Penthouse Suite

by Sandra Chastain

  Kate reluctantly turned back to the hotel. She had work to do, work that would help her gain perspective by taking her mind off the man in the penthouse suite.

  Down the beach, Max was carrying on a conversation with himself as he ran, something he never did. He always felt that if a thing was important enough to do, it deserved his full attention. But today his running was automatic, and his conversation was turning into an argument.

  “I need some fresh air,” Max’s logical self said with determination, “some exercise, that’s all. It’s just as Dorothea says, ‘a man can’t spend all his time with computers and finances without getting spooky.’

  “She’s a handyman, Maxwell,” he argued. “She probably thinks that you’re some kind of pervert, running around nude, practically undressing her in the elevator.

  “Maybe,” his proper self countered. “But she’s honest, stood right up to you. Not many women do that. And you haven’t been able to get her out of your mind. You almost kissed her. You wanted to kiss her. No, what you wanted to do was make love to her there in the hotel elevator, for heaven’s sake.” He ran on, his feet pounding on the damp sand.

  “An employee, Maxwell, old man,” Max argued, remembering how her brown eyes had sparkled with mischief. “A plumber, and she knew what she was doing. Once she has uniforms that fit, she’ll be—” He stopped cold. He couldn’t even argue logically with himself. Kate was an employee, and the bottom line was that he’d made a rule never to take a personal interest in an employee.

  “Sure, Max, but you know your own rule—take a careful look, examine the potential, and don’t let an opportunity get away from you. What you have to decide is whether Kate is an opportunity or simply a challenge.”

  He started off again, more slowly now that he’d stated his problem logically. If he could only come to a logical decision about how he was going to take a careful look without being burned, he’d be halfway to solving the problem.

  Logic? That was a laugh. For a man who prided himself on keeping a schedule, he’d forgotten all about his plans for the evening after he’d met her. He wasn’t sure that anybody would believe that he’d missed an appointment because of a feisty, brown-eyed maintenance worker.

  He wasn’t sure that he believed it, either.

  There were two other maintenance workers on the day staff. They viewed Kate’s employment with suspicion in the beginning, so she stepped back, allowing them to set the pace. The fact that she repaired the shimmy in the hotel dryer that had stymied her fellow maintenance men was a fact she kept to herself.

  With no pressing duties, Kate volunteered her services to the head housekeeper. As a maid, Kate was quickly accepted. Being a maid was ‘woman’s work,’ and she settled into the routine of stripping the beds, cleaning the rooms, and feeding soiled laundry into the huge washers.

  The monotony of the chores was a blessing, for Kate couldn’t keep her mind from straying back to the man in the penthouse. Never before had her thoughts been so filled by a man. Every time she stepped into the elevator, she found herself secretly hoping that he’d be inside. Every trip held a kind of intense suspense. Would he or wouldn’t he remember his promise of further discussion later? And when was later?

  Shortly after noon there was a lull in activity, and Kate dropped into the employee dining area to have lunch. So far, what she’d done didn’t seem like work, and in spite of her dilemma, she felt a lift in her step that made her hum out loud. Every so often she forced herself to stop and examine her facial expression, fearful that she was grinning foolishly at nothing.

  Kate had finished her seafood salad when the day manager, Helen Stevens, rushed into the dining room with a frantic look on her face.

  “Kate, you need to get changed. I’ve been so busy that I forgot to tell you. You’re to meet Mrs. Jarrett in the garage in half an hour. You’ve been released to her for the remainder of the day and evening, and you have tomorrow off.”

  “But I don’t understand. What about my work?”

  “Kate, you’ve already done more work last night and today than most of the crew does in a week. Besides, if Mrs. Jarrett needs you, everything else can wait.”

  Kate’s protest that she didn’t have anything suitable to wear went unanswered. Thirty minutes later, she covered her hair with a short-brimmed black hat, donned a pair of black linen tailored slacks and a plain white blouse, and left her room.

  All I need is a tommy gun, and I’ll look like the Godfather, Kate decided as she moved toward the garage. She hoped this excursion wouldn’t take too long.

