Please Say I Do

by Karen Toller Whittenburg

  Hallie pulled away and his arms fell empty at his sides. She braced her hands on the rail that circled three sides of the elevator and eyed him with bleary suspicion. “You’re acting very strangely.”

  He smiled. “Who, me?”

  She nodded. “Yes, and you don’t have to take me to my room. I’m quite capa—capapapab—” A frown crumpled the smooth skin of her forehead. “I can get there by myself.”

  “My things are still in the tenth-floor room. I’ll need to pack.”

  “Oh.” She pressed her fingertips against both temples as if she could clear her thoughts if she could only keep her head steady. “Thanks.”

  “For…?”

  “Whatever.” Her hand waved like a prima donna gathering roses at the close of a performance, and then, without so much as a sigh of warning, she fell forward.

  Rik caught her, but just barely. If he’d been holding a bowl of soup, her face would be smack in the middle of it. So much for gratitude, he thought He had a feeling that when she woke up, thanking him was going to be the last thing on her mind.

  The elevator stopped on the tenth floor and Rik half carried, half dragged Hallie into the hallway. She was deadweight and he didn’t think he could toss her over his shoulder again without risking permanent disk damage. He grappled with her skirt, batting at the material as he tried to get one arm under her knees while still supporting her weight Finally, in a less-than-suave move, he hiked up her skirt leaned her against the wall and held her there by benefit of hip and shoulder while he maneuvered himself in front of her. Then he draped her arms around his neck, looped his arms around her knees and hoisted her onto his back.

  Feeling a little like Trigger trying to rescue a comatose Roy Rogers, Rik jostled his burden a bit higher on his back and took a step toward the faraway door of his hotel room. Hallie’s arm slipped, her head lolled to the side, and her weight shifted, throwing off his center of gravity. Struggling to keep balanced, he half stumbled, half ran down the hall. He was past his door before he could get stopped. He paused long enough to catch his breath and readjust her position…and in the closeness of the hall, the quiet fragrance of gardenias sneaked up on him, unaware. Without meaning to, his nose followed the scent to the underside of her elbow and the creamy white skin, which, he suspected, could entice a man to bury his lips in its satin smoothness over any and all objections.

  In the curve of his shoulder, Hallie’s warm sigh tickled the back of his neck, setting off a fine network of unsettling responses he’d just as soon not recognize. His heart was set on winning the heart of Stephanie Brewster, had been since Jack had introduced them several months ago during her visit to their tour headquarters in the Amazon. If he’d had more time to spend with her then, Rik was confident she wouldn’t be planning to ‘ marry Jack on Saturday. She didn’t love Jack and he didn’t love her and Rik knew he could have changed her mind for good about trophy husbands. But no matter. He’d already mapped out the future he wanted. Stephanie was the perfect woman for him, no doubt about it.

  Reaching his door at last, Rik braced Hallie against the wall and lowered her to the floor. When she was sitting by the door, leaning like the Tower of Pisa against the narrow doorjamb, he straightened and shoved his hand into his pocket to retrieve his room key.

  The card slipped into the slot and the red light flashed before he remembered that he had the key to Hallie’s room on the fourteenth floor. She had dropped the key to his room down the front of her dress. He looked at her, limp as a rag doll at his feet, her honey brown hair only a shade darker than his sun gold skin. His gaze slipped to the rounded slope of her breasts and the hint of cleavage visible just below the demure neckline of her dress. With a guilty glance up and down the hall, he stooped in front of her and eased his hand beneath the row of buttons on her bodice. The things a regular guy had to do to be a hero, he thought. Sometimes it was hell, but once in a while, it wasn’t too bad.

  It was just a crying shame he was too much of a gentleman to tell Jack about this. Over their years together, first in the NFL and then in the Amazon, he and Keaton had swapped a lot of tales. Some true, some not. Their friendship had been forged from common goals and uncommon trust Neither one of them ever felt the obligation to confess he lied through his teeth about sexual conquests. They’d both known that under the circumstances—jungle humidity, infrequent female companionship and a clientele too often composed of raunchy, adventure-seeking men—honesty was admirable but didn’t do a thing for the male ego.

