A Suite Life (Suite Love Series Book 2)

by Sue Gibson

  An hour later, Delaney tossed a bunch of oversize pillows onto the floor of the unfurnished suite situated across the hall from her own. She plunked herself down and wriggled into the soft pile and reached for the Tim Hortons coffee cup she'd placed nearby. Room service had happily complied with her request, and delivered up her favorite coffee each morning. Jason, the young, eager busboy, had confided that many of the kitchen staff placed orders with him as well, when he did his assigned coffee run.

  She took a sip. The smell of rich brew tingled in her nose and alerted her brain to the incoming stimulus. She sighed audibly. Perfect coffee. Perfect life. A perfect day to follow an almost perfect evening. The only thing that could have made last evening any better was if Trey had been moping about in the adjoining suite, wondering why she was unavailable.

  She'd left the painting under the humming ceiling fan to continue drying when she'd crossed the hall to begin work, but it still called to her. She'd returned to the bathroom three more times and had stood transfixed each time by the landscape she'd painted so quickly.

  Last evening she'd rolled up the drop cloth and stuffed it under the balcony's lounger. She'd turned on the fan, hoping to silently draw the oily smell of her work up and out of the room. No one need know anything about this, just yet.

  Returning to face the job at hand, she knew she was smiling. She felt different. Better. Stronger.

  The empty suite she'd chosen to start in was bright with sunshine. Too bright, she mused, shading her eyes with her hand as she faced the eastern window. She would need to look into finding blinds or drapes soon. Reaching for her clipboard she added the name of a seamstress who created one-of-a-kind window treatments. She'd give her a call later and set up an appointment.

  She pressed the clipboard's clamp that held yesterday's photos, and a cornucopia of color fluttered to the floor. Delaney sifted and selected snapshots of the artists' work, flipping each photo over to reveal the number she'd written on the back. Turning and twisting against the pillows, she held each picture up toward a bare wall. Tucking her chin to her chest, she scanned the list of available walls and surfaces and then carefully penciled in the number.

  Methodically, she worked through the stack of photos, erasing numbers and reentering elsewhere. Like a puzzle, the pieces began to fit together to create harmony.

  When satisfied with the room, she flopped against the pillows and settled the clipboard on her belly. Pleased with her work, she closed her eyes and tried to recall the layout of the suite across the hall. Was the closet placed on the north or south wall?

  "Hey, you down there. Got room for a weary traveler looking for a soft place to rest his bones?" She knew instantly who'd entered the room. The sexy male voice sent a quiver through her body from head to toe. Trey was back.

  Delaney twisted toward his voice and blinked into the streaming sun, her heart pounding. He was smiling broadly, and she was glad to see that the little dimple in his left cheek had returned along with his obvious good mood. Although, the lines etched on his face suggested he'd had a late night.

  She jumped up, embarrassed to have been found resting on the floor. "Help yourself," she said, pointing to the jumble of pillows. "After all, you run the joint."

  He waved away her suggestion. "Just kidding. I was just heading to my room when I noticed this door open" His gaze dropped to the photos. "Things working out the way you'd envisioned?"

  "Even better, if that's possible." She wanted to tell him more. Like last night's inspiration for the sculpture pieces they needed. But he'd turned to the open doorway already.

  "Must have been quite a dinner last night," she blurted out. "You look tired."

  Trey hesitated for a moment as if considering his reply. What was he pondering so carefully? she wondered. It was a simple question.

  "The dinner was relatively uneventful," he said eventually.

  She shuffled the pack of photos she held in her hand. And that's man-speak for what? His dinner date didn't immediately yield to his charms? She waited for him to continue.

  "I didn't sleep very well," he said, rubbing his temples.

  She conjured up a look of sympathy. Personal feelings aside, he was still her boss.

  "I'd forgotten how noisy the city is at night," he said, succumbing to a yawn.

