Something in the region of his heart had shifted at the sight. And he’d felt a different situation, something hotter, harder, a little lower down. A gorgeous, expensive blonde squatting in tight jeans and killer heels to pet a floppy bloodhound with stupid green bows. He’d have to be dead not to be… interested in her.
The idiot part of him that perked up when beautiful women with killer curves were in the neighborhood was alive and well.
Thank God.
Even without the limo arrival, Randa Whitmore screamed money and polish and better-than-you.
Thanks to the Marines and Willodean Jackson, now he had money. And except for his weekly trip to his favorite bookstore, he didn’t do much with it.
Randa Whitmore probably spent money with every breath she took. She looked like she wiped her nose on twenty-dollar bills.
And she was going to be his neighbor in two days. He was probably going to spend too much time replaying her strut across the lobby in his mind. If there’d been a wind machine and Def Leppard playing in the background, she’d have been his every teenage fantasy come to life.
Control was important. He’d spent a lot of time with none. Now, no matter how he really felt, he was a solid picture of control. He’d spent a lot of time perfecting a poker face. Randa Whitmore had threatened his skills a minute after she’d walked into the place.
And then she’d reminded him why imagining her, doing the same walk, wearing nothing but those heels was a complete waste of time. Fun. Arousing. And a happy boost to his recovery maybe, to feeling more like his old self, but not a good use of his time.
He had as much chance with a woman like her as he did winning a singing competition. Tomcats circled when he sang out loud.
Finding a normal girl, one who worked for a living and paid her bills on time… that would be a good use of his time. The new bartender Cat was more his speed.
Tony shook his head. He hadn’t thought about women and “his speed” in a long time. That was sad because ever since he was a kid, he’d wanted to make a new, better, stronger family than what he’d started with. Doing that without the normal girl would be difficult.
Maybe he ought to send Randa Whitmore a thank-you note for that. In one stroll across the lobby, she’d gotten his mind moving in the right direction. Now he just had to convince the rest of his body that another kind of girl would be more fun.
And all the therapeutic work to relax his tension away was now another waste of time. He was restless. Wide awake. Possibly horny. The last thing he needed was a romance. He sat up and shoved the book back in the crowded bookcase before he scratched Misty behind the ears.
“What do you think, Mist? Maybe I ought to try getting out more.”
Misty smacked her floppy lips and stretched her back legs so he could scratch her stomach.
“Glad you agree.” Tony shrugged his shoulders. Napping was out. He’d worked out right after his shift ended. The apartment was spotless. And Laura would chew his head off and spit down his neck if he tried to go back into his office to work on paperwork. She worried like the mother she was.
He appreciated it. It was nice to have Willodean and Laura looking out for him, even if they worried too much. He kept them safe and the hotel running like clockwork. They tried to make him rest and “enjoy himself.” Just before she’d left for her week in Hawaii with her friend, Arleen Masters, Willodean had made vague threats regarding his spare time. She’d be back on Saturday, just in time to help as Elvis Week exploded. When everything died down, Tony had no doubt she’d kick off whatever plot she’d hatched to get him a real life, one that included more than work. And she’d have plenty of help.
Tony rubbed his forehead. Maybe he ought to just go along. Maybe they could find him a hobby. Or a girl. Both would be the best-case scenario.
He might owe Randa Whitmore for this newer, more open attitude. He’d thought he was content before, but now he knew there was at least one missing piece. But that piece was not Randa Whitmore. She was a puzzle. He was curious. That was rare enough. The fact that she was a puzzle wrapped in a pinup girl’s body, had a face that made a man think of angels, and lips that made him think of sin was icing on the cake.
The first step of solving puzzles? Line up all the pieces.
“Let’s do a little investigation.” Tony patted Misty on the head again and moved over to sit at the desk that took up the dining room area of his one-bedroom apartment. He opened up his laptop and entered “Randa Whitmore” in the search engine.
