A Moment of Bliss (2 page)

She looked out over the lobby, with its scattered seating arrangements of couches, love seats, and chairs, all in the same comforting chocolate color, distressed leather with coordinating pillows. The furnishings appeared new and beckoned a person to sink down, relax, and never get up again unless forced.

“The furniture.” She peeled her gaze away. “I'm assuming all of it can be moved? None of it is bolted down.”

A short bark of a laugh escaped him as he turned toward her again. “Bolted down? Are you being serious?”

“Yes.”

“Why? Do you think your clients will steal it?”

“Excuse me?” Madison gaped.

Roark's full laugh came out, as he put a hand up. “I'm sorry. I'm not laughing at you.”

She fought not to smile. “I think you kind of are.” He was joking with her. People never did that. She owned a sense of humor, just most were afraid to look for it.

“Maybe a little. But bolted down? Come on.”

“You'd be surprised at the things I've seen while looking for wedding locations. Furniture that's bolted into place is the least of it.”

“I thought they only bolted stuff down at the Super 8.”

She shook her head. “I wish. This was at a well-known hotel that shall remain nameless.”

“And you've seen worse?”

As a rule, she kept the dirty details she learned top secret, but sometimes she wanted to vent so badly. The crazy stuff she went through, most people wouldn't believe. Sharing one or two anecdotes with Roark couldn't hurt. Perhaps it'd even butter him up when she lowered the boom about the kind of deal she wanted. “Once, I toured an outdoor amphitheater with a shoddy sound system that would blast bluegrass music without warning. I convinced the couple not to use it because who wants the Soggy Bottom Boys in the middle of their vows?”

“You're joking.”

She relaxed a fraction. “I wish I was. But the best was the barn wedding with the wayward cows. They got out of their barn—the non-wedding barn across the property—and migrated toward the ceremony. I've never moved so fast in heels in my life. Luckily, the owner of the place was a cow whisperer or something. He got the herd moving back in the other direction.”

She was sharing too much and she knew better, but her job was the one thing she loved to talk about. Every event was a challenge and even when she planned everything down to the tiniest detail, something always came up at the last minute to keep things thrilling.

“You didn't want to try your hand at cow herding?” A teasing note played through Roark's question.

She was about to laugh but caught herself and cleared her throat. Too chummy, too early in the deal. “Um, no. So that's a no on the bolted-down furniture?”

“Definitely a no.”

A handful of guests strolled by and Roark greeted them with a “good afternoon” while Madison made notes in her portfolio. “What about the rest of the common area?”

Roark showed her every inch of the great room, the groupings of furniture, the comfy yet elegant leather chairs and sofas, the enviable chessboard setup, and the reading nook, which was occupied by exactly one person.

“We also have modernized yurts if your clients have any adventurous wedding guests.”

She stopped writing mid-word. “A what?”

He pulled out his phone. “Yurts. Souped-up tents. Circular. Ours come with amenities.” Roark leaned in to show her the picture on his phone. The yurt was indeed a tall, round thing that was probably twenty feet in diameter.

But the tent with the funny name wasn't the issue. Roark still smelled like dessert and he stood so close. Close enough that his body heat warmed her side.

“No thank you on the yurts,” Madison said, and refused to be disappointed as Roark stepped away.

“I didn't think so, but I love to offer.”

They continued walking through the great room. The inn's restaurant, Bradley's, was in the back left corner. The back of the inn opened up with floor-to-ceiling windows and three sets of double French doors.

Before her was a view of the Blue Ridge Mountains like nothing she'd ever seen.

Everyone online said the inn's location was its crown jewel. Sitting on a westward-facing slope, the panorama and multicolored sunsets one could witness from Honeywilde were supposed to be its top draw. Her client bride had waxed poetic for a full five minutes.

Roark touched one of the French doors' S-shaped handles. “These of course lead to our veranda. In warm weather we set tables up out there and serve from the restaurant. It's a prime spot to see the mountains and where most people want to have their wedding ceremony.”

Madison stepped forward. “So, you've shown me the view first anyway, only in a roundabout way.”

Again he stood close, and when she looked over, she could make out the details of his pale gaze, the touch of blue in otherwise storm-gray eyes.

He glanced down, and quickly back up. The effect of his little eyelash flick might not have been intentional, but that didn't make it any less potent. Heat shot through her body like an electrical surge.