  "I know what you mean," she agreed, ridiculously relieved to hear the reason for his sleepless night. "I can't sleep through city sounds either. At least not until I've been there a couple of weeks, anyway"

  "You know, the funny thing is, during my first week here, I had my pillow over my head half the night. I even had to get up and close my window sometimes. Even up here," he said, waving his arms to indicate the penthouse level, "those croaking frogs that hang out in Greensly Bay drove me nuts. Not to mention that crazy bird that shows up at exactly eleven-oh-five every single night." Trey rolled his eyes for effect.

  Delaney laughed. "The whip-poor-will. I know. You can set your clock by that bird. But, you won't be hearing it for much longer. They only sing like that during mating season"

  Trey shook his head and grinned. "Oh, sure. Just when I've gotten used to it. I kinda like the darn bird now," he said, smiling sheepishly. "That song is a lullaby compared to the honking horns and sirens I put up with last night."

  "Listening to the whip-poor-will while falling asleep is something I'll actually miss when I move to Paris," Delaney said, surprising even herself with the statement. Who knew? Buttermilk Falls had more good points than she realized.

  "I'll miss a lot more than that when I leave," Trey said, catching up her hand.

  Her fingers tingled at his touch. The old, flirty Trey is back, thought Delaney, feeling her smile widen. And now that she had her painting to keep her focused on Paris, she had nothing to worry about. She could safely enjoy their relationship again. She looked up at him from under her lashes. Would he kiss her again?

  "So bring me up to speed," Trey said, apparently oblivious to her come-hither glance. "What's on our agenda today?"

  Our agenda? So he was going to work with her again today? "You're free?"

  "Absolutely. Looking forward to it. I promised Ethan this place would be ready in a month, and I always keep my word" His face looked as determined as his tone sounded.

  "Well, I had an idea about a sculpture that I'd like to run by you. Had a bit of an inspiration last night, while out on my balcony" No need to mention her painting, just yet. "I noticed something that I think you might appreciate as well"

  "Sounds intriguing. Lead the way to your balcony." He extended his arm toward the open door and the hallway.

  Delaney hesitated. Would he catch a whiff of the paint? What if he wanted to use her bathroom? She wasn't ready for anyone to see her painting. Her heart pounded against her shirt as if she had just dashed up the stairs from the lobby.

  He stood waiting as she chewed on her bottom lip. "Uh, you know, why don't we check it out from your balcony?"

  He raised an eyebrow at her suggestion, a grin spreading across his face. "I thought you said-"

  "I did but.... the view might be even better from your room. Yes. I bet it is." She ignored his quizzical look and hurried past him to the hallway. "Come on, let's get started. The day is half gone already"

  "Whatever you say," he said, following her to his door. She stepped aside and waited while he swiped his card in the lock and pushed into the room.

  They entered into a room almost identical to hers.

  The now familiar smell of his aftershave drifted from his bathroom as they moved past the half-opened door. Shirts and pants lay strewn across the backs of chairs and hooked to door handles. Suddenly she felt embarrassed at forcing him to open up his personal space to her.

  She glanced at him. He appeared relaxed and unaffected as he shoved aside a jumble of shoes that blocked their path to the French doors.

  As they passed the small, round table tucked into the corner, she noticed the Monet reproduction Trey had purchased the day of
her auction. He was right. The restful scene looked perfect in the breakfast nook.

  "Sorry for the mess. I don't like the cleaning staff moving my stuff around. I actually have a system of sorts, believe it or not"

  "Of course you do," Delaney said, shaking her head as she followed him across the room.

  Stacks of papers and files littered every available surface, except for his perfectly made-up bed. I guess he lets the maid do that much, she decided. She pushed aside the unwelcome reminder that he'd spent a mysterious night in the city, not willing to let anything ruin her good mood. There would be time enough to stew about a man when she got to Paris. And by then hopefully Trey Sullivan would only be a fondly remembered flirtatious fling, already half-forgotten.

  He pulled open the French doors and they stepped out into a perfect summer day. The air was balmy-soft against their bare arms, the type that made you want to stretch out in a lounge chair and let it warm you through to your bones.