He half expected to see thumbnails of her on magazine covers or lingerie catalogs or even more adult fare. She had a body that would not stop. Instead, there were just a few images of her at what looked like society functions in and around Chicago. In almost every picture she was wearing fussy evening wear and standing next to some tuxedo-wearing Ken doll. Or to be more accurate, a wide variety of Ken dolls.
The links included more information on all her worthy causes. He found an article on her charity work in the Harvard Business School’s online alumni bulletin. And on the second page, he discovered her family. And when he read about the Whitmore family’s national chain of hotels, he sat up straight in his desk chair. Memphis didn’t have one, so he didn’t know anything about them, but a quick search showed him standard—posh but passionless—hotels with business travelers in mind.
A hotel heiress in his hotel. In disguise. There was no way a woman like Randa Whitmore made a habit of wearing T-shirts devoted to The King, covered in shine or not. Her arrival here was suspicious. The W Group must be sizing up Memphis for a new project. She was investigating the competition.
And lying about it. He didn’t like liars. Worse, she’d turned him on, made him think about possibilities, and she was a liar. He should head back over and throw her out. He didn’t know her goal, but she was probably up to no good.
He leaned over to pick up the phone and dialed the front desk. When Laura answered, he said, “Can you get someone to cover the desk for a few minutes?”
He could hear the suspicion in her voice when Laura answered, “Why? Where will I be?”
“Our newest guest didn’t tell the whole truth. I’d like to escort her from the property but I’ll need your help.”
When she squawked in his ear, Tony yanked the phone away and waited for her to calm down.
“No way. What in the world could she possibly have done in what…” Laura must’ve glanced at the clock. “Not even a full hour yet?”
“I just did an Internet search. She’s a Whitmore from the hotel Whitmores.”
He glanced over at Misty who’d stretched out to cover most of the couch. The dog was amazing.
“Why are you investigating our guests, Tony?” Laura didn’t say it but he could hear That’s paranoid, even for you in her voice.
Tony leaned back in his chair. “I was curious.” The silence on the line spoke volumes. “I mean, I was suspicious.” Better.
But not good enough. Laura’s voice was dry when she said, “Right. I believe both is the right answer. And the fact that she’s so darn hot has nothing to do with either your suspicion or your decision to get rid of her, right?”
Tony stared up at the ceiling as he tried to figure out how to answer. Diversion was a good bet. “Laura, she’s scoping out the hotel for… something.”
“So?”
She had a point. So what if she was? The Rock’n’Rolla was a one-of-a-kind place. Even if the Whitmores decided to build an exact replica, it would still lack Willodean’s magic touch. Plus, the hotel was on the verge of an expansion that included better meeting rooms and a spa. By the time they could find some place on Elvis Presley Boulevard, tear down, and rebuild a hotel, the Rock’n’Rolla would be bigger and better.
“So I’d rather just take care of this before Willodean gets back. Elvis Week will be crazy enough. We don’t need a spy around.”
Laura sighed. “Tony, listen. I know you like to act. You make decisions and quickly. That’s a good th
ing around here. But imagine the stink she might cause. The publicity. We don’t even know what she hopes to accomplish. Couldn’t we just keep an eye on her? Willodean deserves to have a say in kicking someone out of the hotel.” Laura didn’t have to say the rest. They both knew there were very few reasons Willodean would evict her. Being up to no good wouldn’t hold much water with Willodean.
“Fine. I’ll keep an eye on her then. When Willodean’s back, I’ll ask.” He had to grit his teeth on the last word. Doing nothing felt foreign.
Laura laughed. “I saw the way you were looking at her, Tony. I know for a fact that you’ll have no trouble keeping an eye on her. I am curious to see if that’s as far as it goes.”
When he heard the click as she hung up the phone, Tony banged the phone on his forehead. She was too smart for her own good. And if Willodean were here, they’d be standing in the dark recesses of the lobby plotting ways to throw Randa at him. He had to be careful or he’d be Willodean’s next matchmaking project. With Laura’s able help and the very appealing Randa in residence, he’d be toast.
