“Romantic?” Oh hell. When Dad’s assistant had made the original reservation over a month ago, she’d counted on me being in the hotel alone, and Poe popping in and out. No need for two rooms or for two beds. “Do you have anything else?”
“We’re booked for the weekend, but the suite is one of our nicest. I’m sure it will meet your expectations.” I turned to see that she was focusing on Dune, who was leaning intently toward the glass case and talking to a hotel employee, while pointing to the crystal on the top shelf.
“I’m sure it will be lovely. Where’s the elevator?” I asked with forced cheer.
Olga pointed. “Right that way.”
I gave her a smile that displayed all my teeth, then spun on one high heel and approached Dune, grabbing his arms and dragging him away from the case.
“Thanks for the info,” Dune called out over his shoulder to the bellman.
“Enjoy your stay,” the bellman said back, tipping his cap.
“I’m sure I will.”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” I muttered, squeezing his elbow and steering him toward the elevator.
Dune
“You don’t have to squeeze so hard.” I stifled a yelp. “Or pinch.”
Hallie pinched me again, I guess for good measure. “Could you have been any more obvious?”
“There was a plaque with tiny, tiny print that covered the occult in Victorian times, and information on the plaçage. And some other stuff.” I gulped at the scary-angry look on her face. “I’m a reader. I was reading. It gave me a good excuse to ask the bellman questions.”
According to the plaque, the Bourbon Orleans had lived through many incarnations, starting as the home to the Orleans Ballroom in 1817. It had seen masquerades, carnival balls, and quadroon balls, and then turned into a convent and a school. In 1964, it became a hotel, with a reputation for excellent service and numerous hauntings.
From the orphan children who’d suffered through the yellow fever epidemic to a Civil War soldier to a dancer who whirled under the ballroom chandelier, there was a promising possibility of ghosts, or a terrifying rip or two.
“You didn’t need to ask questions. You were talking to an employee about the thing we are planning on stealing.”
“You said we were retrieving, not stealing.”
She pinched me again as we got on the elevator.
“You’re bossy,” I said. “Maybe a little bit mean.”
“It’s like you forgot why we were here.”
“Maybe I was a little thrown off when I overheard that we’re staying in the ‘romantic’ loft suite.” Or a lot thrown off.
The elevator doors dinged open. “It just worked out that way. Don’t worry, Saint Dune, I don’t plan on compromising your integrity.”
“No, of course not, because stealing has nothing to do with integrity.” The words were a whisper, but they echoed down the hallway.
“Retrieval,” Hallie said through gritted teeth as she pushed me inside the suite. “Here’s an idea. Try not to blow it all before we even get started. And I told you, we’re not … whoa.”
A red leather couch was backed up to an exposed brick wall. Across from it sat a small desk and a huge flat screen. The room was perfectly proportioned. French doors opened onto a private balcony, or gallery, as they are called in Lousiana. A split staircase led upstairs. To the bedroom.
Where there was one bed. One big, big bed and a bottle of champagne.
“I’ll take the couch,” I said. Or better yet, we’d finish the job today, and I would go home, lock myself in my apartment, and stand in a cold shower for two solid days.
“Don’t be passive-aggressive.” She threw her bag on the desk, unzipped it, and pulled out a sweater. “We can share the same breathing space for a day. Screw this job up and get me in trouble, and I’ll be forced to find inventive ways to injure your man parts.”
I tried to hide my smile as I sat down on the couch. Everything with Hallie was easy and complicated at the same time, in the very best way, but being alone with her in a hotel room with one bed was one complication I had no idea how to handle.
“Maybe you just want to think about my man parts.” Apparently I was going to handle it overtly.
She blinked a couple of times. Finally. I’d managed to throw her off. “Maybe I should do this myself.”
“I said I was in. I’m supposed to be helping you.”
“Right. Because you were so helpful in the lobby?”
“We both know you could do this job blindfolded in a blackout,” I argued. “Just like I know why you want to be here.”
“I don’t think you do.”
“You wanted out of your house,” I said. “You’re out. What else is there?”
Her look of frustration told me there was a lot more. “Maybe I wanted to get somewhere private and give you a chance to kiss me.”
I almost fell out of my seat. Her excuse was a diversion from the truth, and the perfect one to throw at me. I stood.
Tilting her head up, she moved close enough that our chests were almost touching. “Hallie,” I warned.
“Don’t you want to?”
“Want to what?”
Her hands went to her hips. “Kiss me.”
Caution spun my brain dry. “Not a good idea.”
“Not good,” she agreed. “Great.”
“It isn’t—”
“We’re alone. Legitimately alone. Hint. There’s … tension, and maybe I’d like to ease it. What’s the problem?”
“Too fast. Out of nowhere. Complications. Cloudy motives.”
“All I see is sunshine.”
I couldn’t give in for a few reasons. One was fear of an imminent explosion. Another was that I was obviously outmatched, and I didn’t know how I’d make myself stop kissing her if I ever started.
“Listen.” I took a huge step back. Breathed. Breathed again. In that moment, honesty outweighed sense. “I’m not going to pretend like this isn’t something I want. You’re amazing.”
“Okay.” She looked confused.
“I thought you should know.”
“You’re either feeling sorry for me or buttering me up, and only one of those options makes sense.”
“It’s neither.”
“Okay, then,” she said. “I’m amazing. Know what else is amazing? My kissing. Are you going to find out or not?”
“No.” I backed up another step. “Because you’re frustrated, and I don’t know if I’m the cause or the cure.”
“Maybe you’re both.”
“Maybe that’s not good enough for me.”
“Oh my damn.” She dropped her head into her hands. “A guy with standards.”
“A guy who likes you.” It was out before I could pull it back.
She jerked her head up. “You like me?”
I didn’t answer.
“I can’t do this right now. I’m sorry I … tried to jump you, or whatever.” She picked up her bag. “Let’s just get the job done, and then I’ll … I don’t know what.”
Before I could say another word, she disappeared into the bathroom. I went to the bedroom and changed into my suit, then came back down to wait. When she opened the door fifteen minutes later, I lost all feeling in my extremities.
“I … you.” I cleared my throat. “It … um. Hi.”
“Hi.” The fire had mellowed, but I could still feel it. “Does this work?”
The shirt wasn’t low cut or black, but dark blue. It shimmered, and covered her from collarbone to hip bone. Classy.
But when she did a slow spin, a cutout showed off most of her bare back, the one that had started haunting my waking moments as well as my dreams.
“It works.”
The tie on my suit had barely been snug, but now it was insanely tight. Maybe I needed to compliment her. Girls usually responded well to compliments. I had no idea what the protocol was for intended theft or retrieval.