“This is more like second or third on the tour by now, right?”

Her face felt like granite as she fought not to fall into his gaze. “Second. Still, you got your way.”

“I wouldn't say that.” He defended himself with a smile. “The veranda simply is where it is, and the view is undeniable.”

Yes, the view was definitely undeniable.

“We can ignore it for now if you prefer. Just close your eyes. Look away and we'll pretend it's not there.”

“Too late.”

“Would you like to go outside?”

She tapped her pen against her portfolio and looked around, at anything but her tour guide. “I think I'd like to see the restaurant now.”

“But you said . . . I mean, sure. Let's go check out the restaurant. We can just avoid the ki—”

“I'll need to see the kitchen too, of course.” If he insisted on working the view in early, and doing that thing with his eyes, then she could insist on seeing the kitchen.

“A heads-up though,” Roark said as he opened the restaurant door for her. “Our chef is still probably mid-cookie prep, and he's a messy yet amazing chef. Don't say you weren't warned.”

The restaurant was quiet and mostly empty, which made sense for midafternoon. A small bar took up the wall to the left, just inside the door, and only a bartender milled about. At the table nearest the bar, a dark-haired man sat, fully focused on his laptop, paperwork spread out around him, cell phone clutched to his ear.

He glanced up and gave Roark a cursory nod, his gaze like a laser beam even from this distance. His dark hair was longer, but with the jawline and intense glare, he was definitely a Bradley.

Roark nodded back, but neither of them smiled or made any effort to approach the other.

Interesting.

“So this is Bradley's.” Roark presented the restaurant without moving farther into it. “Steve is our bartender and he's a genius. The restaurant is full service, but we can do catering in or out of house, depending on what you need.”

“Who is that?” Madison played clueless and nodded to the man still hard at work on whatever he was doing.

“That's my brother, Devlin. He's our hospitality manager. I can introduce you later.” Roark held open one of the white swinging doors that had to lead to the kitchen.

Madison went first and the scent of rich sweetness hit her before she even made it in the door.

Her mouth fell open at the display before her, and she wasn't the type to ever let her mouth fall open. “That is
a lot
of cookies.”

Several different types of cookies lay carefully arranged on three silver platters. The usual chocolate chip, oatmeal raisin, and peanut butter, but also a decadent, deep-orange colored cookie with a ribbon of creamy white, and the most elaborately decorated sugar cookies she'd ever seen. Thick frosting in chocolate, vanilla, and several other colors swirled over the tops. Some were even topped with a monogrammed H.

“Those look. . . .” Madison swallowed back a little bit of drool. “Good.” Would it be bad form if she face-planted into one of the serving trays?

“I tried to tell you, it's dangerous in here right now. Wright is messy, but he prides himself on his desserts, and what used to be a few simple tea treats has turned into this.”

“Wright?”

“Our chef. He's probably outside with a produce vendor right now, but these are his pride and joy. He makes way too many. We always have leftovers, but every day he takes the remaining cookies to the children's hospital or an assisted living facility, sometimes the school. I can't complain about the extras without sounding like a—”

“A jerk?”

“Yeah.” Roark puffed with a laugh, rocking back on his heels. “So I keep my mouth shut and let the chef do his thing.”

Madison would've rolled her eyes at the halo polishing about giving cookies away to kids and the elderly, if he hadn't been so honest about having to keep his mouth shut.

“What are the orange ones?” she asked.

“Pumpkin Pleasure Rolls.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Don't ask.”

“Now I
have
to ask.”

“Wright named them that. Says it's because they'll make your eyes roll back in pleasure. His words, not mine. And he calls the frosted ones Frosty Fixations.”

She rubbed at her mouth to hide her grin over the ridiculous names.

“He's a fanatic, I'm telling you. But I can't eat just one. Would you like to try a Pumpkin Pleasure Roll?”

Would she like to try one?

She barely managed not to laugh like a hyena. Hell yes, she would like to try a whole plate of them and then roll around in the crumbs, but she was not going to fall victim to the inn's goodies yet. Not until she knew this deal wasn't going to blow up in her face.

“No, thank you.”

“Seriously?”

She couldn't believe it either. The self-restraint she was practicing right now would impress a nun.

