had not only won him fifty bucks, it had also saved his family jewels.
Dame Vera had been right. His luck was definitely on the upswing. And it wasn’t just the card game that had convinced him. He’d had a close encounter with a crazy driver on the way home from Sam’s. The dark blue vehicle had come out of nowhere. He’d caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and raced for the curb just in time. The driver hadn’t stopped, and Tony hadn’t gotten a partial plate number to give to Drew, who was a cop.
Just then, the overhead light dimmed and another chunk plummeted to the mattress.
Tony sighed. Now, if his personal luck would just carry over to the problems at the hotel. Zach Murphy, who’d been patching the plumbing in the building for years, had predicted this particular scenario with the annoying regularity of a Greek chorus.
“Ton, mark my words. If you don’t replace the pipes in that building, the whole eighth floor is going to fall on your head.”
The damn thing about Greek choruses was that they were always right.
Tony surveyed his room, the one he’d occupied since he was ten, and wasn’t sure whether to laugh or to cry. He’d made a promise to his father eight years ago to keep the hotel running. It was the only home he and his family had ever known. His brother Drew, his cousins Grace and Lucy, his Aunt Gina—they all still lived here. And over the years, the profits from the hotel had provided a college education for each member of the family. Now, he had to figure out a way to keep the roof from falling on their heads.
It wasn’t in his nature to be a pessimist, but he didn’t make a habit of lying to himself either. Henry’s Place was in trouble. Though it was still operating in the black, he couldn’t afford to close off any of the rooms because of plumbing problems. According to Lucy, the latest flood had moved from Dame Vera’s suite down through the family’s floor and on to four rooms on the sixth floor. They were all going to have to be repaired and repainted, and he was going to have to come up with the money for Zach Murphy to replace the pipes.
Lily McNeil had promised to help him with all of that. He’d planned to pick her brain while she tried to lead him down the garden path. Why had she canceled at the last minute? He didn’t think for a minute that McNeil Enterprises had lost interest in Henry’s Place.
First thing in the morning, he was going to call Ms. McNeil’s office and find out why she’d canceled their meeting, and then—well, he’d just have to turn on the Romano charm.
Suddenly, a yawn overtook him, and Tony realized that he was deep down bone tired. Whatever his plans for the morning, what he needed right now was a dry bed to sleep in, and as much as he hated it, that meant going to the roof. He was stepping into the hallway when another hunk of plaster hit the bed. Wincing slightly, he closed the door firmly behind him and strode down the hall to the private elevator. The thing to remember was that his luck had changed. He punched the button for the penthouse apartment.
His first surprise came when the doors slid open and he saw that the room was ablaze with lights. Striding forward, he flipped lights off as he went. They’d even left the gas fireplace on. He’d have to speak with Lucy and Grace. They were the only ones in the family who came up here on a regular basis, but it wasn’t like them to be so careless. He was heading for the table lamp next to the sofa when he saw her stretched out on the cushions, her hand tucked beneath one cheek.
There was a moment, one stunning moment, when he felt his mind empty. He could have sworn that time stood still—or was it merely his heart that had stopped? One thought filled his mind. It’s you.
Then because the idea was so unprecedented, so ridiculous, he took a deep, steadying breath and moved closer. He was tired, the ceiling was probably still falling on his bed, and there was a stranger sleeping on the penthouse sofa. He studied her for a moment. Not sleeping beauty—he discarded the thought as soon as it slipped into his mind. Perhaps, it was the fact that one of her hands was curled into a tight fist. But something made him quite sure that this was no sleeping princess waiting for her prince to come. The reddish-gold curls fanned out on the pillow made him think of Goldilocks, a tough little housebreaker. He was nearly able to summon up a smile. Nearly, but not quite—maybe when his heart beat returned to normal. He took in the pale, almost translucent skin, the delicate features and the stubborn chin. Then he glanced at the curled fist again.
A fighter, he thought, and this time he did smile. She was wearing a plain tank top and worn gray sweatpants that looked as if she did more than sleep in them. The toned muscles in her arms added to the impression. Delicate and tough, he thought, intrigued by the contrast. And then he let his eyes linger on her legs. They were long, slender, and…
The desire that moved through him like a sharp, hot blade had him breathing a little sigh of relief. That was a response he could understand. And it was a lot more comfortable than the one he’d had when he’d first looked at her.
He wasn’t going to think about that stab of recognition he’d felt because it was absurd. He’d never met this woman before. He didn’t have to wonder how she’d gotten into the penthouse. Lucy had obviously let her in. She was probably some refugee from the flooding on the sixth floor.
Dragging his eyes from her, he swept his gaze around the area. A neat gray suit was draped over the chair near the fire—and he caught a glimpse of lace and satin spread nearby on a stool. She’d had no trouble making herself at home. Then bending down, he studied what she’d spread out on the table. There was a small notebook with a silver pen lying next to it and a series of sketches. He skimmed the neatly printed list on the open page of the notebook. Repair the plumbing, renovate the lobby, turn the penthouse into a five-star restaurant—Henry’s.
Tony frowned as he picked up and examined each one of the sketches she’d drawn. If he was reading them correctly, they were of different floor plans for expanding the penthouse suite into a restaurant. And they were good. He glanced at her again. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that she was writing about his hotel.
Who in the hell was she?
He swept his gaze more carefully over the area again, noting the small suitcase and the leather briefcase. A niggling suspicion formed in his mind even as he reached to examine the tag. One glance confirmed it—this was Lily McNeil.
Sitting back on his heels, he studied her again as questions lined themselves up in his mind like so many toy soldiers. Why was she here? Or perhaps more specifically, why had she canceled her reservation and then changed her mind? Or had she planned to sneak into his hotel incognito and gather information without his knowledge?
He watched the play of the firelight over her features. So this was the owner of that voice. She wasn’t exactly the way he had imagined her. Nor did she seem to fit the voice. Looking at her didn’t make him think of hot, sweaty all-night sex. Instead, she made him think of the slow, thorough, take-your-time-and-savor kind.
His gaze shifted to her mouth, and he imagined her taste—not sweet, but tart at first. The sweetness would lie beneath. He wanted to explore that mouth, linger until he’d coaxed out all the flavors. He reached out to touch one of her curls. He could see the different colors, cool gold with a hint of fire here and there. He wanted to touch her—to run his hands over that skin. Even as the images formed in his mind, desire tightened in his center as if his body already knew what it would be like to feel her softness arching against him.
Muffling a sigh, Tony reined his wandering thoughts in and dropped the curl he was still rubbing between his fingers. Then because he couldn’t help himself, he ran his finger lightly down her cheek to her chin before he dropped it to his side. She wasn’t a sleeping beauty, he
