One Wild Night

by Melissa Cutler

  “Good. The spell is working. I told you, mija. All you had to do was believe in it.”

  “Like I’m Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz?” The power was in her the whole time, and all she had to do was believe in it?

  “Just call me the Good Witch Glenda,” her mom said with a smile.

  Skye loved moments like this when she could joke with her mom. When her dad’s back pain was stable enough for her mom to let down her defenses and relax a little, she even made a joke sometimes. And ever since Skye had agreed to the spell, her bond with her mom had seemed to strengthen. For that reason alone, Skye was so glad she’d given up the fight and agreed to it, even if it’d turned her life into a zombie movie—except with eligible bachelors instead of actual zombies. Close enough.

  The radios they used to communicate with their staff beeped in unison from their desks. “Skye or Yessica, are either of you in the office? It’s Laura.”

  Skye was the first to reach for her radio. “This is Skye. What’s up, Laura?”

  “I’m only on my second villa and I’m already wiped out of Jack Daniels and Johnny Walker Black. These country music people must be crazy about their whiskey. Any chance you could swing through with more so I can stay on schedule?”

  If only Polished Pros got a cut of the tabs from the minibar. Skye might have to contest that point when their contract with Briscoe Ranch came up for renewal. “No problem. I’m on my way.”

  Laura was right to radio in that request. With forty employees and hundreds of rooms and suites to clean every day, the more Skye kept her ladies on schedule during their shifts, the better their operation ran. So far, this bunch of country music people weren’t as bad as other groups of musicians the resort had hosted, but the real test would come that night during and after the wedding they were all in town for.

  Skye didn’t know the first thing about country music except what she heard as background noise in restaurants or when she flipped past the country station on the radio in search of her Top 40s or classic R&B stations. But this weekend’s guests had been so unexpectedly pleasant that she might have to give it another listen sometime. Maybe she’d even duck into the reception that night to listen to the live band that was going to be playing, according to the people talking in the break room.

  Ten minutes later, she was walking along the sidewalk that ran between Lake Bandit and the villas, the box of mini bottles she carried jangling with every step, when Annika stuck her head out of another villa and called her name.

  “Skye!” She hissed in a harsh whisper, as though she was trying to keep it on the down low. Her eyes scanned the sidewalk all around Skye as though to make sure the coast was clear. “Come check this out.”

  “Just a sec. Let me deliver these to Laura in Villa Three.”

  Laura stuck her head out of the door next, looking both ways just as Annika had. “I’m here too. You’ve got to see this.” She said it all from behind her teeth, without moving her lips.

  What was up with the sneakiness? As if the housekeeping staff was trespassing or something. The honest truth was that, after a lifetime spent in the housekeeping industry, nothing that anyone could find in a hotel room would surprise Skye anymore. She’d seen it all. “Don’t tell me there’s a celebrity passed out in there. It’s none of our business, and I don’t care.”

  “It’s better,” Annika said.

  “Is another duck trapped behind the fridge? Because seeing that once was enough for me. Call maintenance if that’s the case.”

  “Just get in here!”

  Skye faked a look all around her like Annika and Laura had, then tiptoed into the villa, hamming it up. Nothing wrong with a bit of fun. “Is this a musician’s villa too?” she asked in a lowered voice as she transferred the whiskey minis to Laura’s arms.

  “Yeah,” Laura said. “Gentry Wells.”

  There was a reverence in Laura’s tone, but Skye had never heard of the guy. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

  Laura smacked her shoulder. “Are you kidding me? He’s … he’s…” She flexed, hands hovering in front of her chest, as though to indicate bulging pectorals and biceps. “He’s hella hot. And he sings these really racy country songs that just … mmm … you’ll have to Google him. Better yet, type in ‘Gentry Wells on a motorcycle.’”