Just remember. She lied. It was his only hope of withstanding her obvious attractions. And keep an eye on her. She was like a peacock in a henhouse. How hard could it be?
Chapter Three
* * *
THE FIRST BITE of the towering burger made Randa moan out loud. It was cooked medium well, had a slice of cheddar and a slice of pepper jack cheese, some kind of creamy delicious special sauce, and enough onions to give her bad breath of nuclear capabilities. And it was awesome.
Viva Las Vegas should be charging double for a burger like this.
Randa savored that first bite and washed it down with tea sweet enough to improve her mood. Sweet tea and fried everything. She loved when her assignments brought her below the Mason-Dixon line. When she moved, she’d probably gain two hundred pounds and die fat and happy. Even the heat and humidity would be worth it to get a little distance from the Whitmores.
Her father had a lot of rules. Number one on the list was that he made all the rules. Randa and the rest of the world could fall in line or else. To be fair, most of the time going along was easy enough, and the perks were pretty good.
But at thirty-two, the tradeoffs bothered her in a way that they never had at twenty-two. And when she disagreed with his plans by breaking the second engagement her father had arranged, she ended up at the Rock’n’Rolla Hotel. Even worse, undercover at the Rock’n’Rolla. Every good Whitmore knew that business was war and, at its heart, warfare was deception. She didn’t lie well, didn’t practice enough, and so was not very good at it. But her father insisted that she come, right now, and stay for a week to investigate the hotel, and since she’d rather do this than listen to any more conversation about her broken engagement, she’d drown her indignation in sweet tea and impressive air conditioning and do the damn job so well he had to agree to her plan to run this hotel after the renovation.
She refused to look over her shoulders to see who might be watching. Just the thought of her father gave her a case of the heeby-jeebies. Or worse. Her mother would be mortally offended at the number of calories on the plate in front of her.
A sweet potato fry and sweet warm dipping sauce chased the thought of them away.
The only thing that made this meal less than perfect was the retina-burning brightness of the lights surrounding the bar. Viva Las Vegas was well lit in the way that the United States Mint had a lot of change. Thinking she’d feel less conspicuously single, she’d chosen a seat at the bar. Now she wished she’d brought her sunglasses with her.
She tried to calculate how much of a decrease in energy it would take to see a return in lowered electric bills for about ten seconds. Then she shrugged her shoulders and picked up the burger.
Close your eyes. Maybe that will make the next bite better. Randa smiled and shook her head even as she closed her eyes and took the next bite. If it was better than the first, she was going to embarrass herself by moaning loud enough to be heard over “Jailhouse Rock.”
She’d never moaned that loud.
A hamburger that was better than sex. Clearly the chef would need to stay on, no matter what incentive it took.
And the very first thing she did as manager would be to raise the prices across the board.
“Hey, Tony, what are you in the mood for tonight?”
Randa’s eyes popped open and she squinted against the lights into the mirror behind the bar. Tony had come in at some point. He was seated one stool to her left, and he was watching her face very, very closely.
She had that feeling again, like she was the prey and the predator was licking his chops. She shifted on her stool and did her best to ignore the heat building low in her abdomen. She thought about sex and Tony appeared. It was a neat trick. But it didn’t surprise her as much as it should have.
“I’ll have what she’s having,” Tony said. Randa thought his lips twitched as he faced the bartender. She knew for a fact the bartender was fighting a smile as she nodded and went to put his order in.
Abruptly aware of how she hunched over her plate, her elbows resting on the bar and both hands wrapped around the heavenly burger, Randa straightened to her best pageant posture, set her burger down, shoved her chest out, and smiled at Tony.
Maybe he hadn’t fallen to her charms yet, but she wasn’t done fighting. A flash of what his surrender might look like, naked, on a nice hotel bed, distracted her and she had to force her attention back to her goal. Charm Tony. He’d be less suspicious if she could pull that off.
