A Suite Life (Suite Love Series Book 2)

by Sue Gibson

  He scanned the narrow dock. There she was, seated on a bench at the far end of the pier, sunning herself. He felt a smile pull at the corners of his mouth, and he let it happen. So what? He was happy to see her. There was nothing wrong with that.

  Her long, tanned legs propped up on a bulky backpack, her head was tilted back, her eyes closed. A simple white T-shirt topped faded denim shorts, the shirt tied snuggly at belly-button level, the shorts, just short enough to make a grown man cry.

  She must have heard his footsteps because she dropped her legs from their perch, slowly sat up, and with a fluid movement, slid the sunglasses from the top of her head to cover her eyes and peered in his direction. He swallowed hard. Man, this woman was pushing his resolve. Again.

  The twenty yards of concrete between them stretched before him like a high school hallway lined with cheerleaders. It had been years since he'd felt this nervous about approaching a woman. Sweat dampened the back of his T-shirt as he soldiered on. He shifted the square wicker basket to a more comfortable position and raised his right hand in a wave.

  She waved back. "Trey," she called out. "The lake's like glass. No breeze whatsoever. How about we grab a canoe instead of a motorboat?"

  She was right. The morning wind had died down as the temperature had climbed into the high eighties. If he wasn't near the lake, the humidity alone would have kept him indoors in air-conditioned comfort.

  He glanced to the row of cedar-strip canoes tied flotilla-like to a floating buoy line, each polished craft protected from its neighbor by several bulky bumper pads. "Sure," he agreed. "It's quiet out here today. It's a shame to start up a motor if we don't need one"

  Squatting, he reached out and snagged the lead rope of the closest canoe and pulled it to the side of the dock. Quickly untying the line he drew it closer to the dock and settled the picnic basket in the narrow bow.

  "There," he said, turning to direct Delaney to the front bench seat. "I'll take the back... "

  He hadn't heard her approaching. But now the sweet smell of coconut and a pair of long golden legs were just inches from his face. Before he could drag his gaze upward, she dropped to his level. A sheet of shiny black hair swung across her face and he instinctively reached over to tuck it behind her ear.

  His insides tightened when she smiled prettily in thanks. "Need a hand?"

  "No thanks. I've got it." Got it bad for you, he grudgingly admitted to himself.

  "Be careful getting in, Delaney," he said, a gruffness deepening his voice.

  "Thanks, Trey," she said, her voice full of suppressed laughter. "If we both manage to get in this thing without tipping it, then we're home free" She grabbed his hand for support and eased onto the front seat.

  Even with a drawer full of Boy Scout badges to his name, he knew how easily they might be dumped into the lake. He glanced to the sky for inspiration and carefully maneuvered from the dock to the rear seat.

  Breathing in a lungful of pine-scented air, he thanked his lucky stars for allowing him his manly pride and sunk the oak paddle to its hilt in the smooth water.

  "So, where to?" Trey asked as they slipped past the end of the pier and headed toward open water. All he knew was that she planned on sharing yesterday's artistic revelation with him. He trusted that the boat trip would be worth his while. Any time spent with Delaney was well spent, as far as he was concerned.

  "I don't know about you, but I'm starved," Delaney tossed over her shoulder. "Let's land on Osprey Island and eat before we scout out the shoreline."

  "Sounds good to me. I've no idea what's in this basket, but I bet it's good" His mouth watered in anticipation. In his hurry to get back to the Nirvana from Toronto, he'd skipped breakfast.

  He stroked from side to side in an easy rhythm, covering the few hundred yards that lay between the pier and lunch.

  The tiny rock-faced island, once slated to become a helipad for the hotel, still belonged to Lily Greensly Weatherall. Ethan had scrapped the helipad plan after Lily had opened his eyes and mind to an alternative choice.

