Shiver / Private Sessions: Shiver / Private Sessions. Tori Carrington

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ rolled his eyes, but he wasn’t feeling quite so blasé. She’d looked him up. He tried to remember everything on his Web site, what pictures she’d seen, but he couldn’t think. That happened a lot when he was near her. “Hype,” he said. “But I am proud of my films. Some more than others.”

      “Doesn’t it just depress the shit out of you?”

      Now he laughed, loudly enough to get his own rebuke. “Not doing something would depress me more. Not that I’m some massive humanitarian. I just find the real issues to be the most vital. I thought about going into the movie side, but my heart wouldn’t be in it. I want to tell stories that matter.”

      Carrie frowned up at him, although he didn’t think she disapproved. More that she was thinking about what he’d said. “How does that work out with you running this place?”

      He put his empty plate down, but kept his coffee. “It doesn’t.”

      “There needs to be more of that sentence.”

      “Right. As much as I’m fond of the inn, it’s not my life.” He lowered his voice further. “I’m selling it.”

      “Really?”

      “Shhh.” He leaned closer. “Uh, that’s supposed to be a secret.”

      “I’ll keep it under my hat.” She put both her plate and her cup down. “Hasn’t the hotel been in your family for generations? “

      “Yeah.”

      “And you don’t mind?”

      “I’m not very sentimental.”

      “I imagine not.”

      “You’re appalled.”

      “No. Not at all. You need to do what you need to do. I’m not a sentimental person, either. Not really. There are only a few things in my life I couldn’t live without. One of them, sadly, is my best friend.” She looked over at Erin, sitting among her fan boys. “I’m better with her around.”

      “How so?”

      “I live most of my life on the Internet. It’s pathetic. Erin helps me participate in life, as she calls it. Without her I’d go out even less frequently than I do now.” Carrie shrugged, took a step away from him. “We should get back to watching the monitors. There could be ghosts.”

      “Right. Ghosts.” He wasn’t sure if it was the talk of sentiment or the talk of Erin that had changed the tenor of the conversation. Her body language had changed, even her whisper was different.

      Would it be smarter to leave things be for the night and hope for a better tomorrow? Or should he wade back in and try for a recovery?

      She took his plate and hers to one of the washing bins, then came back and refilled her coffee. All without meeting his gaze.

      “I think it’s time for me to say good-night,” he said, as much as it pained him.

      She looked up then. “Giving up the ghost so early?”

      He grimaced at the pun, then smiled. “Big day tomorrow. I can’t sleep till noon.”

      “It was nice running in to you again. I enjoyed it.”

      “Me, too. Maybe we’ll meet again tomorrow.”

      Her dark eyes were wide and beautiful, and they studied him closely. “Yeah. That would be good. I’d like that.”

      He believed her. All was not lost. At least, he didn’t think so.

       6

      CARRIE CLOSED HER EYES. Again. For the billionth time. It was four-thirty in the morning, and a half an hour ago, she’d been so dead on her feet that she’d strongly considered paying Erin to put the comforter back on her bed.

      She’d managed alone, and to brush her own teeth and get into her pj’s, but the moment she’d actually put her head down on the pillow, she’d been alert, awake and, no matter how sternly she’d spoken to her inner monologue, it would … not … stop … yammering.

      “Shut up,” she said, hoping the aloud version would be more effective than the silent one.

      Evidently not, because the next millisecond she was thinking about him. Again. The fact that she’d told him she had to work while she was here wasn’t so bad. It was nothing, in fact. They were going to be here for nearly a week. Of course people had to work.

      No. What had been bad was that she’d said one hell of a lot more. She’d told him flat out that she was a complete loser who had exactly one real friend, and that the rest of her life was spent playing World of Warcraft and trolling Web sites. Awesome.

      Reciprocity. That son of a bitch.

      He’d told her his secret about selling the place, which was whoa. Major. So then she’d felt the need to reciprocate with a secret of her own.

      If she hadn’t wanted to sleep with him, it wouldn’t be an issue. But, she’d realized the moment he’d taken the comforter and pillows that she did want to sleep with him. She liked him. Nothing earth-shattering, but she was ostensibly on vacation, and Vacation Rules stated that one could sleep with a very attractive hotel owner if one wanted to on the basis of like, which was quite different from Regular Life Rules. She was also allowed to eat at least one dessert a day, she didn’t have to work out and she could speak with a British accent if the mood struck.

      But Sam had a life. He made important films about important issues. He lived in New York and traveled the country, not at comic book conventions, but living with the real people. He was friends with a world-class chef. She was friends with [email protected]. It was the first damn night and she’d already blown it. Hence, staring at the ceiling in the wee hours of the morning.

      The true tragedy was that she hadn’t even told him the worst of it. That she was there undercover, her sole intent to embarrass and malign people just like him. Oh, he’d love that. Who wouldn’t? She could just see how well that conversation would go. He’d probably kick her right out of the hotel, and who could blame him?

      It was a miracle she even had Erin.

      Anyway, Sam was going to find out about her. All it would take was a little Google action, and he’d discover her secret identity. She wrote under the name Carrie Price, but Price was her mom’s maiden name, and it wasn’t exactly a state secret.

      She turned over and socked her pillow a few times, then tried to get comfortable. Fat chance.

      Hell, maybe he’d understand. He was a New Yorker, for god’s sake. Just because he believed that ghosts were real didn’t mean he had no sense of humor. He was probably used to people making fun of him. Film people were notoriously cynical, right?

      Crap. Even if he did get made fun of, he wouldn’t want to sleep with someone who openly disparaged his beliefs. That would be like her sleeping with someone who thought graphic novels weren’t real books.

      Worse. Because a lot of people didn’t СКАЧАТЬ