“You used to think I was nice people,” he murmured.
“Yeah, I did.” Laurel skimmed her tongue over her lips. Caught by the warmth of Noah’s look or maybe by the pull of the same memories that threatened to turn him upside down and inside out, she leaned closer. Closer still. Her lips a heartbeat from his, she gave him a one-sided, cynical smile. “What the hell was wrong with me, anyway?”
“Right.” Noah pulled back and gave her a smile that was so stiff and artificial it hurt. Make that Laurel Burton two, Noah Cunningham nothing. He watched her ruffle through four sets of keys.
“What will it be?” she asked. “You’re Maisie’s only guest for the night so I suppose you get your pick of the rooms. They’re right up the stairs.” She pointed. “And they’re all marked. You in the mood for a tropical paradise?” She jingled the key, and when he didn’t reach for it, she held out another. “A flashback to the sixties? A little rock and roll? Or a whole bunch of red velvet and gold paint?”
“I’m in the mood…” Noah thought long and hard about what he was going to say next. Well, maybe not too long or not too hard, but he did think about it. He thought about what Maisie had said earlier about getting the things he needed, things like a toothbrush and a comb. And when he thought about that, he thought about the way Laurel’s cheeks went dusky at the mention of the inn’s gift shop. He was looking for a way to break down her legendary self-control? Maybe he’d just found it.
“I’m in the mood for a toothbrush.” He sang the words in a low, pure baritone and when he did, he knew he hit the mark. Laurel stiffened and that nice, dusky color in her cheeks went a little ashen.
“Toothbrush. Fine. Sure.” Laurel’s fingers fumbled over the keys. She glanced across the lobby toward a room that looked innocuous enough. The door of the room was closed but Noah suspected it had once been an enclosed porch. The door had an oval glass insert that was covered from the inside by a lace curtain. On the outside of the glass in a beautiful flowing hand were written the words Cupid’s Love Shack.
Noah’s eyebrows rose along with his expectations.
“That’s the gift shop,” Laurel said. “Right over there. You’re looking right at it. We never lock it. Go on in. Get the stuff you need.” She headed to the other side of the desk. “I’ll just go upstairs and make sure your room is—”
“Oh, no!” Before she could zoom out of his reach, Noah grabbed her hand. “I think you’d better help me out.”
“Help? You?” Laurel made an effort to sound cocky. It might have worked if her eyes didn’t dart toward the Love Shack. If her pulse wasn’t beating double-time against Noah’s hand. “Since when does the great Dr. Noah Cunningham need help from anybody? I think you can handle it, Doc. There aren’t a whole lot of choices you need to make. Green toothbrush. Blue toothbrush. Crest or Colgate. Small decisions. The kind you should be able to handle all on your own.” She stopped and her eyes widened, as if she’d just remembered something. “No. Wait a minute,” she said. “The way I remember it, you were pretty good at handling even the really big decisions all on your own.”
If she was trying to distract him, it almost worked. Almost. They’d talk about the decisions each of them had made some other time. Now was not the time for soul-searching or introspection or regret.
It was time for a little sweet revenge.
Being as gentle as he was sure to let her know he wasn’t going to change his mind, Noah wrapped one arm around Laurel’s shoulders. “I just wouldn’t feel right going into Maisie’s gift shop and taking things,” he said. “If you’re with me, you can keep a list. You know, help Maisie out when it comes to inventory.”
Laurel took one more look at the closed door of the Love Shack. She drew in a long, shaky breath and gave Noah a sidelong look. “All right,” she said, and he felt her stiffen against him. “If that’s what you want.”
They walked across the lobby, Noah’s arm looped over Laurel’s shoulders. No big deal in the great scheme of things. At least it shouldn’t have been. At least it wouldn’t have been if every step they took didn’t make Noah remember how perfectly they fit together. Laurel’s blue jeans scraped against his cashmere suit. Her hip swayed against his. Her hair spilled over her shoulder and brushed his neck. By the time she swung open the door to the Love Shack and flicked on the lights, Noah’s skin was buzzing as if he’d been loofahed from head to toe.
“Toothbrushes.” Like a sentry on duty, Laurel stood in the doorway, her back to the open door, her spine as rigid as if a broom handle had been shoved up her sweater. She pointed to a display on a glass counter to her left. “Lots of toothbrushes. Pick one. And a comb.” She pointed to another display. “Heck, throw in a bottle of mouthwash if you like.” She smiled a toothy, stiff smile. “Get what you need and let’s get out of here.”
“What’s the hurry?” Humming softly to himself, Noah did a turn around the tiny gift shop. What was the word Laurel had used to describe Cupid’s Hideaway? Amazing? Amazing didn’t begin to describe the Love Shack.
On first glance, the place looked about as normal as every gift shop in every hotel Noah had ever been in. Next to the rack of toothbrushes was one of those spinning wire racks full of postcards, islands scenes mostly, though he saw some that were sepia-toned, Victorian reproductions that showed everything from ladies in lacy underwear to a man and a woman in what must have been—at least for the time—a torrid embrace. Cute. Sentimental. Romantic, he supposed, in a fluffy, old-lady sort of way.
At the far end of the room was a display of scented candles, soaps in packaging that was tied with ribbons and a variety of massage oils in colored glass bottles arrayed on the windowsill.
“Oh,” Noah cooed, picking one up and reading the label. “Love Nibbles.”
He wiggled his eyebrows in as near as he could come to a lecherous look and got no response at all from Laurel. Too bad. There was a time when she would have been as interested in a little love and a little nibbling as he was. A time when they would have laughed over the name and hurried home with a bottle to find out if it was as delicious as its label promised.
Regret wasn’t a pretty feeling to experience or to watch, and before Laurel could suspect how hollow his stomach felt and how empty his arms had been for the four long years they’d been apart, he replaced the bottle and continued with his tour. At the door, he stopped to examine a glass display case.
The case was about five feet long and three feet high, pretty ordinary, really. The kind of display case he’d seen in bakeries and clothing stores and bookstores all over the country. But one look and Noah knew this was no ordinary display. He whistled low under his breath and bent to take a closer look. The case was filled with the most amazing variety of sex toys he’d ever seen.
Noah’s temperature shot up a degree or two. Right along with his fantasies. Most of the stuff looked pretty familiar, but there was one especially extraordinary-looking object that even he, with his medical background, wasn’t exactly sure how to use. It was hot pink and about a foot long, no bigger around than a pencil. One end of it was crowned with a flamboyant pink feather.
Imagining the possibilities, he stared at the object for a moment or two before he glanced at Laurel. “I don’t suppose you—”
“Demonstrate?” She pulled her shoulders back and marched over to the counter. “Isn’t it just like you to ask. That’s the most immature, sexist, inappropriate—”
“I was going to say gift wrap.” His hands against the counter, Noah stood and gave her a smile that was as innocent as it was wide. “I was going to ask if you gift wrap.”
“Oh.” A blush rushed up Laurel’s neck and stained her cheeks, but he had to give her credit, she kept her cool. Crossing her arms over her chest,