  Ethan eased the canoe toward a natural landing spot, a place where the smooth hump of rock sloped gently to meet the water. As soon as the tip of the bow scraped the granite, he reached for the length of rope that dangled conveniently from an overhanging branch. "I take it this is a popular spot"

  "Lily and I tied that rope there years ago," she said, eyeing the weather-worn rope dubiously, or maybe this is a replacement. Lots of people picnic here"

  "Doesn't Lily mind?" If this was a city property, the perimeter would have been lined with chain-link fencing and posted with NO TRESPASSING signs.

  "As long as no one leaves garbage or damages the tree, she's happy to have them here. You know Lily, Trey. She wants people to connect with nature, value its worth"

  He nodded in agreement. It was true. Lily Greensly Weatherall loved nothing better then bringing converts over to the green side-his friend Ethan, a perfect example.

  He rose and carefully stepped from the canoe, then retrieved the basket from the bow. Delaney grabbed his hand and hopped from the canoe with her backpack in tow. As he pulled the canoe higher onto the rock landing, Delaney stood with her hands on her hips surveying her surroundings.

  "I still can't believe your hotel is here. Just a year ago that area," she pointed toward the imposing white building, "was covered by a grove of poplar and runaway with sumac."

  "I know. I came out to the site with Ethan when the environmental studies were being done. Got to admit, the man has vision. At the time, I wasn't completely sold on his concept. You know-vacation in the wilds."

  "And now?" She smiled, obviously anticipating his answer.

  "And now, I think the man is brilliant. The demographic is eating it up"

  She tipped her head to the side and tapped a fingertip against her cheek. "Would you say that you are typical of the demographic?"

  He considered the criteria: ambitious, affluent, adventurous. Or as the guys in marketing called them, the "Triple A" people. "Yep. I fit the target" But had he picked the right answer? He watched her face for a sign. Somehow the conversation felt like a test.

  "I see" She pursed her pretty pink lips. "So you occasionally need a break from your busy yet fulfilling life, and prefer something out of your comfort zone, unique."

  "Y-yes" Why did he feel like she was talking about something other than a hotel destination?

  She smiled brightly. "Just checking."

  Trey deposited the picnic basket at her feet. "How about we eat now?" Women. Especially this one. He had no idea what she was talking about, but thought it best to distract her from this unfathomable discussion.

  "Let's eat up there," Delaney said, pointing to a plateau in the smooth rock and a lone, towering spruce tree. "More likely to catch what little breeze there is up there"

  She led the way, brushing aside the spindly juniper branches that intruded into their path. He followed, admiring her stamina as she plodded steadily upward. Those legs weren't just gorgeous, they were strong too.

  He'd abandoned the hotel's treadmill after discovering-right out the Nirvana's back door-the dismantled railway line that loosely followed the curves of the lake. Apparently a local snowmobile club had taken over grooming the now defunct line and encouraged the locals to hike and jog on it in the summer months. A deer had surprised him one day. It'd sprung from the thick brush, its front legs tucked to its chest, clearing the path in a single, magnificent bound.

  "Now that was worth it, don't you agree?" Delaney called out, lifting her arms to the cloudless sky. Like the tiny ballerina attached to the lid of his niece's jewelry box, her slender body pirouetted atop the granite. Unable to look away, he watched her sink gracefully to her knees and slip the pack from her shoulders.

  "Wow." He executed a slower three-sixty, taking in the view. "You know, this little island looks so boring and lifeless from the shore, but once you get up here, it's incredible."

  "I've been here a million times, and
it never fails to impress me" Delaney pulled out a small fleece throw from her pack and spread it over the rock. "Have a seat," she said, patting the spot right next to her. "I can't wait to see what's in that basket."

  He dropped beside her, noticing her fragrance, kind of vanilla-like. Too briefly, it tantalized his senses before dissipating. He leaned in slightly, hoping for more of the seductive scent. Delaney shot him a sideways glance and raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

  Quickly turning toward the basket, he flipped open the hinged lid to reveal potato salad, seasoned cold chicken, bagels topped with strawberry cream cheese, and a selection of chilled juices. "Our chef never disappoints," he said, extracting two china plates and cutlery wrapped in white linen napkins.

  In silence, they scooped from the plastic containers until their plates were loaded. Munching through the meal, they idly watched the buzz of activity across the lake at the Nirvana.

