A Suite Life (Suite Love Series Book 2)

by Sue Gibson

  Relieved that her move to Paris was apparently back on track, she spun to face the twins and called out, "One more round of hide-and-seek, anyone?" The thrill of impending escape unfurled the knot that had formed in her stomach the day of the auction. "You've got two minutes and then I'll start looking." Gosh, they really were kind of cute when they smiled.

  Thirty minutes later and her second outfit languishing in the laundry hamper, Delaney paced the floor, purse in hand. She checked the driveway again and smoothed her hair behind one ear. Where was Flo? It was amazing how often last-minute errands held up Flo's return to the twins.

  If Flo didn't arrive before Trey, she'd have to invite him into the house. She glanced around the living room. Heaps of toys cluttered a room dominated by a blaring big-screen TV. The boys, now with dishtowels knotted around their waists, took shots at one another with well-placed karate kicks.

  Just as she was reaching for the phone to ask Trey to delay their dinner reservation, it jangled for the second time. Yanking back her hand, she glared at the offending machine. What news would Flo announce this time?

  Delaney stiffened her backbone and steeled herself against what would be a laundry list of excuses from the twins' absent mother. Be calm, but firm, she reminded herself. Flo is a businesswoman. She'll respect my insistence that she come right home.

  "Hello," she said, digging deep for a strong and assertive tone.

  The line buzzed for a second. "Ummm. Delaney?"

  The male voice on the other end was deep and sexy.

  "Oh, Trey, it's you," she said, reverting to her normal voice. "I thought it might be Flo." Wow. Was it possible to sound handsome? "I'm ready, but Flo's not home yet, so I'm still babysitting the twins."

  She glanced to the messy room and shrugged her shoulders. "But you may as well head over, so we can leave as soon as Flo arrives."

  "I'm flattered. You obviously can't wait to see me," he said.

  She tucked her tiny clutch purse under one arm and smiled into the phone. "You, and a menu. I don't know what time you usually eat, but I'm starving."

  "Is that all I am to you, a meal ticket? You're killing me," he said, picking up on her frivolous mood.

  "Of course not. You're taking me dancing in the Starlight Room afterward too!"

  Trey laughed out loud. "Apparently, I am"

  "Hey, I'm leaving town next week. It might be my last chance to check out Buttermilk Falls' newest and only hot spot"

  His voice became more subdued, "Still determined to leave all of Buttermilk Falls' single guys high and dry as of next week"

  "Plane ticket number two is already in my purse. And as for the local eligible bachelors-I've dated all four of them at some point in the past. Trust me, no matches made in heaven are about to be lost" The problem was that most single men her age were looking to settle down, raise some kids, and didn't understand her restlessness. Somehow she knew the uneasiness would remain until she knew for certain whether she was meant to paint again. Paris held all the answers.

  Trey chuckled into the phone. "Well, I can't speak for the others, but over here at the Nirvana, number five is feeling kind of blue."

  She found herself smiling. It was fun to talk with someone who got her. She still confided in Lily, of course, but lately Lily was insanely preoccupied with her husband and the new home she and Ethan planned to build on Loon Lake when they returned.

  "That's just your hunger talking. And hey, you're not a local. A big-city guy like you has thousands of single gals to choose from."

  "All right, you've got me there"

  A smidgen of disappointment at his quick agreement diminished her upbeat mood slightly.

  "Anyway," he went on, "the reason I called is to find out what you feel like eating. I usually preorder with the chef. What do you say? Lobster, steak, chicken?"

  Her mouth filled with saliva. Almost every night this week she'd faced down a plate of microwaved hot dogs with a side helping of gooey macaroni and cheese. "Oh, lobster, please" She hopped up and down like a fiveyear-old waiting for a piece of cake at a birthday party.

  "I picked lobster too. Why settle for anything but the best, right?"

  "Exactly"

  "I'll be right over. Third house on Lilac Lane, right?"

  "Ye.... ss. The pink and white house with the plastic flamingos in the flower bed," she confirmed before he said good-bye and clicked off.