“It’s an excellent burger, but I’m sure you know that.” She picked up a fry and chomped it in half before smiling innocently at him. “You must eat here all the time. It is the only restaurant in the hotel, right?”
He was still wearing the Hawaiian shirt and khakis from when she’d checked in earlier, and they were wrinkle-free and spotless. She wished she could see the ink on his arm better but he was too far away. She hoped that was the problem. Maybe the lights of the bar had done permanent damage to her eyes.
Before Tony could answer, sharp feedback had everyone in the place swiveling to see the stage better. A short man in a rhinestoned jumpsuit was turning knobs on his small board. When the screech died out, he said, “Evening, ladies and gents, my name’s Lucky and I’ll be spinning some tunes and playing a little trivia tonight.”
Randa cringed and the bartender laughed. “Tomorrow night’s karaoke night.”
Randa nodded her thanks for the warning. As she chewed another fry, she wondered what else she might possibly do for dinner that week. She also made a mental note that another easy, money-saving change, post-Rock’n’Rolla Hotel takeover, would be to fire Lucky and destroy the karaoke machine. It would be good deed too.
Randa wasn’t sure how to handle the silence between her and Tony. She concentrated on her burger and watched Tony in the mirror. He looked a little tired, but still solid, like he could save the world even if he yawned all the way through it. At first he ignored her, but when he looked into the mirror and met her stare, she had to grip the bar to keep from falling off the stool.
“So when do the karaoke festivities start tomorrow?” It was the first thing she could think of and the last thing she cared about.
“Usually starts around seven.” Tony leaned back as the bartender slid a plate in front of him. “You know, if you’d like to miss it.” Then he smiled at the bartender and said, “Thanks, Cat.”
Randa watched the curvy bartender wink at him and wondered how she’d managed to avoid both the Hawaiian shirt and the showgirl costume all the restaurant’s waitresses wore. Cat wore jeans and an Elvis T-shirt and made them look good, although Randa figured her mother would have a thing or three to say about Cat’s weight, her sloppy ponytail, and her wardrobe.
She needed to stop thinking about her mother. She wasn’t even here and she still managed to seriously dampen Randa’s burger buzz. She glanced at Tony to see that he was waiting for a response.
“Good to know.”
Tony nodded and took a big bite of his hamburger. She noted he didn’t moan. She didn’t know if that was a result of too much exposure or if his soul was dead. Honestly, she couldn’t imagine getting used to burgers like this one, but she didn’t want his soul to be dead either.
It was a very hard decision.
She watched him very methodically devour his dinner. One bite of hamburger, three fries, a long swallow of what looked like ice water… and repeat. He was methodical, like he’d figured out the best, most efficient way to make it through a meal. She wondered if he’d be like that in bed or if he ever lost control. And then she nearly choked on her sweet tea.
He paused in his pattern and reached over to pat her on the back. When she finally caught her breath, he rested his hand between her shoulder blades and rubbed small circles. It was comforting. And arousing. She wanted to rest her head on his shoulder. Naked.
“You don’t seem to like the burger as much as I do,” she said, mainly to keep from making that suggestion. And she hoped the conversation would get her mind back on track.
He withdrew has hand slowly and Randa fought against the urge to lean into him. One corner of his mouth curled up as he set his glass back down. “I don’t know that I’ve ever enjoyed anything the way you’re enjoying that burger.”
Randa was a little surprised to feel the urge to laugh bubbling up inside. He’d proven he was completely unimpressed with her face, her walk, or the way she filled out her T-shirt. Since she was usually pretty confident of her physical appeal, she had no idea what he’d think of her insides. This was not a man she needed to get tangled up with. She needed to tell herself that as many times as it took to sink in. He’d be impossible to manipulate. And that’s what she did best.
Manipulation was just another word for strategy. Thanks, Dad.
“I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed anything as much as that cheeseburger, either. Hope the management knows it’s way underpriced.”
Can't Help Falling In Love Page 3