own way, as bizarre as Almost Paradise. But instead of plants and tropical bird calls, Maisie’s office was filled with cupids. There were glass cupids on the bookshelves directly across from Noah, silver cupids and porcelain cupids arranged on the windowsills. There was a candle cupid merrily burning and making the room smell like roses, a cupid carved out of wood that apparently doubled as objet d’art and door-stop and, on the table next to the brocade couch, another cupid that looked to be made of solid chocolate and had one wing bitten off.
The cupids shared table space with candles of all shapes and sizes, potpourri, bunches of brightly colored fresh flowers and more lace then Noah had ever seen at one time in one place. There was a thick Oriental rug on the floor and the kind of white-and-gold furniture he had always associated with fussy old ladies and the French bordellos he’d seen only in the movies. The walls were a color that reminded him of shrimp. The woodwork was gold, a color that was repeated in the picture frames, Maisie’s desk accessories and her old-fashioned, ornate telephone.
Refusing to get distracted—again—Noah turned. “What I mean,” he said, “is—”
“Coffee. Yes. Of course.” Like a butterfly on speed, Maisie flittered to the front of her desk and headed through a doorway that apparently led to the kitchen. She was back in a minute carrying a thermal carafe decorated with bright red hearts. She handed the carafe to Noah and disappeared again. This time when she came back it was with a tray that contained a coffee cup that matched the carafe, along with a crystal sugar bowl and cream pitcher and a porcelain plate filled with what looked and smelled like freshly baked blueberry muffins. “One lump or two?” she asked, setting the tray on her desk and taking the carafe from Noah.
“We weren’t discussing coffee.”
“We weren’t, no.” Maisie filled his cup, adding one sugar and no cream, just the way he liked it. “But I was,” she said, handing him the cup. “I’m the inn-keeper, and my guests’ comfort is my utmost concern. Especially when the guest in question is such an old and dear friend. How did you like your little piece of paradise?”
It was on the tip of Noah’s tongue to tell Maisie that one man’s paradise was another man’s perdition. He didn’t, but only because she was so sincere and so darned pink and fluffy, he didn’t have the heart. He swallowed his words along with a sip of coffee.
“I know, I know.” Maisie patted his arm. “It’s a bit much at first, isn’t it? I mean, all that beauty. It’s enough to take your breath away, and I can understand why you’re not thinking clearly. And then there’s the temptation…” She sighed. “Overwhelming.”
“Right.” As soon as Noah set down his cup, Maisie filled it. “It’s a great room, Maisie, but I—”
“That’s a given, isn’t it? Almost Paradise is…well…” Maisie giggled, and the sound reminded Noah of the bubbling water in the pond upstairs. “It’s paradise!” She leaned forward as if sharing a secret. “It’s my favorite room here at Cupid’s Hideaway, though I don’t let any of the guests who like the other rooms know that. They each have their own tastes, of course, and who’s to say that one person’s taste is better than another’s? But, you see, when I mentioned beauty and temptation, I wasn’t talking about the room.”
Noah hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he saw the muffins. He had one in his hand, and he stopped and glanced over his shoulder toward Maisie. “Not talking about the room? Then what—”
The answer struck with all the subtlety of a meteor crash landing, and suddenly a muffin didn’t seem like such a good idea. He set the muffin on the plate and brushed his hands together, getting rid of the bits of sugar that had stuck to his fingers. He wished it was as easy to brush off the disturbing images of Laurel that Maisie’s comments had conjured. Laurel’s beauty was enough to take his breath away. And as for the temptation…
Noah braced himself against the memories and reminded himself that Maisie was the last one who needed to catch on to the fact that thinking about Laurel left him feeling as if he’d been plugged in to a two-twenty line. Correction. Maisie was the second last one who needed to know.
Noah was determined to keep to the subject he’d come to discuss in the first place. “Look,” he said, “why you decided to lie to me about Laurel being on the island is your business.”
“Lie?” As if he’d spoken in another language, Maisie peered at Noah, her eyes narrowed. “I’d never do such a thing. I said she was—”
“On a cruise.”
Maisie clicked her tongue. “Not precisely, dear. I said she was cruising. Two entirely different things.” Looking more than ever like the bunny in the battery commercial, Maisie scooted to the other side of her desk, going in her own direction in spite of how Noah tried to keep the conversation on track. “And wasn’t it a nice surprise to see her again?”
Noah set down his coffee cup a little faster than he realized. Coffee splashed over the side and onto the silver tray, and he wiped it up with the napkin that had been left next to the plate of muffins. “It was a surprise, all right.”
“And I do so like surprises!” On the other side of the room, Maisie bustled around, opening cabinets and closing them again. By the time she was finished, she had a linen cloth in one hand and a basket with a handle in the other. She put the cloth into the basket and piled the muffins into it. “And Laurel likes surprises, too.” Smiling, she held out the basket to Noah. “Which is why she’ll be so pleased when you show up at the clinic with breakfast.”
“Oh, no!” Noah stepped away from the basket of muffins, the twinkle in Maisie’s eyes and her ridiculous suggestion. “I’m not here to renew old acquaintances,” he reminded her. “You know that. I told you that when you called yesterday.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s almost ten, and the way I figure it, there’s got to be a ferry over to the mainland soon. I’m going to be on it.”
“Yes, yes. Of course you are. I can understand that. It’s just that…” Maisie chewed the shocking pink lipstick off her lower lip. “Well, I hoped you’d take these muffins to Laurel. She doesn’t always remember to eat—”
“Laurel’s dietary habits are none of my business.”
“—and she doesn’t always keep sensible hours—”
“Neither are her work habits.”
“—and she did mention that she hoped she’d see you again before you left.”
“She did?” The simple statement caught Noah completely off guard and started a kind of buzzing in his bloodstream. He knew why. It was all the fault of Almost Paradise. He knew that for a fact. If it wasn’t for the wacky room with its heady, earthy scent, its winding paths and the plants that were where plants weren’t supposed to be, he and Laurel never would have ended up tumbling onto the bed together. And Maisie’s announcement wouldn’t have left him feeling so weak-kneed.
But they had tumbled on the bed together, and in those few, electrifying moments Noah wondered if Laurel was just as interested and just as aroused as he was. Looked like he just might have the opportunity to find out.
Noah sucked in a sharp breath, fighting to control the mixture of white-hot heat and frosty-as-ice disbelief that collided inside him like a cold front moving across the Texas panhandle in the dog days of August. The results were the same. A tornado that stirred his blood and turned what had been a well-ordered world on its head.
He
