A Not-So-Innocent Seduction

“Is that how you live your life?”

The sharp retort with its hint of disapproval put her back up. “There’s a lot to be said for travel. It broadens the mind.”

“I’ve noticed you’re good at dodging questions you don’t like. Maybe you should have been a politician.”

She stared at him, nonplussed. Not many people had the sharp wit and the perspicacity to silence her. “Are we having our first fight?”

He shook his head, clearly amused by her question. “I’m in too good a mood today for that. The sun is shining. The stock market is up. The hotel is full. I’ve got no complaints.” He lifted a hand, and the server brought him a cup of black coffee. “I had a phone call from the garage in town,” Liam said. “Gary tells me that your vehicle is in the shop. So I’ve brought you these.” He tossed a set of keys on the table.

Eyeing him suspiciously, Zoe ignored the offering. “I’ve heard of full-service hotels, but this is ridiculous.”

Liam leaned back in his chair. “Don’t get your hopes up. It isn’t a flashy sports car. Just an old Sentra that we keep for the occasional emergency.”

“I can’t imagine you’re this attentive to every guest.”

“You’d be surprised. And besides, I have a hidden agenda with you.”

Her heartbeat quickened. “How so?”

“My mother accused me of trying to run you off. I need to prove to her that I’m a gentleman. And who knows? You might coax me into playing hooky from work a time or two while you’re here.”

“You seem like the least likely person I’ve ever known to be led astray.”

“Then you’d be wrong. It’s springtime in the mountains. Even a workaholic like me can see the attraction.”

When he smiled, ever so gently, Zoe felt something inside her loosen and flower. Despite her tendency to hold people at a distance, something about Liam Kavanagh slipped past her defenses. He wasn’t a warm, fuzzy person. In fact, he was rather intimidating. But nevertheless, she felt a strong pull of attraction.

Despite that unsettling truth, she wasn’t yet ready to jump headlong into a flirtation that might make her time at the Silver Beeches uncomfortable. She picked up the keys and tucked them in her purse. “Thank you for the vehicle. I’ll be careful with it.”

He watched her like a cat watches a mouse. “I’m sure you will.” After a momentary silence, he continued. “So do you have any specific plans for your stay with us, or are you more the type to be spontaneous?”

“You said that last word as if it put a bad taste in your mouth. Do you have a problem with spontaneity?”

“Not really. Though it isn’t an attribute that fits my lifestyle very well.”

“Because Liam is all work and no play?”

His eyes narrowed. “You must think me dreadfully dull.”

“Not at all. I admire your work ethic.”

“Hogwash,” he said forcefully, startling her. “You probably don’t even own a day planner, do you?” She had the odd notion that he was attracted to her and critical of her at the same time.

She’d been judged and found wanting too many times in her life to let Liam do the same. For the moment, her indignation overrode her appreciation of his masculine appeal. “I believe it’s safe to say that our personalities clash, Mr. Kavanagh. Perhaps it might be best if we avoid one another while I’m here. Good day.”

* * *

With clenched teeth, Liam watched his beautiful guest walk away. The sway of her hips was no less mesmerizing in pants than it had been in a flowing skirt. He had come to the dining room earlier with every intention of getting to know Zoe a little better. Instead, he had lit the fuse of her temper in record time.

Was it the spark of attraction between them that made things so touchy? Or was Zoe right? Were the two of them oil and water?

Grumbling beneath his breath, he finished his coffee and stood up, ruefully aware that some of the luncheon guests had watched his encounter with interest. Schooling his face to a calm expression, he made his way across the room and exited to the hallway.

Pierre caught up with him en route to the lobby. The longtime employee’s face was creased with worry. “There was a man here, Mr. Kavanagh. Asking about Ms. Chamberlain. I got a bad feeling about the guy. Looked like he might be law enforcement or a P.I.”

Liam’s senses went on high alert. “But he didn’t identify himself as such?”

