Into the Storm (Signal Bend #3)(35)

“You have a beautiful voice.”

Shannon jumped and whacked herself a good one on the underside of the desk, right across the top of her head. The blow almost sent her to her ass, which would have been especially embarrassing, considering she was wearing a skirt. But she kept her feet and stood, feeling a bit wobbly and rubbing her head, to face David Gordon, speaker of the fateful compliment.

He dashed around the desk and put his arm around her. “Oh, hey—I’m sorry! You okay?”

Shannon smiled, but she was seeing pretty little birdies, definitely. “Yes, I’m fine. Just startled me—no worries, really.” He wanted to lead her to one of the armchairs in front of the desk, and Shannon couldn’t figure out how to extricate herself from his care without being rude, so she let him. When she was sitting, he squatted next to the chair and brushed her hair back from her face.

Okay, things were getting awkward. He was very much what she would have described as her type— handsome, fit, successful, perfectly groomed—but, even if she and Show weren’t possibly trying to get something off the ground, she didn’t like a near stranger thinking he could put his hand on her face. A stranger whose attention had noticeably drifted downward.

She liked the way she looked. She often enjoyed the attention she got; she was not above admitting to some vanity. But sometimes men forgot there was a head attached to the boobs. And sometimes men thought that the fact of her shape meant that she wanted whatever they had to offer. She did not.

She pulled away, hoping she was subtle enough not to offend but clear enough that he’d back off.

“I’m fine, really. Was there something I could help you with?”

He didn’t back off. Instead, he brushed the back of his hand over her cheek. “You are really gorgeous, you know that?” He put his other hand on her bare leg, letting his fingers slide a bit under the hem of her skirt.

Had she been flattered, only days ago, by the attention of these men? That had been foolish. Hollywood liberals or not, they were both every bit the hounds that any member of the Horde was; they just couched it differently, in this kind of slick chivalry. They were clearly used to women dropping their panties at the mere thought of their attention. So were the Horde, but they were much more direct and honest about it.

Shannon was seriously rethinking her “type.”

In Tulsa, she’d have known exactly how to deal with this. There, the lines between guests and staff were clear. Sure, there were douchebags around. There were always douchebags around. But the atmosphere there had been much less intimate than here in this little inn, and the boundaries more obvious.

These guests were important to the inn and to Signal Bend, and that made things even more complicated. But Shannon had to draw her boundary, and she made a call. Putting her hands around his and moving them off her, she said, “Thank you. My boyfriend thinks so, too.”

She kind of hated herself for going there, rather than standing up for herself, but it was the best, easiest thing she could think of to draw the line and make it firm, while still possibly avoiding bad feelings. Plus, her head hurt, and she wasn’t thinking all that clearly. And it worked. He stood up at that and said, “Ah, I see. Sorry. You’re okay, then?”

Relieved, this time she really smiled up at him. “I am.” She stood. “Did you need something?”

He looked flustered. “Huh? Oh, right. Yes. Would there be a problem with us setting up lights and a couple of cameras in the dining room tomorrow? We want to get some of these interviews on film.”

It would be a monumental pain in the ass. But Shannon smiled and said, “During the weekdays, that should be fine. Weekends, we’re booked solid, so we’ll have to set up a camera in one of your rooms.”

She could see him want to quarrel with that, but he was feeling sufficiently awkward about his pass, she supposed, that he nodded instead. “Yeah. We can make that work, I think. Okay, thanks. I’m gonna go help Harrie pack up in there, then.”

Another bright, professional smile from Shannon. Her cheeks were beginning to ache. “Sounds good.”

He went one way, back to the dining room, and Shannon went the other, into her apartment, for some aspirin and to check her hair. Show was due any minute to take her to dinner. She smirked a little at the thought of what would have happened to Mr. Sexy Hollywood if his hand had been up her skirt when Show had arrived.

Show was standing in the parlor when she went back out. He looked good—a crisp, white shirt and leather jacket under his kutte. And no beanie—his hair was loose and brushed, and he looked amazing, if not quite like himself. But he’d dressed to take her out to dinner, and the simple sweetness of that made her smile.

She was wearing her good black pencil skirt, a cobalt blue sweater with a wide, drape collar that came almost off her shoulders, and high-heeled, tall black boots. She hadn’t had many opportunities in Signal Bend to dress up—and, truly, what she was wearing wouldn’t have been dressed up in Tulsa—but she was taking the opportunity she had.

As he took her in, from her face to her boots and back up, slowly, his eyes widened a bit, and he grinned. “You look… good, hon. Real damn good.” He took a step toward her and stopped. “But, uh, I have the bike.”

That seemed like a non sequitur, and she wrinkled her brow, but then she got it. Oh. Her skirt. Damn.

“Oh—well, I could drive.”