She kissed him again, feeling the swirl of adventure that naturally surrounded him as it spiraled to encompass her, too. He brought that effortless sense of the unknown to every one of their interactions and, while it still made her pulse race with the sheer novelty of it, she couldn’t deny the thrill that this quality of his brought her every time either.
“I’ll hold you to that,” she said. “But don’t think you’re the only one who can pull off a surprise, Bram. I expect to keep you on your toes this weekend, too.”
And she did. If all went well, she hoped to start to tell him about her plans to leave Door County soon and to begin challenging herself with experiences away from here. Surely, he’d be excited by a change like that. He’d appreciate her decision to broaden her staid, conventional world. Her interest in taking on a life that was a little more like his stimulating and sophisticated one.
“Promises, promises,” he said, as if disbelieving her ability to ever astonish someone as confident, suave and hard-to-ruffle as he.
Well, maybe she couldn’t compete with him on an adventure-seeking level, but she was so very ready for something new. She could face significant change, and she would.
She winked at him. “All I’m saying, Bram, is be prepared for anything. Surprising a surpriser can be very exciting.”
The look that crossed his face was intrigued but, if she weren’t mistaken, there was a flash of apprehension, too. This was the first time since they met that she felt she might just have the upper hand in something.
Interesting.
Maybe Bram Hartwick was no longer as stony-faced or as inscrutable as he’d once seemed.
***
They were nibbling on a late-night fruit platter in the Astaire Suite—post-coital, pre-dawn—when Shannon decided to drop her first hint.
“You know, I’m thinking of taking some time off to visit Milwaukee. The Phantom of the Opera is going to be performed there soon,” she informed him. “I can’t remember which theater, but the show is set to run for several weeks, and I’ve always wanted to see it.”
He gave her a blank look.
“Don’t you like musicals?” she asked.
“They’re okay.” He snagged a couple of red grapes, popped one in his mouth and rubbed the other against her bottom lip until she opened to receive it.
“Mmm, thanks,” she said, chewing. “But Andrew Lloyd Webber’s songs are amazing. Wouldn’t it be fun to see one of his best shows performed live onstage?”
He shrugged. “Depends. Is it a community theater production or a touring Broadway show?”
She had no idea and said so, then added, “Does it matter?”
He laughed briefly. “Well, yeah, Shannon. There are good and bad actors everywhere, but usually the Broadway standards are higher and more exacting than your average community theater ones. The voices in a Broadway cast are exceptionally well trained and can handle the dramatic musical range necessary to pull off a score like Webber and Hart’s. Sure, you can find loads of young talent in any city across America, but aspiring actors and singers flock to New York City for a reason, especially if they’re serious about their craft. As the saying goes, ‘If I can make it there…’”
“‘I can make it anywhere,’” she finished for him.
Having always had to work, either to help her parents out at the inn or to manage things at Margaret’s hotel, she’d rarely gotten away for a weekend. She’d only seen a handful of musicals at the college and, one memorable Christmas, The Nutcracker with her mom in Milwaukee. She’d enjoyed each show tremendously, but maybe they weren’t as good as she’d thought. Maybe she didn’t know the difference.
“So, you’d recommend seeing only a Broadway production?” she asked him.
“If you want to count on it being excellent, yes, a touring Broadway show brought in to Milwaukee or Chicago would be a strong bet. Although, you couldn’t go wrong with a West End performance either—but they tend not to tour around here.”
“West End?” She’d heard that term before. Where was that? Los Angeles? San Francisco?
“London’s theater district,” he clarified. “That’s where I saw Phantom the first time. The cast was phenomenal.”
She raised her eyebrows. He saw Phantom in London? The first time? Meaning: One of many times. God, she was so far out of her cultural league here it was frightening.
“I guess that would be especially great. I suppose I should try to go there sometime, huh?” she told him, reaching for a strawberry and ripping off the green stem and leaves.
