12 Stocking Stuffers

by Beverly Barton

  “Are you going to the basement, too?” he asked, nodding to the only lit button.

  “Er, no,” she said, stabbing the button for the lobby. The door slid open almost immediately, and she practically fell out in her haste to flee.

  Cindy didn’t look back as the doors closed, but was brought up short by a sudden yank to her neck. She stumbled backward and swung around, horrified at the sight of her scarf caught in the elevator door and being dragged down the shaft. She stood frozen as the bit of silk whipped off her neck with a swish and disappeared into the floor.

  Thankful she hadn’t knotted the noose, Cindy closed her eyes and hit the palm of her hand against her forehead.

  “Was it him?”

  At the sound of Amy’s voice, Cindy turned to find her employee walking toward the elevator, scratching her arms.

  “Rash,” Amy explained. “Do you think Stark is the man we’re looking for?”

  Nodding, Cindy murmured, “Could be. He’s a bit contrary.”

  The rooms director’s forehead creased. “Maybe he’s not a leg man.” Then she grinned. “Or maybe he’s a man’s man—perhaps we should have sent Manny.”

  Cindy shook her head, smiling wryly. “Just let the staff know they need to be on their toes around our grumpy Mr. Stark.”

  Amy snapped her fingers. “Why don’t you invite him to the Christmas party tomorrow night?”

  She stared. “Are you insane?”

  “Why not? Show him a good time.”

  “Let him see the staff at their most drunken, uninhibited selves?”

  “Oh.” Amy frowned. “You have a point, but you also need a date.”

  “Well, it won’t be the man who has come to make mincemeat out of us,” she insisted. “Besides, I don’t mind playing nicey-nicey, but I certainly don’t want the staff thinking I’m kissing up to this man to save my own job.”

  “You’re right,” Amy said, scratching at her neck. “I’d better get back to the desk.”

  “See you later.” Sighing, Cindy jogged down the stairs to the basement in the unlikely event her scarf had escaped the moving parts of the shaft and had somehow floated out intact onto the floor. Nothing. Her mother’s gift was probably wrapped around some critical gear, damaging the working parts of the elevator even as she stood wringing her hands.

  She glanced at her watch. Three o’clock—Manny should be back within the next hour. Then she’d easily be able to replace the pajamas while Eric Quinn worked out in the health club, a vision that conjured up a sweat on her own body. Cindy called engineering again about a Christmas tree, but the nursery had not yet located a candidate.

  She dropped by the crowded Trekkie trade show and skimmed the many rows of tables to make sure the spring show’s bestseller, a stun gun capable of administering a dizzying shock, was nowhere to be found. The public swarmed over the trading card tables. Costumes and masks were also enjoying a brisk trade. All in all, the show had successfully attracted a sizable family crowd.

  Cindy fast-forwarded to next week’s adult toy show. Picturing Eric Quinn surrounded by erotic paraphernalia was enough to convince her to skip that particular exhibition.

  At seven o’clock, still without a word from Manny, Cindy decided to have dinner while she waited. She descended the service stairs to the restaurant and walked through the kitchen to say hello to the staff. After a few minutes of small talk with the chef, she chose a bad table near the rest rooms and slipped off her shoes. What a day.

  “Surely you don’t intend to eat alone,” Eric Quinn said behind her.

  She turned to see him seated at a table a few feet away, half hidden by a silk tree. Her pulse picked up. “I don’t mind.”

  “It’s kind of silly for both of us to dine alone, don’t you think?” His voice was empty of innuendo. “May I join you, Ms. Warren?”

  Say yes, she told herself. He was simply a nice sex-toy salesman, looking for light dinner conversation. Besides, this way she’d be able to keep track of him until Manny paged her. “Please.” He stood and carried his wineglass to her table, then gave her a tired little smile. She nodded toward the vacant chair across from her. “And call me Cindy.”

  “All right, Cindy.” He had changed into casual brown slacks and a pale blue button-down. He settled into the chair with athletic grace, his movements triggering an awareness in her limbs.

  “What do you recommend?” he asked.