  "Now you're probably not going to believe this, Delaney," Trey said, smiling. "But this is the first time I've stepped foot on this side of these doors"

  "You've got to be kidding!" She remembered him saying he'd never been on the dinner cruise either, until they'd gone together the other night. "What a colossal waste. People pay good money for a penthouse view." She spun around, her hands raised in mock disbelief. "And you," she pointed an accusing finger at him, "don't even bother looking out the window."

  "It's complicated." He paused. "No wait. It's simple," he said, now looking directly into her eyes. "I stay at the best resorts in the world. This one included in that group, of course. But the thing is, after a while they all look pretty much the same." He cast a furtive glance over his shoulder before whispering. "Sometimes when I wake up in the morning, I forget which one I'm in."

  His words made her feel sad. He was missing so much.

  Then he smiled the killer smile again and said, "But that's why I hired you. To inject some personality into these suites. I want each room to be an experience, not just a place to lay your head"

  His take on the seasoned traveler's point of view suddenly gave her job even more meaning. When she was finished with these suites they would exude personality.

  "But as for the penthouse views and pleasure cruises around the lake and all the other features I help develop," he said, taking up her hand again, "they really only impact me when I experience it through someone else's eyes."

  Her breath caught in her throat. His honesty robbed her of words. And the statement definitely tarnished the devil-may-care image he cultivated so adeptly. She studied his face. "So why do you stay in the business then?"

  "Don't get me wrong. I love the hotel business. Buying up tired old hotels and upgrading them to Weatherall standards, or creating a new franchise like the Nirvana line, gets my juices pumping.

  "I love working in the hotel industry, I'm just no good with downtime-being all touristy. I guess I have a short attention span or something."

  She dropped her eyes from his. This wasn't news. He'd already told her, the day of her auction. At the time, his declaration had pleased her. He was a man who craved excitement and challenge. He liked a constant change of venue. It followed, she assumed, he preferred a constant change of women as well.

  She steeled her spine. Well, she had other things to do with her life too. She dug deep to conjure up some of yesterday's joy. Her gaze flew to the opposite shore searching for a reminder.

  Gone were yesterday's shadows and light. Missing were the delicate streaks of mauve and gray. She sought out the chunks of driftwood that had popped out against the rocky cliffs. She could barely locate them today with the clear, bright morning sun bouncing from the water. The lake rippled in a showy dance of color. Brilliantly white bubbles topped each ripple as the low waves traveled to shore. A couple of the Nirvana's small red and gray fishing boats were anchored off Osprey Island's shoal, undulating easily against their anchor lines. She drew in a deep breath. The view was breathtaking, in an entirely new way.

  Did his work make him feel the same way? She glanced over at the man she was only just beginning to understand.

  "Come with me and I'll tell you what I see, what it is about this view that inspired me last night."

  They stepped closer to the outer edge and he settled his forearms on the wrought-iron railing. She stood next to him, her hands gripped together behind her back. Rocking from heel to toe, she studied the panorama spread before them once again.

  Her fingers twitched involuntarily at her sides. Would she have time to paint again today? It wasn't likely. And she really did need to run the driftwood sculpture revelation by Trey before anything else.

  She glanced toward him. His head turned slowly as his gaze followed the ragged cliffs directly across from their balcony then down to lake level and over to the bushy cattail stems proudly waving entrance to Greensly Bay at the far end of the lake.

  "I see what you mean. It is amazing," he said. "Delaney, look!" he almost shouted. "There's a giant bird or something-standing right over there in the bay"

  A gangly blue heron stood sentinel in the reeds. Delaney resisted teasing him on his city-boy reaction to one of eastern Ontario's most common birds. "That's Sam," she stated. "Lily and I named that old heron years ago. Dives for frogs every morning in that weedy spot"

  "This," he said, raising his eyebrows in appreciation, "is spectacular." He shook his head. "I guess I never really looked at it before."

  The breeze switched around, cooling the air. He moved behind her to buffer the wind, dropping his arms over her shoulders. The length of his body pressed against hers, his warmth seeping into her back. She melted into his heat, the quick beat of his heart pulsating against the nape of her neck. Simultaneously, they sighed.

  "So what were you going to show me?" he said, his voice huskier than normal.

