A Suite Life (Suite Love Series Book 2)

by Sue Gibson

  "Sorry," she giggled, after the canoe settled. "I know better than that, but I just had to see your expression."

  His eyes sparkled like the lake that spread all around them. A smile broke across his face, as his head nodded an enthusiastic affirmation.

  "I definitely see why you wanted me to come," he said. "The driftwood says it all. A perfect metaphor for the lake. Wildness, adventure, natural beauty."

  "But will the Triple A demographic appreciate it too?" She knew the Triple As were a savvy, art-educated bunch.

  "Hey, don't forget. I'm a Triple A. And I foresee this driftwood causing a big buzz with the guests."

  "Trey, I'm thrilled you agree. I just knew in my heart this would work," she said, writing off her previous doubts as temporary jitters brought on by the responsibility of the new job.

  Trey lowered his paddle and drew the canoe forward. In a gesture that appeared almost reverent, he reached up and stroked the wood's smooth surface.

  Delaney could hardly believe her idea had solidified into form so quickly. "So, now what?"

  "So, the next step is to bring this bad boy over to the hotel and have a closer look. Check for mold and insects."

  Delaney's glance over to the Nirvana was partially blocked by Osprey Island's lone spruce. It's oddly spaced branches jutted out from the twisted trunk with no discernible pattern, the tree itself a worthy sculpture. Lily loved that old tree. Named it even, she remembered. She glanced back to the driftwood. Lonesome Mary?

  "Don't move it just yet, Trey," she cautioned. "Even though it's dead, I'd feel better checking with Lily first. Better make sure its departure won't disturb the shoreline's habitat," she paused and grinned, "or Lily's environmental apple cart"

  She kidded Lily all the time about her passion to protect the lake, but actually was really very proud of her friend's commitment to preservation.

  He rolled his eyes in deference to Lily, but his smile was conspiratorial, revealing dimples to die for. "You're right. Let's run it by our resident expert, just to be sure"

  As much as Delaney would hate to abandon this particular artistic vision for the Nirvana, she knew, when your eyes were open to it, inspiration was all around really.

  "As soon as we get back to the hotel, I'll e-mail Lily," she said, hoping that the honeymooners were on a break from their mutual lovefest, at least long enough to check their e-mail.

  "Sounds good. I've got to catch up on some paperwork anyway. Let me know when you hear back, and we'll figure out the best way to transport it."

  Working in tandem, they brought the canoe around to face the hotel and paddled the distance to the dock in silence.

  Back at the dock they tossed their gear to the cement top. Trey quickly looped the canoe's rope to a peg on the dock and clamored out. Delaney grabbed his extended hand and clamored out, noting the tan on his arms had darkened since the day he'd come into her gallery. And he hadn't had his hair cut either, the razor-cut George Clooney was beginning to fray along the neckline and over the ears. She decided she liked it that way.

  Haircutting had never been a calling for her, only a paycheck.

  Slinging her pack easily over one shoulder, he reached for the basket with one hand and caught up her hand with his other. Fingers looped, they sauntered the path back to the hotel's glass and steel front entrance.

  "Hey, Mr. Sullivan. Great day isn't it?" Jason said, his gaze dropping to their linked hands as he hurried past carrying a tray laden with drinks and sandwiches.

  "Sure is, Jason," Trey replied smoothly to his young protege. "They don't get any better than this."

  His words and a slight tightening of Trey's fingers around hers sent a flush of warmth to Delaney's cheeks even as they moved into the air-conditioned lobby.

  The teak-paneled door to the manager's office was just to the left of the lobby, the elevator dead-ahead. "Well, I guess I'll see you later," Delaney murmured, punching the penthouse button. Something akin to loneliness washed over her. She didn't want to leave him just yet.

  The doors slid open and she stepped inside. Don't be an idiot, she scolded herself. He lives in the room beside you. You'll probably stumble into him a dozen times again today.

  "Hey, how about dinner in my suite tonight, Delaney?"

  Goose bumps shot up her arm. His room? "Ah, what?" Now, that sounded sophisticated.

  Trey grinned devilishly. "No, it's not what you're thinking."