  A short time later, Kate realized that unless she allowed Mrs. Jarrett to lend her the money for a dinner dress, they were likely to be there until the next week. After pushing Mrs. Jarrett through every exclusive dress shop along the Carnival Strip, Kate finally gave up and let Dorothea select a dinner gown for her. Following that ordeal, she was held hostage for two hours by a scissors-wielding blonde Viking, André the Giant, who cut and styled her hair.

  Afterward she was turned over to a female version of André who created a new face for Kate. But Kate drew the line at having artificial fingernails attached to her own ragged ones. She was a maintenance worker, and those plastic things would last about five minutes. They reached a compromise with a manicure and clear polish.

  Finally, Kate was allowed to view the finished product. She was thunderstruck. The dark-haired woman facing her in the mirror was stunningly alive and mysterious.

  “I can’t believe that’s me,” she whispered softly.

  “It’s you all right, girl. Now let’s go home and get ready for that dinner party.”

  “I don’t understand why you’ve gone to all this trouble just so that I can act as your companion for the evening. Probably nobody there would have noticed me.”

  “You’ll be noticed all right. I may be a wildcatter, but I don’t drill dust holes.”

  “If you wanted my help, fine. But all this wasn’t necessary.”

  “Well, let’s just say that I’m a meddling old woman, Kate. You remind me of myself a long time ago. Humor me, will you?”

  All the way back to the hotel and up to her room, Mrs. Jarrett was quiet. She seemed lost in thought, and Kate didn’t press the elderly woman. She was probably just trying to get her nephew’s attention because she was lonely. She’d done Kate a good turn, and Kate couldn’t be rude. What difference could it make? She’d go.

  Kate stepped into the empty elevator and headed for her room. In her mind, she could see Max in his skimpy bathing suit standing there next to her.

  She groaned. Her mother had never told her that there’d be days like this. And the night was yet to come.

  Kate looked at herself in the mirror. The dress that Dorothea had chosen was unlike anything Kate had ever owned. The clinging blue-green garment was held at the shoulders by two mother-of-pearl shells and draped gracefully over her breasts. The resulting V-neckline would have been outrageous were it not for a silver swatch of transparent material that covered it. There was no back to the dress. The slim underskirt was slit to the thigh, revealing a scandalous expanse of bare flesh.

  The hairdresser had swept her hair back behind one ear and caught it there with an alabaster shell. From the moment she’d looked in the mirror, she’d felt a strange surge of excitement. There was an aura about her that seemed to whisper of the unknown. At five minutes of eight, Kate applied fresh lipstick, a hint of fragrance, and left her room before she changed her mind and fled into the night.

  Through the lobby and into the elevator she marched, determined to explain to Mrs. Jarrett her misgivings about the coming evening. She felt like a con artist involved in some great scam. This was a mistake. She’d just have to be very firm and explain that she was an employee, and the gown wasn’t appropriate for a companion.

  “Fiddlesticks, my dear. Lucy always dresses as if she were an invited guest. Clothes are one of the perks of her job,” Dorothea told Kate moments later.

  “But
I’m not Lucy, and I’m certainly not an invited guest. I wear a uniform. I’m a plumber, for heaven’s sake, Dorothea.”

  “If I’d wanted a uniformed companion, I’d have hired a police officer. You’re perfect. Every man at the party will want to make love to you.” Dorothea Jarrett clapped her hands in glee. “Particularly my nephew. I feel just like Henry Higgins.”

  “I hate to ask, but what makes you think that your nephew will be remotely interested in me? I’m certainly no Eliza Doolittle.”

  “Oh, but you are. You’re like me, Kate. You’re a real flesh-and-blood woman, not some cardboard character with ice water in her veins.”

  “Ice water?” Max Sorrenson flashed immediately into Kate’s mind. Too bad the bossman couldn’t step onto the elevator and see her as she looked tonight. Get real, Kate, she told herself. Max Sorrenson probably wouldn’t have recognized her anyway.

