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?”
