Into the Storm (Signal Bend #3)(63)
The front door opened, and Shannon glanced at the time on her laptop. Damn! The Hollywood writers, David Gordon and Harrie Beck, were checking in again, to do some kind of rewrite of the script or something, and here she was in the middle of the dining room with papers and swatches scattered everywhere. This was too early; they weren’t due until later in the evening. She stood and began pulling everything into a haphazard pile, calling out, “Hello! I’ll be right there!”
Show walked in. “Just me, hon.”
“You scared me. I thought Hollywood was here already, and I’m clearly not ready. I should be, too.”
“Sorry.” He came over and kissed her. He was on his feet and healing pretty well, overall. He had some new scars, on his face, neck, arms, torso—basically everywhere—and a lot of those went through his ink, which bothered him, she knew. She didn’t know why, but as the angry red lines were fading, she’d realized that she liked the scars. They were pretty sexy. The one across his belly, not quite as much, mainly because it reminded her of how badly he’d been hurt. But the others, she kinda liked.
His collarbone wasn’t healing as well yet, and he still wore a brace most of the time. He’d been off his bike now for six weeks, and it was making him moody as hell. Better, though, than when he’d been confined to the clubhouse. Then, there’d been times when even she hadn’t wanted to be around him. Since he could drive—he now had a late-model Dodge Ram—he was bearable most of the time. For her, he was even pleasant. And in his impaired state, she’d gotten the chance to take some control in bed. She liked the way he overpowered her, but she also liked it when he lay back and let her play.
She put her arms around his waist. “As soon as I get this cleaned up, we can go back to the apartment and have dinner. Beth made us a tuna casserole that I can put in the oven.”
He grinned. “Sounds good. You want help with that?” He nodded toward her pile.
He only had one good arm, and she almost said no, but then she closed her laptop and held it up. “Sure.
You can take this back to my office.”
He stared at it. “That’s not a pity laptop, is it?”
Well, sorta. She thought about lying, and then simply shrugged.
Luckily, he laughed. “At least you’re honest.”
oOo
Hollywood arrived for checkin after dinner, giving everybody plenty of time to get ready. As they’d done last time, they were offering heavy hors d’oeuvres with the nightcap, because David and Harrie were arriving too late to find much in the way of dinner in town. The dining options in Signal Bend were still an area of opportunity, and so far, there didn’t seem to be much movement in that area.
Their guests—again, coming in the middle of the week, their only guests—arrived just before nine o’clock. Harrie looked frazzled, exhausted, and pissed. David was very obviously drunk. Shannon was fairly certain the two observations were related. She checked them in, handed them their keys, called for Steve, and reminded them that something for them to eat and drink was being served at that very moment.
Harrie shook her head. “Thanks, but I’m just going upstairs. I need a bath and some quiet.” She turned on her heel and pointed to the bags she wanted Steve to carry.
David, on the other hand, leaned on the front desk, leering at Shannon. “Baby, I missed you. You miss me?”
She put on her hotelier smile. “We’re glad to have you back, Mr. Gordon. If you’ll head to the dining room, our chef has prepared a delicious array of small plates.”
He laughed. “Chef. You mean Beth? That woman can cook like nobody’s business, but she’s no chef. I know chefs. Chefs do little squiggly things on your plate.”
She rolled her eyes and came around the desk. Steve was down again, and he collected David’s bags and headed back up. Shannon walked to the dining room, indicating with a sweep of her hand that David should follow her. This man needed some food in his system. And coffee. Probably not a nightcap.
He obeyed, walking with the amble of a not-quite-falling-down-drunk man. He stopped right in front of her and then shocked her to her toes by grabbing her breasts—just took two big handfuls and squeezed. In the stunned moment before she could react, he leaned close and said, “Your tits just don’t quit. And that booty! Damn! Make a grown man cry!” She batted his hands away.
There was a crash from behind the front desk, as the glass door leading to her office and apartment flew open, and Show was there, filling the doorway. As he strode into the parlor, Shannon turned back to David and pushed him back hard. He staggered until he hit the opposite frame of the double door.
“You keep your hands off me. I don’t give a f*ck who you are or who you know or what you do. You don’t touch me. Ever.” Show was there at her side now, and she turned and pushed him, too—though not as hard, and with different intent. “I have this, Show. Back off.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Beth had come back into the dining room, probably drawn by the commotion.
Show backed off, but he turned to David and snarled, “I will kill you, motherf*cker, you pull that shit again.”
David laughed drunkenly. “I was just playing. Just a little harmless flirting. Shit, you rednecks are uptight.” Show took a step toward him again, and again, Shannon pushed him back, this time not sure she was going to be able to stop him.