“Perfect. Then we’ll book a room.”
Chloe’s jaw dropped as Ian pulled out his wallet.
“I’ve dated a lot of guys who called themselves spontaneous, but none of them ever booked a room simply so we could eat lunch,” Chloe said, popping a piece of roll in her mouth. Of course, none of them could have afforded a room, or if they could, they weren’t inviting her to lunch.
“There was nothing spontaneous about it. I was being decisive.”
“Potato, potahto.” Grinning, she popped in another piece of roll.
She didn’t think it possible, but the inn’s dining room made the lobby look modern. Rustic and romantic, the room relied on windows instead of overhead light. With the storm killing all sunlight, candles and firelight filled the void. As the sole occupants—the other “guests” having already eaten—she and Ian were seated by the stone fireplace, where the heat warmed the wood and flames cast shadows across their faces.
The shadowy atmosphere suited Ian almost as well as the coffee shop. Jacket shed, sweater pushed to the elbows, he seemed to occupy the whole room. That’s what happened when you weren’t used to dating men of real substance; they always appeared larger than life. Not that he and Chloe were on a date. They were two friends taking a respite from traffic delays.
“Use whatever term you want,” her non-date was saying. He wiped his mouth with his napkin. “I saw no need to go looking for a different place when there was a perfectly good dining room right here. You’ll notice they got us lunch.”
Yes, they did. As soon as she and Ian “checked in”, Josef and his wife, Dagmar, wasted no time in making sure they were comfortable, which in this case meant serving them big bowls of squash soup and a basket of piping hot rolls. The food was delicious, far better than anything they’d grab at a rest stop.
“More coffee, Mr. Black?” Dagmar came out of the kitchen brandishing a coffeepot. Unlike the innkeeper, she was decidedly not Chloe’s fantasy grandparent. No grandmother of hers would look like an aging film star. Dagmar brushed a stand of her silvery-blond hair from her face. “I just made a fresh pot.”
Ian matched her smile. “Don’t mind if I do. Lunch, by the way, was delicious. I appreciate you opening the kitchen for us. I know you’ve got to get ready for dinner.”
“No trouble at all,” she said with a flutter of her hand. “The pleasure is mine. If you need anything else, you let me know, yah?”
“Absolutely. I will do just that.” He was using the same lazy growl he’d used the day Chloe had met him, the low silk-on-sandpaper voice meant to wrap around a woman’s spine. Apparently it was his charm voice.
And Dagmar was definitely charmed.
“Looks like you’ve won a fan,” Chloe said, once the older woman had sashayed back to the kitchen. “And here I thought you were famous for being difficult to work with.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t be charming when I need to be.”
“Obviously.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Is there a problem?”
“Of course not.” Chloe could hear the sharpness in her voice and it bothered her. What did she care if Ian flirted with some middle-aged innkeeper with perfect hair? It wasn’t as if that growl was reserved solely for her. “I was wondering how long you want to stay.”
He was busy checking his cell phone. “Not too much longer. I noticed Josef had a laptop. I’ll ask him to check the local weather and traffic before we leave.”
“Doesn’t look like the storm’s let up much,” she noted. In fact, conditions appeared worse. They could hear the wind howling from where they sat.
“Hopefully, we’re looking at more rain than ice farther west.”
“And if we aren’t?”
“Then, Curlilocks, we get to see if you turn into a pumpkin.”
A shiver ran down Chloe’s spine. He was merely making a joke, and a silly one at that, since he mashed together fairy tales. The setting, however, along with his ragged-edged voice made the words sound like a seductive promise.
Ian was checking his phone again, staring at the screen with a frown. “Something wrong?” Beyond current circumstances.
“I left a message for Matt yesterday. I thought he’d have called back by now.”
“Did you ask him to call?”
“No, not outright.”
“Well, no wonder then.” They’d entered her area of expertise now: rationalizing silent phones. “How else would he know he’s supposed to call?”
