She narrowed her eyes. “Are you sure I can trust you?”
“You bet.” He returned his arms to the back of the sofa. “I’ll just keep my hands away from you.”
“Okay. I’ll stay for a few more hours.”
Pete remained true to his word while he recapped the recent events in Hollywood, including who was courting whom for what film, who was divorcing, who was pregnant, and who he thought would be the next best thing, aside from Ella.
They talked and laughed almost nonstop for two hours until they finally fell silent when a classic movie came on the screen. Renee made the mistake of leaning her head on his shoulder, then closing her eyes, lulled by Pete stroking her arms in a steady rhythm….
She came awake with a start when Pete lifted her up into his arms and headed across the room. “What are you doing?”
“I’m taking you to bed.”
“Pete, you promised,” she said as he nudged the partially open door to Ella and Evan’s vacant room with his foot.
“Let me rephrase that. I’m putting you to bed.”
After Pete set Renee on her feet in the middle of the room, he pointed at her and said, “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”
He returned shortly thereafter and handed her a folded white T-shirt and a toothbrush and toothpaste. “The shirt has seen better days, but the toothbrush is new. So now you’re all set.”
She hid a yawn behind her free hand. “I really need to go home. I can’t wear my wedding clothes to work in the morning.”
“It’s almost three a.m. and you don’t need to be traipsing around New Orleans. You can leave in a couple of hours. By then the photographers will have probably called it a night, and you can catch a cab home without being hassled.”
She was too tired to argue, and the king-size bed behind her looked all too inviting. Unfortunately, so did he, with his mussed hair and shaded jaw. “All right. I’ll set the alarm. But I’m not sure how much sleep I’m going to get.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I’m probably not going to sleep all that well, either, knowing you’re only a few feet away and I can’t do anything about it.”
“I suppose we should both at least try.”
“Okay, after I take care of one more thing.”
He curled his hand around her neck and kissed her, and nothing about it resembled a friendly good-night kiss. By the time Pete pulled away, Renee’s resistance had almost been incinerated.
“Wake me up before you leave,” he said, then turned and walked away, closing the door behind him.
Renee felt as if every bone, joint and muscle had surrendered to exhaustion, but her mind was reeling with that kiss. If she did in fact finally sleep, no doubt Pete would be the hot topic in her dreams.
CHAPTER EIGHT
SHORTLY AFTER DAWN, Pete decided it would be best to wake Renee, or possibly face her wrath if she overslept. Then again, she might have already left without alerting him to her departure.
He opened the door as quietly as possible, and waited for his eyes to adjust somewhat to the dim light streaming in through a part in the curtains. He moved to the end of the bed, close enough to make out her form nestled beneath the covers, her hair only a few shades darker than the pillow.
A slight shoulder shake would probably do the trick, Pete decided. Rounding the bed to the side opposite Renee, he sat on the edge of the mattress, which bent with his weight. Maybe he should just climb in beside her, hold her for a few minutes until she realized he was there. Maybe he should try kissing her awake. Considering he wore only a pair of boxers, that might not be a banner idea, but he’d be damned if the temptation wasn’t stronger than the possible peril to his self-control.
Pete slid beneath the covers then moved flush against her back. She still didn’t stir, even when he draped one arm over her hip. He took a moment to enjoy her warmth, the way she felt against him, the sweet way she smelled. Being so close to Renee, and not making love to her, was the worst kind of torture. But when he did finally make love with her again—and he would—he wanted her fully alert and participating, not in a sleep-induced stupor.
He pushed her hair back, and after kissing her neck, whispered, “Are you awake, babe?”
She shifted slightly and murmured, “Sort of. What are you doing here?”
“Just wondering when you were going to get up. It’s after seven.”
She rolled to face him, her eyes wide. “I set the alarm for five.”
Pete raised his head and pointed at the green-glowing bedside clock behind her. “The time’s set for p.m., not a.m. That’s why it didn’t go off.”