  “Let’s hit the road, Kate, my girl. We’re going to cause a bigger fire than Mrs. O’Leary’s cow. If I don’t miss my guess, there’ll be a hot time in the old town tonight.”

  Eliza Doolittle, Mrs. O’Leary’s cow, and a reclusive nephew about to be shook up. Five minutes with Dorothea Jarrett, and Kate’s head was whirling. There was a nagging thought that she was missing something important in what Dorothea had just said.

  Kate pushed the wheelchair into the elevator and took a good look at her companion’s outfit, privately agreeing that the purple gown with the feather boa might cause a riot.

  Mrs. Jarrett caught her expression and winked. “I know. It looks like something Mae West might have worn, doesn’t it? Why do they think that old ladies and hookers wear only purple? Personally, I’d rather have red sequins or pink satin. I saw a wonderful black satin bodysuit with an overblouse. They’re ordering it for me in cerise.”

  The elevator started up. “Sorry, Mrs. Jarrett, I forgot to hit the button. Where are we going?”

  “Call me Dorothea, and we’re there.”

  The door was opening.

  “But this is the penthouse. Max Sorrenson, the hotel owner, lives here.”

  “He certainly does.”

  “But … your nephew might not mind, but what will Mr. Sorrenson think about you bringing me along?”

  “But, Kate, I thought you knew,” Dorothea said with a wicked glint in her eyes. “Max Sorrenson is my nephew.”

  Three

  Any hopes Kate might have had of hovering innocently in the background were dashed when they left the elevator and Max’s dark eyes locked onto her like laser beams. The force of his gaze was a frightening assault on her senses, and she held onto Mrs. Jarrett’s wheelchair, using it as a shield before her.

  “Hello, my love,” Max Sorrenson’s words were for Mrs. Jarrett, but his attention was on Kate until he was directly before them.

  After a pregnant moment of silence he dropped his glance affectionately to his aunt, freeing Kate from the numbing inertia that had engulfed her.

  He was leaning over, holding his aunt’s hands tenderly as she chattered an answer to a question that Kate hadn’t heard. Kate had known that accompanying Mrs. Jarrett would be a bad idea. She just hadn’t known how bad.

  Why wasn’t he saying something? Was it possible that he didn’t recognize her? He’d only seen her in coveralls, looking like something the cat dragged in. Tonight her appearance was very different. Tonight she was different. Dorothea had seen to that. But she was still a hotel employee masquerading as a guest.

  Kate wanted desperately to step back into the waiting elevator and head down to a level where her breath would be even once more. The feeling was so compelling that she made an involuntary backward motion, the faint suggestion of movement invoking a quick retort from Mrs. Jarrett.

  “Forward, Kate. We’re attacking, not retreating.”

  “Attacking? What is this, dear aunt, some grand adventure you’re planning? If so, I insist on being allowed to take part.”

  Grand adventure? He knew. He remembered what she’d said about her life’s goal. There was no doubt about it, he recognized her. Any minute now he’d expose her. She’d be embarrassed. Dorothea would be embarrassed. She had to figure out some way to make a quiet exit—fast.

  “Of course, nephew. We wouldn’t think of leaving you behind. You might say that you’re smack dab in the middle of our adventure.”

  Kate groaned. It wasn’t bad enough that Dorothea agreed. She’d made him the focus of the situation. Dorothea couldn’t have made it any plainer that she was dangling Kate before him.

  Max Sorrenson drew back and stopped, trying to keep a stern expression on his face. It wouldn’t do to let his aunt know that he was glad to see Kate. Dorothea had hinted recently that she was going to find a woman for him. He ought to be angry at her meddling. He could tell her that he and Kate were already acquainted, but why spoil what promised to be an exciting evening?

  All day he’d wandered around the hotel, trying unsuccessfully to run into Kate Weston accidentally. And here she was, in his apartment, looking as if she’d like to disappear in a cloud of smoke.