  So, here he was, his hand moving cautiously between a very nice pair of breasts, and there wasn’t a man anywhere on the island, least of all his best friend, who’d ever believe he was simply searching for a credit-cardsize key. A key, he realized a moment later, that was not where he’d seen her put it

  Rik sat back on his heels and frowned at the disheveled state of Hallie’s dress, the smudge of a shadow where her lashes touched her cheek, and the sweetly discontented pout on her lips. This was getting damn embarrassing, he thought, and pushed his hand further down the front of her dress. Where in the hell was that key?

  At the far end of the hall, a door opened and a housekeeping cart trundled into view, pushed by a young woman who looked about twelve but was undoubtedly older. Her long brown ponytail swung freely as she pushed the cart down the carpeted hall toward Rik and Hallie. Guiltily, Rik jerked his hand back, trying to get free of Hallie’s bosom, but a string of some kind snagged on his fingernail. He flicked at it with his thumb, aware of the approach of the housekeeping cart and the odd appearance he was certain he presented. Grabbing Hallie’s elbow, he hauled her against him as if he were giving her a hug. She roused enough to flop her arm over his shoulder before her head fell forward onto his chest. The cart rolled to a stop a few feet away.

  Hoping the housekeeper wouldn’t notice that his hand was buried awkwardly between Hallie’s breasts, Rik looked over his shoulder as the brown ponytail swayed toward a door on the other side of the hall. “We’re locked out,’ he said conversationally. “Could you open the door for us?”

  Ponytail turned, her brown eyes openly skeptical, her dubious smile revealing a gap between her front teeth. “Ten-twelve?” she asked.

  He nodded, thinking if she’d just help him get Hallie inside, he’d tuck a fifty-dollar bill under that ponytail holder. “My, uh…she…” He patted Hallie’s back as if the girl might not know who he meant. “She forgot where she put the key.”

  “Don’t you have one?”

  Valid question. “Can’t get to it,” he answered, knowing exactly how lame that sounded. “To tell the truth, she’s not feeling very well. Not enough sleep last night, you know, and I really hate to wake her.”

  The brown eyes gauged the situation and Rik hoped it didn’t look as bad from her angle as it did from his. “I can’t open a room for you, but I can call security,” she said. “I’ll warn you, though, we’re very shorthanded, and with the computers down, it might be faster to get another key at the desk.” She picked up a stack of fluffy white towels and placed them below the Do Not Disturb sign hanging from the doorknob of the room across the hall. Then she took hold of the cart’s handle and pushed past Hallie’s outstretched legs. “Newlyweds,” she muttered as she passed, her ponytail bobbing in a nothing-surprises-me-anymore message.

  “So much for diplomacy.” Rik waited until the cart turned at the far corner of the hall before easing Hallie into her Raggedy Ann slump against the doorjamb again. He glanced up and down the hall before making another attempt to disengage his snagged hand and locate the card key. She sighed in her sleep, and the arm still draped over his shoulder curled companionably around his neck. His fingers fumbled beneath the satinsoft fabric of her bra, and her low, throaty growl startled him. He drew back, but her eyes were still closed and her breathing slow and deep. Whatever her dreams, he thought, she seemed satisfied with them. He’d be satisfied, too, if only he could get his hands on that key and get out of this hallway.

  P
lanting his body weight on his knees, Rik thrust his hand further down the opening of her dress until he reached the smooth, even surface of her stomach. Nothing there, obviously. But he should probably run his palm over her skin a couple more times, just to make sure. Conscience slapped him on the wrist the way his fifth-grade teacher had when she caught him with his dad’s Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition.

  Never mind the fact that he had a perfectly legitimate reason to have his hand down Hallie’s dress. Never mind that if he didn’t find the key, they were both going to end up in the hotel security office, trying to explain this public display of affection. Never mind, even, that she was sound asleep and would never know if he took advantage of this tempting opportunity to “cop a feel.” He still felt guilty for having thought about it and he hated feeling guilty. It wasn’t as if he were doing anything wrong, after all. He was trying to save Hallie’s reputation. Get her into a room where she could sleep off the effects of the tequila and stay out of Babs Brewster’s firing range. Sinking back on his heels, he began slowly to wiggle his hand in a renewed and ninetyeight-percent-impersonal search.