  Motorcycles. Now Laura had her attention. The only thing better than a midnight horseback ride was a late-night motorcycle ride—all the thrills, no men required. What a motto. Come to think of it, why didn’t she own a motorcycle? As soon as she was out of this Gentry guy’s villa and her arms were free of minis, she’d have to look him up. And maybe pay a visit to her local Harley dealer.

  “Look, you two. This is what you had to see, even though it’s a little lost on you, Skye, since you’ve never heard of him.” Annika appeared in the bathroom doorway with a pair of bright pink bikini briefs pinched between her rubber gloved fingers. “Check. These. Out.”

  Laura gasped. “Did he have a booty call last night? I mean, he broke up with Cheyanne last year, so he’s on the market…”

  Annika wrinkled her nose. “I think they’re men’s.”

  With a gasp, Laura gave the briefs the side-eye and walked over for a closer look.

  So this guy had a thing for underwear that was … pretty. While Skye appreciated that the occasional guest-related oddity reinvigorated the staff and helped them breeze through the afternoon grind, there was a line in the sand that had been crossed here. Details of a guest’s romantic life were strictly none of their business. Especially given the high-profile status of this particular guest combined with all that paparazzi that was buzzing around this weekend.

  Oh, how they’d love to get a load of a story. Skye could see it now, how they’d use the bikini briefs to stir up rumors that a motorcycle-riding, bad-boy country star was gay. She’d seen enough of those stories on the tabloid stands at the supermarket. But, a story like that would also trace back to housekeeping, which would be ruinous for Skye’s business.

  Skye shook her head. “Uh-huh. Nope. We are not going to stand around and comment on our guest’s underwear. It’s unprofessional and you both know better than that. Please don’t tell me you found those by digging in the dresser drawers.”

  “Oh, come on. It’s just a little fun. He’s busy with a band rehearsal in the ballroom for Natalie Blevins’ wedding reception tonight. And I didn’t snoop. You know I’d never do that. These were on the bathroom floor. I had no choice but to move them. Plus, this is Gentry Wells. The Gentry Wells. Mr. Well Hung. And he’s got a bright pink sausage sling.”

  “Mr. Well Hung? That’s his nickname?” Between that and the motorcycle, she was definitely Googling this guy the first chance she got.

  “It’s a song he sings, so everyone just assumes there’s some truth behind it. That’s what I want to believe, anyway,” Laura said. “You mean, you’ve never heard it?”

  Skye didn’t bother searching her mental database for it. “I think I’d remember that one.”

  “The song makes total sense now because these have got a big ol’ bulge in them.” Annika reached back into the bathroom, then dropped at least three shampoo minis into the underwear. “See? Extra roomy.”

  Laura gasped and bit her lip. “Oh, my Lord. The prophecy is true.”

  Skye stifled a laugh. It really was a funny discovery, given that the guy had a song about being well endowed. But rules were rules. “I’m serious, you two. This is not cool. We had our fun, and now it’s time to put them back exactly where you found them. Oh, and I don’t think I need to remind you to keep your lips sealed about this. If I see an image of these … these … sausage slings, or whatever you called them, on Facebook or on TMZ, I’ll know who to—”

  Laura looked past Skye and her face paled. “Gentry Wells,” she breathed.

  Out of the corner of Skye’s eye, she watched Annika toss the underwear behind her back into the bathroom, the mini shampoos clattering when they hit the marble floor.

 
; Skye spun around, too mortified to do anything but open her mouth and gasp, her eyes on the man standing in the doorway.

  Laura nudged Skye in the ribs. “That’s him. That’s Gentry Wells.”

  What the actual, ever-living hell?

  The mysterious stable boy. The best kiss she’d had in years. The hotel guest she’d been planning to rendezvous with again that night against company policy and maybe even take their make-out session far beyond another scorching kiss.

  In the light of day, he was just as sexy, just as chiseled and edgy with all those tattoos and the guitar slung on his back and those worn-out jeans that fit him just right. Of course, he rode a motorcycle. Everything about him oozed wicked, wanton danger—the kind of danger any woman would dream of getting into. She would have never guessed that he was a famous country rock star, but it fit.

