“What’s the dog’s name?” Randa looked back down at the dog to escape his stare.
“Misty. She’s kind of the hotel mascot.” Laura slid her card back across the table along with a key.
Randa did her best to ignore the sadness that came with imagining the hotel mascot with no hotel. Because when this became a Whitmore property, Misty would be evicted for sure. She gave the dog a final pat and said, “All right. Point me in the right direction.”
Laura nodded. “You’ve picked a fun time to visit, Miss Whitmore. We’ve got quite a few fan club events lined up for Elvis Week here at the hotel. You will see monitors in both hallways and in the elevator listing times and locations as well as information on everything happening at Graceland this week.” When Laura paused, Randa clasped her hands in front of her like she could hardly wait to get started on all the Elvis-ing. “Tony’s going to take you to your room, but I did want to mention that Viva Las Vegas is open for lunch and dinner. We’ve got room service available here in the hotel. Tony will show you the gym and the pool on the way.”
Randa glanced behind her at the brilliant white sign that marked Viva Las Vegas. She could hear faint strains of rocking guitars and pianos and knew she could count on Southern-fried goodness there. Her mouth watered at the thought.
When she turned back to Tony, she wasn’t sure he was going to do any of things Laura was signing him up for. He was statue-still and just as warm. Then he slowly turned his head and looked at Laura for a long, drawn-out, uncomfortable minute. Laura seemed unimpressed. “Don’t forget to help the lady with her bags now.” Randa held her breath and let it out quietly when Laura fluttered her eyelashes at Tony.
One corner of his mouth curled up before he took quick, efficient steps around to the front of the desk. Determined to show Tony that she wasn’t any happier to have his help than he was to give it, Randa hurried over to yank the straps of both smaller bags over one shoulder. She teetered again under the extra weight but steadied herself with a hand on her rolling bag. Tony called Misty with a quick whistle before he bent over to pick up Randa’s remaining bag. Then he tilted his head and Randa thought she saw his lips twitch. She was disappointed it didn’t turn into a real smile. “Please let me carry your bags.”
She held up a hand. “Oh, no, I have them. You should have seen me traipsing through the airport. I’ve got a good handle on how to manage lug—”
Tony slid his hand under the straps on her shoulder and smoothly pulled them over his own. Randa felt the path of that hand like a burn and froze for a second or two before she forced herself to breathe. She wondered what his touch on bare skin might accomplish.
“Follow me.” Tony clenched his hand and then shook it like he’d felt a tingle too. Instead of hurt, this time Randa felt the flutter of satisfaction. Maybe it was only a tiny reaction, but she got the feeling that even that was more than Tony was used to.
Randa watched him cross the lobby and then glanced from him to Misty. The dog looked at Tony and then back at her before seeming to shrug her shoulders.
“Come, Misty.” His voice was rough, probably from lack of use, but deep. In a way it matched his face, which was too stark and serious to be really handsome, but he could speak volumes with his eyes. She had a feeling Tony might be one of those deep thinkers: still waters that pondered big questions. Randa ignored the voice in her head that said she should only be interested in a man with a little more hair, a little less ink, and an entirely different wardrobe. Her body didn’t seem to care about those things. She felt his glance like a touch, and the nervous flutter in her stomach and damp palms said all she really needed to know now was what he looked like out of that tacky shirt.
Didn’t matter. She wasn’t here for men, her type or otherwise. She was here to get a little peace and some distance from the men already in her life—the ones she couldn’t dump or discourage because they were related. Also, they paid the bills. And when the credit card bill for this latest salon visit came in, her father better pay it. As long as she followed orders, he wrote checks.
Randa did her best to keep up with Tony but her four-inch heels weren’t made for speed. They were made for sex. She recognized the flaw in her plan almost immediately. Nothing she’d brought was for comfort, but she lived most of her life selling the right look.
“Hey, Tony, could you slow down just a bit? I think Misty’s breathing hard.” Randa shot an apologetic look down at the dog. Misty might seem to be laboring under the weight of all her skin but she was having no trouble keeping up.