  When the lock clicked on the door across the hall, Rik jumped a foot and twisted around—whacking his elbow against the door frame, sending a sharp pain from his funny bone into his shoulder and causing a jerk that ripped every button from the front of Hallie’s bodice. He grasped the edges of her dress to preserve her dignity—and his own—but by the time he got situated and prepared to explain his predicament if necessary, the door behind him closed again. He glanced back to see the Do Not Disturb sign swinging back and forth on the doorknob. The stack of clean towels had disappeared, leaving in their place a round, room service tray on which sat a champagne bottle, three-quarters full, and four foil-wrapped chocolates, unopened.

  A sudden pressure on his neck brought him back to the problem in his arms. Hallie was awake, the irises of her hazel eyes dilated, her lids drooping sleepily. “Hello there, handsome,” she said in a husky whisper. “I’d like a kiss, please.”

  Rik blinked, his gaze drawn to the seductive curve of her lips. “A kiss?”

  Her corroborating nod was damned certain and, under the circumstances, it seemed pointless to argue, so he bent his head and kissed her. Her soft “Oh!” might have been surprise or pleasure. He couldn’t tell and was frankly too surprised himself to care. Her pouty lips translated into a delightful, wholly kissable mouth, and while he’d meant to leave her with a peck, he found it wasn’t that simple to pull away. With her arms looped around his neck, and the entirely unexpected sweetness of her hesitant response, he thoroughly enjoyed the moment and was in no hurry to have it end. So it was something of a jolt when she shoved him back, rocking him off balance and sending him scooting on his butt to the middle of the hallway.

  “What kind of thank-you is that?” he demanded.

  “An I’ll-thank-you-to-keep-your-lips-to-yourself,” she said with a dusting of her hands.

  “You asked for it”

  She frowned at him. “I asked for a piece of candy and you took ad—advantage.”

  “You asked for a kiss.”

  “Yes.” Her answer slid right in the direction she pointed—to the tray beneath the Do Not Disturb sign. “A candy kiss.”

  He couldn’t believe she had looked into his eyes so seductively and asked for a piece of candy. “You wanted chocolate?”

  “I’m hungry.”

  “You’re hungry,” he repeated, more irritated than he cared to admit. “And you want someone else’s candy?”

  She just looked at him, obviously confused about everything except those four foil-wrapped candy kisses. With a sigh, he pushed the tray across the carpet to her and watched as she meticulously, laboriously unwrapped each bit of chocolate and lined them up on her palm. “My tongue feels funny,” she said. “I think I ate too many peanuts.” She put two of the candies in her mouth at once and chewed them thoughtfully. “You didn’t slip a mickey in my drink, did you?”

  “I gave you exactly what you asked for.”

  “I asked for water.”

  “And that’s what I gave you.”

  She frowned, and Rik could all but see the wheels of her brain trying to concoct a lucid memory. Leaning her head back against the doorjamb, she picked up the champagne bottle, swiped her palm across the open mouth of it and took a swig. She choked, coughed and coughed some more, until he moved closer and thumped her between the shoulder blades. “That isn’t water,” he said.

  “I know that.”

  “Do you also know where the room key is?”

  “What room key? My room key? I would think it’s in my briefcase.” She glanced around. “Where is my briefcase?”

  “You left it in the bar, but I wouldn’t go down there now if I were you. Besides, I happen to know your room key isn’t there.”

  “Then where is it, if you’re so smart?”

  “You put it down your bra.”

  Sputtering a little, she wobbled her head from side to side. “I did no such a…such thing.”

  Far down the hall and around a corner, the elevator dinged, announcing its arrival on the tenth floor. “I don’t see how you can think about your stomach at a time like this, Dan. There was something very familiar about that woman Rik had slung over his shoulder and I mean to find out who she is.”