“No, sir. Didn’t say much of anything at all except that he was inquiring as to Ms. Chamberlain’s whereabouts. At least I think that’s what he wanted. He called her Zoe Henshaw, though.”

“What did you tell him?”

The concierge’s expression was awash with guilt. “I told him we had no guest by that name. He left, but I wondered if I should let Mrs. Kavanagh know.”

“I’ll handle it,” Liam said. “You did the right thing. Our guests expect and deserve their privacy. Keep an eye out for him and let me know if he shows up again.”

Liam returned to his office, his gut clenched with worry. Who was Zoe Chamberlain? And why did he feel the need to protect her? Hadn’t he learned his lesson long ago? Women were resilient creatures. His need to play Galahad was misplaced at best.

His jaw set, he picked up the phone and dialed the credit card company. After twenty minutes on hold listening to a watered-down version of Frank Sinatra tunes, he was finally connected to a customer service representative who was polite but not at all forthcoming. The woman cited privacy laws, but assured him that the card was not stolen and that the line of credit was unlimited.

Liam hung up and drummed the fingers of one hand on the blotter, no less agitated than he had been before. There was no reason to suppose that Zoe was anything other than an extremely wealthy woman who wanted to spend some time in the mountains.

But somehow, that explanation didn’t satisfy him.

Forcing himself to slog through a backlog of work, he made it an hour and a half before he conceded defeat and admitted that the Zoe situation was occupying his attention to the exclusion of all else. Though he would like to think he could let things play out in due time, he knew himself well enough to realize that he wasn’t going to be able to let it drop. He had to know more about Zoe. Both for personal and professional reasons. Where was she from? Did she have a job of any kind? Who was the man looking for her? Why did she drive an ancient van, and why was there evidence that at least some of the time, she wasn’t sleeping in four-star hotels?

Telling himself that he might be imagining trouble where none existed, he typed the name Zoe Chamberlain into Google’s search box, hit a key, and waited. To his consternation, the only match from this region of the country was an African-American woman in south Georgia who produced some kind of folk art out of old silverware.

Trying Zoe Henshaw produced little else of note. The entries he found contained mostly generic information that could have pertained to any one of a number of people.

Of the Zoe Chamberlain with the golden hair, blue eyes and sunny disposition, there was no mention. Which meant that his oh-so-beautiful hotel guest was probably lying to him. Anger, disappointment, and an amorphous anxiety threatened to choke him.

The Silver Beeches was his turf. Everything that happened beneath this roof was under his domain. Even so, did he have the right to dig into the puzzle that was Zoe? Was he out of line in wanting to find answers?

Six weeks was a long time to wonder.

Four

Zoe loved the little Sentra. It was silver, of course. Although it sported a few dings and bruises, along with 150,000 miles on the odometer, the car had character, much like Bessie. It was also very easy to drive. Its age and appearance erased any concerns she might have had about borrowing someone else’s vehicle.

Armed with a map of the town, courtesy of Pierre, she thanked the parking valet who brought the car to the door of the hotel for her. Seating herself behind the steering wheel, she checked the location of all the various knobs and switches and adjusted the mirrors.

If Pierre had thought it odd she was wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses and had her hair tucked back in a ponytail, he gave no sign. The disguise was necessary to calm her nerves.

Driving down the steep, winding highway was an adventure. Like the town itself, the mountain road conjured up images of the Swiss Alps. But the guardrail was sturdy, and the two lanes were plenty wide, so she had no real worries.

The hamlet of Silver Glen was laid out in a well-planned grid tucked between the two steep mountains that constrained its growth. Long and narrow, the peaceful community centered itself along a two-mile stretch of meandering road that wound in a lazy S from one town limit to the other. Cute shops and restaurants vied for space between quaint B and Bs and private homes.

The side streets were equally interesting. Zoe found a dry cleaner’s whose sign proclaimed it to be the Silver Press, a movie theater called the Silver Screen, and finally, the place she had circled on her map...Silver Bells, a music shop that sold everything from handmade dulcimers to electronic keyboards.