Roark stepped aside. “Suit yourself then. Feel free to have a look around the kitchen. You'll see the enormous vat of vanilla mixture over there. It's been known to attack. Give it a wide berth.”

Madison turned away so he couldn't see her smile. She was here to work; to broker a deal that meant she was capable of succeeding on her own. That deal meant practically taking over his inn for a weekend and pulling off the impossible in about three weeks. She was not here to smile and laugh with the good-looking inn owner.

The kitchen was clean but recently used and cluttered. Wright might be a messy chef, but he tidied up afterwards. The revamps Roark had mentioned showed in the new commercial oven and appliances.

Luckily, she was capable of doing a thorough yet speedy overview of everything. The longer she spent in this kitchen, the more tempted she was to stuff a cookie in her mouth.

A scenario ran through her mind. What was the likelihood she could scarf down one, possibly three, cookies without anyone noticing?

She finished checking out the kitchen and wound back around to the front, right in time to find Roark polishing off a Pumpkin Pleasure Roll.

His cheeks full, he dipped his chin, color rushing to his face. When he got done chewing, the strong line of his jaw was back in place, but his cheeks were still pink. Roark's flush was a complete contradiction to his steady gaze and serious look. He wiped his fingers on a napkin and smoothed his shirt down, as though straightening a tie that wasn't there.

“Busted.” He smiled, showing the tiniest hint of a dimple in his right cheek.

In that moment, Madison finally admitted the truth to herself. Between the cookies and the resort owner, Roark Bradley was the yummiest choice.

“I
need to see the outside now.” Madison bolted past him like the kitchen had caught fire.

Roark followed, tossing the napkin aside. “I thought you said—”

“I know what I said. I changed my mind.” She beat a quick retreat through the restaurant, to the French doors.

“The view from outside is pretty amazing,” he called after her.

“Good.” Madison stepped out onto the veranda and kept going.

The sudden urgency shouldn't surprise him. She'd done nothing but confuse him so far. Almost smiling, and then straight-lipped. Wowed by the cookies, then glaring at them
and
him.

Earlier she'd made it very clear she wanted to tour in a particular order, jabbing her pen around like a weapon, defending her choice of itinerary as though Roark wasn't going to let her have her way.

He didn't care how they toured, but she'd been so insistent, he couldn't help picking at her, just a little.

“You're sure you don't want to go to a room?”

Madison spun on him, her eyes so wide the green practically sparked. “What?”

Roark skidded to a halt so he didn't plow into her. “Whoa, what?”

“What did you just say?”

“You sure you don't want to tour a guest room? You said before, the order in which you wanted to tour: first the great room, a guest room, the restaurant and kitchen, and
then
the outdoors.”

“Oh.” She clutched her portfolio in front of her. “No. It's fine.”

Surely she didn't think he'd meant . . .
Oh.

“I didn't mean it like
go to a room
.”

Madison pinned him with a dead-eyed stare.

Damn.
Damn
. He'd guessed way off base. “Not that . . . I'm not saying that's what you thought. I'm saying, just in case it came out like that, I don't want you to misinterpret . . .” He was making it worse. A lot worse. Not quite as bad as being caught with a mouthful of two, count them,
two
cookies, but still pretty damn awkward. “Never mind. So, this is the veranda.” He held an arm out toward the view.

He was a lot of things, but the smarmy guy who hit on a woman with some two-bit line? Hell no. She was undeniably attractive, but a woman involved in his business was strictly that.

“It's fine. I know what you meant.” Madison took off walking again, her heels clicking on the stone flooring of the veranda.

A wave of relief blew over him like cool air and he hurried to join her. With her height, and a pair of long legs that he was working very hard
not
to notice, he had some catching up to do.

All right, that much was a lie. He'd noticed her legs. Wearing tailored gray pants and a matching jacket, cinched in to highlight her waist. The lady knew how to wear a business suit, but he was trying to be a gentleman and not fixate on . . . things.

Like the sharpness in Madison's green eyes, the smooth arch of her neck, the way she fought smiling, so that the corner of her lips curled up mischievously.

Dammit.

Devlin was right. He needed to get out more.

She finally stopped speed walking when she reached the wrought-iron banister. “This is lovely.” Her shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath, her blond hair in a perfect twist at the nape of her neck.

“I told you.” He finally caught up to her.

Roark threw a covert glance in her direction, under the guise of checking out a view he'd seen hundreds of times. All he could do was
try
to get a read on what she thought of the place.