  Delaney returned to her post by the window, the smudged glass reflecting her upturned lips. Obviously, Trey had taken the time to track her whereabouts this week. She pictured him cruising in his Porsche, searching for the street named after its abundant lilac bushes.

  Her smile broadened. She was determined to remain unattached, but she wasn't dead.

  "No," Delaney said flat out, "that's impossible."

  Flo hung her coat in the hallway closet and turned to face Delaney's shocked face. "It's out of my hands, hon. Those poor patients evicted from the hospital need the services of the cleaning crew right now. Beds are lining the halls of the nursing home!" Flo dusted her hands together and headed toward the kitchen.

  Was Flo serious? Had Buttermilk Falls' only smokedamage company pulled out of her house? Instantly, she felt bad. Of course they had.

  Delaney called out to Flo in the kitchen. "Have you told the Johnsons this new bit of information yet?" Apprehension tightened her chest. If her tenants couldn't wait a month and found another house to rent, then all her plans were up in smoke too. She needed their rental income to pay her for her studio apartment in Paris.

  "That's why I'm late" Flo turned and flashed a smile over her shoulder before announcing proudly, "It took some doing, but they said they loved your little place so much, they're willing to wait it out."

  "Thanks for handling that, Flo," Delaney began, "I can't possibly stay with-"

  "Of course you can. Don't you worry about staying with me and my boys. You're hardly any trouble at all"

  "That's not what I meant...:

  Delaney flattened her body against the wall as Flo maneuvered past with a box of crackers in one hand and a jar of peanut butter held high over her head in the other.

  "By the way," Flo said over her shoulder, "I forgot to tell you that tomorrow night is my turn to host the twins' Pioneer Club. If you could just cover for me for a bit-you know, make some snacks and entertain the troupe until I get here...."

  Delaney slid slowly to the carpet, her back displacing a jumble of hockey sticks. The clattering collapse went unheeded by the living room trio. They were either immune to all the noise, or deaf from years of living in it.

  Delaney shoved aside the sticks with her elbow and contemplated her situation. An artist needs peace and solitude to paint. Her muse required a garret flat on the rue d'Anjou. And Delaney needed the Johnsons' rent checks in hand when she boarded the plane.

  "Delaney, come squeeze in here on the couch," Flo mumbled through a mouthful of peanut butter and crackers, "WrestleMania starts in two minutes."

  Delaney cringed and drew her legs up to a fetal position. "No, thanks. Trey should be here any second," she called out.

  "Oooh, Trey. I love you," erupted from the twins, followed by fake kissing.

  Delaney pressed her fingers to her temples and rotated them gently. I'll go crazy if I stay in this house for another month.

  From the driveway she heard the crunching of gravel announcing the arrival of Trey's Porsche. She scrambled to her feet and dusted off her black, majorly discounted Alfred Sung pants. Smoothing her silky black halter top into place, she drew in a breath and composed her face. Her white knight awaited.

  She swung the door open and faced an empty space. No tall, dark, handsome man with a brilliant smile, cradling flowers in the crook of his arm stood on the other side. She glanced to the empty Porsche idling in the driveway.

  "Delaney, please give me a month. I know you said no before. But I need your help, big-time," Trey pleaded from a place just below and to the right of her kneecap. "I
tried tracking down the local artists myself. I need your help. And where the heck is Black Creek Road anyway? I drove around the lake for at least two hours and came home empty-handed"

  She looked down into his head of thick, sandy-brown hair. In what fairy tale did white knights beg for help from stressed-out damsels? "Get off your knees," she whispered, "the whole neighborhood is watching. By tomorrow afternoon the Bluebird's brunch crowd will have gossiped your little charade into a full-blown marriage proposal."

  "If that's what it takes to get you to work with me, then-" Trey grabbed her clenched fist and planted a loud kiss, reminiscent of Teddy and Freddy's earlier version, on the back of her hand.

  She yanked her hand free. "Too late, buster. You already showed your cards, remember-at the auction. No picket fences in your future. A girl in every port or something... "

  Trey slammed his open palm into his forehead. "I talk way too much. And it was hotel, not port"

  "I stand corrected"

  "Well then, back to my first offer. How about it, Delaney? I'll throw in a company car for your use"

  Delaney glanced across the lawn to her own driveway and her fourteen-year-old rusting Cavalier. She bit her bottom lip.