  Tiny figures strolled about the gardens, pausing here and there to admire the pockets of multicolored flowers. The sun glinted off the Trillium Terrace's enormous stainless steel barbecue, the mouthwatering aroma rolling from the cooktop enticing the lunch crowd out of the pool. A young couple sporting matching life jackets released a second canoe, and amid loud bursts of laughter, clumsily paddled toward the mouth of Greensly Bay.

  Delaney sighed. The hotel was a haven, a little piece of perfection in a busy world. No wonder they called it the Nirvana.

  "You still think Paris has anything on this place?"

  Trey's deep voice pulled her back to the island. Thrown by his loaded question-and he didn't even know about yesterday's painting yet-she took time to formulate her reply. Returning her plate to the empty basket, she leaned back slightly and placed her palms flat on the warm rock behind her. Yes, life was good here, but it wasn't a real life. Her amazing job, her huge salary, room service, moonlit cruises, all not real. None of them lasting more than a few weeks.

  Was Paris better than this? "No, of course not. The Nirvana is a fabulous spot to holiday," she said, "as Paris will be, for a year. But remember, in my real life, I cut and permed hair all day and went home to mow the lawn and eat leftovers. This," she said, waving to the idyllic scene in front of them, "was not my reality."

  "Point taken," he said. "I'm curious, what will you do when you return?"

  She sat up straight again. Ah, that was the milliondollar question. A chill chased up her spine. "So much depends on Paris. If my work garners decent reviews in Paris, I'll probably get some notice from the big Canadian galleries. If that happens, I'll make Buttermilk Falls my home base, and hopefully travel often" She laughed, but even to her own ears, it sounded halfhearted. "But, if I'm a flop in Paris, then I guess I'm looking for a new career. Again."

  "I know you're not asking for my opinion, but the glimpse I had of your paintings the day of the auction made me want to see more." He spoke softly, his expression open and earnest.

  Her heart fluttered in her chest. Should she show him yesterday's painting? She wanted to, but was still wary.

  "I painted those years ago. I was still in university," she said, hoping he would just leave it at that. She sneaked a peak in his direction. He looked disappointed with her answer.

  He inched closer and circled her shoulder with his arm. She snuggled into the warm weight of his body.

  "You don't need to be afraid of me," he said. "I won't hurt you. And if you're worried that I won't be objective, you're wrong. I'm capable of separating my personal feelings from my professional ones"

  She dropped her head to his shoulder and considered his words. Men must be made of different stuff, she decided. Or maybe, it was that artists were made of different stuff.

  He couldn't know that she painted not only with a brush, but her heart and soul too. He didn't understand that any rejection of her work, couldn't help but spill over to her personally.

  "Of course," she fibbed. "But just the same, let's not confuse things. After I've worked in Paris for a while, I'll seek out a professional opinion."

  "A professional! I'm crushed," he joked.

  "Oh, stop. You know your stuff, that's clear. And I respect your opinion-you obviously have an art appreciation far beyond the average" She softened her tone. "I like hanging out with you. Let's not mess with a good thing."

  "Okay," he said, his breath tickling her ear. "But just for the record, I'd say your talent is bankable, your commodity saleable. And remember, I was a business major long before I developed an interest in art"

  He followed this statement with a slightly lopsided smile that tugged at her heartstrings. He was so darned charming. It was a shame not to enjoy this time together. She raised her face toward the sun's warm rays, inviting him to take the next step.

  His lips settled to hers like they belonged there. Slowly the pressure increased, and she responded instinctively, her arms creeping up to circle his neck. The children's laughter, the cry of the gulls faded. There was only his kiss, deepening, demanding. Something inside her told her that it was safe to go on, and she gave over to the kiss. He explored her mouth with a hunger she eagerly reciprocated.

  Through the thin cotton of his T-shirt, his heart thudded against her own. This kind of desire was new to her. Never before had a man's kisses made her want to melt into his chest, to stay safe in his arms forever.

