with a smile playing around her mouth, and he couldn’t help but drag his gaze over her face, taking in her delicate features one by one. Smooth skin. Deep blue eyes. Thickly fringed lashes that looked dusted in gold. She was an incredibly beautiful woman. Too beautiful for his peace of mind.

“I’ve got two reasons, Adam.”

“And they are?”

“I like you. You’ve got this wonderful old hotel with all these sexy suites and all you want to do is work, work, work. I happen to know that your boss ordered the management team to participate in the Naughty Nuptials and have fun. You’ve got a unique opportunity here, and I like you enough to help you make the most of it. When will you ever get another chance to be a part of a special event like this one?”

Never, if he got lucky. “I can safely say there won’t be another Naughty Nuptials campaign happening for some time.”

“My point exactly.” Tori flashed him a grin and melted bonelessly against him.

Suddenly responsible for holding her upright, Adam could feel her breasts press close and her stomach cradle what was about to become a raging erection.

He gritted his teeth.

She sighed.

“And the other reason?” he asked to distract himself.

“For the record, I don’t want to get personal so you’ll give me the hotel’s deep dark secrets. Contrary to what my managing editor believes, I happen to be a very competent reporter. As long as you let me behind the scenes, I’ll get those secrets myself.”

Tipping her head back, she met his gaze. “I want to get personal because I’m attracted to you. Very attracted. I want to experience the Falling Inn Bed magic and I can’t do that all by my lonesome. Admittedly, you’re not the type of man I usually date, but then there’s no accounting for chemistry.”

Truer words had never been spoken.

He wondered what type of man she usually dated and would not even entertain asking the question.

“So, Adam, there you have it. I think sex is a great way to relax and have fun. And I happen to have a suite filled with sexy goodies that we could experiment with together. But that means you’ll have to come inside and get naked.”

His chest constricted tighter with every word she spoke and he couldn’t decide whether the breathless quality in her voice or her boldness nailed him like a sucker punch.

Bottom line—it didn’t matter.

He was in for a long two weeks if he couldn’t come up with a way to deal with this woman and keep his clothes on.

2

TORI SLIPPED INTO the seat that the namesake of Bruno’s Place held for her. “I’m being seated to breakfast by a five-star chef. Is this VIP treatment for your local reporter or do you usually seat all your guests on Sunday mornings?”

“The VIP treatment, of course. If I played waiter too often, I’d have no time to cook, and that would be a crime,” the burly chef said with a grin. “You’re in my world now, Ms. Ford, and I take my press seriously.”

“Is that how you manage to keep in our food critic’s good graces? She’s known to be tough, yet you manage to stay on her top shelf week after week.”

“No mystery there. Your food critic is tough, but she’s good. She recognizes I’m that good.”

With a laugh, Tori accepted the napkin he handed her. She appreciated honesty, preferring to know where she stood with people, good, bad or otherwise. And Bruno, a chef who was that good, would shine when his turn for an interview rolled around—as long as he continued to shoot straight with her.

This morning, however, he was off the hook. She had a breakfast interview with the infamous bedding consultant, who, Tori glanced at her watch as she accepted a menu, would be tardy in a mere two minutes.

“I want you to read through my dishes and pick whatever your little heart desires,” he said. “If you want something special, I’ll whip it up.”

“Why, Bruno, you really are sucking up to me.” She couldn’t help but wish Adam Grant would be as accommodating. The thought of that hot man satisfying her every desire… Mm-mm.

“Of course I’m sucking up to you, Ms. Ford.” The burly man with the balding head gave a hearty laugh. “The way to my success is through your stomach.”

And he was off to a good start as he poured her a cup of much-needed coffee, explaining his specialties and otherwise entertaining her until the bedding consultant appeared at the hostess station with barely a minute to spare.

With her white-blond hair and blue eyes, Laura Granger wasn’t only beautiful, but striking in a runway-model sort of way. Tall and slim, both features leant her a gracefulness as she wound her way through the tables, greeting guests and staff.

Tori couldn’t help but remember how pea-green her older sister used to get about Laura while they’d been attending school at Westfalls Academy. While she’d been a few years behind them, she’d been privy to her sister’s feelings on visits home.

As an adult—and an adult who made her living observing people and looking for stories—the situation made more sense. People in this town tended to compare her sister, Miranda, with Laura because of the connection between their two families.

But meeting Laura up close and personal convinced Tori that although both women were the same age, they couldn’t have been more different if they’d tried.

Miranda was delicate and dark. Laura was taller and fair. Miranda had always been social and popular, Laura the shy outcast. Miranda excelled at whatever she did. Except for dance class at Westfalls, where Laura had stolen the spotlight.

