Tongue in Chic by Christina Dodd

Author:Christina Dodd [Dodd, Christina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Contemporary, Fiction, Romance, General, Love Stories, Romantic Suspense, Romantic Suspense Fiction, Suspense, False Personation, Amnesia, South Carolina, Deception
ISBN: 9780451220561
Google: xXLtzahvhM8C
Amazon: 0451220560
Publisher: Signet
Published: 2006-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

Nineteen

Seated in his office, Devlin watched the video screens.It was close to midnight. The moon was full. And Four staggered up the stairs, drunk as a skunk. He didn't even drink that much; he just couldn't hold his liquor.

Was Devlin ever going to get rid of this guy? While Devlin was distracted by Meadow's injury, Four had taken up residence, and the trouble was, during his daily visits to the sickroom, he'd charmed Meadow. She liked him—far more than she liked Devlin.

To Devlin's surprise, that irked him.

How the hell did a guy like Four, who couldn't manage himself, much less a successful company, win over every woman he met? Did Four conceal hidden depths?

No. Devlin had known the guy for twenty-five years. If Four had hidden depths, they were buried too far beneath layers of vanity, cowardice, and alcohol to be accessed.

Now, as Devlin watched, Four reeled from wall to wall. He was lost, of course. The son of a bitch had lived here, on and off, since he was a kid—and he still couldn't find his damned bedroom. He claimed it was because of the changes Devlin had made; Devlin believed it was because Four was a dissolute idiot. Pour was weak, without morals, and a lousy businessman. So much for Bradley Benjamin's proud breed.

Devlin wasn't wrong about Four. He wasn't wrong about Meadow. He sure as hell wasn't wrong about himself.

Devlin lifted the walkie-talkie from his belt and, without looking at the small screen, said, "Mr. Benjamin is on level two, corridor T-three. Send somebody to escort him to his bedroom."

A deep female voice came back. "Yes, Mr. Fitzwilliam."

Startled, he glanced down.

Gabriel had told him he'd hired a woman, but Devlin hadn't yet caught a glimpse of her. Even now he couldn't see her well—she stood somewhere outside. He caught a quick impression of middle age and competence, and an Eastern European stockiness. Gabriel had assured him she was experienced, so Devlin clicked off the walkie-talkie. "Sam!"

Sam appeared in the doorway. He looked tired— both of them had been working flat-out since five this morning trying to trace the sudden loss of water pressure to the hotel.

Of course, they both knew who was behind the sabotage, but that didn't make it easier to fix.

"No luck so far," sir. The manager of the water treatment plant still says he can't get anyone on the problem until next week." In frustration, Sam ran his hand through his hair.

"You know where he lives. Send someone over to knock on his door."

"Right now?" A measured smile grew on Sam's lips.

"Absolutely, right now. Then go to bed." With familiar bitterness, Devlin said, "Until we figure out a way to get a monkey wrench locked around Bradley Benjamin's nuts, there's going to be more trouble, and we'll never figure out a solution without sleep."

Devlin glanced toward the video screens. He rubbed his eyes. He should go to bed, because he was hallucinating. He had to be.

He thought that was Meadow running down the dim corridor outside their bedroom—in her bathrobe.

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