DANIEL WATCHED AS Annie lifted her obese carry-on above her head and tried to lodge it into the bin. Not even taking into account the house-on-wheels she’d checked, she’d packed far too much. She teetered backward, endangering the souls across the aisle. He lifted the bag from her hands.
“I’ve got it,” he said, then hefted it into place and latched the compartment. “You’ve the window seat…just go on in.”
“Okay,” she said, but still lingered. A worry line seemed to have taken up residence between her brows, and her gray eyes lacked their usual spark. After watching her talk her way around her fear in Hal’s office, Daniel was sure that even boarding the plane had been a struggle for Annie. Still, though, here they were and damned if he’d let her back out now.
“Annie, you’re holding up matters.” He gave a “sorry” to the people waiting behind them. “Would you rather have my aisle seat?”
“Yes.”
She moved just enough to let him edge past. Daniel considered the brush of his body against hers a reward, brief though it was. He knew he’d just consigned himself to having his knees to his chin all the way to O’Hare, but the cause was noble—getting this plane from the tarmac without Annie Rutherford being tarred and feathered. After nearly smacking his head on the overhead bin, he folded into his seat.
“Wait!” she blurted. “I’ve changed my mind. I want the window.”
“Come on, already,” someone groused.
“Sit and we’ll switch when everyone is by,” he said.
She didn’t move.
He motioned to the empty seat between them. “Just set your briefcase there.” He felt as though he were talking her back from a ledge.
“But—”
“Annie…”
“Okay.”
Passengers pushed their way by as soon as she was in her seat.
“Nervous flyer,” Daniel said to the worst of the glares and eye rolls.
Once the aisle was again clear, Annie stood. “Time to trade.”
“You’re sure of this?” he asked. “It’s not some trick to make me hit my thick skull while getting out, is it?”
She nearly smiled. “I’d like to be able to look out the window.”
And as he’d like to be able to occasionally stretch his legs, the deal was made.
Daniel resettled in the aisle seat, buckled his seat belt and closed his eyes. He could hear Annie next to him, apparently wrestling with her briefcase.
“You’ll have to put that under the seat in front of you, ma’am,” a flight attendant said.
“Okay, just a sec.” More scrabbling about from Ms. Annie, then finally silence. Daniel let tension ease away, leaving him lax.
Usually, while sitting on a flight, he’d dream. He would block the noise of the other passengers, focusing instead on whatever bit of fiction he happened to be working on. He’d put nothing on paper, just let the ideas simmer warm and slow the way his mam did with her best lamb stew. Then as soon as he was back on the ground, he’d write his tale like a man possessed.
Click-click…click-click
A sound—and not at all a pleasant one—crept into his consciousness. He kept his eyes closed, willing himself to that still place…that quiet place…
Click-click…click-click
Feck it all.
Click-click…click-click
It was Annie, he knew it. He opened one eye just far enough to see what the woman was doing. She had a leather-bound notebook open in her lap and a retractable ballpoint pen in her left hand.
Click-click…click-click
She stared straight ahead, her thumb working the little button atop the pen. He settled his hand over hers.
She yelped.
He briefly squeezed her hand tighter and said, “If you don’t mind stopping the business with the pen?”
She tugged her hand from beneath his. “Sorry.”
“No problem,” he said, then let his eyes close again.
Click-click.
“Sorry,” he heard her say again. “Nervous habit.”
Giving up his Zen state for lost, Daniel focused on Annie as she slid the pen back into its loop on the inside of the portfolio.
She had perfectly polished oval nails, petal-pink and enough to make him wish he could nibble on them, if she’d not take him as a fetishist—which she would.
The flight attendant began her recitation of the safety information. Annie listened avidly, which was exactly what he’d expect from her. When the plane taxied, she squeezed her eyes shut and gripped the armrests so tightly that her knuckles shone white.
Again he wrapped his fingers over hers. Annie’s eyes flew open. She looked at their hands—one covering the other—and a pink nearly matching her nails began to color her cheeks.
