More Lipstick Chronicles by Emily Carmichael

Author:Emily Carmichael
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2010-03-31T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 5

He’s not here, she thought. I’m stuck in the most romantic city in North America and he’s not here. He promised me he’d be here before I woke up. I’m awake, it’s already nine-thirty—she opened her eyes long enough to check her watch—and he’s not here.

The phone rang.

“If you’ve missed another flight, don’t bother,” she grumbled into the phone.

“Miss?” An unfamiliar voice.

“Oops, sorry. What is it?”

“A gentleman here to see you. Shall I let him up?”

For the scantest second, she thought of Jacques Chancet. He was handsome, he was secure in himself, he was a New Yorker—well, by way of Quebec City—and he was charming.

“What’s his name?”

“Mitch Evans.”

She sat up. And with a pang of guilt that she had even thought of another man, she let out a shriek.

“Sure, sure, send him up.”

She slammed down the phone. Threw off the covers and ran to the bathroom. Great, what a time to discover the effects of not getting every smidgen of mascara off the night before. She squeezed a little toothpaste onto . . . Where, oh, where was the toothbrush? Oh, hellwithit, she squeezed the toothpaste onto her index finger and vigorously rubbed her teeth. Swiped a wet washcloth under her eyes, taking away some of that raccoon look. At least she didn’t have the morning-after champagne puffiness. She spat out the toothpaste, spritzed Angel perfume in her hair, slapped her cheeks for color and dashed to the bed before remembering he wouldn’t have a key. She jumped back up, unlocked the door and dove under the covers.

Oh, sure, the most soigné effect would be achieved by allowing him to caress her into wakefulness. Think what mischief they could make as she drowsily welcomed him! But Carole’s brief indulgence gave way to enthusiasm. So what if he knew just how excited she was to see him?

She scarcely noticed the slippers she stepped on and over, the robe laying forlorn on the arm of the upholstered club chair and the housekeeper in the hallway just beginning her morning rounds.

She clobbered him on the landing. Her arms around his neck, he lifted her long legs to straddle his waist. Their kiss was long, hard and sharply focused.

“God, it’s good to see you!” he said.

She made to stand but he stopped her.

“I like this,” he said.

He carried her back to her room, past the housekeeper who tried not to stare.

“Sir, you forgot your bag,” the housekeeper noted as Mitch nudged the door open with his shoe.

“I’ll get it in a minute,” he said. “Or in two minutes,” he added as he strode to the bed. “Or maybe I’ll just leave that thing in the hall until it gets stolen. Because, baby, I’m not leaving this bed for a long, long time.”

“But the door,” Carole warned.

He stood up, regarding her languid pose with a familiar glint in his eye. Then he walked over to the door, throwing off his suit jacket and pulling his tie free from the collar of his shirt. A shirt which, by the way, soon fluttered to the floor.

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