SEDUCTIVE SUPERNATURALS: 12 Tales of Shapeshifters, Vampires & Sexy Spirits (124 page)

She wondered if Dillon had an entire other life away from the office—kids and a pretty little wife tucked away in some remote cabin in Colorado.

Or was this a dream and she would awaken at her desk with Dillon glowering over her waiting for a brief to be printed out?

The second scenario seemed more likely. It explained her exhaustion. Her confusion. Her total delirium.

Could someone be dreaming and be awake at the same time? She’d have to do a Google search for that one after she settled in the room.

While Hilly waited for the delusional woman to type her information into her computer, the strong scent of cigar smoke began to engulf her. Almost as if the person smoking the cigar was standing right behind her, but when she turned to find the source, there was no one else around. The hotel lobby was completely deserted.

“Isn’t this a non-smoking hotel?” She remembered that piece of information from booking the room. Dillon only stayed in non-smoking hotels.

“It sure is,” the woman said.

Hilly coughed. “So where is the cigar smoke coming from?”

A wide grin spread across the woman’s face that lit up her blue eyes. “Oh honey, you must be very special. Mr. Devereux hasn’t been around much lately.”

The smell intensified and Hilly waved her hand in front of her face to get rid of the sour scent.

“Special? Me?” Hilly coughed from the tickle in the back of her throat. “I don’t know the man, but if I did, I wouldn’t let him smoke in your lobby.”

“We don’t really have a choice. He’s been haunting this hotel for decades.” She then snickered as if that explained it.

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Then you’re in for a treat.”

“Why? Is this Mr. Devereux a ghost or something?”

“Or something . . . this was originally his hotel. He built it in the late eighteen hundreds. It was grand back then, and one of the first establishments in the country to have electric lighting. Mr. Devereux was a true entrepreneur, and regularly enjoyed a good Cuban cigar. If you smell cigar smoke then there must be something special about you that he likes because he hasn’t been around much in the past few years . . . ever since they did the big remodel. Personally, I don’t think he likes it very much.”

“I don’t believe in ghosts.”

“Me neither,” the woman said, grinning. There was something about the woman that made Hilly think not only did she believe in ghosts, but her only reason for working at the old hotel was precisely due to the very idea of ghosts. A concept Hilly thought preposterous.

Of course, the more likely scenario had to be the woman liked to smoke a cigar at night when she thought no one else was around and Hilly happened to catch her in the act.

Hilly decided that had to be what happened. No way was there a smoking ghost walking around the lobby. That notion was simply absurd.

With that settled, the mystical woman gave Hilly directions to Dillon’s room. Hilly immediately took off for the elevator once again which was located on the other side of the lovely dual stairway that faced the center of a large sitting room in the middle of the lobby.

This time she took more notice of her surroundings, which were positively enchanting. Two large fireplaces banked the room on either end, and floor to ceiling windows ran the length of the far wall. Autumn-colored bouquets of fresh flowers adorned small side tables that seemed to permeate the air with the smell of gardenias. She felt as if she had walked into another time period, a time when sophisticated opulence sat smack in the middle of the rugged Old West. She could almost see a bevy of young women dressed in early nineteen hundred’s clothing, sitting on delicate ornate chairs at the tables, drinking tea, enjoying finger sandwiches and tea cakes while whispering about their latest lovers. The vision seemed so real Hilly blinked a couple times just to make sure she wasn’t truly seeing them.

The women finally disappeared, but it only added to her mental and physical fatigue.

Hilly turned back to the elevator and did as she was told, riding the tiny car to the fifth floor, exiting, then walking across the wide hallway toward the narrow stairway directly across from her.

As she crossed the hallway she heard a child’s voice giggling. Hilly assumed the sound was coming from one of the many rooms along the hallway. When she turned to her right, she spotted a young girl with long blond curls, wearing strange clothing, and a large blue bow in her hair bouncing a ball, laughing.

Hilly couldn’t imagine what kind of parent would allow their child to make all that racket so late at night, let alone be out in the hallway, alone. Hilly was about to say something when the girl disappeared into one of the rooms. At least she thought she went into one of the rooms.