  She had been right about one thing last night, though. He was definitely not part of her mom’s spell. Not in any way, shape, or form.

  The expression on his face was unreadable, down to his Mona Lisa smile. “I prefer the term banana hammock, actually.”

  Skye’s heart whooshed down through her body like an out-of-control elevator and landed in her legs. He’d seen them playing with his underwear. Oh God. “This is impossible,” she whispered.

  His jaw rippled. “Hello, Skye.”

  “Hi” was all she could think to say in return.

  “You know him?” Laura and Annika blurted in unison.

  “You’re a maid?” he asked, ignoring the other women’s outburst.

  It took Skye a few tries of opening and closing her mouth before she’d processed his question enough to answer. “Housekeeping manager. And you’re a singer. The guitar makes sense now.” She blinked rapidly. “A lot of things make sense now.”

  Such as why he hadn’t wanted to tell her his name. All it took was thinking about Annika’s and Laura’s reactions to his underwear to know why. Nothing about his lifestyle was private. He probably rarely got to just be a regular guy—just a guy you found mucking stalls.

  Then again, what if the reason he’d wanted to remain anonymous was less noble? What if the bikini briefs belonged to a lover? A stab of jealousy sliced through her at the notion that she might not have been the only person he’d locked lips with last night. She wanted him all to herself.

  Don’t go there, girl. He didn’t owe her anything, especially his fidelity.

  “We didn’t mean any harm with the underwear.”

  “I didn’t take it as such.” He lifted the guitar strap over his head, then propped the instrument up between a table and the wall, then he crossed his arms over his chest and gave her a pointed look. “Something tells me you still don’t know who I am, now that you know my name.”

  No matter who he was in real life, he was still the same guy she’d made out with the night before, which garnered a lady certain privileges, such as not gushing over his celebrity status. Easy to do since she had no clue who he was. On top of that, Gentry hadn’t wanted her to know who he really was, so why make a thing out of it? She shrugged. “Country’s not my style.”

  “That’s a shame. Here I was thinking you and I were really hitting it off.”

  “I guess not.” She loved that they weren’t. He was definitely not part of the curse, which meant none of this counted. Like how eating broken cookie bits made them calorie-free.

  Laura nudged her with a tsk. Common wisdom held true that it was poor form to not gush about how impressive a man or his career was, but Skye didn’t think that would play very well with the stable boy—er, Gentry. What an odd name. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Shoot.”

  “The underwear—”

  “The banana hammock,” he corrected with a wink and a smile.

  “Right. Does it belong to you? Or your lover?” She might not have any hold on him, but she refused to be “the other woman,” if that was the case. So, she figured, might as well get that out of the way if she hoped to make out with him again that night. If he still wanted to, given that she now knew who he was and he’d seen her making jokes about his underwear.

  He didn’t seem fazed by the question at all. “That’s right forward of you.”

  “I’m a pretty forward person.” At least, she had been lately with men, for better or worse. Ever since that love spell was cast.

  At that pronouncement, his features softened, turned affectionate, even. “I noticed that. It isn’t every day that I get back to my hotel room to find the housekeepers admiring my underwear. I’ve come back to the room to find them in my bed on occasion, but this is a first.”

  She wagged her finger at him. “Don’t go getting ideas about my staff.”

  He gave her a wolfish grin. Like the rest of him, it was sexy and a little bit dangerous. He was definitely putting out all kinds of alpha rocker, flirtatious vibes, so, then, the pink underwear probably meant he wasn’t gay, but it was totally incongruous with everything else she knew about him. “Naw, I don’t have any designs about your employees, Skye.”

  The way his eyes raked over her body as he spoke, combined with the sound of her name said in his gravely drawl, let her know loud and clear that she hadn’t been misreading his attraction. Yes, they were definitely still on for their repeat rendezvous that night.

  But she was still curious about the underwear. “You didn’t answer my question,” she ventured. With a raised eyebrow, she added, “Hot pink?”