  A loud crash followed by Teddy's high-pitched war cry pierced the lilac-scented evening air and returned her attention to the problem at hand. Could she last another four weeks in the same house as Flo and the twins? She turned to face Trey.

  His profile, caught in light and shadow, revealed a strong, angular jaw and a straight nose with a little bump near the bridge. A soft sigh slipped from her lips. Why couldn't a guy like this have shown up on her door-step years ago? It certainly would've made life in Buttermilk Falls a lot more interesting.

  But really, was there no good reason not to let him play the White Knight for a month? Isn't that how he billed himself-the kind of hero that saves the day and then rides off into the sunset?

  She definitely needed some help and his riding away at the end of the month coincided perfectly with her own agenda. "Is your offer of a free suite at the Nirvana still on the table?" She'd find a way to explain it to her mom later.

  His movie star smile lit up the porch. "Absolutely"

  High above the Trillium Terrace, thousands of stars twinkled in the night's inky sky. As if held by an invisible string, an orange-slice moon dangled above the spruce trees. Buffered by the terrace's thick terra-cotta half wall, soft jazz tunes mixed with the buzz of mannerly, grownup conversation.

  Trey watched Delaney settle her dessert fork to her plate.

  "I don't want to leave," she said.

  "You don't have to," Trey replied. "The Trillium Terrace doesn't close until midnight."

  Delaney's hand flew to cover her mouth. "Did I say that out loud? It's just so peaceful here" She ducked her head slightly, her feisty confidence looking all the more like girlish charm now.

  "Don't be embarrassed. That's how you're supposed to feel, when you're in a Weatherall hotel," he said, pride surging in his chest. "We're famous for our romantic ambience."

  He and Ethan had burned the midnight oil many nights developing this oasis. A place their clientele would revisit in real time, and in their memories.

  "You don't have to sell me on the Nirvana, Trey. It's beautiful." She turned her head slowly, as if studying every chair and planter and tile, only stopping when her gaze met the drop-away view of Loon Lake. "I can't believe you live like this all the time. I'm jealous."

  "What can I say, somebody's gotta do it. And as soon as you move in, it's your lifestyle too" He cocked his eyebrow toward Jason, the new busboy, and waited until he cleared the cutlery and plates before speaking. "It would be frozen dinners for me every night if I owned a home"

  No need to mention that many evenings the chair across from him sat empty. The lifestyle had a downside too.

  "Look, Trey," her voice softened, "I want to thank you for the job. I need the money and, quite frankly, I wasn't going to last another day at 33 Lilac Lane. I'm just not used to, you know"-she eyed the other diners as if checking for eavesdropping locals-"the family thing."

  Her nose wrinkled prettily at the bridge with her whispered words. He couldn't imagine her living with Flo and the gang either. Delaney Forbes fit perfectly with the Nirvana's cosmopolitan crowd. He glanced around the terrace, recognizing returning clientele from around the globe. Yes. She belonged in this world.

  Too bad this world included Paris. For the third time this week he found himself wishing she didn't have one foot out of Buttermilk Falls. She could make his stay a lot more interesting.

  Jason returned and placed a scented candle in the squat sandstone carving that served as a holder. "Mr. Sullivan," he whispered, "I thought you might like to know the band is warming up in the lounge."

  "Thanks, Jason. Good job tonight."

  Trey studied the college student as he moved about the tables. The young man's skills were top-notch, but it was his attitude that impressed him the most. Another name to add to Weatherall's list of potential interns.

  "Shall we?" He cocked his head toward the strains of music drifting from the Starlight Room. "You said you expected dancing tonight. And I always try to please my date"

  Delaney lifted her gaze to his face, steeling herself against the inevitable smug smile. She hated to insult her new boss, but come on, Trey, that line was beyond cheesy.

