Get Lucky (8 page)

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London held the small box that was from some media company in her hand as she knocked on Marc’s door. She had no idea what was in it and hadn’t heard of the company that had sent it. Maybe it was time to ask Marc again what he did for a living. It seemed he dodged that question whenever she asked. He worked for a family business in L.A. That was all she knew. She’d been tempted to do some snooping, learn more about him. But doing so would suggest she wanted more from Marc than a casual relationship.

Marc smelled like shampoo and soap and a musky aftershave. She itched to feel how smooth his jaw probably was as she smiled at his freshly shaved face. But even more so, thoughts of running her fingers over the tight, still slightly damp curls spread across his muscular chest made her forget what she was going to say.

“Come on in.” Marc held the door for her, stepping to the side so she could enter.

“You know I can’t come in,” she whispered, her heart pattering a mile a minute as a small voice in her head assured her it would be okay to be in his room for just a little bit.

“You’re kidding.” He really looked disappointed. “Would you really stand in the hallway and wait for your tip from another guest?”

Of course she wouldn’t. London walked into his room, taking in his king-sized bed with one side completely crumpled and blankets twisted. There was an indentation in the pillows where his head had been. She bet he’d been all relaxed and warm when she called and woke him up. His rough baritone had sounded so damn good when he’d answered the phone.

“Here is your package,” she offered, holding the box out to him. “And you don’t have to tip me.”

Marc closed the door behind her. He moved faster than she anticipated, wrapping his arms around her waist and lowering his head so his freshly shaved cheek was pressed against hers.

“What do you have for me?” he asked, turning to nibble on her ear before moving one hand in front of her to adjust the box in her hand. “‘Media Corp,’” he said, reading the return address label. “I’ve never heard of them.”

“You didn’t order something?” She stiffened and almost dropped the box.

Marc took it from her, letting her go but then pressing his hand against her back and guiding her past his bed. She took a calming breath when he sat down by his laptop and picked up his keys, which were on the desk. Using one of them as a knife, he slit the tape down the middle and along the sides.

He looked up at her several times while opening the box. “I guess it is weird to get something in the mail while you’re on vacation when you’re not expecting it. Don’t let it startle you, though. Are you okay? I swear you’re suddenly white as a ghost.”

She touched her cheeks and grinned at him, feeling stupid and chastising herself. Marc was perceptive. It should flatter her that he was so in tune to her reactions. She hadn’t missed his stressing that he went out alone the other night, as if he wanted to make sure she knew he wasn’t spending time with another lady after having fucked her. Some men would, considering it their vacation so no rules applied. Which was why she steered clear of all guests when it came to accepting dates. Marc had made a point of letting her know he was thinking about her, couldn’t wait to be with her again, and was alone when they weren’t together.

“I guess I just assumed you’d ordered something. You didn’t seem surprised when I told you I had a delivery for you.”

“You had me at a disadvantage. I’d just woken up,” he admitted. “I worried I was too honest and up-front with you on the phone.”

“You did? How so?” Her attention shifted to the box, which was now open, although she couldn’t see its contents. Although he held it in his hands, his attention was on her.

He wasn’t in any hurry to see what was inside. Maybe it was something from his work and it had been sent to him. Possibly he received packages all the time and therefore wouldn’t be excited to find out what would show up in the mail. London willed her heart to quit beating. There wasn’t anything she could do about it if he didn’t want her to know what he did for a living. Marc was smart. She should be, too. They could get involved yet keep their distance. Nothing about their personal lives.

Marc put the box on the desk and took her hands, bringing them to his mouth. “I told you I was dreaming about you, and I was. I really want to see you again and I was out so late last night because I drove by your house at least five times before forcing myself to come back here to my room. Then I couldn’t fall asleep because the hard-on I had wouldn’t go away. Masturbation loses its appeal when there is one hot, sexy lady nearby.”

London laughed, enjoying the hell out of his honesty. It really sucked if he would go away and she wouldn’t ever see him again. Marc was nothing more than one huge teddy bear. Although he was far from soft and cuddly. He was hard as steel, with muscles bulging everywhere, and taller than most men. But it was what was inside, a heart of gold and pure as driven snow.

“Sounds like a personal problem,” she said, still laughing. London bet anyone who knew this man saw him as nothing more than a really big sweetheart. His size and all that muscle might frighten some, but not anyone who took time to know him. “Why didn’t you stop by?” If he had, he would have caught her going through all of those pictures. Or maybe she would have put them away sooner and done something better with her evening than get all soft inside over her parents when she didn’t even know where they were.

“You don’t mind if I stop by unannounced?”

“I don’t mind.”

Marc stood and pulled her into his arms, kissing her until she was sure she would melt right there. He would make returning to work pure torture. And that was exactly where she needed to go.

“Aren’t you going to see what’s in the box?” she asked, curious if he wasn’t opening it because he didn’t want her to see what might be inside. “Could it be something from your work?” she pressed.

“I seriously doubt that,” he said, letting her go and picking up the box.

Marc opened the flaps and pulled out crinkled paper. A figurine slipped into his hand with the paper. “What’s this?” he asked, studying it.

“It’s a figurine or doll of some sort.” London grabbed a wad of crinkled paper before it fell to the floor.

Marc held up what was actually two figurines, attached to each other—a bride and groom. Except the bride was missing her head.

“What the fuck?” Marc hissed, digging deeper into the small box and pulling out the rest of the packing. He put the box on the desk, stared at the damaged bride-and-groom as his scowl deepened. “Where did this come from?”