Daniel waited for her to grow all prickly and pull her hand away. She didn’t, though. She relaxed and accepted the comfort he offered. The plane took to the air and soon finished the last bumps and jolts that had a way of making one a believer in a higher authority.
“Do you have to be so nice?” she asked once all was settled.
He smiled at this patent bit of Annie-ness. “Sorry. It’s hereditary.”
It was more than that, though. God help him, he wanted her to like him, and not simply because they’d be together for the coming weeks. He wanted her to laugh when he teased her, to listen when he offered ideas. And he wasn’t exactly opposed to finding out if she had any places the sun hadn’t kissed with a scattering of freckles.
After slipping her hand away, she relaxed against her seat and closed her eyes. Smiling, he did the same. Try as he might, though, his manuscript—now damn near overdue to his editor—wouldn’t fill his mind. It was far more taken by imaginings of sleek white skin sprinkled with gold. Before long, the plane was descending. Daniel went to reach for Annie’s hand again.
“I’m okay. Really,” she said.
It was grand that one of them was, since the smile she gave him was nearly sufficient to stop his heart. Once they landed, he averted any further in-aisle crises by retrieving her monstrous carry-on and wrestling it off the plane for her.
“I can handle it,” she said, trying to tug the bag from him as they joined the sea of people in the terminal.
“I’ve no doubt of that,” he replied, but kept it just the same.
They made their way to the baggage-claim area. In time his suitcase made its way around the carousel. He grabbed it and waited for Annie’s beast, which seemed to have opted for a late, grand entrance.
Or perhaps it wasn’t arriving at all. Annie walked to the mouth of the carousel and tried to peer into the opening. As she leaned forward, Daniel half feared that she planned to crawl against the flow and visit the baggage handlers.
She returned to him. “This doesn’t look good. All my clothes are in that bag.”
He chose diplomatic silence, which proved to be of little comfort. A few lonely bags soon circled around and around.
Annie began to pace. “See? This is why I hate traveling. Just once, I’d like to go someplace and have my luggage arrive with me.”
“Come on,” he said, lifting his bag. She glared at it, as though it were responsible for hers having gone missing. He approached a group of uniformed workers.
“Is that the last of the bags from flight 586?”
Annie stepped forward. “Well, you’re one piece short.”
The man who’d spoken hooked a thumb in the direction of the far wall. “That door.”
“Great,” she muttered.
Once in front of the claims counter, Daniel did his best to offer moral support. Annie gave the agent her particulars and then matched her missing bag to a photo on a large plastic card with generic suitcase mug shots.
“It’s close to that one,” she said.
Had Daniel been inclined to sacrifice Annie’s good graces for honesty, he’d have told the man that it was “close” only if the chosen bag was first force-fed for weeks on end.
When Annie had her lost bag receipt, he tried to move her along toward the cab line.
“Give me a second to get my act together,” she said, then sat on a bench near the exit, dropping her carry-on next to her.
Optimistic that this would be a short pick-me-up, Daniel remained standing.
“You’ll be fine, you know,” he said. “Your suitcase might well beat us to the hotel.”
“Or not. And we’re supposed to leave for Seattle Thursday morning. What if it doesn’t catch up to us by then?”
He scrambled for a positive spin on the situation.
Shopping! Most women he knew loved to shop, and he doubted that Annie was an exception, given the clutter in her home.
“We’ve nothing to do until night, and Eva told me that our hotel’s close to shopping. You could always pick up some clothes to tide you over.”
“I hate buying clothes. It’s too depressing.” She frowned. “Who’s Eva?”
“Hal’s secretary…Mrs. D’Onfrio.”
“Mrs. D.’s first name is Eva?”
The question—and especially Annie’s shocked tone—confused him. He was sure she’d been working at Donovan Enterprises for years. “Didn’t you know that?”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she dug through her bag, heavy with everything but clothes, and extracted a box of tissues. Daniel was going to ask if no travel-size version had been available, but quickly realized she’d planned well.
He’d seen her take the distracted disregard of her parents with not much more than a raising of the brows.
He’d silently applauded as she’d given gruff Hal Donovan as good as she’d been handed.
