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Welcome to Hush
Check out the couple in room 1508…
“Are you always this frank?”
Madison nodded. “It saves a lot of time.”
Jack’s lips curved suddenly, surprising her, and unleashing a mass of butterflies in her stomach. The smile reached his eyes and they actually seemed to change color right before her, going from cool green to warm amber. “Okay, Hush it is.”
“Yeah?” She smiled back, words deserting her. Unusual for her. But there was something about this man…
“But…” He held up his finger as if admonishing a naughty child. Even his hands were noteworthy. Tanned, with lean fingers and evenly clipped nails. No prissy manicure.
“I’m listening.” Barely. Her stomach was just beginning to calm down.
“I still have veto power.”
“Of course.” Her gaze went again to his hands, to that perfect golden color, so perfect it had to be artificial.
He squinted with suspicion. “What?”
“Are you tanned all over?”
Dear Reader,
By now you are probably as familiar with Hush as I am. After all, you’ve been treated to five wonderful stories of the DO NOT DISTURB series, created by a team of talented authors, beginning with Jo Leigh’s Hush and ending with Jill Shalvis’s Room Service. You’ve met the trendy staff, visited the phenomenal suites and drooled over the delectable offerings of Amuse Bouche.
Now it’s my turn to introduce you to Madison Tate and Jack Logan. Neither of whom believes in psychics. Boy, are they in for a surprise.
Come on. Visit us at Hushhotel.com and join the party. If you aren’t too pooped after that, check out my online bonus read.
Love,
Debbi Rawlins
Hot Spot
Debbi Rawlins
MILLS & BOON
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Mom and Dad, I love and miss you.
Aloha until we meet again.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Epilogue
Prologue
MADISON TATE LEANED a hip against the wall and peered into the crowded living room of the chic SoHo brownstone, mentally berating herself for getting talked into another party full of meaningless chitchat and men who were prettier than she was.
Of course, it was Friday night and what else would she and Karrie be doing? Except for stuffing their faces with popcorn at one of the cheap theaters or trying to get two-fer tickets for something Off Broadway. And then only if Madison had had a photo gig so she could afford a night out. At least the party circuit was free with plenty of food and enough variety of flavored martinis to give her a headache for a week.
Actually, she should be grateful that the invites kept coming. Neither she nor Karrie were the Dolce & Gabbana type, and they sure as heck didn’t make the kind of bucks that most of the other guests did, but about two years ago, they’d met Nancy Kragen, a high-powered book editor, and they’d been on the B+ list ever since.
Madison didn’t know what it was about tonight that made her edgy. Probably the news she’d gotten earlier, but no, that didn’t make sense. For heaven’s sake, the hors d’oeuvres were exceptionally good, the high-end stuff mixed with retro junk food like pigs-in-a-blanket, which were to die for. And Karrie had kept her laughing with tales of petty office bureaucracy and juicy gossip for the past half hour, which as a freelance photographer Madison missed out on, but the restless feeling wouldn’t quit.
She looked over at Karrie, thoughtfully sipping a martini, her gaze riveted to the door to Sonya’s bedroom, and said, “You don’t believe in that nonsense, do you?”
“Of course not.”
The door opened and Karrie ducked to get a look at the infamous Madam Zora. Last month it had been a candle party, the month before that, a roll-your-own-sushi night. Tonight Sonya had hired a psychic, of all things. A psychic with no imagination. Madam Zora. Please.
Karrie got that mischievous look in her eyes that meant trouble. “Are you going to sign up for a reading?”
Madison made a face. “I’m not wasting my time.”
“As if you have anything better to do.” Karrie glanced around the room, her expression dismal. What few men there were had already paired up with women wearing skirts with hemlines up to Canada. “Come on. We’re
