man had earned Robert’s respect in the eight years they’d worked together. He’d trusted Robert from the first, when he’d been another fresh-from-Grad-school know-it-all who wanted to change the world. Or own it.
Maybe he hadn’t changed the world, but he had helped mold Winchester Hotels into the fastest-rising chain in the country. Not bad for a country boy from North Carolina, who’d never even stayed in a classy hotel until he’d graduated from college.
His parents hadn’t understood his need to get away, to go live in New York City, of all places, leaving behind his five siblings, assorted aunts, uncles and cousins, and the family auto repair business. But Robert had been born with wandering feet, with dreams of building things, maybe even with a bit of a shark’s killer instinct.
Those qualities had served him well in his years working for Winchester Hotels. And James Winchester was not cheap about showing his appreciation. Plus, Robert genuinely liked the man. He couldn’t repay him by sleeping with his “little angel.”
Standing the little angel up, however, seemed infinitely more dangerous. Especially now, during a delicate scouting expedition of this grand old Philadelphia hotel. The Kerrigan Towers would transition nicely into a Winchester Hotel. But not if Monica threw a fit and sabotaged their critical meeting with the current owners the next morning. If she walked in playing corporate prima donna, the board, most of them members of the Sinclair family, would close ranks and fight the inevitable.
One thing he could not do was sit in the bar any longer. Dropping a tip on the table, he left the lounge and entered the deserted corridor. Working in the business had him paying attention to all the details other guests would never notice. The pale blue carpet in the hall was worn—clean, but threadbare after years of being walked upon by the hotel’s elite clientele. The plastered ceiling was yellowed, showing signs of spidery cracks that had been hastily repaired. He took mental note that the walls needed paint, and the rickety elevator groaned like an overworked old woman. Heck, even rooms in need of electronic keys to replace the archaic metal ones, like the one burning a hole in the right pocket of his sports coat!
The Kerrigan Towers was ripe for the plucking. And Robert had come to Philadelphia to pluck.
Noticing the lobby was deserted, he decided to do some snooping. Robert knew exactly where he needed to go. One of the most important spots to investigate in any hotel was the kitchen. He’d seen dozens of seemingly elegant establishments with ovens dirtier than any 24-hour roadside diner.
Since his reason for visiting the Kerrigan was hush-hush, at least until tomorrow’s board meeting, he certainly couldn’t ask for a tour. Now, just after midnight, seemed a good time to investigate. No one would be around, no one would be the wiser.
Robert slipped stealthily into the closed restaurant. Dodging between the backs of cushioned chairs, he took note of his surroundings. So far so good. The floor looked pristine. The air smelled sweet of fresh-cut flowers and well-prepared food. A hint of pine cleanser also indicated cleanliness, without being cloying or antiseptic.
Pushing quietly through the swinging doors, he looked around, assessing how well he could see in the darkened kitchen. But the room wasn’t completely dark. In the far corner, he saw a single light burning, and wondered if it was left on as a security measure. Walking gingerly on the tile floor to avoid making any noise, he made his way toward the light.
A hiccuping sob told him he was not alone.
“Please let me forget what an absolute fool I made of myself tonight!”
He froze.
“Please let me close my eyes and pretend I’m not a whiny, pathetic woman in an ugly green dress.”
Hidden in the shadows of a huge wall oven, Robert studied the woman sitting at a worktable beneath the single light.
Her dress really was damn ugly.
She, however, was quite lovely. She sat on a stool in front of a large, butcher-block table, where the chef probably worked when the restaurant was open. Her bare feet rested on the top rung of the stool, and her dress was haphazardly gathered in a mound of green fluff on her lap. Her legs were enough to stop his breath. Sweet, so sweet, encased in what appeared to be white thigh-high stockings that ended with a flirtatious bit of lace just below the edge of her hefted-up gown.
“Maybe one more bite,” the woman muttered. Robert bit the inside of his cheek to stop a laugh as he saw her plunge a fork into about half of what had once been a very large chocolate cake. She brought a portion to her mouth, letting out a pleased sigh as she bit off little pieces of it. Her tongue flicked out to lick the icing from the metal tines of the fork, and Robert had to swallow hard to contain the moan of appreciation he felt sure was going to spill across his lips.
She closed her eyes, dropping her head back, and he continued studying her, noting the long, smooth line of her throat, the generous curve of her hip, and the indentation of her waist in the tight dress. Not to mention the gorgeous, full breasts so magnificently displayed in the low-cut gown.
The overhead bulb caught the highlights in the mass of red curls surrounding her face. Judging by the beaded headpiece lying on the table, and the scattering of bobby pins beside it, she’d just taken her hair down and allowed most of it to fall freely in a soft curtain about her shoulders.
Lovely shoulders. She was soft-looking, with the pale skin of a redhead and the curves of a real man’s fantasy. Not thin and angular, no, she was rounded and curvaceous like an old-time movie starlet. Maybe not the fashion today, but so physically appealing to Robert he suddenly found it difficult to draw breath.
He heard her grunt, and watched as she opened her eyes and began struggling with her dress. As she pushed down on the mound of fabric on her lap, the sides poufed out, nearly forming an O-shape. Robert stifled a chuckle as he realized what she was wearing. It appeared, from where he stood, to be one of those god-awful southern belle style bridesmaid gowns.
“I swear as soon as I get home you’re going to get a taste of my shears. Though I don’t dislike my neighbors enough to make curtains out of you,” the woman said as she finally subdued the dress hoop. “No wonder the south lost—there wasn’t any room for men with every woman taking up ten feet of floor space!”
This time, Robert wasn’t able to contain the chuckle.
RUTHIE HELD the crushed dress tightly against her thighs and was reaching for the long neck of an expensive bottle of champagne when she heard a very masculine laugh. “Who’s there?” she asked, immediately hopping up from the stool and bumping her hip into the edge of her worktable. “Ouch.”
“Are you all right?”
She peered into the dark recesses of the kitchen, finally seeing one shadow separate itself from beyond the huge, stainless steel refrigerator. A figure approached her in the darkness. It had to be a man, she assumed, because of the height. He moved slowly, silently, almost gliding across the floor like something supernatural. She’d never met such a tall man who moved with such grace. Ruthie tensed as visions of a vampire movie she’d recently watched on cable flooded her muddled brain.
“Who are you?” she asked sharply as her fingers skittered across the table toward the knife block. She’d just about decided on the meat cleaver when she heard his warm laugh again.
“I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to intrude.” The man stepped closer until he walked into the small pool of light cast by the overhead fixture. Then, when he was fully illuminated, Ruthie could only
