Shiver / Private Sessions: Shiver / Private Sessions

He turned just then, as if he’d known she was looking at him. A smile curved his lips, and his right eyebrow arched with their secret. She blushed. Her stomach did that dip-and-swirl thing that hardly ever happened to her.

A part of her wanted to forget everything and drag him off to her room right this second, but the bigger part wanted to keep this feeling for as long as possible. Anticipation, in her experience, always exceeded reality.

One of the few children in the room tapped Sam’s shoulder, and the moment was gone except in memory. She bent to her paper, determined to get what she saw in her mind’s eye to come to life on a stencil drawing.

NOW, THIS WAS WHY HE had no business hooking up with a guest. At least not right now. Sam was in the middle of dinner with the buyers and Mori was asking him questions about the local skiing and snowboarding. Sam was having a hell of a time keeping focused. Carrie might be hot, but she wasn’t multimillion-dollars hot.

What kept tripping him up was that it was almost time for the contest to come to a close, when the group would pick a winner. He felt disloyal hoping it wouldn’t be Carrie, but he didn’t want her to get the in-room massage from anyone but himself.

He answered Mori’s questions without making a fool of himself, glad the three of them were on the tail end of dessert. Of course Jody had outdone herself again, and both Heartly and Mori seemed sated and happy, and not just from the meal.

“Are you going to stick around for any of the ghost hunting tonight?” Sam asked. “They’re setting up in the attic and in the garage. Oh, and the storage room, which should be warm. I’m not sure if they’ve picked out any of the guest rooms to monitor.”

Heartly shook his head. “I’m reasonably sure if anyone had actually found evidence of a ghost it would have been in the headlines. I think I’m safe turning in early.”

Mr. Mori took a sip of coffee then nodded. “That’s the thing with legends and folk tales. Hard to prove, but hard to disprove, too. My family has a long tradition of believing in the afterlife. Personally, I wouldn’t mind finding out they’re right. There are a few things I’d like to know about what happens next.”

“What happens next for me,” Heartly said, as he folded his napkin and put it on the table, “is a shower and bed. I’m going to call my wife, hope there’s something decent on the tube, and relax. This has been an eventful couple of days. You have a fine property here, Sam. It’s well cared for and both your staff and your guests seem happy. I know your father would be proud.”

“Thanks. He loved this place. It resonated with him.”

“You won’t miss it once you’re gone?”

“From time to time, I think it’s inevitable. But that’s the thing about moving on. I’ve got films of my folks, of the grounds. I’ve transferred them and all my pictures to digital. They’re safe and available when I’m hit by a bout of nostalgia.”

“Good,” Mr. Mori said. “I have some work to do, so I’ll also be heading upstairs. I, too, thank you for your hospitality. And please, don’t bother coming down tomorrow, if it’s just to see us off. If there’s a problem, I’m sure your people can handle it.”

Heartly nodded, then stood, and after handshakes without promises, the buyers left the restaurant.

Sam felt relief, but also let down. He’d been hyped up about this for so long that the anticlimax hit hard. The best thing to do now was distract himself. Luckily, he knew exactly how he was going to do just that.

“OH, MY GOD,” ERIN SAID, staring at Carrie’s finished pumpkin. “You did get laid.”

“Shhh!” Carrie ignored the woman next to Erin, knowing she was certainly grinning as broadly as half the jack-o’-lanterns in the room. “I did not.”

Her friend leaned over the table, pushed her disheveled hair out of her face and looked at Carrie with wide, accusing eyes. “Liar. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

Carrie turned the pumpkin so that her art couldn’t be seen. It wasn’t as if she’d drawn Sam naked or anything. No one would even know it was Sam. All she’d drawn was a back. The rear view from thighs up. Narrow hips, broad shoulders, hair scraping a collar. A hint of arms, a sense of movement. She’d paid particular attention to the butt, but that was an artistic statement. Nothing whatsoever to do with Halloween, but she liked it. She wanted to carve it, see if she could make it come alive on the pumpkin itself. “I have no idea what you’re so loudly talking about.”

“Come on. Tell me. I’ve got nothin’ here. No ghosts. No sparks, and I’m getting fatter by the second. I need you to tell me what happened.”

After a dramatic sigh, Carrie leaned forward. “We kind of made plans.”

“What kind?”

At least they were whispering, although Carrie had the feeling they weren’t quiet enough. “For later.”

“Details, woman. Details.”

She lowered her voice further, put her hand in front of her mouth. “He promised me a massage.”

“What?” Erin asked, her voice a veritable trumpet.

“Shhh. Dammit. I’m going to get coffee. You sit here, young lady, and think about what you’ve done.”

“The hell with that.” Erin got up and followed Carrie to the back of the room to the giant coffee urns. The second they were reasonably alone, she poked Carrie in the side. “Spill.”

It was a damn good thing she didn’t know anyone in the place, or plan to ever see any of them again, because she was certain that in approximately ten minutes, the word around the conference would be how the nonbeliever was also a total slut. “All we did was talk. I was interested in the in-room massage prize. He said that could be arranged.” She smiled at Erin. “Even if I didn’t win.”

“Ha. I knew it. From that first minute. Didn’t I tell you? Didn’t I say? Oh, I’m so jealous. He’s like the only doable guy in this whole place. Except for maybe Liam.”

“Liam, the conference coordinator? The married conference coordinator? His wife is here.”

“I’m not gonna jump him. Sheesh. I’m just making an observation.”

“That’s what you get for hanging around ghost hunters.”

“Hey, Sam is a believer. Remember?”

“He can believe in whatever he wants,” she said, cupping her coffee between her hands. “As long as he’s as great underneath those clothes as he is in them.”

Someone behind Carrie coughed. Not a real cough. The kind of cough that said she was busted. Even before she turned, Carrie knew who it was. Yep. The woman from their table.

“I like your pumpkin,” she said sweetly.

“Thanks.”

“I’m sure you’ll win the prize.” The woman, whose white T-shirt said Dude, Run in big black letters, gave her a grin, then walked away without even the pretense of getting a beverage.

“This just keeps getting better,” Erin said, taking way too much pleasure in Carrie’s embarrassment.

But Carrie’s attention was diverted when she saw that Sam had come into the room. In fact, he was standing by their table, looking at her pumpkin. And he was grinning with all the subtlety of a tree falling on a house.

“He,” Erin stated, “is hot. Very, very hot.”

“I got dibs,” Carrie said, which was probably obvious from the blush warming her cheeks.

“Come on.” Erin took her arm with her free hand and led Carrie to the table. To Sam. As soon as she was in range, Erin said, “Hey, Pumpkin. How you doin’?”

Carrie didn’t sock her friend, even though she wanted to. Instead, she smiled as innocently as she could. “Here to start the judging?”

He nodded. “I just announce, the group will judge.”

Erin set her cup down. “I’ll bet the female faction will vote for Carrie’s. Although it’s not at all scary.”

“Really?” Sam asked. “You don’t find that frightening? “

Erin touched his shoulder. “Sorry, babe. It’s the best-looking thing in these parts. Except for the inspiration.”