That Carrington Magic - By Karen Rigley Page 0,15
scrutinize her as if he could see right through the towel.
“A gentleman would bring me my handbag.”
“Mmm?” Grant stroked his square jaw as his eyes blazed and his voice dropped to rough velvet. “I can think of other things a gentleman would do for you.”
Jami’s breath caught, realizing that Grant Carrington appeared far too potently male, far too dangerous. Gathering her willpower and channeling forbidden temptation, she countered, “You are no gentleman!”
“Allow me.” He swept her handbag off the table and strode across the room, halting before her. “Here’s your lotion, Red.”
Grant pressed the purse against her hand clutching the towel. The touch of his knuckles seared right through the terrycloth against her breasts as she fumbled for her handbag without releasing the towel. “Thank you,” she replied, her voice breathless as her heart beat a wild tempo.
“My pleasure.”
He grinned as she ran out of the room.
Chapter 3
As sunlight streamed through the cracked open blinds, Jami awoke to her son bouncing horseback-style on her stomach and grinning down at her as he whooped, “Giddy-up.”
“I gather it’s time to rise, early bird?” She rolled over to buck him off, hiding a smile as she glanced at the alarm clock thoughtfully provided on the nightstand. Seven o’clock Mountain Time. Back home it would already be eight. No wonder her son was awake and kicking.
“When’s breakfast?” Toby asked, vaulting off the bed.
“Soon. We aren’t at home, so we can’t go down to breakfast in our nightclothes.” She climbed out of bed, straightened her nightshirt and padded bare-footed to the cabinet that held their bags. When she unzipped Toby’s backpack, Jami shook her head fondly as she pulled out the uneaten peanut butter cookie from last night. “What shirt do you want to wear?”
“Evil Jack, the beast of Zonar Galaxy,” Toby intoned, with an exaggerated snarl as he waved his hands like claws.
“Wait! Here.” Jami unwadded a lemon yellow shirt and flung it at him, snagging it on his head. “Put these on first.” She tossed him clean underwear and crew socks, which he caught neatly after peeling the shirt off his face.
“Do you think they have Blazing Galaxy Cereal?”
“No. If they serve cereal, it’s probably hot and healthy.”
“I hope they don’t make us eat mush.” Toby frowned.
“Be polite and try to enjoy whatever they serve you,” Jami advised as she gathered her own clothing, selecting her favorite blue jeans and a cotton-knit shirt. She figured August would remain summery, even in the mountains, but during their arrival, she had noticed hints of scarlet and gold already kissing the alpine foliage.
“I’m ready,” Toby announced, tying a lopsided bow in the last shoelace.
“Not so fast, buster,” Jami said, snatching Toby into a hug. “You grab the bathroom first. Don’t forget to wash your hands and face and brush your teeth. Okay?”
Fifteen minutes later, she cautiously peeked out of their door into the main bedroom, but no one occupied Grant’s rumpled bed, and the room was empty.
“You scared of something, Mom?” Toby asked, pushing up behind her, already impatient from waiting for her to do “girl stuff” like applying her makeup.
“Of course not.” Jami marched through the suite, leading her son into the hall without admitting her relief that Grant was already gone.
Downstairs, they found the dining room still deserted, but the aroma of freshly baked cinnamon rolls drew them into the lodge kitchen. An array of gleaming copper pots and pans hung from the ceiling along with bunches of fresh dried herbs tied with twine. Jami inhaled deeply, realizing that she felt ravenous.
“Coffee?” Becca asked, as she and Nell transferred cookie sheets of swirled cinnamon rolls to platters, piling the sticky buns into mouth-watering mounds.
“Sounds good.” Jami shot a longing glance at the cinnamon rolls.
“Help yourself, dear,” Nell chirped, teetering toward the massive pine table as she balanced a roll on a spatula.
“Mother, I’ll wait on them,” Becca admonished, whisking it away from the elderly woman.
“If we’re too early, we can come back later,” Jami said, catching Toby’s hand before he could snare a roll from the top of one pile.
“This is fine. Breakfast is officially at eight in the dining room, but you’re welcome to sit at the table right here and chat with us.”
“Are you sure?” Jami asked uncertainly as Toby wasted no time scrambling into a chair. “I’m afraid we’re still on Houston time.”
“Take a seat by your boy,” Nell imperiously commanded.
Jami obeyed, accepting a steaming mug of coffee from Becca, before she placed a glass of milk in front of Toby.
“Want