  A married girlfriend had once diagrammed a position she’d always wanted to try on a napkin. “The rib eye,” Cindy said, her heart thumping wildly. Not that she hadn’t had her chances with men.

  He nodded. “Rib eye is what the concierge suggested.”

  “You talked to Manny?” It was just that none of those guys she dated had particularly lit her fire.

  “Yeah—seems like a nice fellow.”

  “He’s my right-hand man.” Oh, the restaurateur from Oakland showed the spark of a promise, but she’d been mired in hotel problems at the time and…oh, well.

  “Good help is hard to find,” he agreed.

  “Especially in the hospitality industry.” But this man—this man was one big mass of flammable substance.

  “Cindy, before we go any further,” he said, his eyes merry, “there’s something we need to discuss.”

  A sense of doom flooded her. He knew about the pajamas. He’d discovered them missing and deduced that she’d taken them. “Wh-what do you mean?” she asked, reaching for her water glass.

  His smile sent a chill up her spine. “I mean a certain piece of clothing.”

  She gulped down a mouthful of water, choking in her haste, her mind racing. “Oh, that. Well, I can explain—”

  “It’s not necessary,” he said, shaking his head, his smile never wavering. “You were a little embarrassed—I understand.”

  “Um, yes, I was, but—”

  “Actually, I think your little mishaps are funny.”

  Irritated, Cindy squirmed. “I’m glad, but—”

  “And I hope you don’t mind that I consulted the cleaners around the corner,” he said, reaching inside his jacket.

  “Well, as a matter of fact,” she said, “I’ve already made arrangements for a replacement, so you don’t have to worry about the bloodstain.” Then she stopped. Cleaners? He knew the pants were gone, but how would he know about a stain?

  He frowned as he withdrew a small paper bag. “Bloodstain? You were injured when your scarf came off?”

  “My scarf?” she croaked.

  “Yes, your scarf.” Laughing, he withdrew her yellow Chanel scarf, folded neatly. “What did you think I was talking about?”

  “I thought you were talking about…my scarf, of course,” she replied lamely. “The cuts on my hand—I was afraid I had gotten blood on my scarf when I tried to grab it.”

  “I was able to pull it inside the elevator,” he explained. “But the silk was soiled, so I thought I’d have it cleaned for you.” He smiled again. “I had to drop off a few shirts anyway—I hope you don’t think it was too forward.”

  Not when I have your PJs. “Not at all,” she said. “Thank you. This was a gift from my mother.”

  “Ah. And where is she?”

  “Virginia. Along with my father and older brother.”

  He blinked. “Really? I’m from Virginia, too.”

  Her surprise was interrupted by the sound of her beeper. “I’m sorry, I’m still on call.” She glanced at the number, then withdrew a small radio from her pocket and punched a button. “Yes, Amy?”

  “Sorry to bother you, Cindy, but our special guest in room 620 is complaining about the room temperature.”

  Suspecting Mr. Stark was still testing them, Cindy asked, “Too hot or too cold?”

  “Too hot.”

  “Check the air-conditioning personally, Amy. And take a fan with you just in case.”

  “Sure thing, Cindy.”

  She stowed the radio and smiled at Eric. “Where were we? Oh, yes—what part of Virginia?�
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  “Near Manassas.”

  “Ah. I grew up farther south on Interstate 95, near Fredericksburg.”

  “I’ve been to Fredericksburg too many times to count,” he acknowledged. “Small world.”

  A waiter took their order and they agreed to split a carafe of white wine. Cindy relaxed somewhat, but wished Manny would hurry up and call. The wine arrived and Eric filled her glass, then his.

  “Do you go back often to visit?” she asked.

  Something flashed over his face. Regret? He shook his head. “My sister and I are close, but my father doesn’t exactly approve of my, um, line of work.”

  She nodded sympathetically, but she could see his father’s side, too. That your son sold sex toys wasn’t exactly something to brag about. But she had to admit, the combination of Eric’s good looks, the dim lights and the good wine made his occupation seem kind of…titillating.

  “Do you like your job?” he asked.

  She opened her mouth to say yes, but her beeper went off and they both laughed. “Excuse me,” she said. Within a few seconds, she had Amy on the line again.