Heck, she’d have to go to the top source on everything now just to converse with him. Forget about small-town art shows, if it wasn’t the Louvre in Paris, it didn’t count. Why bother with any old dance performance if it couldn’t be the Bolshoi Ballet or a troupe of real flamenco dancers in Seville?
She bit into the strawberry and watched as Bram grinned at her. “Hey, why don’t I take a look at what’s playing in London and New York,” he suggested. “Maybe we can steal away for a long weekend after the holidays and catch a few shows. I can show you around a bit, too.”
She nodded but had a hard time swallowing the fruit. His indulgent smile was like that of a world-weary parent looking down at an impressionable child. Just because she hadn’t had the opportunity to have these cultural experiences didn’t mean that she was a dumb kid incapable of learning about life on her own. She just needed a little time to catch up.
He leaned back against his pillow and speared a melon chunk with a long toothpick. “Ahh, so peaceful here,” he whispered, almost to himself. “I think I could stay in this relaxing place forever.”
Boy, not her.
But she didn’t tell him that, let alone mention the possibility of selling the inn, because something vague and unsettling had grown clearer: He might like her, a whole lot even, but it was Holiday Quinn that he loved.
She cringed thinking about it. Yes, he kept coming back here but not so much because he wanted to see her. Instead, it was because of this place she ran. This quiet environment he’d grown so attached to was a haven of sorts for him. When they were together in Madison but away from the inn, it hadn’t been the same, had it? Now, unfortunately, she knew why.
She decided to test out her theory. “Well, there’s no rush to get away,” she told him. “It’s nice to spend time together right here.”
“Exactly,” he said with a contented sigh, kissing her on the nose then slinking down further into his pillow and closing his eyes. “Nothing’s better than this.”
Precisely what she was afraid of.
As Bram drifted off into dreamland, she put the fruit platter back in the kitchenette’s refrigerator and snuck out of the suite, certain she was equally unnecessary to him now that he’d fallen asleep.
And the pain she felt at that realization shocked her by being almost as strong, almost as powerful as the death of a loved one. She tiptoed back to her own room to grieve the loss.
***
Bram adjusted his mask in the hallway mirror and let his long, black cape swirl behind him as he descended the staircase toward the ballroom.
He’d arrived at the inn with all the accoutrements to transform himself into a fearsome Count Dracula but, after Shannon’s professed interest in The Phantom of the Opera last night, he’d managed to make some slight alterations.
Discarding the vampire teeth he’d brought along, he’d escaped this morning to one of the party shops in the next town over and procured a white, half-faced mask à la Phantom style to complete this newest incarnation of his costume. He hoped Shannon would be pleasantly surprised by the result.
He ran his fingers across the top of his heavily gelled hair to make sure it was still slicked back, as it should be. He spotted a werewolf, a lady villain in black bodysuit (Catwoman?), a Queen Elizabeth look-alike and some unfortunate guy with the ears and complexion of Spock, but none of them resembled Shannon, whatever her choice of costume.
Would she be dressed a
s a princess? An historical figure? A sexy librarian, maybe?
He allowed himself a slight smile at the thought. Or, perhaps, she really was a burgeoning theater aficionado and dressed up as a stage character. If her interest in musicals was more than just a passing fancy, he would look forward to taking her to a major production someday. Hell, he could fly in a halfway decent cast to perform for her in Holiday Quinn’s ballroom if she so desired.
Anything to make her happy.
But, what if this weren’t enough? What if this latest cultural interest wasn’t really about spending time with him but more about getting away from here? From several of the remarks she’d been making recently, he’d begun to worry this might well be the case.
Last night she was fascinated with seeing musicals in some other city. But that hadn’t been all.
In one of her e-mails at the beginning of the month, she’d written about wanting to learn the art of Tuscan cooking. In Italy.
Then she’d made a handful of comments on the subject of wildlife photography and asked him nearly fifty questions about African safaris and how someone might go about studying this. As if he, Former Crowned King of the Workaholics Guild, would know anything about the pursuit of such a hobby.
