“In? I thought you said the place was a pigpen.”
“It is.” She smiled in anticipation of the reaction the next bit of info was going to get. “But the swine looks like one of your calendar men.”
“Whaaat? Which one? Is it a Hemsworth? Please, let it be a Hemsworth.”
“No, it wasn’t Thor or his brother.”
“Real-life brother or movie brother? Because I could totally be down for some Tom Hiddleston action.”
“I think it was Mr. October. Ryan something…”
“Ryan Gosling?”
“Is he the one married to Blake Lively?”
“No, that’s Ryan Reynolds.” There was another gasp, but this one held a completely different meaning. “Holy Green Lantern, Batman. You have a Ryan Reynolds look-alike hosting you in his den of rubbish, and you’re wasting time talking to me? I mean, I know that I’m your new best friend and all, but still…go get you some of that.”
“I’m not here for romance, Sammy. I’m here to celebrate the joy in being single. And to relax.”
“Yeah, and how’d you say that’s going?”
“I have to detox, remember?”
“Forget detoxing. Just let your hunky host turn you inside out. A big ole O will do the trick a lot faster than curling up with a mug of chamomile.”
“Thanks, but I think I will settle for the tea and an hour with a book.”
“Good idea. Nothing like a little swoon reading to get the juices flowing.” He took a loud slurp of his cocktail. “Oh, and I’m definitely going to need a picture of this doppelgänger ASAP. Preferably shirtless.”
Not that she would ever do that, but even if she were the type of woman to snap surreptitious shots of a hot guy working shirtless, say in the rain maybe…
An image of Lucas Croft all slick and bare popped uninvited into her mind, sending a warm flush to her cheeks. “No way,” she said, half to herself and half to her assistant.
“Fine.” He sighed. “With clothes then, but a tight T-shirt would be appreciated.”
“Still no.” Shirtless or not, the last thing Paige needed was to return to her office to find Lucas Croft was next month’s screen saver. What she really needed was the aforementioned cold shower because honestly, that little fantasy came out of nowhere. Sammy. She nodded to herself. It was all his fault, really, and she’d tell him so as soon as she was back in Chicago. But for now, it was time to end the call.
“Goodbye, Samuel.”
She was halfway to the door before she realized she had no idea what the dress code protocol was for the breakfast portion of a bed-and-breakfast. Obviously at a hotel you would get dressed before going down to eat, but wasn’t this sort of establishment meant to be more like a home away from home? Did that mean a robe was sufficient? Her eyes darted to where her suitcase stood open on a luggage stand, and her gaze fell to her powder-blue chenille robe. When she’d packed for the trip, she’d envisioned herself curled up by a fireplace in that ultra-cozy bathrobe. Of course that’s when she also pictured the innkeepers as an elderly couple who rented rooms at their beachfront Victorian home as a way of re-creating the happy times when their kids all lived at home. But now schlepping downstairs in a fuzzy robe covered with bright yellow and white daisies wasn’t quite the image she wanted to project. She had more pride than that.
Maybe Sammy was right. Maybe she really did turn everything into a competition, even breakfast attire. Oh, who was she kidding? Paige’s desire to look better than she did for Mr. Rochester had nothing to do with winning some sort of breakfast beauty pageant and everything to do with Lucas Croft. Because as much as she would have liked to, Paige Parker couldn’t deny the attraction she felt for her host, no matter how unappealing he might have seemed below the surface.
She needed a shower—and definitely a toothbrush—but decided that, given the circumstances, she’d dress for trips to the bathroom. So instead of grabbing her robe and fuzzy slippers, Paige changed into a pair of jeans and her favorite green cashmere sweater, the one she knew darn well was the exact color of her eyes. She looked at herself in the small mirror above the dresser. Not too bad, she thought as she ran her fingers through her hair.
She reached for the knob but caught herself before she threw open the door. What if her handsome host was on his way to the bathroom? And what if he took the more at-home approach since, after all, this was his home? These were all issues she wouldn’t even have to consider at a Marriott. Which is exactly why Paige had never booked a room at a B and B before this one. Even those home rental apps, while all the rage, held little appeal for her. She couldn’t understand why that would be preferable to a nice suite at a hotel where you knew exactly what you were getting before you arrived and your bathroom was in your room. No risk of false advertisements using out-of-date pictures or half-naked innkeepers with killer abs causing you to spend a ridiculous amount of time overthinking a trip to the bathroom.
And just like that, thoughts of him sauntering shirtless down the hall popped into Paige’s mind. She took a deep breath, letting herself enjoy the images from head to toe. He’d no doubt be sporting bedhead, but on him it would probably be that casually disheveled look guys work so hard to achieve, even though they’d like you to believe they don’t try at all. His eyes would be sleepy but in that sexy, come-hither way, and his chest would absolutely be bare. She nearly hummed out loud as she pictured the way his abs would ripple as he sauntered down the hallway, drawing her eyes lower and lower until her gaze found the trail of brown hair that led right beneath the waistband of his…hmm…boxers or briefs? Her host was probably more of a boxer guy, but for this particular fantasy, Paige decided to envision him in a pair of boxer briefs, the kind made out of soft brushed cotton that clung to every hard inch of his…
Paige jolted. Holy moly, Samuel was right. She needed to get laid. But even if she could muster some of that sex-island mojo her assistant had described—which was a big If with a capital I—the odds that Lucas Croft could make it through one night without offending her on about twelve different levels were slim to none. Plus, it would be a tad bit awkward doing the walk of shame down the hallway of his house. Nope, a cold shower would have to suffice. Which shouldn’t be a problem given the likelihood of the Crusty Crab turning off the hot water anyway.
Paige opened the door an inch or so and listened for the sound of running water, or footsteps in the hallway, or even the clang of a pot or two from downstairs. But all she heard was a blissful silence interrupted only by the sound of the raindrops pattering against the leaded-glass windows that ran the length of the staircase.
With the coast clear, she scampered to the bathroom, and after she’d made herself sufficiently presentable for breakfast—and returned the items Lucas had left on the pedestal sink to the medicine cabinet where they belonged—headed downstairs. But instead of finding a continental breakfast, let alone a hot one, all Paige found waiting for her was a note that looked like it had been written by a monkey.