Red Carpet Romeo by Jenny Gardiner

Author:Jenny Gardiner [Gardiner, Jenny]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Jenny Gardiner Books
Published: 2017-02-17T08:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

It was late and Parker was ready to get back to the palace. He really didn’t want to wait for the next shuttle back, so he was about to order an Uber, but first had to retrieve his coat. It was too cold outside to leave that behind; with heavy snow in the forecast he was going to need it all week long.

He mounted the steps to the family wing of the estate. Luca told him he thought he’d find his coat in the room that was the second or third door on the right down the right-hand hallway. He hoped it would be where it was supposed to be so he wouldn’t walk in on anyone doing God knows what. It was so quiet upstairs; amazing how these old homes were so soundproofed you could hear nothing, even with a large crowd right downstairs.

He found the second door closed and he tapped lightly on it, just to be sure he wasn’t intruding on anyone. He opened the door, which creaked quietly as he entered the darkened room. Weird, he’d thought he’d find the room with racks of coats lined up, but there seemed to be nothing of the sort. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he noticed someone appeared to be sound asleep on the bed. God, he needed to slip out and fast; clearly he’d gone to the wrong room. But wait—was that his coat covering up whomever was snoring on the bed?

He tiptoed over to the bed and inspected the coat as best he could given the lack of illumination in the room. It was most definitely the long black camel-hair coat that had belonged to his father. He could tell just by the feel of it that it was his; he knew the touch of that from years of his father’s wearing it, long before it became his. It was one of the few things his father left behind when he moved out, and Parker treasured it as something good that remained of his father’s memories.

He slowly stroked the sleeve of the coat, so familiar was he with the touch of the thing it stirred up long-ago memories of sitting alongside his father at church every Sunday when he was young, tucked securely in the safe umbrella of his arms, stroking his tiny fingers along it as if it was a small child’s blankie. His hands came to the leather dome-woven buttons at the base of the sleeve just as he heard a woman groan, and he jumped back.

“Do it again,” the woman’s voice said.

He tried to make out in the dark who was talking to him, but still he couldn’t see.

“Do what again?” he said. What a strange thing that he was even asking that of someone who was lying there wrapped in his father’s vintage coat. He should just demand it back and leave.

“Stroke my arm the way you just did,” she said. “It felt good. Very sensual.”

Okay then. Whatever. While he

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