  Of course he’d recognized Kate immediately. But her new look had thrown him. Skillfully applied makeup had turned eyes that had sparkled with fire into dark orbs of mystery. The same dark hair that had dried into a feathered crown was now swept exotically back from her face on one side and caught by a shell comb. She’d been beautiful before. But tonight she seemed to shimmer with magic.

  It occurred to him briefly that the rescue, the job, and their meeting might all have been part of a plan by his diabolical aunt. If something bizarre happened, he could always count on Dorothea being at the center of the occurrence. The fact that his aunt had managed to avoid him for the past two days added fuel to the fire. For once he didn’t care. He was more than willing to play along.

  Still, he was surprised at Kate’s complicity. Her appearance as a guest at his dinner party seemed out of character. He would have bet that the woman he’d seen on her hands and knees in his bathroom was incapable of deception. He would also wager that she was an innocent victim of Dorothea’s maneuvering.

  Kate moistened her lips uneasily with her tongue. Disaster was at hand. Max was openly appraising her. Her pulse fluttered unevenly as she forced herself to meet his gaze.

  She hadn’t known that Max was Dorothea’s nephew, but, looking back, the connection should have been obvious. If she hadn’t been so preoccupied, she’d have put it all together. But she knew now and she had to break the tension. Kate tilted her head and gave him her most challenging smile. Let him open, as Dorothea would say, “the can of worms.”

  Max returned her smile. He’d expected the evening to be the usual boring dinner party. Suddenly it had become intriguing. He’d play along with the charade until he could find out what Dorothea was up to. He didn’t want to spoil her fun, he told himself, knowing that his excuse was a lie.

  “And do I know your partner in crime, Aunt Dorothea?”

  “Perhaps, perhaps not,” Mrs. Jarrett said airily, an unmistakable sparkle shining in her soft blue eyes.

  “I’m sure I would remember if we’d met before,” Max said, “I have a good memory for faces.”

  Faces? Kate didn’t answer. It wasn’t a face that flashed through her memory. It was a nude body that made her muscles contract and her chest constrict.

  Tonight Max was fully clothed. He was wearing a black dinner jacket that emphasized his broad shoulders, tapered waist, and the dark hair curling against the neck of his starched white pleated shirt. He’d gone from Playgirl centerfold to Esquire model in a matter of hours. Yuppie of the decade. Everything about him was perfectly coordinated, even down to—she glanced at his feet—his polished black dress shoes.

  He caught her eye and nodded. He knew exactly what she’d been thinking. It was time that she swallowed the lump in her throat and let him know that she could play his game too. She wouldn’t have been here if she’d known. But here she was, and there was no way she was going to back do
wn to Max Sorrenson.

  Their forward progress had stopped in the foyer, just outside the living room filled with people who were staring at them curiously. She’d heard enough to know how private Max was. He wouldn’t welcome her confession before his guests even if she’d been inclined to make it. Harassment went two ways, she decided. It was her turn to have a little fun.

  “I don’t know,” Kate murmured disinterestedly, “I meet so many people in my line of work. It does seem to me that we’ve met. I just can’t recall where.”

  “Maybe I look like someone you know, some television star,” Max commented in amusement. “I’ve been told that I remind people of some young hunk.”

  “Max!” Dorothea scolded. “Where are your manners? Is this some kind of game you’re playing?”

  “I thought you told me your nephew was a stuffy, uptight, lonely man. I think he’s quite … interesting,” Kate said, easily reading the hidden meaning of their conversation.

  “Oh? And what else have you concluded about me?”

  “That you’re a man who knows how to dress. By the way, I like your shoes. They do match your outfit very well.” Dorothea twisted her head slightly and glanced back at Kate.

  This time Max couldn’t conceal his delight. Fine. They were on the same wavelength. The only person not aware of the current flashing between them was Dorothea, and from the curious look on her face, he thought she might be a little suspicious. Dorothea had gone quiet, too quiet and too content to be left out of their conversation.

  “You have a lovely apartment, Max … I mean Mr. Sorrenson.” Kate glanced around.

  “It looked quite different last night, when it was ankle-deep in water,” he said coolly. “But I’m pleased you like it Ms …? What did you say your name was?”