  Show him? All she could think about was his body next to hers and how she longed to turn to look into his eyes.

  She dragged her thoughts into line. Of course. The driftwood. With the sun's glare she could hardly make out the form of the driftwood against the rock base. Better to go directly to the source. She wanted her new find to make a good impression on the boss.

  "Ah. I've changed my mind. Let's go out on the lake for a closer look" Seeing the actual driftwood from a boat would be even better. A trip around the perimeter of the lake would be fun too.

  "Anyway, I can see by your reaction, my take on the view is unnecessary," she said. "The view speaks for itself. And no one person could, or should, interpret for another."

  "But isn't that what painters do? Interpret"

  She felt herself stiffen in his arms. He couldn't possibly know she'd painted yesterday, could he?

  "I guess so. But I can only paint my truth. Viewing a painting or any piece of art is a vicarious experience."

  "Why don't you paint while you're here?" The question pierced the moment like a pin to a balloon.

  She could feel his arm muscles tighten slightly, as if he anticipated she'd bolt at his question.

  She wanted to tell him. Tell somebody. She'd even considering e-mailing Lily, just to release the experience from her brain. But she couldn't just yet. Trey, and Lily, would want to see her work.

  "Hey, I'm here to buy other people's stuff, remember," she said, playfully elbowing him in the ribs. "I'll paint my heart out when I get to Paris."

  He released her from his embrace and stepped back, "Oh, right. Paris. I'd forgotten."

  So had she until the words had tumbled from her lips. The offshore breeze swirled across the tiles and around her ankles before rising to cool her calves, back, and neck-the very places Trey's body had warmed seconds before.

  "But that's not for three weeks and we've got a lot to accomplish here first," she said brightly, banking back her gloomier thoughts. "How about you meet me at the dock in half an hour?"

  He shot her a curious look. "The docks? I'm intrigued."

  "Well, ju
st keep an open mind, okay? Remember, we want the penthouse suites to be unique, surprising."

  "Oh, now you've got me worried," he joked as they picked their way back through the clutter of his suite.

  Delaney relaxed. This was better. In keeping with his lighter tone, she threw out a suggestion. "Since we're going to be out near Osprey Island, let's have a picnic lunch" It'd been years since she'd been on the tiny island, but every memory of the place was good. And for reasons she didn't care to dissect right now, she wanted to share the island with Trey.

  "Sounds good to me," Trey said. "I'll call down to the kitchen and order a picnic basket. Meet you in thirty minutes."

  As teenagers, she and Lily had spent countless lazy summer afternoons hanging out on the island, their lunches consisting mainly of peanut butter sandwiches and potato chips. No doubt, today's basket would be chock-full of gourmet goodies.

  Delaney headed for the door and fought the urge to skip like a schoolgirl down the stretch of hallway between their suites. The old freewheeling Trey was back and she intended to enjoy every minute of him.

  It was almost noon when Trey descended the terrace's wide stone steps two at a time. With long, even strides he took on the graveled path that led him through a maze of well-tended flower beds until he emerged at the concrete pier. He pulled up short as the noonday sun bounced from the pier's impenetrable surface, stinging his unprotected eyes. Shifting the loaded picnic basket to his left hand, he reached to his back pocket and snapped a blue and white Blue Jay's cap onto his head and then paused to survey the postcard-perfect scene.

  Tiny white gulls darted and dove above the fishing boats that dotted the bay, their calls piercing the Nirvana's midday calm. His eyes focused on a spiral of wood smoke rising and twisting above the fringe of spruce that lined the opposite shore. A burst of chil dren's laughter from a distant cottage briefly returned his thoughts to his own childhood summers.

  Trey stood a moment longer in the heat of the day, his eyes absorbing every detail: the sparkling water, the layered grey rock that rimmed the shore, the incredible breadth of forest surrounding the tiny lake. His feet rooted to the spot as the peace of the place enveloped him. Delaney grew up on the shores of this lake, yet she couldn't wait to get away, he considered. Was there someone, a man, waiting for her in Paris? Not according to the Bluebird Cafe set, but he supposed their sources could be misinformed.