by Lori Foster
Ben directed her gaze to the small oval window behind his head, and Chloe caught an ominous glimpse of the snow flying outside. “Better start walking then.”
Chloe took a deep breath of musty cabin air tinged with eau de Aisle Guy’s pits. Trapped. She glanced over as Ben liberated his iPhone from the breast pocket of his suit, thumbs flying over the screen as he, like so many other passengers, shared the details of this latest development with whoever was on the other end of the text message.
Chloe couldn’t bring herself to do the same. She hadn’t even arrived yet and she’d already failed to meet her family’s expectations. Not an auspicious start to her big reunion tour.
With another sigh, she flopped back in her chair, glaring once again at the seat in front of her.
She was stuck in Chicago.
With boring hair.
And an angry clan of Mastersons ready to pounce on her for the latest example of how she was ruining the hallowed family name.
This day could not possibly get any worse.
“You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?” she asked, her eyes never wavering from the cracked vinyl seat back.
“Sighing maniacally,” Ben explained.
“You seem awfully intent on the emotional health of complete strangers.” She slanted him a look that bordered on caustic. “You’re not a shrink, are you? Because my talking to a shrink would make my mother ridiculously happy.”
“And how does that make you feel?”
In a defensive maneuver, Chloe crossed her arms over her chest. “Okay, fine. You’re a little funny.”
Ben pumped his fist in silent victory.
“And for the record, I was thinking about how Neil Diamond has ruined my life.”
He shot her a surprised glance. “Really? I was wondering what he was up to these days.”
She tipped her head in Ben’s direction without breaking contact with the headrest. “It’s a very sad story about a crappy alarm clock, a pathological hatred of ‘Sweet Caroline’, and an unfortunate mix-up involving the buttons marked off and snooze.”
Ben leaned back in his own chair. “Fucking Neil Diamond,” he said, and it was so understated, so unexpectedly perfect, that she laughed.
“You’re pretty calm about this.”
“About taking Neil Diamond’s name in vain? Don’t let the suit fool you. I’m surprisingly controversial.”
Chloe shook her head, refusing to admit she was charmed. “Can’t you just be pissed off about the flight being canceled? Like a normal person?”
His shrug was philosophical. “We’re not getting to Buffalo tonight. Not worth getting worked up about if it’s out of your control.”
“That’s very Zen of you,” she said, though it wasn’t a compliment.
“Fortune cookies,” Ben sermonized, “are not only delicious, but full of extremely practical wisdom.”
At that moment, Stewardess Barbie appeared beside Aisle Guy and her massive breasts exerted a gravitational pull on the eyes of the entire row, Chloe’s included.
How did anything that top-heavy stay upright?
The flight attendant glanced down at her clipboard and Chloe couldn’t help but notice that her glittery pink eye shadow was creased and caking.
Chloe fought the urge to tell her about the new eye shadow primer that Titanium Beauty had just come out with. It was oil-free and did an incredible job of keeping shadow in its place all day. And that glitter was best saved for evening events because mattes and neutral shimmers worked best in daylight or fluorescent light. Also that with her skin tone, peachier shades would be much more flattering than pinks..
“Gordon Hinky?”
Aisle Guy’s gaze was stuck in the general vicinity of their messenger’s more…pneumatic assets. Rolling her eyes at the predictability of testosterone, Chloe held her breath as he raised his arm.
Barbie sped through the “sorry for the inconvenience” script in a bored monotone before flicking her gaze to more promising territory. “And that must make you Benjamin.”
Gak.
At least Ben had enough class to meet her eyes when he confirmed the obvious. “It’s just Ben.”
“Well, Just Ben, here’s your Value Inn voucher.”
Ben reached past her to accept the glossy slip of paper and Chloe caught the clean, masculine scent of him.
“It’s good for fifteen percent off. There’s a map on the back detailing the closest locations to the airport. Someone will be at the gate to direct you to the taxi and shuttle stands, but if you need any help finding your way or, you know, with anything, just say the word. I’d be more than happy to help you.”
The breathy offer was very Marilyn Monroe.
“Jetopia apologizes for the delay, but we hope you’ll give us the chance to make it up to you. We’d love to have you fly with us again.” After a long moment, she tore her gaze away from Ben and focused on Chloe.
“And you’re…” She glanced back at the list and her face fell like she’d just seen someone kick a puppy. “Oh.” Her eyes darted between Chloe and Ben for a moment. Finally she said in a normal tone, “I hope you enjoy your stay.”
“I’ll need my voucher,” Chloe reminded her.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Masterson, but there’s only one voucher per couple.”
“Oh, I’m not a couple. And it’s Miz. There’s no Mr. Masterson.”
“Actually…” Ben interrupted.
She twisted in her seat to find her handsome seatmate looking amused.
“I’m Mr. Masterson.”
“What?”
“My name is Ben Masterson.”
She stared at him for a long moment before turning back to the flight attendant. “I think there’s been a huge misunderstanding.”
Ben chuckled. “More like a Mrs.-understanding.”
“Are you kidding me?” Chloe exclaimed. “A pun? Now?”