Tony stopped in front of a door, swiped the key card, and opened it. She sort of expected him to let the door slam in her face, but he held it open, waited for her to enter with Misty on her heels, and then shut it carefully behind her. She did her best not to stare obviously at the bed that seemed to take up most of what was probably a decent-sized hotel room but felt like a closet. With a nice comfy bed inside. She wasn’t sure there was enough room for two people, a dog, and oxygen. Tony walked to the closet and opened the suitcase rack before setting her rolling case on it. Then he put the other bags he was carrying on the floor next to it.
Unsure what to say in response to his helpfulness, Randa glanced around what was a fairly standard hotel room. Except for the life-size photos of Elvis in different poses. “Wow. Great photos.” She kicked out of her heels and wiggled her toes in the gold carpet. “Are all the rooms this nice?”
Tony turned to flip on the light in the bathroom. “This is just the standard room. All the first-floor rooms are like this, but the second and third floors and luxury suites have other themes.”
She inched around him to peek into the bathroom. It was black. Black tile, black toilet, brilliant silver mirror with bright white lights… it was a lot to absorb. “And the bathrooms too?”
Somehow his face softened. She didn’t get a full smile but she got the idea that he was amused at her amazement. Then he nodded. He carefully stepped around her, obviously doing his best to make sure he didn’t brush up against her. Randa was glad he was cautious. Really. She told herself she was better off not knowing if the zing of his touch was more than a fluke. Direct contact with his chest would be impossible to ignore. Or forget.
He was headed to the door at his previous quick pace when she said, “Um, what about the gym and the… what else were you supposed to show me?”
His shoulders slumped a bit and he picked up her key card. “Follow me.”
Randa looked long and hard at her Laboutins passed out in a drunken sprawl on the carpet. She stepped over them with bare feet and followed Misty out into the hall. She could hear the whisper of her jeans, which were now too long on the carpet. And nothing else. Tony didn’t say anything. And she had no idea how to get the conversation started.
Near the end of the hall, Tony stopped and pointed. “Gym. Closes at ten, opens at six. If you need help, call the front desk.”
Tony raised an eyebrow. Randa nodded. And the three of them resumed the tour. It was kind of nice communicating on a nonverbal level like that. Maybe Tony was on to something.
She tried not to think about all the ways they might communicate without saying a thing.
The hall ended with a glass door labeled Pool. And Tony opened the door to let Misty out. “If you come out, you’ll need a key card to get back in. Otherwise, you’ll have a long walk back to the lobby front door.” He handed her the room key and they were both careful to avoid another brush of skin.
Randa nodded her understanding.
Tony pointed. “See that building?” When Randa peered through the glass, she leaned close enough to smell Tony’s detergent and aftershave. He smelled so, so good. Not rich, but healthy. She stepped back quickly and bumped the wall. “Those are the employee apartments where you’ll be staying.”
Randa wrapped her arms tightly over her chest. “Thanks for the tour. I appreciate it.”
Tony was serious as his eyes met hers and finally he sighed. “Welcome to the Rock’n�
��Rolla, Ms. Whitmore. I hope you enjoy your stay. Please let us know if there’s anything we can do to ensure a pleasant experience.”
He’d just put together more words then than she’d heard him use since she arrived. But the impersonal hotel-speak showed less personality than his dark eyes had. She had a feeling that the real Tony was as much like his professional persona as the Rock’n’Rolla Hotel was the typical business-class Whitmore property.
As she walked back to her room, she realized she already missed Misty. And she was more intrigued by the Rock’n’Rolla and its manager than was good for her. She’d have to get over both. She wanted a place of her own and the time was now. She couldn’t be distracted by beautiful dogs or distracting, mysterious men. She had a job to do.
