special event tonight, I’m sure you’ll met her shortly.”
Jami stole a peek at Grant through her lashes, and as her gaze dropped from his handsome face to his lapel, she burst into laughter.
“What?”
“Lipstick on your collar,” Jami sang, waving a hand at his chest.
He examined his lapel where she had left a perfect imprint of her lips. He chuckled. “We can’t blame Toby for this stain.”
“Hardly,” Jami agreed with a smile. “Maybe Becca can bring us a warm, sudsy cloth, and I can lighten the lipstick, so it won’t show.”
On cue, Becca hustled into the room carrying a basket of rolls, bowl of tossed green salad, and decanter of vinaigrette. “First course of our romantic dinner for our Cupid couple.”
The innkeeper was followed by a pretty blonde teenager who carried a champagne bottle packed in an ice bucket. Wearing a sheepish grin, Mike entered behind them with camera in hand.
They exchanged greetings and introductions as Becca and Pam bustled around the table. “We’ll leave the champagne for you to open.” Becca waved, exiting the room in a whirlwind, Pam trailing in her wake.
“Bye, Pam. You, too, Becca,” Mike called, smoothing down the brown fuzz on his head as he watched Pam’s departure with interest. He brightened as the teenager threw him a pert grin when she sashayed out the door. “Cute kid.”
“You’re a still kid yourself,” Grant nonchalantly remarked, leaning back in his chair with amusement.
“I’m twenty-six,” Mike disputed, his statement drawing attention to faint lines around his mouth and eyes, and a shallow crease slashing his forehead, none of which Jami had previously noticed. “I’ve been in business four-and-a-half years.”
“That long,” Grant drawled with a twinkle.
Jami watched the exchange, surprised to discover that Mike was only a few years her junior. At the moment she felt eons older. Something she suspected came with motherhood and single parenting.
“Guess you two started without me,” Mike said, his dancing hazel eyes targeting the lipstick imprint on Grant’s lapel.
“It’s not what you think,” Jami protested her hands curling the edges of the napkin on her lap as she imagined what the photographer was thinking.
“Yeah, sure.” Mike grinned and exchanged a glance with Grant.
“The lady speaks the truth,” Grant returned, raising a palm. “She, ah, fell into me. A case of deadly spike heels.”
“Right.” Mike’s grin broadened.
Jami lifted her killer sandals from the floor, dangling them before the men. “I can’t walk in these heels.”
“Then why did you buy them?” Mike skeptically asked.
“I didn’t,” Jami replied, her glare shifting to Grant.
“Guilty as charged,” Grant responded smugly.
Mike shook his head. “I can’t figure you guys out, but, hey—that’s not my job.” He removed the lens cover and adjusted his camera. “Put your shoes under the table and out of camera range.”
Jami obeyed. “I can wear them later if necessary, just don’t make me walk in the things.”
“Okay, pretty lady. Now lean toward Grant and gaze into his eyes.” Mike’s demeanor altered to pure professional. “Grant, take her hand and give me an ensnared lover’s gaze.”
Grant’s large, strong hand slid over Jami’s petite one, his warm grasp bringing her nerve endings to life. She stared into Grant’s deep blue eyes, watching his pupils flare darker as a magnetic current flowed between them, and a dizzying warmth engulfed her.
“Good. Great. Closer,” Mike remarked, reminding them of his presence and the click, flash, whirr of his camera as he metered the light and hopped around.
“I’d like some shots by candlelight.”
“No problem,” Grant said, withdrawing a silver and gold cigarette lighter from his jacket pocket.
Jami noticed the initials C.G.C. embossed in gold. She remembered the packet he’d received when they first arrived at the lodge and that it had been addressed to C. Grant Carrington. What did the C stand for? Colten? Chance? Cory? None seem to fit the man. Neither did the lighter. With his spectacular physique, he appeared too health conscious to smoke. She shook her head. The more she thought she knew him, the less she did. With one flick, a whiff of lighter fluid and a flash of flame, he set both candles alight.
“A lighter?” Jami voiced aloud. “Do you smoke?”
“No. It’s a gift that occasionally comes in handy.”
A gift from a woman, Jami concluded as he slid the lighter back into his pocket. Don’t ever forget what kind of man he is, she warned herself. Or forget what happened to your heart before.
“Dish up the salad, and we can get one of you feeding each other,” Mike said, unaware of Jami’s tightening resolution.