  Her warm flush exploded into a full-body hot flash. "Quiet," she whispered, well aware the lobby was full of curious eyes. She leaned closer. "I wasn't thinking anything."

  "I thought it would be enlightening to spend a little time in the suites. Like a regular Nirvana guest" He raised his eyebrow and grinned. "I bet you didn't know that one-quarter of our guests order room service for dinner." He stepped into the elevator, still holding the door open. "Let's be them. Eat, talk, watch TV...

  She smiled at his beguiling face. And she had to admit the idea had some merit. Walking in a typical guest's shoes for a bit could be helpful in taking the next step in decorating.

  "Say yes," he said. "Think of it as work."

  When Trey was around her, her job was never work. It was fun, fulfilling, exciting. "Okay. Dinner it is. Call me with the details." She tugged free of his hand and pushed him gently backward. "You're holding up the elevator."

  He turned to face a family of five, all grinning at the tall man's determination to win over the lady, and strode toward his office.

  Back in her room, Delaney headed straight for her computer. If Lily gave her the go-ahead, then they'd extricate the driftwood from the cedars and bring it up to the penthouse. She smiled at the thought of the wild piece actually crossing the lake and zooming to the top floor of the Nirvana.

  With flying fingers she tapped out her message to Lily. After signing off, she padded across the thick carpet toward the bathroom. Her breath quickened as she reached for the door handle and then the light switch. Even under the harsh vanity lights, the painting stood up. She moved to sit on the edge of the tub, cocked her head to the side, and studied her work.

  The scale might be a tad off in the right quarter, she decided, but not so much to skew the painting. Maybe another layer of cobalt blue near the horizon, she considered. Anticipation tightened her chest and instinctivelyif seven years of yoga makes for instinct-she drew in and released a long breath. Soon, she knew. She would be in Paris and could paint to her heart's content.

  She stood and caught her reflection in the mirror. Her usually smooth black hair was windblown, the sun had highlighted her cheekbones with pink. Her T-shirt sported a smear of spruce gum along the hemline, and her shorts were wrinkled.

  She stared with dismay at her appearance. Not exactly the cosmopolitan image a worldly man like Trey admired.

  Glancing to her painting and then back again to her image in the mirror, she pushed her shoulders back. Who cares? I don't want Trey to fall for me. I want to leave this place in a couple of weeks with no regrets. Just fun memories.

  She snapped off the overhead light. If she kept telling herself so, it might be so.

  Determined to stay on track-art first, Trey secondshe left the bathroom and settled at her desk. The notes she'd made earlier that morning jogged her memory, and she reached for the phone.

  Dialing quickly, she connected almost immediately with Kimberly Sampson, the seamstress Lily had hired to design her wedding dress. Kimberly was a whiz at creating one-of-a-kind items, whether it be clothing, linens, or draperies.

  After a quick explanation of the situation, Kimberly eagerly accepted Delaney's invitation to pop by in a few days and check out the suites.

  Delaney returned the phone to its cradle with a growing feeling of accomplishment. Her ideas were taking form, bits and pieces were coming together to create the vision she'd outlined for Trey. For the first time in five years she felt like she was in the right place doing the right thing. And yet she was still in Buttermilk Falls.

  Sh
e sank back into the butter-soft leather of her computer chair and spun slowly to face the French doors. She allowed her gaze to drift, finally settling on the cotton-ball clouds floating in the clear blue sky. She sighed softly.

  No, the Nirvana wasn't Paris, but it sure had its perks.

  Forty-five minutes later, fueled by a foam-topped latte-delivered by Jason-and the day's successes, Delaney hurried to her walk-in closet and exchanged her shorts and T-shirt for white linen trousers and a jersey knit black halter top.

  Popping a pair of oversize sunglasses to the top of her head, she grabbed her purse and sauntered back to the hallway and the elevator. She stood in the strip of sunshine that poured through the floor-to-ceiling window tapping her foot and watching the progress of the elevator's blinking buttons. She needed to get out of the hotel and gain some perspective. Big-time.