Chapter Two
* * *
TONY STOOD IN the shade and watched Misty nose her way through the flowerbeds that lined the pool area. At first, the blast of heat was welcome. It took his mind off the hotel’s newest guest. The heat was sticky, uncomfortable, and the concrete around the pool was probably set to broil. But he’d been hotter. In Iraq, the heat had been deadly: thirty or forty degrees higher, and his combat gear hadn’t helped. Memphis in August might have been like the face of the sun; Iraq had been more like hell.
In a lot of ways.
As he stood in the shade wearing a truly ugly shirt, khakis, and comfortable shoes, he counted his blessings again. It had been six months or so since he’d experienced an episode—one of the nightmares that made him question his own sanity. Six months since he’d woken up fighting for his life, bathed in sweat, and lost in the past. Asleep, the details of the worst days in the desert were clear, but once awake, it took a while for the sound of gunfire and explosions and the feeling of imminent danger to recede, especially in the dark of night. Maybe it had been even longer than six months since he’d been able to sleep more than four hours, but every day free of nightmares felt like progress. And he was happy for it.
Reentering normal life had been a slow and painful process, but he could see he was headed in the right direction. It had been more than two years since he’d been discharged. And after fifteen years of service and three combat deployments, it had taken some time to find his way. For too long, a sort of numbness had helped him ignore fear and grief and any other emotion that got in the way of surviving a war zone and he hadn’t been able to let it go easily when he got home. He wasn’t sure he wanted to in the early days. Life could be painful no matter where he was. Keeping all the things that might hurt at a distance had seemed like a good idea, but since he’d started at the hotel, he’d realized he was missing out on all the good things too. Memphis was home now and forever. Life at the Rock’n’Rolla was changing him, maybe healing him. The better he felt, the surer he was that he could make it the home he always wanted. Eventually.
Misty moseyed over to the gate that led to the staff apartments and tilted her head while she waited for him.
“Smart dog. You’ll be stretched out in the kitchen floor in about three seconds, won’t you?” He unlocked the door and stepped into the shadowy coolness of his small apartment. Misty waited patiently for him to give her a dog biscuit and then she stretched out on the cool linoleum with a satisfied sigh. The green ribbons on her ears fluttered and then stilled.
Tony smiled and shook his head. The dog had the right idea. He’d worked until eight this morning and then went to give Laura a lunch break. With Willodean, the hotel’s owner, on vacation and their best front desk clerk out with a sick kid, they were even more short-handed than usual. He really ought to take a little nap before he was back on duty.
Little naps were all he really needed anyway. Even after the nightmares faded, he had a hard time slowing his mind down to rest. The night shift was the perfect solution.
Fewer people. Plenty of quiet. No reason to worry about dreams. Maybe it wasn’t quite the normal life most everyone else had, but it was good for him. It wasn’t like he had a family to work around.
Tony leaned one shoulder against the wall as he stared at his cluttered bookcases without really seeing the titles. He had no idea how Willodean Jackson had known just exactly what he’d needed but she had. She’d been looking for a bartender when he came in to apply. Instead, she created a head of security position and gave him the job. And after three months, she’d made him manager of the hotel.
Not that it was some endorsement of his excellent performance. Willodean was crazy. She hadn’t asked for references. She hadn’t put him on probation. She hadn’t asked if he was a foster kid with a rap sheet listing a few petty crimes. His first big lucky break had been graduating high school. His second, enlisting in the Marines the day after graduation, and third, making it back home in one piece. But none compared to meeting Willodean.
Crazy as she was.
He shifted through the messy mash-up of paperbacks, looking for the proper distraction, and finally yanked one off the shelf. Whether he could sleep or not, he could relax. That he’d learned to do. Almost. He kicked off his shoes and stretched out on the long couch that took up most of his living room. He currently owned more than he ever had: a couch, a bed, a nightstand, a desk, enough computer equipment to land spacecraft if needed, and about a thousand ratty paperbacks in almost every fiction genre.
That, frozen dinners, and enough uniforms to get him through a week were all he really needed. When he looked around his place, he felt pretty lucky.