  “Cindy, now he’s complaining about the noise next door.”

  “What noise next door?”

  “I walked up, but I didn’t hear a thing.”

  “Walk up again.”

  Amy sighed. “He’s kind of hateful.”

  “I know, but hang in there.” She put away the phone. “Yes, I like my job most of the time. Working with the public has its frustrating moments.”

  They chatted until appetizers arrived, and Cindy found herself warming up to Eric Quinn, despite his somewhat questionable vocation. Once their fingers brushed when they reached for the wine, and Cindy felt a definite spark of sexual energy. From the slightly hooded look of his eyes, she knew Eric felt it too.

  What perfect Christmas-party date material—gorgeous, gentlemanly and temporary. “Eric, I was wondering—” Her beeper sounded again, and she groaned, then laughed.

  When she pushed the button, Manny’s voice came on the line. “Cindy, I have what you asked for—meet me at the concierge desk.”

  Her heart lifted. The sooner the pajama pants incident was taken care of, the better. “I’ll be there in two minutes.” Then she smiled at Eric. “This shouldn’t take long. I hope you don’t mind waiting alone for our meals to arrive.”

  “Not at all,” he said politely, standing when she did.

  “I’ll take this opportunity to put on my scarf,” she said, scooping up the handful of silk. She wanted to look her best if she ever scrounged up the nerve to invite him to the Christmas party.

  “Beware of attack elevators.” His flirty grin sent a bolt of desire through her midsection that hastened her steps.

  Eric watched her leave the restaurant. The woman was such an enigma, an irresistible mix of beauty and strength and vulnerability. And the chemistry between them was undeniable.

  He drained his glass of wine. Ethically, he shouldn’t become involved with her physically, at least not until after the conclusion of the study. He frowned, feeling unsettled, then glanced at his watch. He probably had time to return to his room and make a quick call to Lancaster before Cindy came back. Perhaps talking about the study would reinforce his resolve to maintain a respectable distance from the fetching general manager.

  After flagging the waiter on the way out to let him know they’d both be returning, Eric strode toward the elevator.

  4

  “WHY ARE YOU MAKING ME go with you?” Manny demanded, trotting down the hall behind Cindy toward Eric Quinn’s room.

  “For a ninety-five-dollar tie,” she retorted, “the least you can do is stand lookout.”

  “Compared to the pajama pants, the tie was a bargain.”

  Cindy stopped and her friend nearly barreled into her. “How much were the pants?”

  Manny winced. “Three hundred and fifty.”

  Her knees weakened. “Dollars?”

  “What can I say? I told you the man has expensive taste. What does he do for a living, anyway?”

  Cindy resumed walking. “He’s a salesman,” she answered evasively. And apparently, sex sells. She stopped in front of door 1010, then draped the Chanel scarf over her shoulder to free her hands. After looking both ways, she inserted a master key into the lock.

  “I could get fired for this,” Manny said, his voice stern.

  “I’ll put in a good word for you with your boss.” The door clicked open. “Give me the pants and cover me.”

  He handed her a small bag with handles. “What if Quinn shows up?

  Heat climbed to Cindy’s ears. “He’s in the dining room…waiting for me.”

  “Ho ho ho. Dinner?”

  “Don’t start.”

  “And what if he ambles up here while you’re gone?”

  Cindy sighed. “I don’t know—sing or something. Work with me, Manny. There’s no section in the handbook on breaking into a guest’s room!” Her heart thumping like a snare drum, she pushed open the door and stepped inside, where she moved quickly to the bathroom and flipped on the light. With shaking hands she withdrew both the old and the new pants. She had to give Manny credit—they were identical, all right, except the new pair looked a little too…well, new. Quickly she removed the alarming price tag, then gently twisted the garment to add a few wrinkles. With considerable trepidation, she lifted the old pair and inhaled the scent of the velvety pale blue fabric, detecting the trace of a vaguely familiar cologne.