“Just trying to keep my sense of humor intact,” he returned, unperturbed. After a beat, he added, “Dear.”
“We just met,” she pleaded, not trying to hide the anxiety in her voice. Chloe figured that an early-twenties poster girl for enhancement surgery probably understood a little something about desperation. “There’s no way we’re staying in the same room.”
“My goodness!” Chesty McLookatmyboobs’ attention focused on Ben with the precision of a heat-seeking missile, and her smile was one of renewed hope.
So much for girl power.
“I’m terribly sorry for the mix-up. I saw Ben Masterson and Chloe Masterson seated together on the passenger manifest and assumed… Well, let me find out what I can do for you.”
“Give me a voucher of my own and we’ll call it even,” Chloe suggested.
“I’m afraid I can’t just hand them out. For tracking purposes, I’ll have to assign one to you in our system. It’ll just take a second. I’m really sorry for the mix-up,” she said again, more in Ben’s direction, and sounding anything but sorry.
Chloe watched the flight attendant sashay down the aisle and disappear behind the first-class curtain before she swiveled to face her last-namesake.
“This is your fault, you know.”
He smiled apologetically. “I did set my weather machine to blizzard before I left Seattle.”
“You’re the one who rejected business class and deigned to sit with the common folk. No one would have assumed we were married if you and your Gucci suit had just stayed where you belong in the land of complimentary champagne and leg room.”
“Hey, statistically, the seats in the back of the plane are safer than the first seven rows. And how did you know this suit is Gucci?”
Chloe ignored him and his designer suit, unaware that she was nibbling at her right thumbnail.
Her mother would not be pleased when she found out Chloe wouldn’t be arriving until the day of the wedding. It was customary for the bride’s family to present a united front at the rehearsal dinner. Especially if a certain daughter’s absence would be duly noted and gossiped about.
She took a deep breath. Ben’s fortune cookies were right. Dwelling on the disaster wouldn’t change anything. Accepting that fact didn’t change her mood, though. “So your last name’s Masterson, huh?”
He nodded.
Crossing her arms, Chloe thunked her head against the headrest and closed her eyes. “Fucking Neil Diamond,” she said.
* * *
AS IT TURNED OUT, issuing another voucher did not “just take a second”. The conspiracy theorist in her was convinced Boobzilla had purposefully slowed the process to make sure Ben was miles away by the time Chloe entered the terminal. Not, Chloe was embarrassed to admit, that she hadn’t looked for him at the baggage claim when she finally made it there twenty minutes later, voucher in hand.
After grabbing her suitcase, she’d braved the icy roads in a crowded shuttle and was currently occupying the coveted “next in line” position in one of seven queues in the lobby of the Value Inn. Being this close to a shower and a bed had gone a long way toward taming her impatience. At least until the family of six ahead of her was told there was no room at the inn.
Chloe did a quick mental tally. Judging by the number of weary travelers still clogging the reception area, there were going to be a lot more disappointed people heading out into the snow tonight in search of shelter.
Chloe’s grip tightened on the strap of her purse.
Please don’t make me one of them.
When the balding desk clerk smiled at her, she stepped up to the counter.
“Welcome to the Value Inn. How can I help you tonight?” His voice was shockingly pleasant for a man dealing with a bunch of crabby, stranded nomads.
“Hi. Do you have a room for me?” They had to have a room left. She wasn’t picky. She’d even settle for access to a sink and a cot in the hallway.
“Let me check what I’ve got. What’s your name?”
“Chloe Masterson.”
The clickety-clack sound of his typing stretched her nerves taut, reminding her of a countdown clock on a bomb. “Here we go. And that’s for one night, correct?”
“Yes.” The word came out like a sigh, heavy on the s, and Chloe’s shoulders dropped to their normal position. She hadn’t realized how tense she’d been.
“Okay, we’ve got you in room 224. Do you want a swipe key?”
Chloe raised her eyebrows. “I’ll probably need one to get in the room.”
Her sarcasm was lost on him. Nonplussed, he ran a plastic key through the card reader and handed it over with a smile. “Your room is on the second floor. Turn right when you exit the elevator.”
Chloe paused in the act of unzipping her purse. “You don’t need my credit card? Or my voucher?” She pulled the crumpled slip of paper from her coat pocket and held it out to him. “Because I went through a lot to get this.”
“That won’t be necessary. Your bill will be issued when you check out in the morning.”
Unbelievable. “Oh, okay.” Cursing Boobzilla’s name, she shoved it back in her pocket. “Great. Thanks, then.”
“Enjoy your stay.”
She’d no sooner stepped away from the counter when the inevitable happened.
“Excuse me, folks,” the clerk announced to the crowd. “I’m afraid we are all out of rooms for tonight.”
Finally, something had gone right for her today. She hurried away from the outraged mob and into the elevator. The door slid closed behind her, and she was in such a good mood that she didn’t even mind that the Muzak version of “Song Sung Blue” was playing during the short trip.
The room was as easy to find as Mr. Sunshine had made it sound, and she shoved the card in the door, ready for a shower and a bed, in that order.
Instead, she opened the door to find a hot guy pulling a white T-shirt over the most spectacularly muscled back Chloe had had the privilege to see this side of a movie screen.
