That Carrington Magic - By Karen Rigley Page 0,44
these two eat,” Becca ordered, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. “You ought to have enough promo pictures to keep the ad men busy for months.”
“Ad woman,” Jami corrected. “I think Sierra’s friend, Dara Sheen, might get roped into the CupidKey publicity campaign.”
“Dara?” Grant queried. He glanced at Becca. “I don’t think I’ve met her, have you?”
“No, but I hear she’s a honey, and a very good friend to Ty’s wife.”
“She’s really nice.” Jami volunteered, “And great at her job.”
“So everybody’s happy,” Grant said, thinking of Cupid inspiring Cupidkey. Maybe a friend in advertizing would work well for Ty and Sierra’s business.
“Happiness is what we all want, right?” Becca stated in her forthright country manner. “Now, Mike and I will skedaddle out of here and let you enjoy dinner.”
“By the way, Toby thought his trout tasted all right.” Becca stuffed her work-reddened hands into her apron pockets. “That boy’s proud as can be. You have a sample of today’s catch next to the salmon fillets.”
“Thanks, Becca,” Grant said with a heart-stopping smile full of warmth and caring. Jami watched the exchange, envying the two their easy friendship.
“I appreciate you taking care of my son,” Jami said, offering a smile of her own to the innkeeper.
“He’s a fine boy.”
“I think so,” Jami replied, her regard for the other woman increasing.
“How’s the champagne?” Becca asked, eyeing the hardly touched bottle.
“Between Mike and his camera we haven’t tasted anything,” Grant replied charmingly, adding, “But we’re going to make up for lost time.”
“Jami had a hard enough time pretending to sip out of her glass—heaven help us if she’d been drinking,” Mike added as he folded the tripod and gathered his equipment.
“That’s not fair.” Jami started to rake her fingers through her hair, but encountered the upswept hairdo and thought better of it. “I rarely touch alcoholic beverages, and I never get tipsy.”
“Didn’t say you did,” Mike replied, reaching toward the seafood platter to steal a sautéed shrimp. “Will you and Grant meet me at the boat dock around nine in the morning?”
“You ate enough of those in the kitchen,” Becca scolded, knocking his hand away before he could touch the curled pink shrimp.
“What about Toby?” Jami asked, not about to spend the next day without him. She intended to take him on the lake shoot with her.
“That tyke ate his share of shrimp, too,” Becca stated, misunderstanding Jami’s query.
Grant smiled, that disconcerting devilish smile which never failed to affect Jami. “She’s asking about Toby going to the lake with us for the shoot.”
“Sure,” Mike responded, with a longing glance at the seafood. “We’ll make it a family outing.”
“Now that that’s sorted out, we’ll be on our way.” Becca moved toward the door. When Mike failed to follow, she turned and snagged the young photographer by the arm. “Let’s go.”
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t,” Mike called as Becca practically dragged him out of the room.
“Don’t give them ideas,” Becca chuckled before they disappeared through the doorway. “They have enough of their own.”
The door clicked shut, leaving Jami alone with her Cupid match. Suddenly the room that had seemed so open, closed around them, Grant’s dominating presence filling the entire space.
“You’re like a frightened doe ready to bolt,” Grant said, his penetrating scrutiny infiltrating her thoughts.
“It’s just hunger.” Jami attempted to sound composed as she dished up salad, keeping her eyes lowered to the lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, and green peppers she piled on her plate.
“Hunger,” he growled, his midnight gaze devouring her. “We could skip the meal and get right to dessert.”
“I rarely have dessert,” Jami replied, keeping her eyes on her plate as she dripped a dainty amount of dressing over her salad.
“You don’t know what you’re missing,” Grant drawled in rough velvet tones that flowed over Jami.
Ignoring his innuendo, she started to take a sip of her champagne, the bubbles tickling her nose. She thought better of it, and replaced her glass, glancing up at him through the fringe of her lashes. Knowing he expected her to be dessert tonight, she needed every ounce of willpower she possessed. She didn’t dare relax that willpower with alcohol.
Grant chuckled, as though he knowingly played her emotions as expertly as the fishing line that had netted him more than his share of catches. She didn’t intend to be another. “You may change your mind about dessert.” He lifted the dome off the silver tray to reveal two scrumptious, generous squares of chocolate layer cake. “Nell’s famous chocolate heaven. A confection mere mortals can rarely resist