  She glanced toward the toiletry bag, then unzipped the non-condom-carrying side before she had a chance to change her mind. Cindy rummaged for cologne, smiling unexpectedly when her fingers curved around an unpretentious bottle of English Leather. Eric Quinn wore three-hundred-and-fifty-dollar silk pajamas, and used seven-dollars-a-bottle cologne? Intriguing. She squirted her father’s standby fragrance into the air, then held the new pants beneath the falling mist. Satisfied, she carefully hung the pajama bottoms behind Eric’s toiletry bag and checked her watch. Six minutes—not bad.

  She stuffed the old pants into the paper bag and started to leave the bathroom when she heard an odd racket in the hall. Was someone belting out “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town”? Then Cindy bit down hard on her tongue—Manny’s warning!

  Nearly tripping over her feet, she dived for the light switch. Manny stopped singing and began conversing loudly with someone outside the door. Please, let it be housekeeping. Panic paralyzed her limbs as she heard a key being inserted into the lock. Manny’s words were indecipherable, but his tone had elevated considerably.

  In the darkness of the bathroom, Cindy could see the whites of her eyes shining back in the mirror. There was nowhere to go but…she gulped and leapt into the tub in one motion, then jerked the curtain closed in another. Feeling faint, she shrank in the corner, visualizing her career going down the drain beneath her feet.

  The door opened and Manny’s shaky voice reached her. “Just a little holiday entertainment, sir.”

  The low rumble of Eric Quinn’s laugh sounded, sending sheer mortification through her body. “I didn’t realize I was on the concierge level, Mr. Oliver.”

  Manny cleared his throat. “Could I adjust your room thermostat, sir?”

  “Uh, no thanks.”

  “Fill your ice bucket?”

  “It’s full, thanks.”

  “Check your towels?”

  “I’m fine. Excuse me, I need to make a phone call, then get back to the dining room.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Cindy allowed herself a tiny surge of hope—maybe he wouldn’t be here long.

  She heard him move through the bedroom and pick up the phone. He wouldn’t be able to see the door if she left very quietly. But she hesitated—what if he hung up quickly and caught her leaving? Deciding to stay put, Cindy made herself as small as possible.

  She could hear his murmured voice on the phone. Cindy wondered about the person he was calling. A girlfriend? A wife? A frown pulled
at her mouth. Then she pushed aside the silly response—neither the presence nor the absence of a woman in Eric Quinn’s bed made any difference in her life.

  What life? I’m cowering in the bathroom of a guest whose pants I stole. She broke out in a fresh sweat at the sound of Eric putting down the handset. His footsteps came closer, then to her horror, he stepped into the bathroom. Her heart lodged in her constricted throat as fluorescent light bathed the room. She clamped her hand over her mouth, biting back a gasp. What was he going to do?

  Remove something from his toiletry bag, from the telltale sound of a zipper. A condom? Indignation lifted her chin. Did the man think he was going to get lucky with her? Water splashed in the sink, and Eric Quinn proceeded to…brush his teeth with the fervor of a dentist.

  She felt a sliver of disappointment, but apparently Eric was in a grand mood because when the water stopped, he began whistling under his breath. Cindy strained to make out the tune and pressed her lips together when she recognized “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town.”

  …gonna find out who’s naughty or nice…

  She frowned wryly, thankful she no longer believed in Santa Claus, because she’d never been so naughty.

  He tapped his toothbrush on the counter, then returned it to his bag. Her heart stopped when he folded a towel over the shower curtain rod, rattling the plastic liner. Faintly silhouetted in the harsh light, his tall figure seemed even more imposing. Would he fling back the curtain and finding her squatting in his bathtub? Just when she thought she might pass out, the room went dark and he left the bathroom. Seconds later, he exited the room and Cindy’s body went limp with relief.

  She sat on the edge of the tub for a full two minutes, then climbed out and crept to the main door, her muscles taut. After checking the peephole and finding the coast clear, she sucked in a breath, opened the door and stepped into the corridor.

  “Well, it’s about time!” Manny whispered harshly behind her.

  Cindy jumped. “You scared the schnitzel out of me!”

  “I was going out of my mind—what the devil happened in there?”

  Heading down the hall, she lifted the paper bag. “I switched the pants.”