Chapter 1
CHAPTER 1
G eorgie did not intend to die that day. Perhaps she was distracted by the text from her boyfriend. Maybe it was the fact that she finally and at last had a boyfriend. Or, most likely, it was the fact that a hulking burglar broke into her inn and made himself at home. All she knew was that one moment she was alone, preparing for guests, and the next she teetered at the top of the stairs, shocked senseless by the hulking figure in black. Was it any wonder she took a lunging step backwards, away from the colossal menace? And was it her fault that she happened to be on the top step when she did so? No, it was not.
The staircase was typical of the nineteenth century, winding and wooden and certain doom. She could practically feel all the ways her bones would fracture as she teetered on the top step. Just as she started to pitch backwards toward her death, the burglar turned into her unlikely hero. With lightning reflexes, he grabbed her with both arms, hauled her against him, and tumbled backwards, using his momentum to pull her to safety.
Of course now he was the one who fell and, being a gentleman burglar, he took the brunt of the impact so that she landed in the soft cradle of his arms in the wooden alcove at the top of the stairs. She realized he was speaking, and it took a while to gather her wits enough to make sense of his words.
“I can’t hear you,” she said, but it didn’t stop him from saying things, angry words she could in no way discern. Georgie could hear sounds, but they came at her like a blurry puzzle. Her brain needed to be able to read lips to make sense of them. Basically she needed context. When she was shocked and rattled, for example by a burglar-turned-rescuer, she was incapable of putting the pieces together to figure out what he was saying. And her lack made him even angrier. She could see it in the tense set of his features, even if she couldn’t hear his words. He was blaming her, if her interpretation was correct. He—the man who had broken in uninvited—was blaming her, the woman who owned the inn, the woman who had been innocently walking up stairs.
She shoved and wriggled, trying to worm away from him, but to no avail. He apparently didn’t intend to move until he was done lecturing her.
She rolled her eyes. “I can’t hear you,” she tried again, louder, she thought? It certainly seemed like she was yelling, if the strain in her vocal cords was any indication. But it also seemed like he was yelling, so maybe it didn’t register.
When it became clear that he wasn’t going to stop lecturing her any time soon, she turned her head to the side and waited him out, feeling strangely warm and cocooned for someone who was surrounded by a hostile stranger. Her mind ran through the list of things she still needed to do, until at last her captor tapped her cheek, catching her attention.
“Do you read lips?” he said.
Finally, he gets it, she thought and gave him a little nod.
He eased back, releasing some of his weight from her, without completely moving away. “Are you hurt?” he asked.
Was she? She had no idea. The tumble had been…aggressive in nature. He had yanked her off the tip of the stars, smashed her against his broad chest, then fell backwards and rolled twice. Maybe she was in shock, but nothing seemed sore. She shook her head, looking down to assess her limbs.
His finger touched her chin, snagging her attention again while he spoke. “Good. Now, what were you thinking? You don’t check your phone on the stairs. Especially not those death trap stairs. Geez.” He swiped a hand over his face, annoyed, while Georgie stared at him, openmouthed with shock at his gall.
“You broke in, sneaked upstairs to do who knows what creepy things, startled me unexpectedly, you’re still on top of me, and now you’re lecturing me on proper stair etiquette? I should have you arrested.”
He didn’t smile, but somehow he looked amused, and that infuriated her further.
“My brother is the chief of police. He’s not going to be happy that you broke in and manhandled me.”
This time he did laugh. “Manhandled? I have never once heard another human use that word. As for your brother, pretty sure I can take him.”
She gasped. It was one thing to invade her space and be amused at her expense, but nobody, absolutely nobody, was allowed to talk smack about her big brother. She wriggled again, more furiously this time. “Get off me, you ape. And you cannot take Brody. Nobody can. And besides, I won’t let you.”
“You’re the size of a hedgehog, and you smell like sugar,” he said.
She gasped again, harder this time. “You’re horrible. By far the worst burglar I’ve ever had.”
Now his eyes narrowed. “People actually break in here?”
She rolled her eyes. “No, because my brother is chief of police. Obviously everyone is afraid of him and knows he keeps an eye on this place.” Actually he kept an eye on her, a bit too much, but there was no need to tell this obnoxious stranger that.
“Then where have you encountered burglars?” he asked.
“I lived in New York when I went to school.” She wriggled again. “Can you get off? I would really like to experience oxygen again one day.”
“Am I crushing you?”