When she groaned and started to sit up, he nudged her back onto the pillow with a palm on her shoulder. “Don’t leave yet.”
“I need to go to the apartment and change,” she said, though she didn’t put up a fight, even when Pete moved partially atop her, careful to keep his lower body angled slightly away.
He pressed a kiss on her forehead. “Just a few more minutes.” He trailed more kisses along her jaw. “I want to make sure you’re fully awake.”
“Believe me, I’m awake now.”
“So am I.” He pressed his groin against her hip to prove his point, and he definitely had a point.
“Down, you bad director.” She laughed slightly until he slid his tongue along the rim of her ear. “Where’s Adam?” she asked, her voice barely a breathless whisper.
Pete lifted his head. “Still asleep. He usually wakes up around eight.”
She breezed her fingertips along his shoulder, then slid her palm down his back. “I really should go in case he’s up earlier than usual. I wouldn’t want him to find us in this position.”
Pete thought of another position that held a lot of appeal at the moment, but wouldn’t be wise with a preschooler not all that far away. “Hey, Adam’s the one who thought you ought to sleep over. We could just tell him you decided to take him up on his offer.”
She patted his bottom, which only served to make Pete’s current predicament worse. “You’re so amusing, Pete Traynor.”
“And you feel good, Renee Marchand.”
He ended the conversation by kissing her, softly at first, then deeper. And deeper. And more insistently, until he couldn’t remember why they shouldn’t be doing this.
Primal need propelled him from that point forward, and he wound up completely on top of her, Renee’s hips shifting beneath his, indicating she wasn’t unaffected by their proximity. In an effort to maintain some control, he moved off her again, but he wasn’t done with her yet. He went to his knees, tugged the T-shirt over her head and tossed it aside, expecting her to level some kind of a protest, even if only a slight scolding for still playing “the bad director.” Instead, she remained very still as he laid his head next to hers on the pillow and outlined her breast with a fingertip, before forming his palm around it.
“I thought I remembered all the details,” he said as he circled his thumb around her nipple. “But the reality is a hell of a lot better.”
A soft sigh escaped her parted lips. “I have to leave now, Pete. Before we can’t stop.”
He lowered his head and used his tongue to follow the path his fingertips had taken moments before. “I don’t want to stop. I don’t want you to leave.”
“I don’t want to leave, either, but—”
He halted her objections with another kiss while brushing his knuckles back and forth over her belly until he reached the band riding low on her hips. He wanted to keep going, and he would have had she not abruptly rolled away from him to sit on the side of the bed. “You’re determined to drive me crazy, aren’t you?”
He sat up and worked his way behind her, positioning his legs on either side of her legs, his arms wrapped around her middle. “You drive me crazy,” he told her as he kissed her neck. “And if neither of us had any responsibilities, I’d keep you in here so we could drive each other crazy until tomorrow morning.”
She wrested from his gra
sp, stood, snatched the shirt from the floor and then held it against her breasts as she faced him. “But we both have responsibilities, you to Adam and me to the hotel. So if you would please take your half-dressed, albeit extremely tempting body out of here, I’m going to put my clothes on and escape before your nephew catches me practically naked, standing in front of his uncle who has…” She sent a direct look at the bulge behind the boxers. “A serious problem at the moment.”
Chuckling, Pete stretched out on his back and stacked his hands behind his head. “You go ahead and put your clothes on, and I’ll watch.”
“No, you won’t.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Now go back to your room and check on your nephew, and I’ll talk to you later.”
Then she strode to the closet to retrieve the clothes she’d worn the night before and disappeared into the bathroom. Pete remained all alone in a king-size bed with the king of all erections, and the strongest urge to walk right into that bathroom and make love to her, even if it meant utilizing the floor.
But if she could wait, then he could wait. As long as he didn’t have to wait much longer.
“THANK HEAVENS YOU’RE HERE.”