Boy, could Laura Granger dance. Tori remembered how she’d get out on that big stage in Marshall Hall and wow the audience. Like Bruno in the kitchen, Laura had been that good. Tori wondered if she hadn’t turned professional because her family couldn’t afford to train her.

But Laura seemed to have found her niche at Falling Inn Bed. It wasn’t every day that a hotel wedding coordinator had the Worldwide Travel Association send a photojournalist like Tyler Tripp. Then again, Laura wasn’t an ordinary wedding consultant by any stretch; she was the one and only bedding consultant.

She marched to her own beat, while Miranda maintained the status quo at all costs. And Tori knew those costs were high.

She watched as Laura kissed Bruno’s cheek when he told her he’d send along a waiter with espresso. Then she slipped into the chair across the table and told him they’d need some time before ordering.

“That’ll work for you, Tori?” Laura asked.

“As long as the coffee keeps coming.”

“It won’t get a chance to cool,” Bruno promised before strolling away, looking remarkably like a bull in a china shop among the turn-of-the-last-century antique tables and glassware.

Tori sipped her coffee, curious to gauge Laura’s attitude to their first interview. They’d spoken since her arrival on the property, of course. Laura had even given her a tour of the new Wedding Wing. But today they were going to get personal and, with a family history like theirs, that was saying a bunch.

“Well, who’d have ever guessed that we’d be sitting together with only a few feet of table between us?” Tori said.

“Not in my wildest dreams.” Laura smiled, and up close, her looks were even more striking.

Okay, maybe Tori should have been more sympathetic to Miranda’s plight—she certainly wouldn’t want to be compared to Laura Granger and her incredible good looks.

“So you were worried I was going to be biased,” Tori said.

“Adam told you that?”

“I asked. I figured he’d have denied it if he could have.”

“At first, perhaps,” she admitted. “But you promised you wouldn’t trash the Naughty Nuptials because of our family history, so I took you at your word. I also told everyone to take exceptional care of you or we wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Tori thought of Bruno and smiled. “So I heard. Why don’t you mention it to Adam.”

Laura arched an eyebrow. “Is there a problem?”

“Not really. He’s very…professional.” Too professional. “So what did you tell him about me?”

She needed to know everything she could to help this man have a little fun.

“Nothing more than the overview of our family history that I shared with all my co-workers. When I found out you were taking over our press. I didn’t want them to be sandbagged either way.”

“How is it they never heard about the rift between our families? I thought we were legend around Niagara Falls.”

Laura smiled then greeted the approaching waiter. Accepting the steaming mug, she sipped appreciatively. “None of them come from around here. Think of the inn’s management staff like a traveling circus troupe. My boss picked them up at the different properties she’s managed throughout her career. Our maintenance supervisor has been with her for over twenty years at five different properties.”

“That sort of loyalty is unusual, and impressive.”

“Ms. J is an impressive woman.”

“Okay, so official interview time.” Reaching into her bag and grabbing her voice-activated recorder, Tori plunked it on the table and got to business. “For the record, what makes this hotel so special?”

“Falling Inn Bed is a place where couples can focus on romance. We’re not a singles-type of resort, where men go to meet women or vice versa. We’re a place that helps our couples focus on what’s important—making the most of being in love.”

“That’s spin.”

“It’s true.”

Impressed that Laura didn’t hesitate to measure her words, Tori decided that the media-handling skills so rampant on her mother’s side of the family weren’t necessarily a side effect of living with politicians.

“Since none of this is in your promotional brochure, I’ll take you at your word. You have a very romantic view of what you do around here.”

Laura laughed. “I’ve been accused of being a romantic idealist.”

“Really?” Romantic idealism had to come from somewhere and discovering where might be an important key to understanding the whole picture of the bedding consultant. “I imagine romantic idealism serves you very well on this job.”

“Especially with the Wedding Wing. I create fantasies for my newlyweds. Each one’s as individual as the couple itself.”

“I’ve heard about some of the fantasies you create. What I caught of your Wild, Wild Weddings campaign last week was impressive. The Sex Toy Shower. The Bad Bachelor/ette Parties. The Racy Rehearsal Dinner. Neat stuff. I’m sure your honorary bridal couple was impressed with the fantasy you created for them. Speaking of, what honeymoon suite did they spend their wedding night in?”

“The Shangri-la Paradise.”

“Sounds romantic. I lucked out with the Wedding Knight Suite. All those bondage goodies to play with.” The potential for fun was endless. If she could get Adam to play.

Laura smiled, looking quite pleased. “The Wedding Wing has a suite for every fantasy.”

“So who came up with these ideas?”

“I did. My parents helped me conceptualize them, though, and you’ve met our architect, Dale Emerson. He and his company made everything a reality.”

“Dale Emerson, your date.”

She nodded and Tori noted a hint of color rise in her cheeks. “Yes, he’s that, too.”