Was he serious? He must outweigh her by a hundred pounds. “As previously mentioned, I’m the size of a hedgehog and you’re…”
His brows rose, waiting for the end of that sentence.
“Not,” she finished.
He rolled off her and sat up. She remained prone, making certain none of her limbs were broken and there was no damage to her spine. Impossibly, after her close encounter, she seemed fine. When she was done assessing herself, she realized he was watching her, waiting for her to look up so he could speak. It was oddly perceptive of him to realize and remember she couldn’t “hear” him unless she was looking at him.
“You need to be more careful. Those stairs are no joke.”
“Life advice from a burglar. I should be writing this down.” She pretended to pat her pockets.
“I think you’ll remember,” he said. “And I am not a burglar.”
“Is there a word for someone who goes around almost shoving someone down the stairs and then saving them at the last minute?”
“Yes, it’s called customer. No one was at the desk when I tried to check in, so I helped myself to a room and deposited my things.”
Her jaw dropped. “You can’t do that.”
“Why not? I’m paying to stay here.”
“I assigned rooms. You can’t have your pick.”
“Why not? I got here first. That cop brother of yours never taught you dibs?”
“Don’t talk about Brody,” she snapped.
“What’s wrong with your brother that you think he needs your protection so bad?” he returned.
“Nothing is wrong with him; he’s perfect. Some of us here just have perfect abs.”
Georgie didn’t understand what was happening. She hadn’t consciously clocked his rock-hard abs, but they must have made an impression for her to mention them in the middle of berating him. Her interactions with men consisted of her brother and his goofy friends, who had always treated her as their surrogate little sister. None of that had prepared her for this stranger, who saved her one minute and poked at her weak spots the next. She returned to the inn, her safe space. “The point is that I assigned the rooms. You can’t go willy-nilly changing that.”
“What room did you willy-nilly assign to me?” he asked, tipping his head in question.
“The front room in the middle.” She pointed down the hall.
He shook his head. “No good. I need to be able to escape easily, in case of emergency.”
“All the rooms are on the second floor,” she told him.
He blinked.
“You can’t escape from any of them,” she added, because he seemed not to comprehend.
“Of course you can, and I took the one with the best route.”
“No.” She shook her head.
“No what?” he said.
“No, you can’t escape from a second story room. It’s dangerous.”
He laughed, the cad. “Come on.” He stood and put down a hand to her.
She stared at it. “What? No. I have stuff to do to get ready for my guests.”
“I am your guest, and I demand that you watch me escape from that room. When I’m gone, it’ll be part of the security issues you need to address.”
She stared up at him, perplexed. “You’re going to break out of my guest room to show me how wrong it is that you can break out of my guest room?”
“Yes, because if I can get out, someone else can get in,” he said.
“Exactly who do you think will scale a two-story building to break in here?” she demanded.
His eyes went sort of fuzzy, doing the thousand yard stare she’d only ever seen in movies. “You never know.” He jangled his hand impatiently in her direction. “Now come on.”
Deciding agreement was the better part of valor for the moment, Georgie put her hand in his, allowing him to yank her up. She yelped when he gave a hard tug that catapulted her airborne a few inches before she landed back on her feet.
Once she was up, he dropped her hand and stalked—actually stalked, like a puma—to his room, the room he’d stolen for himself, and disappeared inside. Georgie came inside like a stranger, pausing tentatively in the entryway. Somehow the room already smelled masculine and not like the citrus carpet spray she’d used before she vacuumed. “Hello,” she said, because there was no one there. The room was empty, besides a lone army duffel. “Rambo?” she tried, but no answer. Or she thought there was no answer. It was possible he answered and she couldn’t hear or comprehend him.
Tentatively she went over to the window and peered down, but there was no sign of him there, either. When a hand touched her shoulder, she yelped and whipped around, backing up a step so she was in danger of hitting the window, possibly breaking it and plummeting to her death. The man once again caught her, righted her, and pulled her forward a step until she was clear of the window.
“Ta-da,” he said, and she didn’t know if he said it in reference to his escape or this latest rescue.
“Where did you go?” she asked.
“Out the window.” He pointed to the closed window.
“No, you didn’t,” she said.
“Yes, I did.”
“No. I got here literally one second behind you, and this room was empty. You must have hidden, waited for me to turn my back, and then stepped out.”
“How would I have done that? Better yet why?”
“It’s easy to hide from me because I can’t hear you. People do it all the time.”
His eyes narrowed. “I don’t like that, and I wouldn’t use your hearing loss against you that way.”