Renee looked up from the ad copy she’d been reviewing to find Charlotte rushing into the office, her green eyes flashing apprehension. “What’s wrong?”
Charlotte pulled up a chair and collapsed into it. “I’ve been calling your apartment since six-thirty, that’s what’s wrong, and I kept getting your voice mail. And you didn’t answer your cell phone, either.”
Renee had made the mistake of going back to the apartment to dress, and following her shower, decided to stretch out on the bed for a few minutes and managed to drift off—for an hour. The one day she’d overslept, and all hell had broken loose. Again. “I turned off my cell phone to save power, and I was probably in the shower when you called earlier.”
“For three hours?”
Time to tell the truth, at least a partial account. “Okay, I didn’t get home until around eight this morning, then I took a shower.”
Charlotte immediately straightened. “Are you serious?” Before Renee could spew an explanation, Charlotte said, “Let me guess. You spent the night with a Hollywood director.”
Lovely. Just lovely. “Yes, but we didn’t sleep together.”
Her sister looked entirely too suspicious. “Are you certain about that? Because the other day, I could tell something was going on between the two of you. According to Mother, you went out with him last night.”
Obviously the family had been discussing her private dealings with Pete behind her back. “Yes, I went out with him for a quick dinner and a drink. And that was after we attended his friends’ wedding.”
Charlotte sighed. “Then it’s true. Ella Emerson did marry the art director last night.”
Gossip could spread quicker than a four-alarm fire in the family. “I take it Mother told you that, too.”
“No, not Mother.” Charlotte fished through her pocket and slid a piece of paper across the desk toward Renee. “I’ve spent a good part of an hour talking to Ms. Emerson’s publicist. Or should I say listening to her publicist, who nearly ruptured my eardrum. It seems Ms. Emerson failed to tell her about the wedding.”
Renee turned the paper around to study it. “Then how did she find out?”
“Some tabloid employee tipped her off and told her they were about to do a story on the wedding, and Ms. Emerson’s pregnancy. According to the mole at the tabloid, the magazine received an anonymous call. It’s my understanding they also have pictures of the couple taken here on the veranda, I believe she said.”
And possibly pictures of Renee with Pete. Heaven only knew what they might do with those. She couldn’t worry about that now. She needed to apologize to both the publicist and Ella for the breech in confidentiality. “Tell Luc when Ella and Evan return, I need to speak with them privately.”
“They’re back. Luc picked them up around nine this morning and brought them to the hotel. I’m sure they already know.”
Renee rubbed her temples against the onset of a headache. “Fine. I’ll pay them a visit.”
“What do you need me to do?”
If it were after lunchtime, Renee might suggest Charlotte bring her a stiff brandy. “Talk to the staff, particularly Luc. Make certain that the leak didn’t come from the hotel, not that I believe anyone would admit it.”
“I trust the staff. I can’t imagine anyone tipping off some rag magazine.”
Renee didn’t want to believe that, either, but she wasn’t naive. “People do things out of desperation, particularly for money. Tabloids pay for information.” She’d learned that from spending years in a place where plenty of backstabbings resulted from greed.
Charlotte came to her feet and gave Renee a sympathetic look. “You’re going to have your hands full if this gets out and the hotel is somehow blamed. It’s bad enough that you’ve had to handle the mess created by the blackout.”
How well Renee knew that. “That’s part of the job, doing damage control.” And she hoped that she could control the damage, otherwise they could have serious problems on their hands, especially if the unfavorable publicity resulted in notable guests, concerned about their own privacy, canceling their reservations. The hotel needed the money to keep afloat and to maintain a stellar reputation. Otherwise, the fallout could be detrimental.
She could definitely use some fortitude when she had to face the newlyweds and Pete—and her mother, who breezed through the door and said, “Okay, I know something’s going on, so both of you spill it.”