But Annie Rutherford had just reached her limit and started to cry. And she was doing it with flair.
ANNIE HAD NO CLOTHES, her best friend refused to speak to her and now Daniel Flynn knew Mrs. D’Onfrio’s first name.
Maybe the name thing was no big deal, but on top of the lost suitcase and Sasha’s constant call screening, it sure felt like one. Hot tears streaked down her face, probably running her nonwaterproof mascara onto her neck. Sobs collected in her throat until they escaped in one long, jittery gasp.
Annie wasn’t a woman who could cry prettily, and she had zero tolerance for anyone who could. But, up until this moment, she’d always been able to hold off meltdowns until she was alone. She held a crumpled tissue up to her face, but it wasn’t enough to hide her. One after another, she pulled two more from the box on her lap.
“Annie?”
She looked up. Weight balanced on bent legs and the balls of his feet, Flynn was nearly eye-to-eye. If she weren’t so totally off the deep end, she might have gotten a grin out of the alarmed look on his face. It was a sure bet that not many women had come unglued in front of his perfection.
“I’m sorry,” she managed to say past the tears. “This is so stupid.” She blew her nose, then wiped her eyes. “I can’t believe I’m…I’m…” Saying the word aloud would make her feel like an even bigger weenie, so she busied herself pulling another tissue from the box.
“Can I get you some water, or…” He looked around, then back at her. “Or what would you like?”
He was so nice that it was becoming impossible to dislike him.
She hazarded a glance at the area. At least nobody other than the Irishman seemed to be watching her. After all, what was one snot-filled female in the big scheme of things?
Comforted by her total and customary anonymity, Annie began to wad up the tissues on her knees. With those in one hand, she used her other to jam the tissue box back into her carry-on.
She stood. “I think I’d just like to get out of here.”
Flynn had her bag over his shoulder almost as quickly as she’d spoken the words. Soon they were settled in a cab and he was saying, “The Almont Hotel, please.”
During the drive into the city, he seemed to sense that she needed silence. Or maybe he was quiet for fear of setting off another crying jag. Either way, Annie simply looked at the cars, the highway overpasses and finally downtown Chicago, once it came into view.
Soon they pulled up to the canopied entrance of their hotel. The Almont was an older place, not five-star imposing, but definitely posh. A bellman gathered their bags from the cab’s trunk. Or at least what bags Annie still had to her name.
She and Flynn made their way through the revolving door and into a large lobby with maroon carpet underfoot and a crystal chandelier overhead. Annie registered for them, handed the bellman their room keys and followed as he led them to the elevator.
She was still fairly numb from the whole airport experience, so it wasn’t until they were heading swiftly upward that she realized Flynn was in the room next to hers. The thought somehow pleased her, a definite sign that she was going soft where he was concerned.
“I’ve some friends I need to catch up with,” he said as they trailed down the hallway after the bellman. “But after that, I was thinking maybe nine o’clock in the lobby is a good time for us to meet.”
Annie checked her watch. It wasn’t yet four o’clock, Michigan time, and she had a long night ahead. At least with the bonus of an hour’s time difference between Ann Arbor and Chicago, she could easily fit in a nap, shower and meal. Otherwise, she’d be a zombie by midnight and totally worthless by last call.
“Nine works for me,” she said to Flynn.
“Ma’am,” the bellman said, opening her door with a flourish.
Annie walked in and smiled. The sole upside that she could see to traveling was the chance to stay in a place like this. Unable to help herself, she hurried to the window and took in the view. It wasn’t Manhattan, but damn, it was close.
Realizing that Flynn still had to get to his room, she tipped the bellman and thanked him. In a matter of moments, she could catch the faint sounds of the Irishman settling in.
Annie snooped in the honor bar, coveting the big-bucks-a-bite chocolate. She checked out the toiletries lined up on the bathroom counter, inventorying what would be going on to Seattle with her. Finally, she dug into her carry-on.
At least she’d done one smart thing and packed an extra pair of underwear in the bag. She tucked the silky blue bit into an otherwise empty drawer. The sight brought home just how alone she was.