  The dark eyes staring back at her revealed an intelligent mind. She held his gaze and let the moment stretch. His eyes crinkled at the corners and his smile seemed genuine, not smug. No veiled innuendo there, she decided with relief, just a confident statement. Well, maybe a bit overconfident, but not sleazy.

  "Let's do it." She placed her hand in his open palm. "I love jazz"

  The band played slow, smoky tunes. The kind that made you feel like you're falling in love as you slipslide around the dance floor in the arms of your partner. And it's not until the band quickens the tempo and you peel yourself off your date that you realize it wasn't love, but the magic of a good jazz vocalist and a slow back beat that had you salivating against his shoulder.

  Delaney loosened her arms slightly from around Trey's neck. It's the music. Definitely the music.

  The five-piece band was incredible. The Starlight Room was incredible. And Trey? She sneaked a peek at her dance partner. He looked incredible.

  Granted, coming off a week of babysitting the twin terrors, her judgment might be a tad skewed, but she was pretty sure she was dancing with the best-looking guy in the room.

  "Who ever came up with the idea to let the real stars shine through was a brilliant designer," she commented, tipping her head to the glass expanse that substituted for a regular roof.

  "Ethan worked with the architects on that one. He poured everything he had into this hotel. Had a lot riding on it and pulled out all the stops"

  "I know. Lily told me that Ethan had to convince his father that a high-end hotel in rural Ontario could pull in the business." She looked over his shoulder and around the room. It was crowded with young urban professionals enjoying a reprieve from their fast-paced city lives. "Obviously Ethan knew if he built the luxury hotel, the moneyed would come"

  "I know it sounds corny, but Ethan had a dream, a passion. And he didn't rest until he accomplished it. The fact that he found Lily, the love of his life here at Loon Lake too, is amazing."

  Delaney agreed wholeheartedly with Trey. Big dreams aren't corny. Nor is a big, crazy love. A stab of envy darted through her.

  "I couldn't be happier for Lily and Ethan," she agreed, meaning it with all her heart.

  Yes, her lifelong friend had found her own personal nirvana with the CEO of the Weatherall hotel chain. Ethan and Lily had fallen in love-not just any old love but a magnificent, black-and-white movie kind of love. So big that it had changed Delaney too, just by association.

  Lily's marriage and defection from her best friend's everyday doings had forced Delaney to examine her own life.

  She'd b
egun to wonder if it was time to face her fears and begin to paint again.

  Paris was the answer, she'd decided. A fresh start. She'd devote a whole year to proving Noah Cravet, the Toronto Daily's art columnist who had royally trashed her first major show, wrong. Four years ago, after her first show in Toronto, he'd called her uninspired, another wannabe who should hang up her brushes and find a day job. And that's exactly what she did.

  But when she finally arrived in Paris, she intended to immerse herself in her art, mingle with other artists, and visit museums and galleries. And more importantly she'd finally pick up her paintbrushes again.

  Somehow Lily's passion for Ethan had reignited Delaney's desire to harness the beauty that had been stifled inside her, blocked at her fingertips for too long. It was time to let it loose on a canvas. Share it with the world; make a career happen. Move to Paris!

  And anyway, finding the right guy wasn't everything.

  The sweet, musky fragrance of Trey's aftershave filled her nostrils. Man, he smelled delicious. Whoa. Back up. She better not become intoxicated by this man. As they circled by the open doors to the terrace, she sucked in a breath of fresh air.

  Fortified, she relaxed in his arms. His chin grazed the front of her forehead, its angled edge rough against her skin.

  Okay, that's it. Delaney pushed gently against his chest, stepped back, and turned toward the open French doors. "Let's take a break," she murmured.

  The pressure of Trey's hand in the small of her back as he guided her through the sea of swaying bodies suddenly felt presumptuous and she quickened her step.

  Trey lengthened his stride to keep pace with Delaney's lanky legs. Her flimsy sandals clattered against the slate tiles as she sped across the patio toward the outer wall of the Trillium Terrace, and the view the hotel's brochure deemed spectacular.

  He didn't know what caused the abrupt ending to their slow-dancing, but generally when a woman wanted to be alone in the dark under the stars it boded well for him to follow.