Then, on the phone last week, she came out with some craziness about flamenco dancers in Seville. Why would she suddenly want to go to Spain to start dancing? It was just plain bizarre.
As he strode into the ballroom and scanned the crowd of early revelers for his auburn-haired lady, a thought crossed his mind that stole his breath: What if she was saying these things only because of him? What if she thought these were the types of activities that he, as a big businessman with global interests, would want to participate in?
He felt the corners of his lips tilt upward another notch. He’d just have to reassure her yet again that this wasn’t the case. That there was nowhere he’d rather be than with her in her beautiful inn. Maybe then she’d relax a little about this whole sophistication thing. God knew, she was intelligent and adorable just the way she was.
And he was falling in love with her and with the possibility of leading a life together right here in the Midwest.
Yep. That was the honest-to-heaven truth. Just like Bill Murray’s character in the movie Groundhog’s Day, he was coming to realize that he didn’t have to “get ahead” anymore. He could live in a small, unassuming town like this and fly out to the Twin Cities for business a day or two each week. On the other days he could work via phone and Internet. The idea mesmerized him with its appeal, and Shannon was bound to love it, too.
Wasn’t she?
Bram convinced himself that, yes, she sure was.
Then he spotted her. Finally. A vision in wisps of blue tulle that matched her eyes. A silver fairy wand in her hand. Long, elegant wings fluttering behind her as she walked across the floor. Petite ballet slippers on her feet.
And Jake the Prick by her side.
Bram clenched his jaw and increased his pace.
Jake, dressed appropriately as a court jester, raised a brow at him when he approached the two. “Well, well, Tinkerbell,” Jake muttered to Shannon, though loud enough for Bram to overhear. “The Phantom is crashing our Masquerade Ball. How original.”
The Prick’s sarcasm wasn’t lost on Bram.
Shannon’s eyes widened as she took in his Phantom costume. “I’m impressed,” she whispered, but he’d had to read faces at international business meetings for too many years to be fooled. He got the distinct sense that some other, less enchanted reaction lay behind her words. He tried to dismiss the thought as paranoia, but he couldn’t.
“I hoped you’d like it,” he told her anyway, ignoring Jake but not quite able to block him out of his consciousness. The assistant edged his way closer to Shannon. To retaliate, Bram reached for her hand and tugged her toward him. “You look beautiful, Tinkerbell.”
A small grin played along the curve of her lips. “Thanks.”
Bram saw Jake grimace, tap her shoulder and motion her close to him again. She took a step in Jake’s direction, and The Prick pulled her the rest of the way.
“We still need to decide when to announce the winners,” Jake said. He shook his head so the bells on the pointed ends of his jester’s hat jingled. The guy looked bloody ridiculous but, for some reason, Shannon laughed at his antics.
Bram hadn’t thought it possible, but he now hated Jake even more.
“There’ll be prizes for Best Costume tonight,” Shannon explained to Bram, “in the categories of Scariest, Cutest and Most Authentic.”
He nodded and made a show of glancing around the room. “Well, you’ve got a lot good outfits to choose from. Who’ll be doing the judging?”
“The Bakers.” She pointed to the older couple he remembered from the Easter Egg Hunt back in the spring, and he was flooded with memories of the desire that came to a head between him and Shannon that day.
He looked her in the eye as best he could, given the constraints of his mask, and projected his most smoldering gaze her way. He wasn’t sure why it felt so necessary tonight, but he needed to remind her of the passion they’d shared. And, yes, on an admittedly primitive level, to remind her that she was his woman. Not Jake’s.
Jake, of course, refused to take the hint and just bug off the way a second-place loser-man should. Instead, he draped his arm—his arm!—around Shannon, leaned in close, as if making a pretense of discretion, and said, “Shall we say ten o’clock?” He looked beyond where Bram was standing and nodded in the Bakers’ direction. “That should give them plenty of time to make their final selections.”