She seemed to like Honeywilde, but she wasn't exactly telegraphing her reactions.

Everything about Madison was hard to read. She started to joke with him one moment, then completely shut down. She shared some information and went airtight on the rest. Roark was playing guessing games when it came to Madison Kline. He wasn't sure if he liked it or not, but it wasn't helping his confidence about this deal. Booking a wedding could be a boon for the inn, and they desperately needed a boon right now.

In the midst of their quietly taking in the view, Madison suddenly sparked to life. She stepped away from the banister and did a 360-degree turn, studying the veranda. “I think you could comfortably seat forty people out here. Wouldn't you say?”

“Forty would be comfortable.” He hopped topic trains to keep up with her. “You'd still have nice space for the ceremony official, wedding party, and musicians if you want them. Seating for fifty-five would be cozy but doable. The one time we had more seating than that, it was too much. Most people shoot for fifty.”

“Thank you for the insight,” she said without smiling.

“You're welcome.” Part of owning an inn and resort was selling it, and he had to sell people on Honeywilde. He and his family relied on it, and he'd learned at the wise old age of seven, that if he didn't take care of his family, nobody else would.

“I bet the sunsets here
are
nice.” She held her portfolio tight and looked out over the mountains again.

He joined her, taking in the sight of the Blue Ridge Mountains beyond and Lake Anikawi below. “Better than nice. They're amazing. That's not a line either, by the way, but my honest opinion. Legend has it the sunsets seen from here can soften even the hardest heart, and bring love and prosperity.” That part was complete bullshit if you asked him, but so were most legends. Lots of visitors believed them, so who was he to point out the ridiculousness of it?

“I've heard that bit of folklore about the inn in general. Bringing love and luck and all that. Do you believe it?” Madison leaned her elbow on the banister and met his gaze.

She clearly wanted his opinion, but more importantly, a forthright answer.

As the inn's owner, he ought to weave in a little love and storytelling to improve a guest's experience. As a boy who grew up at Honeywilde, hearing about a legend that had done nothing to help his parents' troubled marriage, he had a hard time buying the myth. “No. The whole thing is mostly hype, but guests love the notion. Guess that's all the reason I need to play along.” A long-nurtured bitterness crept into his voice, no matter how hard he tried to hide it.

Madison studied him long enough that heat spread over the back of his neck, then she gave him a quick nod. “I don't buy it either, but most people eat up that sort of thing.”

“What are those over there?” She pointed to the spattering of cabins along the slope, next to the inn.

“Those are ours. We have a few private properties. Cabins, all heated with electricity, fully furnished. For guests who want more of a secluded feel.”

“A compromise between an inn and a yurt.”

She spoke the words with such contemplation, Roark had to chuckle.

Madison cut her eyes over at him.

“Sorry. You just sounded so serious saying the word ‘yurt.' It's . . . sorry.”

“The word ‘yurt' is cracking you up?”

“It's not the word. It's how you say it.”

“Yurt,” she said, insistent in her volume, putting her palm out as though presenting some serious research.

Roark finally gave up and laughed. He wouldn't dare say that the way she said “yurt” was cute, but it was. “I'm—” He cleared his throat, pulling himself together. “I probably had too much sugar from those cookies.”

She stared past him, over his shoulder, her lips slightly pursed, the inside of one cheek sucked in like she was chewing on it. At first he thought he'd pissed her off and potentially ruined the whole deal, but then she met his gaze, briefly. In it, he saw the sparkle of restrained laughter.

Madison wanted to laugh too, so badly she could hardly stand to look at him, but she flat out refused. And now he wanted to make her laugh. The goal felt like a mission, and he wasn't going to question why.

“Is there a finished lower level since the inn is built into the mountain?” She leaned over the banister to look down.

Roark didn't bother looking too. His view was better. “There is. It's about a quarter of the size of our main and upper floors. It's finished, with a common area, a long empty room that's yet to have a purpose, and eight suites. My youngest brother has one of the rooms down there, but I'd rather open it all up for guests so it could be something of use.”

“Your brother doesn't need a place to live?”

Roark clenched his jaw on what he was tempted to say about his wayward baby brother, Trevor. He went with the politer option. “He hasn't been here in three months, so I guess not.”

Madison quietly considered him for a moment.