“I would.”
“You’re different.”
Ian settled farther back in his chair. “Exactly how am I different?” he asked, his eyes shining in the firelight.
“You’re...” The words coming to mind at the moment—special, unique, amazing—weren’t ones she wanted to share aloud. Mainly because the fact that she would use such words to describe a man frightened her. “You were a CEO,” she said finally. “You’re used to having people at your beck and call. Your son is a college freshman. My experience with guys his age is you have to lead them step by step through everything. And even then they might not get the message.”
“When I was eighteen, I was in the army. A higher ranking officer asked and you said yes.” Ian’s current position had him in the shadows, making his expression difficult to read. Chloe swore she saw a frown. “Come to think of it, I ran my company in a similar fashion.”
She was right; she did see a frown. “You go with the world you know.”
“I suppose you do.”
Silence followed. In the car, the silence had closed everything in. Here, in the empty, half-lit restaurant, quiet felt more like distance. It brought a sadness to the air.
Chloe reached to draw him in again.
“How’s Dagmar’s coffee? Better than yours?”
His chuckle made Chloe happy. “Don’t be ridiculous. We use far higher quality beans.”
“That so?”
“You don’t notice, since you insist on killing the taste with peppermint and chocolate syrup.”
“Hey! You should be nicer to one of your best customers.”
“The best,” he corrected, leaning into the light. “Not to mention one of my favorites.”
What on earth made her think the air had chilled, when Ian was studying her as if she were the only female on earth? A woman could get damn addicted to a look like that. She might even start believing it to be true.
Getting an internal grip, Chloe did what she did best, and acted unaffected. “Just one of? I must be slacking. What’s a girl got to do to make top of the list?”
“What makes you think you—”
She was what? Not at the top? Or had a chance? The questions went unanswered as a loud crash suddenly shook the entire building.
CHAPTER SIX
YOU’VE GOT TO be kidding. Ian stared at the giant tree covered in power lines lying in the driveway. Clearly, nature had a sick sense of humor, because the monstrosity managed to block both the road and passage off the property.
As soon as the crash sounded, Ian, Josef and several other guests rushed outside. They stood in a clump halfway down the hill, surveying the damage.
“Tree’s been dead for years,” Josef said. “I told my neighbor he should call someone to cut it down, but looks like the weather did the job for him.”
“Looks like it took power along with it,” one of the guests commented.
Sure enough, cables laced the limbs like thin black snakes. Behind them, the farmhouse sat dark, a victim. Ian peered through the trees, searching for light, and saw none. “From the looks of things, the tree took out the whole street when it fell,” he said.
Josef’s sigh spoke for all of them. “Telephone, too. Hopefully, I can find cellular service so I can call for a road crew.”
“Good luck getting a truck out here,” a different guest said. “We had a storm like this in Connecticut a couple years ago. Took days before they cleared all the damage.”
Peachy.
Above them, pine branches groaned. Instinctively, the entire group looked upward for debris before taking a few steps backward. “Tell the crew I’ll double their rate if they get here as soon as possible,” Ian told Josef.
“That is very generous of you.”
“Generosity has nothing to do with it.” He was eager to get on the road, and if money helped bump the inn to the top of the list, he was more than glad to pay.
Top of the list. He’d been about to say the same thing to Chloe when the tree saved him. He was beginning to wonder if she wasn’t a test, as well. With her curls and her infectious smile, not to mention those mile long legs, the woman was temptation in high heel boots. He’d been celibate for almost as long as he’d been sober, and for the first time, the lack of companionship ate a hole in him. When he’d wrapped his arm around her waist in the parking lot—hell, before that, when they’d sat in the parked car—images of what he’d gone without had flashed through his head. Beautiful Technicolor images of tawny skin spread out beneath him.
The scariest part of all was his attraction wasn’t only physical. She had this way of drawing him out from behind his facade. In one day he’d shown her more of himself than he had anyone, short of the addiction counselors.