Annie picked through her bag until she found her travel candle. She removed the tin’s top and set the candle on the cocktail table in front of the loveseat. After a brief search for matches, the calming scent of lavender filled the air.
“Almost like home,” she said in a lame attempt to convince herself. But if she were home, she could change out of her wrinkled khakis and into something clean for the night. And Sasha would be going with her. Or not.
Refusing to get sucked into another pityfest, Annie walked back to the window and looked to her right. According to the cabbie—and apparently Mrs. D.—Michigan Avenue was just up at the corner. And on that stretch of broad road were countless stores calling out for her credit card.
True, she hated picking through racks of stuff designed for skinny size twos, hated that most clothes sagged on her waist and seized her butt in a death grip. But at this moment, her hatred for feeling grungy and gritty outweighed even that. Before she could chicken out, she blew out the candle, pulled her purse from her carry-on and left the room. After a stop at the bell captain’s stand to ask that her missing suitcase—should it magically arrive—be brought straight to her room, Annie was off.
Maybe it was a positive flow of the cosmos’s energy returning to her life, or some other such crapola. Or maybe it was the fact that she was too desperate to be picky, but Annie found new clothes—lots of them.
All those how-to-dress shows playing on the television while she’d worked at home late into the night seemed to have had a subliminal effect. She’d never really listened, yet their advice had sunk in. Annie carried bagfuls of “dramatic” necklines, “concealing” wide-legged pants and “nonclingy” skirts. Nobody would be following her sorry ass down the street, conducting a secret filming of her fashion disasters.
Back in her room, she was bummed to see that this new positive flow hadn’t carried her missing bag back to her, but that would have been expecting too much of the cosmos. Annie spread her purchases across the bed, feeling a thrill of excitement over each of them. She wondered if Flynn would notice the difference, then wondered why she was wondering. Before she got too confused, she went to take a shower.
It was nearly seven o’clock when she finished blow-drying her hair and anchored the dryer back into the wall. The click of it locking into place was followed by a thump from outside the bathroom. Annie peeked out to confirm that she was still alone, though odds were good that no one had broken through the security lock or scaled the outside of the building to the fifteenth floor.
Yup, she was alone, though another thump sounded from an adjoining room. Annie shrugged. Such was life in a hotel—not to mention her own home. Standing in front of the mirror, she dabbed her pulse points with the perfume sample she’d picked up while shopping. More muffled thumps—thumps of a certain rhythm—distracted her. It was almost as though Garth ’n Mei had taken their show on the road.
“No way,” she muttered. She walked back into the bedroom, grabbed the television remote from the night-stand and pushed the on button.
Out of reflex, Annie glanced up at the television to check out the channel. At that moment—facing the wall between herself and the noise—she made the connection. Flynn was in that room. She sat down hard on the edge of the bed. Maybe she wasn’t hearing what she thought she was. He could be exercising. Or moving furniture.
Quiet fell next door. Annie spent a dozen heartbeats waiting for the next shoe—or whatever—to drop, but silence reigned. She shook off her case of the creeps and began to dress, half listening to the steady talk of the all-news network.
As she readied, she convinced herself that she’d jumped to conclusions. Garth and Mei’s sexual marathon had messed with her mind. She was like one of Pavlov’s dogs, except she was conditioned to believe that thumps—no matter how innocuous—equaled sex. Nothing was going on next door.
Still, the thought of Flynn naked—though far preferably with her—was a tough one to lose. She’d never fantasized much about the guys she worked with. Then again, no one as hot as Daniel Flynn had ever been in Donovan’s headquarters. If the warm shiver dancing through her right now was any indicator, she had a feeling that over the next few months her fantasy life was going to be rich.
“Spank me!” a female voice cried suddenly from next door. “Do it!”
Annie froze, flirty black skirt halfway zipped. Kind of hot and squirmy iced down to grossed out.
“Harder!”
Annie finished dressing as though the fire alarm had just sounded. She swept her makeup off the counter and into her new bag, then added the items she’d need for the night—digital camera, notepad, credit card and room key.
Now if she only had some pepper spray.