“I'd like to come back out here at sunset,” she said, gracefully changing subjects. “If the sunsets are all they're rumored to be, maybe we should time the ceremony accordingly.”

Roark grabbed at the chance to talk sunsets instead siblings. “I think that'd be ideal for a wedding. And, if there's rain on the day of the wedding, we have the great room as an alternative.”

“It won't rain. I don't allow rain on my weddings.”

He bet the weather didn't have the balls to rain on any of her weddings.

They both studied the skyline again, Roark keenly aware of the woman next to him. She was a beautiful contradiction.

Stern and serious one moment, a teasing playfulness trying to break free the next.

He didn't want to think too much about her, or over analyze, like he was prone to do, but this time of day was always so quiet in the mountains. Like nature conspiring to make you sit and over think everything.

The air was thicker, heavy, muffled. A shower could pop up at any minute, lasting all of five minutes before disappearing.

Silence settled over the veranda as they both stood there, studying the cloud-dabbled sky. A combination of shadows and rays danced across the lake. The moment was oddly intimate, sharing serenity with a stranger.

Madison sniffed. “Is that the kitchen I smell or is it still you?”

Roark studied the dried stain on his sleeve closest to her. The sweet smell was definitely him, but he played along anyway. He sidestepped away about five or six paces. “Do you still smell it?”

She sniffed the air again. “It's gone. That's good though. You smell delicious, but I don't want other kitchen scents to travel all the way outside. No one wants eau de catfish while listening to Mendelssohn on harp.”

Madison thought he smelled delicious. That was going to be his takeaway. “You won't smell any catfish. Nothing but fresh mountain air, maybe the scent of roses or whatever arrangements you use. It won't rain, the sun will be perfectly scheduled to set, on cue, and you will have the wedding of the year.”

A quick laugh escaped. “I expect a lot. I know. What can you do about a cloudless sky, soft breeze, happy clients, and guests who are awed by the whole event?”

Roark saw the opportunity and jumped at it. He checked off an invisible list with his finger in the air. “Done. What about a flock of doves to fly by at precisely the right time? A migration of butterflies?”

“No, thank you. I've used doves before.”

He tilted his head back. “Of course you have.”

“Released upon the announcement of the new couple. All I could do was pray none of the birds . . . you know?”

“Lessened their load midflight?”

Madison laughed. Finally, with the quickest flash of white teeth before she covered her mouth, she let herself laugh. “Yes. Everything worked out, but I prefer to stay away from live animals at my events.”

“I don't blame you. But I bet somebody, some day, will want to ride in on a horse. Or off on a horse. There will be something involving a horse in your future.” He was teasing her, but she was laughing. He sure as hell wasn't going to squash it now.

Madison gave him a stern look that was nothing but playful. “Bite your tongue. I like a challenge, but you could curse me with some kind of cowboy-themed ceremony and horses all over the place.”

He shook his head. “Potentially a lot worse than doves . . . if you know what I mean.”

This time her burst of laughter echoed around the veranda. She clamped a hand over her mouth again. “Don't say that. Don't even put that out into the universe.” She spoke from behind her fingers, but it sounded like she was smiling.

“I should take it back?” Roark grinned too.

She dropped her hand. “Yes, definitely.”

“I take it back. No horse weddings. No doves. Butterflies will be the extent of any living props at your weddings.”

“Butterflies I can handle. Thank you.”

Madison was definitely smiling. No tight politeness from earlier, not a sly business smirk, but a full-on, light-in-her-eyes smile. Roark had finally managed to say something funny.

He wore a dopey grin right now, he just knew it. The pull in his face, the warm hum along his cheeks. Dammit, he probably looked ridiculous, but he couldn't help it. He'd gotten her to laugh.

Madison grabbed up her portfolio and straightened. “Um. I should probably . . . talk to your hospitality manager? And see more of the restaurant before the dinner crowd arrives?”

Roark dropped his smile. “Yeah? I mean, yes. He is in charge of hospitality, after all. Wright might be free as well. I need to finish up some things in the office.”

A moment for Roark to refocus on business and not on whatever the hell he was doing might be a good idea, but he wasn't ready for Dev to take over the tour completely.

In fact, he downright didn't want to give her up. “How about, when you're done in the restaurant, you can stop by the office and we'll see the rest of the inn?”