The lights flickered and Hilly made a beeline for the stairway, not wanting to get caught in the darkened hallway should the lights actually go out. She ran up the creaky staircase lugging her suitcase, purse and laptop case and arrived out of breath at the top of the stairs where there were two rooms.

The room directly in front of her bore a nameplate in the middle of the oak door: Teddy Roosevelt. Behind her, next to a white, granite, three-foot statue of the waving lion, stood another oak door labeled: Molly Brown. Both suites were totally secluded from the rest of the hotel.

Dillon loved to be isolated from the masses. His home stood on a full acre in the Hollywood hills, and his private office at work was located at the end of a long hallway, all by itself. The isolation sometimes drove Hilly crazy, but over time, she’d learned to cope.

She slipped the keycard into the slot and pushed open the heavy door. At once a warm feeling flushed her with calm, as if she’d just entered a familiar room. But she’d never been in either the hotel, nor this room before in her life. She thought perhaps she’d seen the room on the website when she booked it for Dillon or she’d read about it somewhere. Either way, the suite felt inviting, and for the moment, it was exactly what she needed.

Hilly pulled her suitcase inside, turned and closed the door, making sure the brass security latch was firmly in place.

The suite was exactly the type of room Hilly would have booked for herself. Red walls were adorned with black-framed photos of Molly Brown, her home in Denver and her family. The photos lined the long hallway which led to an assortment of rooms including a small sitting room, a bathroom, a bedroom, and finally opened up to a cozy dining room with a small deck that looked out over the city. The bedroom off to her left held a king-sized, four-poster bed along with an armoire that stood next to the two windows on the far end covered in tapestry Roman shades. An antique mirrored dressing table and a lovely red velvet settee completed the warm feel of the bedroom. A large glass display case hanging on the wall between the windows contained one of Molly Brown’s hats and two pairs of her gloves, at least that was what the card below it said.

A total girly suite.

Not exactly a room for Dillon Spencer, a senior partner of Spencer and Spencer, an ultra-conservative law firm that dealt only with the top shelf of society. Anything less, and Daddy Spencer would have your head on a platter.

At first glance, it didn’t seem as though someone already occupied the room. Dillon was nothing if not neat and organized. She dropped her things on the four poster bed, along with the plastic bag that held Dillon’s personal items. At first she hadn’t wanted to see the contents. Now she thought she should pour them out and log them in a file so his father would have an accurate account.

Hilly took off her ski jacket, slipped out of her boots, and dumped the contents of the plastic bag out on the bed: one black leather wallet containing two charge cards, a driver’s license, six one-hundred-dollar bills, a twenty, a ten, and three dollar bills, one white-gold, ridiculously expensive watch, three quarters, two dimes and a nickel, and a pair of bright blue striped socks that were totally out of character for ultra-conservative Dillon. She had gone through his bag of clothes at the hospital, and determined they were too far gone to be salvaged, so she’d tossed them.

She quickly set up her laptop and made herself comfortable on the bed, then she logged everything into a document file. When that task was complete, she stuffed his things back in the plastic bag, and put it on the nightstand, deciding she would send the report to Frank in the morning. As soon as Dillon’s family showed up, she’d give the bag to one of them and she’d return to Breckenridge to finish out her now much-needed vacation.

There was simply nothing more she could do.

A creak in a floorboard just outside the bedroom sent a rush of adrenalin through her. Her attention immediately went to the open bedroom door as she reminded herself this was a very old building and noises were part of its makeup. Nevertheless, the creaking floor had rattled her enough that she couldn’t relax.

So, instead, she went in search of Dillon’s belongings. If he was staying in this room, it sure didn’t look like it.

She found his clothes hanging in the armoire, color coordinated, of course. She was surprised to see actual jeans and Polo shirts. In all the years she’d worked for him, she had never seen him in anything but business or formal wear. “So, you do have a life outside of work. Good to know.”

His shoes were all lined up in a neat row: two pairs of dress shoes, one pair of sneakers, and one pair of black leather slippers.

