That Holiday Feeling (Virgin River #8)(50)

“Your call, but I’d say that’s the sensible way to go.”

She opened her eyes then and met his gaze. Fighting against the uncertainty spilling over her, she asked, “Then this was a one-night thing?”

His gaze never wavered. “Not if I can help it,” he said emphatically. “I think that’s something we need to discuss in detail, don’t you?”

Actions seemed vastly preferable to words in Savannah’s current frame of mind, but he was right. Talking was definitely indicated, someplace and at a time when temptation wasn’t inches away.

“I suppose there’s enough time for me to do this,” he murmured after a quick glance at the clock on the bedside table. “And this.”

Kiss followed kiss until Savannah was writhing and crying out for him to slide inside her. The sweet urgency, the rush for one more taste, one more touch, made their joining even better than any they’d shared during the night before.

“Now we really do have to get up,” Trace said with obvious regret. “The caterer will be here in an hour, and I’ve got to polish the dining room floor and be out from underfoot when he gets here.”

“I’ll fix breakfast,” Savannah said. “And clean up the kitchen.”

Trace’s heated gaze roamed over her. “Or we could take a leisurely shower together, and to heck with breakfast and polishing the floor.”

She grinned. “I think breakfast is highly overrated anyway.”

“Not a sentiment you should be sharing with prospective guests,” Trace advised as he scooped her up and carried her to the shower.

They were still damp and barely dressed when the doorbell rang.

“Nick of time,” he said with a wink. “I’ll get it. You might want to see if you can tone down that blush before you meet Henri. He’s French and considers himself an expert on the nuances of romance. One glimpse of you, and he’ll be offering more unsolicited advice than you ever dreamed of.”

“Heaven help me,” Savannah said wholeheartedly. “I’ll be down in a minute…or an hour. However long it takes.”

When Trace had gone, she sat down at her dressing table and studied her face in the mirror. He was right. She was flushed in a way that was entirely too revealing. Even so, she couldn’t seem to stop the grin that spread across her face.

“Get a grip,” she told herself firmly. “Tonight’s too important for you to be frittering away time up here.”

But no matter how important tonight was, she had a very strong hunch it wouldn’t hold a candle to last night, especially if Trace refused to share her bed again.

By eight-thirty, Savannah knew that the open house was going to be a roaring success. Neighbors were crowded into every room, sharing holiday toasts, commenting on the delicious food as Henri basked in their compliments. Again and again, they had paused to welcome her and Hannah and tell them how delighted they were that Holiday Retreat would be reopened.

“My parents honeymooned here,” Donna Jones confided when she caught up with Savannah during a quiet moment in the dining room. “My mother claims I was conceived here, since I was born almost nine months to the day after their wedding night.”

Savannah grinned. “I’ll bet I know which room,” she said. “Aunt Mae always referred to it as her honeymoon suite because it’s the largest room here. Want to take a peek? The decorating isn’t finished, but I painted it yesterday.”

“Oh, I’d love to,” Donna said, following her upstairs.

At the door of the freshly painted green room with its white antique iron bed, she turned to Savannah with a gleam in her eyes. “It’s going to be beautiful.” She moved to the window that faced the mountains. “And the view is fabulous. I wonder if I could convince my husband to sneak off here for a weekend sometime.”

Savannah heard the wistfulness in her voice and considered it thoughtfully. “You know, it might not be a bad idea to offer an introductory weekend getaway special for locals. People get so used to living in a place like this, they forget that the tourists who come here see it entirely differently.”

“And it seems silly to spend money to stay just a few miles from home,” Donna said enthusiastically. “But if it were a special promotion, I’ll bet you’d be jammed with reservations. There’s no better way to build word of mouth. People would start sending all their out-of-town guests here. It could fill in the slack once ski season dies down.”

“I’m going to do it,” Savannah said, delighted by the whole idea. “And for giving me the idea, your stay will be free.”

“Absolutely not,” Donna protested. “That’s no way to start a business.”

“Sure it is. You’ll tell everyone you know how fabulous it is, so when I offer the promotion, it will be sold out in minutes.”

As they walked back downstairs, Donna regarded Savannah with open curiosity. “So, what’s the story with you and Trace Franklin? I’m sorry if I’m being nosy, but everybody in town remembers his coming to visit Mae. A handsome, single man who owns his own company is bound to stir up comment. Have you known him long?”

Savannah felt a now-familiar flush creep into her cheeks. “Only a few days,” she admitted.

“My, my,” Donna teased, “you work fast! I know a lot of women who tried to get to know him on his prior visits, and he never gave any of them a second glance. Last night he couldn’t take his eyes off you, and, if anything, he’s watching you even more intently tonight.”