  “Got ’em in every color, if you must know. My agent’s idea to get me out of my head and get my creative juices flowing again.”

  “Is it working? Are your juices flowing?” Yes, she said it. No regrets. She wasn’t about to dwell on how she ended up flirting with a country star about pink underwear and flowing juices, but she was owning the moment. And honestly? It was refreshing, flirting with a man who didn’t have marriage designs on her. Someone completely outside the curse.

  On a low, deep chuckle, he looked at his boots, his eyes demurring behind impossibly long eyelashes. “Not until you walked through that stable door last night, they weren’t.”

  Interesting. She liked that—a little too much, perhaps. “I thought of another question.” Was she really going where her mind was telling her to? Asking this was bound to push her past the point of no return. Ah, fuck it. She was owning this moment, for better or worse. “What color banana hammock are you wearing right now?”

  There was that deep vibrato of a laugh that curled her toes. “Are you trying to trick me into showing you what I’ve got?”

  Wicked, wicked man. Lucky for him, he’d met his match. “You’re a famous musician, right? I thought the deal with rock stars was that it didn’t take much to get them to drop their pants.”

  Gentry didn’t miss a beat. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t stop you if you wanted to find out for yourself, but maybe we should ask your employees to leave first.”

  Oh, shit. She’d completely forgotten about the audience—of her employees. Terrific.

  She turned to find Annika and Laura looking utterly agog, mouths lolling open and eyes as wide as saucers. With a pounding heart, Skye braced a hand on Annika’s shoulder and the other on Laura’s. “You two didn’t see anything, do you hear me? This never happened. Not you two admiring his underwear and not my un-boss-like conversation just now.”

  In other words, she was asking her employees to lie about her inappropriate exchange with a hotel guest. Super-duper terrific. Great job, boss.

  Mouths still wide open, they nodded in unison.

  “Good. Back to work, ladies. It’s time for me to leave.” Of all her possible next moves, that option seemed the best. Get the hell out of there and pretend nothing was awry. She couldn’t even look Gentry in the eye as she hustled past him and out the door.

  “Skye,” he called after her. But she was out of there.

  * * *

  Gentry had a long stride, but it was no match for Skye’s brisk pace. By the time he let himself out of the vil
la’s gate, he had to jog to get within shouting distance of her.

  “Skye!”

  She kept moving.

  “I never answered your question,” he called. If that didn’t get her to stop and look at him, nothing would.

  Luckily, this time, she stopped walking, but she didn’t turn.

  He’d spent the morning in the stable’s tack room, scribbling in his notepad. Working off the sexual energy he’d harnessed the night before from his time with Skye and his anticipation of a repeat performance that night, he’d drafted song after song. All this time, he’d thought his creative well was dry, but it turned out he was just trying to tap into it all wrong. And all the thanks went to the dark-haired beauty who’d rocked his world. He’d be damned if he was going to let her skip out on their meet-up due to a little harmless embarrassment.

  He cupped his hands around his mouth to project his voice her way. “I’m wearing blue today.”

  She pivoted to face him. With a bemused smile, she shook her head, as though she couldn’t believe she was acquiescing to his bid for her attention because she found him too charming to resist. At least, that was his hope.

  He took a chance and stepped closer.

  “Royal or navy?” she asked.

  Glad she asked. “Sky blue.”

  Fighting a smile, she tucked her chin into her shoulder and rolled her eyes as if his answer was so corny it caused her physical pain.

  He stepped ever nearer, until they were only an arm’s length away. Up this close, in the sunlight, her hair took on a reddish tone that he hadn’t been able to see the night before, and with it gathered in a ponytail, he could admire the delicate structure of her neck and the little wisps of hair that framed it. She was stunning, inside and out—and he had one more night with her, God willing.

  He was in completely uncharted territory, but there was one line that seemed to melt the defenses of every girl he’d met, whether they knew who he was or not. He extended his hand. “Hello, my name is Gentry.”