His toiletries were neatly placed on a small towel on the vanity in the bathroom attached to the bedroom. A black silk robe hung behind the door. She needed to take account of his things considering she might be the one to have to collect everything if he . . . .

She stopped herself from going any further with that thought. Instead, she decided to open one of several bottles of red wine sitting on a small wet bar just outside the bedroom. Dillon had fabulous taste in wine. He always kept a nice selection at the office to offer his clients and to open when he’d eat his lunch at his desk. Dillon took the time to enjoy his meals, no matter where he ate them.

Hilly opened a French Pinot Noir, poured an ample glass and took the bottle with her as she headed for the massive whirlpool tub which looked way too inviting. It was a modern addition to an otherwise historic room, and one she couldn’t wait to use in short order.

She turned the water on full blast, placed the wine and her glass on the wooden chair that conveniently sat within arm’s reach of the tub and added the musky scented bubble bath that she’d found sitting on the vanity. The fact that Dillon took bubble baths seemed almost like too much information as she stripped off her clothes and stepped into the foaming water. She actually felt a little naughty as she made herself comfy in the luxurious tub filled with the scent of Dillon Spencer, almost as if he was watching her. She pushed the silly notion out of her head and pressed the button for some whirlpool action, leaned back, closed her eyes and let the warm water do its thing. As soon as she did, she left her taxing world behind.

Which, in the scheme of things, was probably an accurate description.

At that exact moment of bliss, just as she opened her eyes to reach for a towel that hung on the wall above her to tuck behind her head, Mr. Dillon Spencer abruptly appeared on the chair right next to her bubble heaven.

“Are we dating?” Dillon asked as a startled Hilly slid underwater.

Instantly pushing herself back up, she coughed out the water and bubbles she’d sucked in when she first spotted him. Her lungs felt tight, exactly like she couldn’t get enough air into them. “No,” she finally said in a tiny, scratchy voice, shaking her head for emphasis.

“You really should take something for that cough. I’d offer you a cough drop but I don’t seem to have anything in my pockets at the moment.”

He wore black slacks, a black Polo shirt, and black shoes. The exact same clothes Hilly had tossed at the hospital, a coincidence she didn’t have time to contemplate.

Dillon stared down at her, grinning, looking all puppy-dog. “If we aren’t dating, we really should be. You have incredible breasts.”

“What?” Hilly gazed down at her naked, soapy breasts, mortified that her boss was lusting over them. She sank back down in the water, scooping up bubbles, making sure her body was well covered. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in the hospital, in a coma.”

“So that’s where I was. I didn’t like it very much. Way too lonely, and noisy as hell.” He crossed his legs and perched his arm on his thigh and stared at her only adding to her discomfort. “I think I have an appointment with Molly Brown. Do you know who she is and where we’re supposed to meet?”

“What? No. You’re confused.”

“If you think I’m confused, you should see the look on your face. I’d say we were somewhat equal.”

He stood and his attention moved on to the antique dresser in the room, studying the details of his things scattered across the top.

“You can’t be here. It’s impossible. You’re too near death to be so well.” She tried to think of scenarios that could have brought him out of his coma and into the room, but none of them made any sense.

He pointed at a black leather notebook on the dresser in the corner of the room. “My things seem to be everywhere, along with yours. Yet you say we’re not dating, and there you are exposing yourself to me in the bathtub. Odd, don’t you think?”

A pang of guilt swept over her.

“I, um, can explain everything. I was tired and—”

“You have feelings for me. I felt it when you touched my face. Those feelings aren’t love, they’re something else. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but then I can’t seem to put my finger on anything.” He giggled, and swiped at a towel hanging on a metal rack. His hand seemed to pass right through it.

Hilly rubbed her eyes, thinking she was dreaming; only it didn’t seem like a dream. This was more like a nightmare.

“You’re not here. This isn’t real and I’m going to wake up any moment. The doctor told me—”

Dillon wasn’t listening. Instead, he walked out of the room. “What’s out here?”

He was acting like a kid, curious over everything around him, yet this was his room, the very suite he asked her to book each year from the time she began working for him.