  The short drive north on County Road 12 only took thirty minutes, and she was walking through the Co-op's brightly painted door. The room was dimmer than the street, with small lamps directing spots of light where it was needed. In the air, she detected the faint aroma of jasmine and remembered that Alison's ex-husband used to work for Indigo Incense. He'd gifted his wife with a palette of her favorite incense, right before quitting his job and heading for Vancouver Island's interior. And she hadn't seen him since.

  "Delaney!" Alison, dressed up today in dark blue jeans and a paint-free tie-dyed shirt, flew across the room. Her waist-length red hair streamed behind her, making her appear ten years younger than her thirtytwo years.

  She hugged her friend. "I'm so happy so see you. I never got a chance to properly thank you for the huge order. It's just what the Co-op needed, a big injection of cash"

  "You're more than welcome," Delaney said. "I'm just happy I get a chance to showcase everyone's work at the Nirvana. You and your members have worked too long without the recognition you deserve. I couldn't be happier for you."

  She meant that with all her heart. These people were brave souls, trading regular paychecks for creative license. Respect and envy for Co-op alumni crowded her heart.

  She scanned the walls of the store, taking inventory of the colorful paintings still waiting for a home. Will I ever be brave enough to set my paintings out for critical review? She studied Alison's smiling face, wide blue eyes set against pale, freckled skin. She didn't look tough, hardened.

  It had to be like bringing a new baby home from the hospital and thinking it is the prettiest thing in the world and having someone ask why its face is all scrunched up. A shiver chased down her spine.

  "Delaney, are you all right?"

  "Great. Super," Delaney answered. "Ah, I just popped in to order another set of stoneware coasters. I miscalculated the number I needed" A phone call would have sufficed, but she really needed a reason to escape the Nirvana, gain a little perspective.

  Alison smiled broadly. "For you, anything. I'm crazy busy, but I'll fit it in." Alison was one of the busiest artists in town, her pottery always in high demand. She'd been savvy enough to create an online store and now sold internationally. Many of the Co-op members were still struggling and looked to Alison for leadership.

  Walking together around the store, they chatted about the escalating cost of art supplies and a new gallery opening in the city. Delaney often stopped to touch a soft, woven wool blanket or to stroke the smooth curves of a stone carving.

  "So, what's the story with Trey?" Alison blurted out.

  Delaney appreciated her friend's forthrightness. With Lily away, she needed a friend to talk to and had hoped she'd get a chance for some girl-talk today. "Well, he's a really nice guy. Straightforward, honest. Makes-no-promises-he-can't-keep kinda guy"

  "Oooh. Sounds like a keeper. Anything going on between you two?" Alison waved a finger back and forth in the air.

  Heat crawled up Delaney's neck and spread across her cheeks. Her hand went to cover her suddenly tingling lips as she remembered their kiss under Osprey Island's big spruce. "Nothing serious. I guess you could say we're the proverbial ships passing in the night." Did she sound devil-may-care? She hoped so. "I'm off to Paris in a couple of weeks, and he's off to another Weatherall hotel. Maybe Morocco"

  Alison stared at her, waiting. "So? All that written in stone or something?"

  "No," she allowed. "But I've dreamt about this move to Paris for four long years, and I'm going. That's that," she said, brushing her hands together briskly.

  Alison smiled and patted Delaney's shoulder. "All right. Just asking."

  Alison's questions highlighted what Delaney already knew. A future with Trey sounded just about perfect. He really got her. And the attraction, well, enough said.

  No, there wasn't any law keeping them from becoming a serious couple. Just a promise, and the fact that she didn't relish becoming someone's ball and chain. Trey had made it perfectly clear that he didn't want to be fenced in, as had she. Now was no time for her to go changing the rules.

  The tiny brass bell hanging over the front door tinkled, heralding a customer's entrance. "I better get back," Delaney said. "Trey and I are pretending to be regular Nirvana customers tonight. Eating from room service, watching some TV. Trying on the suites for size and hoping to be inspired."

  "To do what?"

  Delaney blushed again at Alison's raised eyebrows and wicked smile. "Will you stop that? I mean artistically inspired. Sheesh"

  Alison waved her off. "Call me soon. And thanks again."