“Then you’re better than ninety percent of the population,” she said and regretted it when his eyes narrowed further.
“I’m not sure I like this place, if it’s filled with the sort of people who treat you like that,” he said.
The words made Georgie feel so odd, she didn’t know how to respond. “That’s not…I…”
His head turned toward the door like an alert collie. “More people are here, you’d better go deal with them.”
Georgie realized she’d been so absorbed with the odd stranger that she’d failed to do any of the final pre-guest touches she’d intended. “I didn’t get to put the mints on the pillows,” she fussed, pushing out her lip in a temporary pout that almost turned into a snarl when the man made a shooing motion toward her.
“Go on, no one cares about that stuff.”
She wanted to rail against him for his lack of understanding, but there was no time. And it was likely he wouldn’t get it anyway, how hard Georgette worked to try and rise above the competition and be distinct. There had been a slight uptick in her business since Elyse upped Georgie’s noticeability, but not enough to make her feel like she’d made a roaring success of the place. The possibility of failure sat on her chest like an anchor, threatening to swamp her with anxiety. The only way she could stave off the horrible feeling was to never stop moving, to constantly try to perfect everything. Not putting the homemade mints on each pillow for her guests would throw off her groove for the remainder of the night, lose one tiny advantage she might have.
She turned and bustled down the stairs and to her desk, where a tidy crowd of new arrivals stood, her friend Elyse among them. Elyse waved, and probably said hello, but Georgie wasn’t looking. Her eyes snagged on the family, Dad, Mom, and three children, one of them only a few weeks old.
“Oh,” she gasped, unable to hide her delight. She loved kids, but so rarely had the opportunity to be near them.
“I brought the fam,” the dad-looking one said. He jutted his hand for Georgie to shake, a warm smile lighting his face. “Gaines Hillcrest. This is my wife, Jordan, our kids Charlotte, Nash, and Egan. Elyse you know, and the big guy is Tristan. Don’t worry, he looks imposing, but he’s a sweetheart.”
“Much nicer than the one who’s coming,” Elyse commented, and Jordan stifled a snicker.
Georgie did a quick head count, feeling a moment of panic. By her calculations, everyone was here. If they were expecting someone else, she’d be short a room. “Someone else?”
“Our instructor,” Ribs declared, eyes narrowing. “I’m shocked he’s not here already. I’ve never known him to show up last for anything.”
“He’s already here,” Georgie said.
Everyone stopped short and stared at her. “You saw him?” Elyse said.
Georgie thumbed toward the stairs, unable to hide her annoyance over his room switch up and the wrinkle it caused in her plans. “We’re well acquainted.”
“You talked to him?” Elyse pressed, brows aloft.
“Much more than I wanted,” Georgie said, then remembered she was talking to a client now and not merely a friend. She pressed what she hoped was a professional smile on her face and began reaching for keys. “Hillcrest family, I gave you our double suite. Elyse, you’re in the front, and Mr. Evans, here you go.” She handed their keys accordingly. “I can help you with your bags,” she volunteered.
“Nah, we’re good,” Gaines said easily. “Everyone packed light, except us, and we’re using Tristan as a pack mule.”
Tristan demonstrated his new status by picking up an impossibly large number of bags.
“Okay, great, follow me,” Georgie said. They could find their rooms easily, but it felt like the personal touch to deliver them. Usually she did it with a little flourish, revealing the treats she’d left on their beds. This time she’d have to deposit them treat-less.
Or so she thought, until she opened the first door and saw the candies laid out on the bed, exactly as she’d arrange them. And in the kids’ room, the towels had been refolded into animal shapes, a bunny and an elephant.
Jordan gasped. “Georgie, this is so great,” she said. Elyse must have forewarned everyone about the lip reading, because Jordan faced Georgie before she spoke.
“Thank you,” Georgie said, but it came out like a question. Was she doing things in her sleep now? How else to explain it? Unless… But surely not. Surely the opinionated burglar had not taken it upon himself to lay out candy and arrange towels for her. How would he have, when all the doors were locked? He’s a burglar, obviously he broke in. She should feel thankful over his thoughtfulness. She knew that, and yet it increased her annoyance. He had no right, absolutely zero right, to enter private spaces in her inn and do…things. Her eyes landed on the adorable towel arrangements, noting Charlotte and Nash’s delight as they picked them up and gave them kisses.
Which annoyed her more? That the creepy guy did stuff without her permission? Or that he did it better than she did?