Randa Whitmore’s shoes had probably cost more than everything in this apartment combined. Of course, when they looked like they did, thanks to those crazy long legs, they were probably worth every penny. Might even be priceless, like works of art. He had a feeling their appeal had a lot more to do with the legs than the shoes. When she’d stretched her legs out to conquer the lobby floor, one step and hip shake at a time, it had taken nearly all of his self-control to keep his mouth from dropping open. Strong reactions like that didn’t happen often, but he took it as another encouraging sign that the numbness he felt was fading. At the same time, it scared him that a woman so far from his type nearly had him drooling on the front desk.
Misty sighed heavily as she meandered in and rested her head against the cushions by his feet.
He shook his head and lifted his feet out of her way. She crawled up and circled three times before she curled into a ball and blinked sleepily at him. There was something about the way those damn bows trembled and her soft brown eyes focused on his face. Now he’d be contorted into an S but Misty was happy. He scooted his feet under her head, muttering, “Silly dog, you should not be this cute,” and felt some of the tension that came from too much time spent with people—noisy, demanding, unpredictable people—ease.
Truth was he loved having her here. He rested better when Misty was around. Probably because she was the poster dog for taking it easy. He’d been Willodean’s designated dog sitter since the day they met. The first time he’d kept her at his place, he’d decided to remove the bows over her ears, thinking he’d be doing the dog and her social standing a favor. She’d howled so mournfully that he’d had to scramble to figure out a way to get them back on and fast.
He hadn’t told Willodean about that. Apparently Misty hadn’t either.
Tony squirmed a bit and ignored Misty’s grumble before he leaned back with a sigh. He should kick her off the couch. He should go nap in the bed he hardly ever used. He should get up and do something useful. Elvis Week was looming, the hotel was short-staffed, and he could have worked for two days straight on all the paperwork already piled up on his desk.
Willodean’s plans to expand the hotel’s services had brought an avalanche of paperwork.
But everyone he worked with would benefit from his time out.
He closed his eyes and counted to a hundred, concentrating on nothing more than the cool air around him, the warm weight of Misty’s head, and the quiet that almost pounded in his ears, forcing himself to relax every muscle.
Facing people, even in t
he completely nonthreatening jungle-like lobby of the hotel, took effort. He was very good at his job. He just needed time alone to deal with the low-level tension that built with noisy crowds, loud music, and too much togetherness.
But he still couldn’t sleep. That was nothing new. He picked up the book he’d dropped next to the couch.
“Aw, shit. Romance.” Not that he didn’t like romance. Obviously, he did. This one had made it onto the keeper bookcase.
He just didn’t need anything bringing the hotel’s newest guest to mind.
But it was too late. Randa Whitmore.
In the Marines, he’d spent a lot of time with sand in really uncomfortable places.
He had a feeling she’d be a lot like that. Irritating and impossible to ignore.
When he’d been promoted to general manager, he’d kept the whole “head of security” label too. The front desk had small monitors tied to cameras around the property so he hadn’t missed Randa Whitmore rolling up to the hotel in a limo. That was rare enough to raise his first red flag. The clientele of the Rock’n’Rolla Hotel was more into land yachts, minivans, and buses hauling large groups of people over any distance. Fan clubs stayed here. Die-hard Elvis fans on their pilgrimages to Mecca rested here. Even foreign tourists picked the Rock’n’Rolla for their Elvis fixes.
None of them arrived in limos.
She didn’t fit here.
Tony had learned a long time ago that the pieces that didn’t fit always caused trouble.
Foster kids brought out the worst in bullies. The slowest guy in the group never lasted long. And that pile of trash hiding in plain sight on the side of a dusty road could be the last mistake a soldier ever made.
If he’d had a better idea of what sort of trouble she might be, he’d have told Sam to turn right back around with Randa’s bags. He’d have been doing himself a favor.
But he hadn’t. And the very first thing she’d done, after confronting the overwhelming foliage in the lobby, was stoop down to pet Misty.
Can't Help Falling In Love Page 2