Something unpleasant twisted inside London’s gut. It rose to her throat in a nasty bile. She stared at the wedding couple that were attached at the foot and hand. It was the type of figurine someone would put on top of a wedding cake, except the bride’s head was gone.

“Are you sure you didn’t order something to be sent here? Do you know this company?” She reached for the box, trying to get her brain to work. There was a logical explanation here. Marc wouldn’t start getting bizarre things in the mail simply because she was.

“I didn’t order anything,” he said, taking the box before she could see the return address. “Who delivered this?”

“It came with all the mail today. Sometimes guests get mail and we sort through it and contact them, as I did with you.”

“So the mailman brought in all the mail and you sorted through it and found this?”

She stared at him. That’s what she just said. There was a hard edge to his expression that wasn’t usually there. It didn’t scare her, although Marc could definitely intimidate someone with his size alone if he wanted. London didn’t sense anything like that. What she picked up on were vibes so strong she easily saw his determination to figure this out. Apparently Marc liked a good mystery a bit more than most. His expression hardened as he shifted his attention from her to the box.

“I just told you it came in the mail,” she said, suddenly wanting the deformed figurine to disappear. She grabbed the wrapping paper, wadding all of it up in her hands and tossing it in his trash. “If you didn’t order it, maybe it can be returned.”

“London,” he said, his tone softening. “I didn’t order it, but someone sent it to me.” He tilted the box and pointed to the mailing label he’d sliced through to open the box. “It’s got my name on it and this room number. That bothers me. No one knows I’m here other than my family. If you don’t mind, humor me. Let’s walk through everything that happened from the moment you saw the box.”

London sighed, nodding. She understood more than she could let him know. She’d rehashed the moments she’d received both packages of pictures over and over again.

“The mailman brings mail every day,” she said, stating the obvious but guessing that was what Marc wanted to hear. “Obviously most of it is for the lodge, management, bills, magazines for the lobby—that sort of thing. Occasionally there are packages or letters for guests. Those are set to the side, sorted through, and the guest is contacted. Sometimes the guests know they’re getting mail and they let us know. Either way, we have a special spot on the side counter where this mail goes until one of us contacts the guest and brings their mail to them.”

“So you get all this mail, sort through it. Was I the only one who got mail today? How much mail did you pull out for guests?”

London stared at him. He held the empty box in one hand and the deformed wedding-couple figurine in the other. He was calm, nonthreatening, when he spoke, but there was something different in his eyes, something she hadn’t seen before. London accepted there were many layers to this man she didn’t know yet, and probably never would. She wasn’t sure what made his gaze darken, his blue eyes appear more focused. Looking down so she wouldn’t obsess on him, London answered his questions as she stared at his hard abs.

“I didn’t sort through the mail today. Jerry is our mailman. I remember him coming and leaving. Meryl talked to him for a minute or two, I think. He’s a pretty nice guy.”

“The same mailman always delivers the lodge’s mail?” Marc put the wedding couple on the desk and started studying the box.

London watched him turn the box over, open it farther to look inside it, then close the flaps and study the mailing addresses. He didn’t look up at her when he asked but seemed fascinated with the box.

“Jerry has been bringing our mail as long as I’ve worked here.” She didn’t want to look at the figurine. The whole thing was just weird. “Marc, I need to get back downstairs.”

He snapped his attention to her. “Of course.” Dropping the box on the desk with packing paper and the figurine, Marc reached for her, rubbing her arms until she met his gaze. “Don’t worry about this. I’ll figure it out.”

Her laugh sounded fake even to her. “Right. Someone wants you to marry a headless woman,” she offered, taking a stab at trying to make the situation humorous. Maybe it was to Marc. If she freaked out, he might wonder why she’d get so upset about Marc receiving something weird in the mail.

She worried there might be a connection between this package and the pictures she’d received, but until she got out of this room and away from Marc, and after she finished working for the day, she needed to keep her cool about it.

Marc pulled her into his arms. But he didn’t kiss her. He held her in a comforting embrace. He held her as a friend or someone more, a lover holding the person he cared about. London relaxed in his arms, resting her cheek against his chest. When he started stroking her hair, she closed her eyes. What would it be like to have someone like him for real? Someone who would stand in her corner and be there for her when times got tough. The thought was so damn appealing she lost herself in it.

She could talk to him about anything, knowing he would hear her and care about what she said. What if she told him about the pictures? Would Marc tell her not to worry about those, too? Would he brainstorm it out with her, weigh all options, and help her figure out why they were being sent to her?

London squeezed her eyes shut, feeling all that steel muscle surrounding her. It would be incredible to have someone in her life who was always there for her. The truth of the matter, though, was that simply wasn’t the case. Confiding in him would mean getting closer to him. She couldn’t risk losing her heart to someone who would leave and never return.

“I need to get going,” she whispered, and forced herself to back out of his arms. “I’m sorry you got a mangled wedding-cake figurine in the mail,” she offered, making a face at him when she met his gaze. “Someone has a really sick sense of humor.”

“You’re right about that.” He walked her to the door, turned her, and gave her a quick kiss before escorting her into the hall. “I’ll find out who and let you know when I do.”

London hurried back to the front desk, grateful to find Meryl flipping through a magazine. She pulled her attention from whatever she’d been reading and offered London a lazy smile.

“So was it good?” Meryl asked, wagging her eyebrows.

London made a face. “You are so bad.”

“Well, you were gone long enough I figured you got yourself some. But don’t kiss and tell. See if I care.” Meryl shrugged and returned her attention to the magazine, an incredibly sheepish look on her face.

“I’m sorry I was gone so long.” London walked over to the corner, behind the counter, where items were put for guests. “That package I took upstairs to Marcc,” she began.