Her mother was too astute, too intuitive, particularly when it came to the hotel and her daughters. Renee pushed the phone number aside and folded her hands on her desk, then tried for a calm demeanor despite the anxiety roiling inside her. “We’ve had a bit of a problem with a tabloid reporter who got wind of Ella and Evan’s wedding from an anonymous tip. Charlotte’s making certain the leak didn’t come from the staff, and I have everything else under control. You don’t need to worry.”
Anne sat in the chair Charlotte had just vacated, as if she no longer had the energy to stand, and that worried Renee. “This is still my hotel, Renee, and what happens here directly concerns me.”
“Nothing’s happened that can’t be fixed, Mére,” Charlotte said. “Renee will have this whole mess straightened out before you can say Mardis Gras.”
Anne looked back at Charlotte. “Speaking of that, we need the business Mardi Gras generates. And if our more elite patrons believe we can’t secure their privacy, we’ll be in a world of trouble.” She turned her weary gaze back to Renee. “You’re certain you can handle this?”
“Yes, I’m certain.” Or at least she was going to try. “Most people understand that this kind of thing happens with those who are in the spotlight. It’s something that can’t always be controlled.”
“What about the photographers?” Charlotte asked. “Do you think they’re still hanging around?”
Now their mother looked almost alarmed. “What photographers?”
Renee sent Charlotte a “thanks a lot” look. “Pete and I encountered a few when we arrived back at the hotel last night. I had to stay the night here to avoid them.”
Anne’s concern melted into curiosity. “Did you spend the night in Pete’s room?”
Renee grabbed the nearest pen and clutched it in both hands, very tempted to try and break it in half. “Yes, mother, I stayed in Ella and Evan’s room since they spent the night at the inn where they married. And I wish you and Charlotte would stop assuming that Pete and I are having some torrid affair. Don’t you think we have enough to worry about without starting that rumor?”
Charlotte and Anne exchanged a look before Charlotte said, “I do think she protests too much, Mére. What about you?”
Renee was thankful to see her mother looking amused, not anxious, even if it was at Renee’s expense. “Yes, bébé, I agree wholeheartedly. Your sister might not be having that to
rrid affair, but I do believe she might like to.”
Of all the idiotic, half-baked assumptions—that happened to be true. “All right. It’s confession time. I’ve already had one with him, three years ago.”
She waited for the shock to subside from her sister’s and mother’s faces before she continued. “We were involved for a very brief time, we parted ways, we haven’t been in touch at all until he arrived here on Friday, and we have no intention of taking up where we left off.” She stopped long enough to draw a breath and swallow around the lie. “And that is the end of the story.”
Anne gracefully rose from the chair and stood at Charlotte’s side, presenting a united front against Renee. “I see. But if you ask me, chère, I don’t believe it’s the end of the story at all. And if there’s anything I can do to help, don’t hesitate to let me know.”
With that, she hooked her arm through Charlotte’s and they started toward the door. But her sibling couldn’t leave well enough alone. She turned and tossed the words over one shoulder. “I expect details later. Lots of details.”
Renee refused to give her sister the nitty-gritty about the one-time affair. And she certainly didn’t expect to have anything new to add, especially now. If Pete held her responsible for the information leak, she doubted he would speak to her again, much less touch her.
But she couldn’t worry about that now. She had calls to make, and a few loose ends to tie up. Hopefully this would be the end of the chaos for a while. Both the family and the hotel could use a break.
PETE HATED THIS PART of the life. Hated that the world was full of jackasses who assumed it was their God-given right—no, responsibility—to invade someone’s privacy for the sake of sensationalism. He’d seen it all before. Had lived with it on more than one occasion.
He’d managed to talk with Evan alone by allowing Adam to watch TV in bed, but Pete doubted that would last much longer. Yet he didn’t know what to say to Evan to console him. His friend had been uncharacteristically quiet since his and Ella’s return. “I’m sorry this had to happen, Evan. Kind of puts a damper on your plans.”
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