She took a step forward, obviously eager to see more.
“Hang on.” He grabbed their bags from the trunk. She’d packed light, something that not only surprised him, but in a ridiculous way made him feel like he could relate to her better. Or she could relate to him and his lifestyle in a way he wouldn’t have expected.
Unsure what to make of those feelings, he caught up with her instead. “It’s not a Scottish castle, but it’ll make you feel like you’ve left the real world behind. And I promise you won’t be disappointed.”
She turned to face him. “You’re perceptive and intuitive. As a reporter I’m sure it comes naturally. What I can’t figure out is whether this is for your benefit or mine.”
He knew better than to be insulted. Because she was ruminating on her father, she felt compelled to look for Roman’s ulterior motives. He understood and didn’t mind answering. “Getting out of town is for our benefit, taking you with me is for mine, and choosing this particular place was all for you, sweetheart.”
“You think you’ve got me figured out.” She bit down on her lower lip.
“I don’t?” He swept an arm out, gesturing to the mountain getaway. “This sudden escape doesn’t please you? Doesn’t this inn remind you of places you’d like to visit but haven’t had the chance?”
“You know it does. That’s obvious from you studying my apartment, or dissecting me with those reporter’s instincts. But that doesn’t mean you know everything. There’s plenty that’s still hidden.”
“And I can’t wait to uncover the rest of your secrets.”
A slow smile tilted her lips until it turned into a wicked grin. “So what are you waiting for?” She tossed the parting shot. Then she pivoted and started for the inn, the effect of her regal departure diminished by her teetering, high-heeled walk on the unpaved parking lot.
* * *
By the time Charlotte made it inside the converted farmhouse, unpretentiously named The Inn, excitement had become her sole companion.
They were greeted upon entering by an older couple. “Welcome, Mr. Chandler.”
“Roman, please.”
The woman with streaked gray hair and bright eyes nodded. “Roman it is. Do you know you look just like your father?”
He grinned. “So I’ve been told.”
“She knows your parents?” Charlotte asked, surprised.
“Mom and Dad came here on their honeymoon.”
He spoke in a matter-of-fact tone, but Charlotte didn’t find the information so cut-and-dried. He’d brought her to the place his parents had shared their post-wedding night. Wow.
“They most certainly did. I’m Marian Innsbrook and this is my husband, Harry.”
Charlotte grinned. “So that explains the name of this place.”
“Easy to remember in case folks want to come back,” Harry said.
Charlotte nodded.
Roman stepped beside her and placed his hand on her lower back. He branded her with his touch and the excitement she’d felt upon entering The Inn turned to pure unadulterated arousal. Warmth flooded her, a heaviness in her breasts and a distinctive throbbing between her legs. All inappropriate for the time and place—but soon they’d be alone, and she intended to shed not just her clothing but her inhibitions.
As if oblivious to the havoc he wreaked on her body, Roman smiled at the Innsbrooks. “This is Charlotte Bronson.”
She managed an easy smile while she and Roman took turns shaking hands with the older couple. She even forced herself to look around and appreciate the Old World charm and atmosphere The Inn offered. Wood-beamed ceilings and paneled walls. Comfort and homey were the words that came to mind.
Empty was another word that ran through her head. There was no one else around. “Do you run this place by yourselves?”
Marian shook her head. “But it’s quiet this time of year. Though we’re an hour from Saratoga, we still experience the lull between winter getaways and racing season. I’m just glad we were able to fit you in on short notice.”
“And we appreciate it,” Roman said.
“Our pleasure. Now let’s get you settled.”
A short flight of stairs and a narrow hallway later, Marian Innsbrook led them into a dimly lit room. “In here’s the sitting area, up those stairs in the loft is the bedroom. There’s cable television, the temperature controls are over here.” She walked to the far wall and explained the in-room system. “Breakfast is served at eight and you can have a wake-up call anytime you’d like.” She started to step out of the room.
“Thank you, Mrs. Innsbrook,” Charlotte called after her.
“It’s Marian, and you’re welcome.”
Roman walked her out and seconds later the door shut with a resounding click. They were alone.
He turned, his back propped against the closed door. “I thought she’d never leave.”
“Or stop talking.” Charlotte grinned. “I really like them, though.”
“They kept in touch with my mother all these years. They even came to Dad’s funeral.”
“That’s so sweet.”
“They’re good people.” He shrugged. “And Mom and Dad came back every year for their anniversary.”
His gaze met hers, dark and compelling, staring until she was shaken. “I’m not sure what to say next,” she admitted.
He started walking toward her. “I can think of a lot better things to do than talk.” He paused in front of her.
His musky scent filled her with a longing so strong her knees nearly buckled, and she swallowed hard. “Then why don’t you show me?”
A rumble rose from his throat that resembled a low growl, a deep admission of desire. The next thing she knew, he’d swept her into his arms, up the stairs, and laid her down on the king-sized loft bed. Then his lips came down hard on hers.
It was what she hadn’t known she’d been waiting for—this hard, demanding kiss that never ended and caused wave after wave of carnal need to rush her body at lightning speed. His lips were unforgiving, crushing hers, and the hot, moist assault on her senses brought everything inside her to life.
She cupped his face in her hands and threaded her fingers through his hair, reveling in the silky softness, such a contradiction to the hard male body poised above her. He traveled a
