But first she had to figure out a way to protect her parents.
“I don’t have any rooms available with a lake view,” she continued, “and this one looks out on the neighbor’s property.” She pointed toward the window with the lacy curtains she had sewn herself.
“That’s fine. I mostly wanted to be near the lake so I can jog beside it. Is that the bathroom?” He pointed toward a closed wooden door.
He was standing near her. She could almost imagine she felt his body heat mingling with her own….
Where had that thought come from?
“Yes,” she said abruptly. “Would you like to see it?” Alone, she thought. I’m not going to go show it to you. She felt her face redden. The thought of John O’Rourke in the small shower stall, naked and dripping and utterly, masculinely, erotically filling it, made her think yet again of Cole Rappaport. Showering with him. Making long, slow, wet love with him in a similar shower stall up here, in this inn at Skytop Lake where they had stayed together.
Just before he had died. And hell had broken loose.
The bubble that was her euphorically sensuous recollection burst abruptly. She had to get hold of herself. Her mind had been spiraling into chaos ever since she had first spotted this man, just because his stride had somehow reminded her of Cole.
John crossed the room and peered into the bathroom. He turned back, a pleasant smile on his much-too-handsome face. “It’s great. I’ll take it.”
“Good,” she lied, wishing now she had never agreed to let him have a room. She needed all her senses to be sharp, her mind keen. “Come downstairs to fill out the paperwork, then you can get settled. I have to work on dinner.”
“That’s right—the lady in the food store said you have a gourmet restaurant here.”
Oh, please, she thought. I don’t want to see you this evening. But at least he would provide a respite from the other guests whom she was required to serve. Still, she said, “Yes, though there are other good restaurants in the area. Don’t feel obligated to—”
“I wouldn’t want to eat anywhere else,” he said.
He followed her out of the room. Behind her on the stairs to the main floor, he asked, “What’s for dinner?”
“It’s Mexican.” Maybe he didn’t like spicy foods. “I usually do two main dishes. The specialty tonight is chile rellenos, my own recipe—very hot. I also have quesadillas with beef and jalapeño cheese. Both are served with a seasoned taco salad.”
“All spicy?”
“Yes.” Please, thought Alexa. Tell me how much you detest things that are hot. But turning to look at him, she suspected that this man was himself very hot. Fiery. Especially if he was anything like Cole. And maybe that ran to his taste in food, as well.
“There’s nothing I like better than food that puts hair on my chest.”
Involuntarily glancing up toward the shock of black, curly hair peeking from the open V of his shirt, Alexa smiled uncertainly. But what about the sauce you bought? Alexa wanted to ask. It was mild. She said nothing. Instead, she fled down the rest of the steps.
COLE HAD UNPACKED his few belongings, hanging a couple of shirts in the handsome, carved teak wardrobe along one wall, finding places to conceal his equipment. He had begun to settle into his room at the inn. This inn that held so many bittersweet memories. Alexa’s inn.
Alexa’s…and Vane’s. He could not allow himself to forget that it belonged to the two of them.
The two of them, together, now. And before.
The man he had loved like a brother…and the woman he had loved more than life.
Fortunately, though the room was small, it had its own phone, so he had been able to use the modem in his laptop. Sitting on the bed, on top of the homey chenille bedspread, Cole glared at the screen.
Not that he was surprised, after his earlier phone call, at the contents of the encrypted e-mail from Forbes Bowman that he’d just deciphered. But it made his stay here even more necessary.
He had come to Skytop Lake because of the latest intelligence from his most reliable overseas contacts. According to rumor, the terrorist operation that had supposedly ended with the blast meant to kill Cole had apparently been resurrected—and the trail led straight here.
Reports of several field agents had been due today, concurrent with Cole’s arrival. According to Forbes’s e-mail, they had hit only dead ends. There was no information yet on any similar operations anywhere in the country. Either this inn was the only location, or the agency’s sources were not yet coming through.
Last time, there had been at least half a dozen havens for foreign terrorist agents sent for training and preparation for dispersal to strategic facilities all over the U.S. Maybe more. All the havens had been a part of the Kenner Hotels—the elite chain that had been owned by Alexa’s family.
The elite chain that no longer existed, thanks to the events of two years ago.
Back then, Cole had been undercover, seeking to learn the terrorists’ goal. He hadn’t succeeded. All he had known was that every one of the agents had been highly trained in handling and detonating explosives. His group had speculated that each was to destroy some key U.S. facility—probably triggered all at once. But he didn’t know which facilities. Or why.
This time, he would find all the answers. He would succeed.
He had a starting point, for he knew now that Vane Walters was involved, as he had been two years ago.
So was Alexa Kenner.
Alexa. Cole felt his heart grow cold. She was still so breathtakingly beautiful.
So deadly.
Unconsciously, he touched the cosmetic surgery scar at the side of his face, beneath his hair.
“Why, Alexa?” he whispered into the stillness of his room. Had she been in love with Vane even then?
Cole would never have thought there was someone more important in Alexa’s life two years ago. Not with the passion they had shared.
So much had happened between them, both in Santa Monica, and most especially here, at Skytop Lake. At this very inn, though it had been very different then. More run-down.
Why had she bought this place with Vane? So she could laugh at how she had tricked Cole? Had seduced the foolish man, made love with him…killed him?
“Damn!” Cole clenched his fists so tightly that his hands immediately cramped. He loosened them and stared at his fingers, at the small red scars, nearly invisible now, that he had also incurred in the explosion. Recalled how excruciating the physical pain had been. His hands still ached. So did much of the rest of his body.
Alexa and Vane didn’t know he had survived. He hadn’t told them because he thought their ignorance would protect them.
Instead, it had probably protected him. From them.