Oh, yum.
The forgotten door banged shut behind her.
He turned and she caught a glimpse of six-pack abs before the white cotton swallowed them up. Then she raised her eyes to his face.
Her suitcase slipped from her fingers and landed with a muted thud on the carpet. They stared at each other for an infinite moment—both the longest and shortest seconds of her life.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said.
A full-fledged grin spread across Ben’s face. “Honey, you’re home!”
* * *
“I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN! The second that clerk didn’t want my credit card or the stupid voucher I should have known.” She stomped into the room like she owned the place, abandoning her suitcase where it had fallen, and then her purse and coat beside it. “Why does today suck so much?” she asked before flopping onto his bed, her feet still flat on the floor as she stared up at the ceiling.
Ben was pretty sure she wasn’t talking to him. Which was fine. He was content just to look at her. To be honest, he’d hung around the baggage claim area for ten minutes after he’d grabbed his luggage, just in case she showed.
Ben had to admit, the pinup-girl-with-an-edge thing Chloe had going on—like some twenty-first-century Bettie Page—was working for him in a big way. Goth-rockers were not usually his type. As a general rule, he dated women who were soft and positive, not really the adjectives that came to mind when he stared at the pissed-off pixie glowering up at him.
“Your airplane girlfriend kept me in voucher limbo for so long that my suitcase was the lone bag circling the conveyer belt by the time I got to baggage claim. Then I almost missed the shuttle, and now this? There’s not even a comforter on this bed.”
“Oh. I took it off. Have you seen what happens when they shine a black light on hotel quilts?”
“That is gross and disturbing. But it’s still weird you got rid of it.”
What was he going to do with her?
He’d only struck up a conversation with Chloe on the plane to pass some time. And then she’d hit him with those liquid-lined, green-and-gold eyes and a bad attitude and he’d been all in. Kinda made him wish he didn’t have so much work to get done tonight.
But if his meeting in Buffalo went the right way, he was going to be the new account director at Carson and McLeod. And a promotion meant a raise, and a raise meant the cabin on the lake would be his.
Still, he couldn’t just throw her out. She wasn’t plastic pretty, like the cookie-cutter blonde flight attendant she’d just alluded to. Chloe was sharp and smart-mouthed and real. She gave as good as she got, and he liked that about her. He also liked that, sprawled across his bed sheets in something as innocuous as a black T-shirt and jeans, she somehow managed to look provocative as hell. His body hummed with testosterone-fueled appreciation.
Jesus, Masterson. Get a grip!
You’d think he hadn’t been laid in years, when it had actually only been—a depressing calculation revealed that it had been almost a year since his rebound fling after he and Melanie had imploded. He’d been so focused on work that he hadn’t noticed how long it had been. Which was pathetic on many levels.
“What the hell am I going to do?” Chloe fumed. “They don’t have any other rooms.”
“You can stay here.” The words were out before his brain had registered the consequences, but he didn’t regret them. It wasn’t even the testosterone talking. By all accounts, Chloe had had a rough day. She deserved a win. For once, work could wait.
Those amazing green eyes widened in surprise as she bolted upright on the bed. “What?”
“I mean, you’re already h
ere. I’m sure all of the airport hotels are in the same boat, so there’s no sense heading back out into the snow. Besides, we’re married, right?”
Her death glare was adorable. And just a front. She was considering it. She had a horrible poker face.
Chloe managed to hold out for seventeen seconds before she exhaled contemptuously. “If you snore, I will smother you in your sleep. Just so you’re warned.”
Ben did his best to tamp down the wattage of his smile. It was cute that she still thought she was keeping up her tough-girl facade.
“Excellent choice, Masterson.” He grabbed his wallet from inside his suitcase. “You settle in here, and I’ll go see if I can get us a cot and some food.” Ben headed for the door. “If I’m not back by midnight, check the ice machine for my corpse.”
Chloe might be having a really bad day, but his was turning out pretty well.
CHAPTER 2
BEN MAY HAVE neutralized the no-shelter problem for her, but he couldn’t help her with the Dragon Queen—her mother. She was going to have to slay that beast herself.
Chloe cast a covert glance at her purse, which was sitting on the floor where she’d abandoned it, about four feet away. Just do it, she lectured herself. Woman up and stop putting off the inevitable.
She heaved herself off the bed to retrieve her purse, grabbing her coat off the floor, as well. After she’d wasted a couple more seconds arranging her coat on the back of the desk chair and applying some ChapStick, there were no more stalling tactics left in her arsenal. With a resigned breath, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed the number she’d been dreading calling since the moment she’d realized she’d be spending the night in Chicago.
“Hello.” The frigidity of the word let Chloe know that caller ID had already announced her identity.
She exhaled. “Hey, Mom.”
“‘Hey, Mom’? You’re calling me during the rehearsal dinner where everyone is staring at the gaping hole where the bride’s sister is supposed to sit and all you have to say is ‘Hey, Mom’?” Fiona Masterson’s voice was eerily calm. Which meant her mother was furious. “Everyone is wondering where you are.”