Secret Games

The way Mary saw it, Ms. James and her escort were both successful businesspeople, young enough to be attracted to a superclub, yet old enough to know what to do with the unique services a superclub offered.

A few well-placed phone calls had revealed that this couple also had a long history between them and, as Mary—stepping into her role as Cupid—had summarily decided, a bright future.

Cupid’s Couple didn’t know it yet, but they were about to be struck by one of Cupid’s golden arrows. They would be bombarded with opportunities for romance this weekend, to fall completely in love and decide to get married, all under the guidance of her staff and the watchful gaze of WTA’s judge.

Their path to love would personalize Falling Inn Bed, and Breakfast in a way that would give her property the edge it needed to win the Most Romantic Getaway award.

Or so the plan went.

“What do you say, Dougray?” Laura asked. “Think we can really pull this off?”

Dougray waved his hand in a gesture of dramatic impatience. “With this incredible superclub? With all of us playing matchmakers?” He rolled his gaze toward the ceiling and gave an exasperated snort. “Cupid’s Couple doesn’t stand a chance.” He patted his hip reassuringly. “I’ve got me radio fixed tight to me belt, Ms. J. Front desk will call as soon as Cupid’s Couple steps into the elevator.”

Mary smiled. “Keep your eyes open for any opportunity to encourage romance. Phase one underway.”

“Phase one underway,” the staff chorused, a salutation.

Everyone knew the plan. Phase one would see Cupid’s Couple exposed to every unusual amenity the superclub had to offer and ensure they were given a chance to avail themselves of those amenities fully.

Each member of her staff would handle his or her job competently. Luck would handle the rest.

And it just so happened that Mary had been born on Saint Valentine’s Day, the luckiest day for love. The way she saw it, she had every right to play Cupid.

“MAGGIE!”

Sam’s voice came at her out of nowhere. Getting caught with her nose pressed to the glass wasn’t exactly the way Maggie had hoped to greet Sam, but her disappointment scattered at the sight of him. Of course, she’d expected to see him, but something about him seemed so unexpected, so…changed.

Long-limbed and leanly muscled, he took each stride brisk and sure, smiling easily as he approached. His sooty black hair shone in the glow of the chandelier’s light, the swoop in his bang that would grow into a full-fledged wave if he didn’t keep up with his trims just beginning to show.

He still wore a suit, as if he’d headed straight to the airport from his last consultation and hadn’t yet bothered to change. Though she’d seen him dressed for work practically every day since he graduated college, there was something different about his crisp white collar and butter-soft Italian leather shoes. So different that the breath tightened in her chest as he drew near.

Then the real disparity struck her. “Your glasses. You’re not wearing them.”

She tipped her head back to stare into his face, into dove-gray eyes that gazed so much more potently without the shield of clear lenses and wire frames.

He kissed her cheek in a casual greeting. “The arm snapped off. As fate would have it, glue wouldn’t work.”

“Your optometrist couldn’t repair them?”

“Afraid not. The arm snapped below the joint. And I couldn’t find my spare pair. I must have accidentally thrown them in with that last Goodwill trip.”

“Oh, are you wearing contacts?”

Maggie knew he would have never seen her from across the lobby without some sort of corrective lenses. More likely he would have tripped over an ottoman.

“My optometrist had to order the frames I liked, but he was able to get these in a few hours. I suspect a conspiracy, though. He’s been trying to sell me on disposable lenses for a while.” Sam squinted myopically. “Have to admit they work. I can see fine.”

She’d seen him without his glasses before, so Maggie couldn’t figure out why his face—such a strong study of planes and angles that in themselves were not noteworthy but created a very striking whole—suddenly seemed so commanding and bold.

Or why catching her breath seemed to be a problem. She must be reacting to the pressure of the past few weeks. Wanting to help Angie and Raymond resolve their issues had weighed heavily on her, and now here she was, ready to implement her plan. She needed ideas, and she only had the weekend to fill up the blank pages of her journal. No wonder she was stressed.

Of course, Sam would notice. Understanding flickered deep in his gaze. He knew her well enough to know she was edgy.

“I checked in and went straight to our suite, so I haven’t had a chance to look around,” he said. “Mind if we do?”

Whew! “No problem.” She wasn’t ready to tackle the sleeping arrangements just yet.

“Here, let me take your coat.” Circling in front of her in a fluid stride, he caught the strap of her purse when she slid it from her shoulder.

But the cold must have affected her more than she’d realized because unfastening the buttons of her pea jacket beneath Sam’s steady gaze proved beyond her abilities. To her profound embarrassment, she seemed to have sprouted ten thumbs.

Of course, Sam would notice that, too. But like the gentleman he was, he took command of the situation. Sliding her purse into the crook of his elbow, he brushed aside her fingers and worked the button at her throat.

He didn’t say a thing. Then again, he didn’t have to. His sparkling eyes conveyed amusement loud and clear.

His eyes.

It wasn’t stress or the cold that was unsettling her. His eyes were the problem. Without his glasses, Sam didn’t seem at all like Sam. The omission had transformed him into a stranger. A very handsome stranger with soft gray bedroom eyes, who was further unraveling her already high-strung self.

Too taken aback to decide if this development would bode well or ill for the weekend ahead, Maggie simply avoided his gaze as she twirled around and let him tug her coat away.

“Thanks.”

Returning her purse with a smile, he flipped her coat over his shoulder and inclined his head toward the shop front she’d been caught peering into. “Want to take a look in there? See something you liked?”

“Nothing especially.” Although she should ask the salesclerk whether younger couples purchased Peterbutter or older couples, who’d had years to learn their partners’ sexual preferences.

And what would Sam think about Peterbutter? Would the espresso flavor have a stimulating effect on him? Would the peanut butter flavor make him stick to the roof of her mouth?

Oh, my!

Maggie swallowed hard. She hadn’t even been inside the romance-themed suite yet and she was already developing a serious case of naughty thoughts.

A fact that became increasingly obvious as they strolled along the promenade in silence. This moment was markedly different from any in memory. Sure, she and Sam had gone shopping together before. But pricing washing machines for the basement that doubled as their laundry room hadn’t prepared her for walking so close beside him, so aware of their arms barely touching, staring into windows with the knowledge that somewhere above them a suite with one bed awaited.

Get a grip, Maggie.

Or she’d never survive this weekend. What she needed here was a firm hold on the reins. She always told her patients if they acted in control, they soon would be. Now it was the counselor’s turn to test the theory behind the advice.

“So, how’s our suite?” she asked.

“Medieval.”

“The Warlord’s Tower?”

“Our other choices were the Wild West Brothel or the Sultan’s Seraglio. As much as I liked the idea of you dressed up as I Dream of Jeannie, I couldn’t get past the fact that those romance novels you read all have knights on the covers.”

He’d thought of her dressed up like a harem girl? Maggie wasn’t sure what to make of this confession, and the only thing that saved the moment was the realization that here was classic Sam, thinking of her before himself. He wasn’t her best friend and the most stabilizing influence in her life for no reason.