  A caution light flickered somewhere in her brain, reminding her of their pact to go their separate ways in a few short weeks.

  She eased back, separating her burning lips from his. Tracing a finger down his jawline, she waited for her pulse to slow before speaking. He was quiet too, just holding her, no more. Once again the songbirds sang overhead as they flitted from branch to branch. A slight breeze swayed the tall spruce, cooling her bare skin. A spray of soft, little brown cones rained down, bouncing and scattering against the rock floor.

  Trey's arm slid slowly from her shoulder and he rested his palms behind him on the rock. He looked relaxed, happy. What was he thinking about? she wondered.

  A fishing boat buzzed by the island, its occupants waving a friendly greeting.

  "The Hideaway," he read from the side of the small boat, "that's the old log lodge at the end of the bay, right? With the row of cabins along the shore?"

  Apparently he was also electing to ignore the implication of the kiss. "Yes," she said, in a voice that sounded close to normal to her own ears. "Jared and Marion Greensly, Lily's parents, are the third generation of Greenslys to occupy the original log home" Glad to have something to take her mind of the kiss, to pull her back to reality, she continued, "The Hideaway is rustic, old-fashioned-you know, checkered curtains on the windows and a hand pump in the yard."

  "That's where Emma, Ethan's sister, is staying until they get back from their honeymoon, isn't it?"

  She nodded her reply. Kindhearted and generous, Jared and Marion were more than happy to look after their daughter's new sister-in-law, and able to care for her Down's syndrome and daily needs.

  "I'd love to see the lodge sometime."

  "It gets pretty hot, even out on the lake, in the afternoon; otherwise I'd say let's do it today. How about some evening, right after dinner? The lake will be calm. Makes canoeing easier," she said as she began to pack up the remains of their lunch. "I'm getting anxious to show you my idea. Still interested?"

  She was starting to doubt herself. Would he think she was crazy to want to drag a dirty piece of driftwood through the gleaming corridors of the Nirvana and have it take center stage in the penthouse?

  "I'm definitely interested," he said, catching her hands and pulling her up to a standing position. "Are you kidding?"

  Into the wind, he flapped their picnic blanket clean, rolled it tightly, and stuffed it back into her pack. She liked the way he helped out, not leaving cleanup to her because she was the woman. A last glance around assured them they'd left Lily's island exactly as they'd found it.

  He nodded in the direction of the canoe and grabbed her free hand, tugging her to
him, then dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose. "Now take me to your muse."

  Minutes later, their canoe rocked gently at the foot of the big rock face.

  Yesterday, she'd painted its likeness on canvas with bold brush strokes of granite gray, striving to reproduce strength and permanence, but up close its features were less intimidating. A fuzzy coating of lichen, indiscernible at a distance, softened the jagged edges.

  Undulating against the base, a tangled mat of seaweed and waterlogged branches served to root the soaring cliff into the depths of the lake.

  "Right there!" Delaney said, pointing toward the large hunk of bleached root snagged by a broken cedar branch that hung over the lake. "That's it! The penthouse's feature piece."

  She twisted her head around to judge Trey's reaction. Would he see it as art too?

  Trey rested the paddle on his knee and looked toward the spot she indicated.

  Nothing. He said absolutely nothing for what felt like an eternity. Oh, no. Her thoughts ramped his silence into criticism. He thinks I've lost it. I've opened my artistic envelope too wide, and he is regretting ever hiring me.

  Her hands tightened their hold on the edge of her seat. Would he prefer a loon sculpture, commissioned from a big name artist? After all, images of the beautiful but utterly overexposed loon graced the walls and tabletops of hundreds of hotels and restaurants in rural Ontario. The loon had become an unofficial mascot. Not to mention, this lake was even called Loon Lake.

  She stared at the rock wall, barely breathing.

  "Are there more of these around the lake?" His tone sounded urgent, excited.

  She raised her feet and clutched her shins tightly to her body and spun in her seat to face him. The slim craft rocked dangerously, dipping almost to the level of the water. Simultaneously, they grabbed for the cedar sides to regain equilibrium.