A Place with Briar. Amber Leigh Williams

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      She took a short gulp of air and circled the podium. “I’ll show you to your room. May I help with your luggage?”

      He shook his head, shouldering the pack he’d dropped at the door. “Thanks, but this is it.”

      “Follow me, then.” She led him into a small sitting room infused with more cinnamon and the soothing aroma of fresh coffee. A small half-moon sofa faced windows that beamed soft, natural light.

      “This is where most of my guests like to come in the mornings to socialize, read the paper and check the weather,” she explained as she took them past this room and up the staircase to the private suites. “I hope you don’t mind being the only one here for the time being.”

      “I like the quiet.” That at least was the truth. He pocketed his hands when they itched to finger the silken hair that fell straight to her shoulders. “I’m not much company.”

      “Me, either,” she admitted with a nervous lilt of a laugh. She glanced back at him. “I try to find as many quiet moments as possible. A guilty pleasure, I reckon.”

      “I imagine that’s difficult, finding time for yourself,” he said as they stepped onto the second-floor landing. “Operating a place like this.” The antique breakfront standing against the wall opposite the stairs added its own cedar scent to the corridor. The spicy aroma made him feel more at ease than the magnolia at the entrance and the evident polish of the interior. “Do you run it alone?”

      “Yes.” Her smile slipped out of place for a moment before she recovered from the slight hitch and her eyes shone again. “It’s been in the family for some time, but it’s just me for now.”

      He frowned. Seemed a great deal for one person to handle. Tiffany would be relieved, however, that there weren’t other owners to contend with. For now, at least. “It’s nice,” he offered.

      “Thank you,” she said, leading him to his suite door. “This is yours. I reserved the best bay view for you.”

      When he stepped into the room, surprise filtered through him.

      The wooden floor gleamed under the morning glow just like the bay water visible through the wide window. The sleigh bed looked plush and oh-so inviting under a thick blue quilt, matching pillows plumped at the head.

      There was an antique armoire with one door open to reveal a full-length mirror on the inside panel. Complimentary padded hangers dangled on the rack inside. Stems of flowers flowed out of crystal vases on the dresser, the cut glass shooting sunshine into his eyes. Irises and hydrangeas blessed the room with their sweet, earthy scents.

      He couldn’t remember what he’d expected. Something more feminine. Chintz or pastels, something out of a Pottery Barn catalog...but certainly not this. A sense of comfort came over him—swift, almost foreign. “It’s...perfect.”

      Small dimples dug into her cheeks as she smiled. “I’ll let you settle in. When you’re ready, I’ll give you a tour and explain mealtimes and other activities.”

      “Thanks.”

      “It’s my pleasure, Mr. Savitt,” she said as she walked around him to leave.

      Instinctively, his hand reached up to brush her arm. At his touch, she froze, her face tipped close underneath his. Inches hovered between his lips and hers.

      “Please,” he murmured, hardly able to grind the words out. “Call me Cole.”

      An uncertain grin peaked the corners of her lips. His eyes drifted to them. A long, seductive chain heated and coiled, winding from the center of his torso around his navel.

      She closed her eyes, breaking the connection and shaking her head as if to clear it. “Downstairs,” she said again. “I’ll see you downstairs.” And retreated.

      When she shut the door behind her, Cole dropped his bag to the floor and blew out the breath he’d unknowingly been holding under her gaze. It wasn’t strategy or anything other than the blood he felt humming too closely to the surface that had made him want to lean over and taste that sweet, smiling mouth.

      Damned if that was the way he was going to go about this errand. His job was to find out if the owner of Hanna’s had any investors and what her financial situation was. He wasn’t going to sink to Tiffany’s level and use the attraction he felt simmering between himself and Briar to get the information he needed. He’d bring out the detective he’d been before his life had gone to smithereens to get what he needed out of her.

      And, no. The detective slumbering inside him didn’t think that kissing the innkeeper was a wise way to initiate his under-the-table investigation of Hanna’s Inn. As pretty as Briar Browning was...after Tiffany’s complete and utter betrayal, there was no way he’d risk entering even a harmless flirtation.

      CHAPTER TWO

      BRIAR CAUGHT HERSELF thinking far too deeply about the stranger in the bay suite. Especially after he chose to forgo lunch in the dining room and took off with a roar on his Harley.

      As far as she could tell, Cole Savitt was a middle-aged man with no wedding ring, and apparently he carried all he needed for two weeks in a single backpack.

      And when he’d taken off his sunglasses and she got a gander at the pain riddling his dark eyes, her heart reached out to him unequivocally. And...his broad shoulders and trim torso fit his leather riding jacket really well, too.

      She cleared her throat and gave herself a mental shake. Damn her heart. It’d always readily reached out to the wounded.

      There was no doubt in her mind Cole Savitt was a wounded man. But that kind of information was above and beyond what she needed to know about her guest. All she had to do was make his two weeks at Hanna’s as pleasant as possible. In the year she’d worked here, she had never failed to please anyone under the inn’s roof.

      She hadn’t offered more than breakfast in bed to any guests, either, and she wasn’t about to start now.

      Too much else to worry about.

      In addition to Hanna’s Inn, Briar owned the adjoining property. At two stories, the building was painted white to match the inn. It held three shop spaces in addition to a roomy apartment on the back half of the second-floor interior. She rented the living space to her cousin, Olivia Lewis, who managed the adjacent first-floor bayside bar, Tavern of the Graces.

      Briar leased the street-side shop space to Adrian Carlton, single mother and proprietor of Flora, Fairhope’s finest floral shop. Above it, the third commercial space sat on the second level, overlooking South Mobile Street and had been empty for years. Thankfully, someone had finally taken notice.

      As Briar stood aside, listening to the clack of heels over tile, a potential investor, Roxie Honeycutt, strolled slowly around the room, doing her final walk-through. The woman had been eager to sign the lease and institute Belle Brides—a bridal boutique that would house the woman’s own line of bridal couture. But Briar had insisted on the final formality.

      Roxie sighed, whirling to face her. She looked utterly chic in a strapless summer dress the color of money and matching peep-toe pumps. “I said it once, I’ll say it again. It’s absolutely perfect.”

      Briar СКАЧАТЬ