  The voice belonged to Babs Brewster. Rik recognized it right off, even though he’d only just become acquainted with that clipped, regal style and unmistakably determined tone. Hell, he thought, the only thing between Hallie and certain disaster was the laundry cart and maybe two minutes. “We’ve got to get out of sight,” he whispered urgently as he looked for a means of escape.

  “I’m not moving until I feel better,” Hallie stated as she ate the third candy kiss. Holding the champagne bottle at a distance, she squinted and read aloud, “Made from the finest grapes in the Napa Valley, this sparkling champagne is our finest—” With a gasp, she clutched the bottle to her chest. “This is champagne,” she said, aghast “I took a drink of champagne.”

  “Don’t worry. I doubt your stomach will notice.” In one dedicated movement, he was on his feet and bending to lift her into his arms, chocolate kiss, champagne bottle and all.

  “What are you doing?” she asked as he scooped her up and headed for the red Exit sign at the end of the hallway.

  “Trying to save you from disaster.” He shouldered his way into the stairwell and started up the stairs.

  “My hero,” Hallie said on a sigh. “What kind of disaster is it? A dragon on the loose? A hurricane out of control?”

  “Just plain old disaster, spelled B-a-b-s.”

  “Babs? Babs Brewster?”

  “Ah, I see you remember her.”

  “What’s she doing in here? I thought I was just having a bad dream.”

  That rankled, but Rik kept moving…past the eleventh-floor landing and the twelfth. His breathing was getting faster and harder to control, and Hallie wasn’t even heavy. As a hero, he was sadly out of shape.

  “Did we…did I…did you kiss me?” she asked uncertainly.

  He paused to look at her. “You’re confusing me with your appetite for chocolate candy kisses.”

  Her gaze stayed with his for a moment before she shook her head. “I never eat chocolate,” she told him as she popped the last piece of candy into her mouth. “It’s addictive.”

  “Really.” He adjusted her weight in his arms and headed up the final flight of stairs to the fourteenth-floor landing. “I suppose you never drink champagne, either.”

  “Of course not” She held up the bottle and admired its sparkle. “I bathe in it,” she said, before upending the bottle and dousing them both in champagne.

  Chapter Three

  The best Hallie could tell, she’d swallowed poison, she was dead, and this was hell.

  Even if there hadn’t been something covering her eyes, she didn’t think she wanted to open them and confirm her suspicions…as if the awful t
aste in her mouth wasn’t confirmation enough. A look around would mean moving her head, and she was absolutely certain that wouldn’t be wise. There was an unholy pounding in her brain and she couldn’t feel her feet or her hands. Wait, maybe that prickly tingling in her fingers meant they were still at the end of her hands. Lifting the little finger of her right hand, she rubbed it against something smooth and soft. That was good. Her tactile senses were still operative. She could smell, too. A rather delicate overall scent of flowers. Gardenias, she thought. Her favorite. And other exotic, beautiful fragrances…which pretty much ruled out the hell theory. There was the unmistakably perky scent of coffee, too.

  Okay, so she wasn’t dead. Moving very, very slowly, she trailed her hand toward her head, trying to use as few muscles as possible on the journey. Her fingertips brushed her thigh, hip, stomach, breast, neck—naked all, beneath a cover as smooth and soft as the one beneath her. The name wound its way through the pounding surf inside her brain. Sheets.

  Hallie exhaled softly. She was in bed. The floral bouquet of scents must mean she was in bed in Hawaii, because her Boston apartment didn’t smell like this. She struggled to identify the sounds around her, but the constant roar of the ocean defeated her efforts. Wait a minute. Ocean? She was supposed to have a room on the other side of the hotel. She’d called ahead, specifically to make sure of that But there it was. Waves crashing, beating the shore senseless. Had the hotel booked her into the wrong room?

  In a collage of indiscriminate and oddly shaped images, she remembered…Kimo, bad hair, lost luggage, the Paradise Bar, peanuts, vitamins and tequila. Not necessarily in that order, and with no clue as to how she’d gotten her clothes off and herself into this bed. Lifting the corner of the pillow covering her eyes, she forced her eyelids up. Light burst through her skull as if from an interrogation lamp, and with a groan she slapped the pillow back into place.