“Okay,” Shannon said to her assistant. “Why don’t you let them know and—”
“Oh, hey,” Jake replied, too quickly. “We should go talk to them together. They’ll probably have questions for you about the prizes or the—”
“Can’t handle it on your own, Jake?” Bram interrupted, forcing a grin and a light laugh. Shannon may well put up with Jake’s obnoxious and overtly needy behavior, but Bram couldn’t take another nanosecond of it. Enough crap.
Shannon shot him a dark look before turning her attention to her assistant. “Go ahead and let the Bakers know, Jake, but tell them I’ll find them in twenty minutes or so, just in case any questions arise.”
Jake pulled his arm away from her shoulder but let his fingertips trickle along the edge of the blue tulle for a moment too long. The guy was contemptible. “Okay, babe,” he said with that damned smirk. Then he pivoted on the heel of one of his pointy jester shoes and strode away.
The second Jake was out of earshot, Shannon faced him, one hand on her hip, the other grasping her fairy wand so tight her knuckles were pale. “What are you trying to do, Bram? Jake’s a friend of mine and my employee. Your rudeness toward him is inexcusable.”
“My rudeness!” Fury burned his lungs. “Jesus, Shannon, the jerk was practically feeling you up right in front of me. How do you expect me to react?”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, he was not, and what I expect is for you to act like a man who’s confident in my affections, not like an insecure teenage boy.” She tightened her lips and glanced away.
Bram took a step back. Literally. And his jaw actually dropped. An insecure teenage boy? Him? What the hell…
“That’s what you think of me?” he managed to say.
“You know, Bram, I don’t know what to think. You come here acting all eager to see me, but maybe it’s the place, not me, that you’re excited about… Then you mock me with your costume and get all possessive and Neanderthal in front of my assistant. I’ve got to say, I wonder if I’m a person you actually like or just one you want to acquire.”
He was rendered so speechless by this that, not only did zero words leave his mouth for a full minute, but they didn’t even form in his brain. The only thing he was aware of was an absolutely disturbing paring of emotions—anger laced with hurt—and the certainty that she was wrong. Wrong. He shook his head but couldn’t seem
to communicate any of this to her.
She crossed her arms and glared at him, eyeing his costume with an expression of suspicion and fury. What had she said? That she thought he was mocking her with it? She couldn’t have been more off target. He’d thought it would please her.
“You’re wrong,” he whispered.
She raised her eyebrows. “I’m wrong? That’s all you have to say about this?”
“Yes.”
She threw her hands in the air, swiveled on her slipped toes and rocketed down the hall, out of the ballroom and into some “Employees Only” area. Away from him.
He left, too.
It took Bram almost an hour of sitting on the edge of his bed and mindlessly staring into space before he got his temper in check and recovered the use of his complete vocabulary again.
By the time he finally returned to the party, the Masquerade Ball was in full swing. The “Monster Mash” blared from the speakers as a collection of shirtless handymen with tool belts, naughty nurses and the usual variety of witches and ghouls danced around him.
He heard Shannon before he saw her.
“There are so many places I want to visit,” she said enthusiastically to somebody nearby. “London. Venice. Seville. Zurich. And that’s just in Europe.”
“Don’t forget romantic cities like Paris and Rome,” Jake the Jester Prick replied in a silky, seductive tone that made Bram want to slug him.
But he held himself back. He did not march over to them. Did not punch the not-remotely-humorous jester in the jaw. Did not tell Shannon what he really thought about her colleague.
He knew how to play corporate games better than this. She’d already defended Jake once that night and made the jerk seem like some kind of victim. Bram wouldn’t give her an excuse to do it again. Still, having to witness another man putting the moves on her stung.
He got himself a large glass of some dark reddish concoction from the refreshments table labeled “Potent Potions” and proceeded to drink two of them. He identified vodka and tequila as a couple of ingredients in the mix, but decided he needed a third glass to figure out the rest. He’d just poured it when Shannon came up beside him.
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