nap,” Toby protested, obviously disgusted to even talk about the dreaded “baby” thing in front of others.
“Some quiet time, anyway,” Jami hedged, realizing it was important for a young boy to save face around other males.
“Yeah, quiet time,” Toby agreed, pushing away from his mom, one hand tightening over his backpack. “Can we go now?”
“We can,” Grant agreed in a serious tone, but not before Jami caught the trace of a smile still curving his lips. She did appreciate him treating her son with respect. So many adults didn’t bother. Maybe she’d overreacted earlier.
“Let’s head for the lodge shuttle and hit the road,” Grant said, leading Jami and Toby through the lobby. Mike trudged along beside them as they exited through the airport doors into thin, fresh mountain air.
“I need a few shots by the shuttle van.” Mike directed them to a blue and tan mini-van emblazoned Frost Lake. “Please, stand there.”
“We have to?” Toby grumbled as the trio obeyed Mike’s request, stepping to the spot the photographer had indicated.
Beyond the honks and confusion of the airport, white clouds billowed above turquoise sky to skitter past a breathtaking fortress of mountain range.
Jami had never seen such huge mountains. The towering craggy peaks appeared to stretch clear to heaven. Laughing, Grant slipped an arm around her shoulders and scooted Toby in front of them.
“Great,” Mike said, snapping photos just as a breeze whipped and puffed the skirt of Jami’s pink sundress and teased her flowing copper hair.
“Oh, great,” Jami exclaimed in a totally different tone, trying to catch her skirt before a breeze puffed it high enough to display her bare thighs.
“Mmm, great,” Grant huskily murmured, an appreciative gleam flaring in his dark eyes while she battled her skirt.
“If you folks want to go to Frost Lake Lodge, you’d better hurry,” the shuttle driver called, as several vehicles honked impatiently, the drivers shouting a few choice words for the van blocking the lane.
“Right,” Grant said, his hand sliding down to press into the small of Jami’s back while Toby jumped inside the van. Grant helped Jami climb into the shuttle, then tossed in their luggage. The photographer hopped in to sit by Jami, leaving Grant to take the last seat alone and slide the door shut.
Jami breathed a sigh of relief that Mike, rather than Grant, sat beside her. She could only handle so much nearness to her tantalizing Cupid date. And she’d had her fill on the plane.
Once they arrived and entered the rustic lodge, she felt buoyant, realizing the two-story, gingerbread-eved, log building was as delightful as Sierra had described.
The scent of lemon wax mingled with pine and cedar as Jami’s gaze rose upward to admire the exposed pine beams of the high vaulted ceiling. A carved cedar banister curved from the buffed hardwood floor upward to grace the stairway. In the far corner of the huge room nestled a beige and gray stone fireplace and hearth. A bronze vase of dried flowers stood on the mantel and the entire lodge appeared to be trimmed in natural, hand-carved woods, rich in grain and texture, unstained but polished to a high sheen.
“Grant Carrington,” he announced, stepping up to the reservation desk as a broad-faced, big-boned woman offered to help them.
“Jami Rhodes,” Jami declared at the same time.
“Carrington and Rhodes,” the clerk said in a cheery tone, trailing her stubby finger down the reservation book. “Oh, the presidential suite,” the woman gushed. “That’s so romantic.”
Jami froze. “Don’t we have separate rooms?”
“No.” The woman furrowed her brow. “I didn’t take your reservations, but the lodge is fully booked for the entire month.”
“We don’t want to share a suite.” Travel weary, Jami was anxious to settle her youngster into their room, so she could soak in a hot tub.
“The suite contains a side nook with a separate bedroom,” the clerk consoled, with a knowing wink at Toby. “So you can have privacy, ah, for the boy.” She gave an embarrassed cough.
“That’s not...”
Jami began in protest, but Grant Carrington’s mouth swept down to skim a butterfly kiss over her lips. “Don’t blow it, Red. The photographer is shooting a close-up. We’ll sort this out later. Smile.”
Though Grant’s lips barely touched hers, he left a trail of fire. She and Toby couldn’t share a suite with this man. Even her longtime friendship with Sierra couldn’t demand she share quarters with a stranger. A womanizing stranger.
As if reading her thoughts, he smiled down at her. “Relax, I’m a Carrington.”