  The shop's door banged shut behind her and Delaney shoved her hand into her purse, rummaging for the keys to the small car she'd chosen earlier from the Nirvana's fleet. As her fingers closed around the cool metal of the keys, she wished she could pull out a big bag of resolve as well.

  Like a movie trailer, a vision of the upcoming evening played in her mind. There she was nestled next to Trey on the sofa, the room lit only by the flickering television screen and the soft glow of lavender-scented candles. He'd pull her into his arms, scorch her soul with the ardor in his eyes, and beg her to stay with him forever.

  The jangle of the shop's bell accompanied by the sweet rush of jasmine jolted her back to reality.

  She slid the key into the lock and yanked the car door open. I'm so in trouble!

  Trey stood in the middle of his suite and tried to see it through a woman's eye. Yeah, he was fairly sure it looked good. The maid had done a great job of cleaning up the place. His clothes were hung neatly in the closet, the bathroom smelled like pine trees and the desk was stripped of its stacks of paperwork.

  To top it off, a platter of complimentary brownies sat cooling on the side table. The room no longer looked like a messy home away from home, but now resembled a typical suite.

  Popping an entire brownie into his mouth, he flopped onto one corner of the small sofa and munched through it while staring into the television's black face. It occurred to him that he'd never once turned the thing on since moving in over two weeks ago. This acting like a regular tourist was going to be a bit of a stretch. Most evenings he was in his office catching up on paperwork and only used his room as a stopping off spot to change clothes or to catch up on his sleep.

  He heard a soft rap on the door. He straightened his back and quickly shifted to the edge of the sofa cushion. She was here!

  Four long strides brought him to the door. He paused at the mirror to check his teeth for smears of brownie. It was dumb how revved he was to be spending a quiet evening in with Delaney. Since when did a couple of hours of television beat out Toronto's night scene?

  He reached for the door handle with ridiculous anticipation, knowing full well the answer stood on the other side of the door.

  It wasn't a surprise that she looked great, but the crisp white pants and the black top made her look more sophisticated than usual. There was not a doubt in his mind that she would fit in perfectly with the fashionable Parisian women. "Come in," he said, stepping back to allow her to pass. "Hope you're up for this."

  She shot him an apprehensive look,
slid past him, and made her way down the short hall. "Up for what?"

  Why did she always misinterpret his words? he wondered. But on second thought, he understood. Their attraction was almost palatable, coloring every conversation.

  "Our experiment. You know. Brainstorming ideas of how to make these rooms special," he said.

  "Of course. Sure. I knew that" Delaney walked to the French doors. "If I was just arriving, this is what I'd do first" She pushed open the doors. "First, I'd have a look at the lake, breathe in some fresh air."

  She wasn't wasting any time getting down to work. "Good. I think you're right," he said, following her lead. "They've paid for one of the best rooms in the hotel, they'd want to check out the view." He crossed the room to join her and let his gaze rove over the thick fringe of evergreens circling the shimmering water.

  Distracted by her perfume-tonight a sweet, flowery scent-he fought to stay in the moment.

  When she spoke, it was softly. "Now, try to imagine that you've been planning this trip for a year. You've just come off a tough week at the office. You took a taxi, two planes, and the hotel shuttle to get here. Your feet are aching, you're pretty much exhausted"

  He'd seen this tourist many times, so it was easy to imagine. Her whispered words seeped into his conscience. He could feel his shoulders droop and his fingers unfurl and he was pretty sure he sighed. Man, this woman has amazing powers.

  She pressed a hand to his back and gently guided him to the balcony. Trusting her, he followed her lead.

  "Now open your eyes, slowly"

  The inky blue of the lake below drew his gaze down to its surface, eliminating any thoughts that remained of his day's work.

  A pair of loons floated into view, their plaintive calls reaching deep inside him to some primitive memory and sending a rash of goose bumps up his forearms. The air was still, thick with the scent of pine, and flowed like water across his bare face and arms. When he swallowed, the acrid pine scent slid down his throat, leaving a slightly bitter taste on his tongue. He rested his hands on the iron railing and drank in the scene like a thirsty man.