With No Reservations Read online

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  Copyright ©2000 by Joan Bramsch

  Originally published by Bantam Loveswept, July 1987

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  CONTENTS

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  DEDICATION

  To my daughter, Mary

  Crystal prisms of sadness, gladness,

  Flow in sparkling, shimmering streams,

  Revealing the rainbow spectrum of her nurturing heart.

  I love you.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter One

  Ann Waverly looked up from her work at the registration desk and stared at the man through her large tortoise-shell-framed glasses. Good heavens, she thought. Someone should take care of him!

  The man was bedraggled, unshaven, and almost asleep on his feet. What terrible hardship had he endured? His sandy hair was tousled, his clothes rumpled and torn. Most astounding of all, how had he gotten here, to the middle of urban America? It wasn't every day that a man in his condition strode into the River Regency, the most exclusive hotel in St. Charles, Missouri.

  All these thoughts tumbled through Ann's mind in a matter of seconds. She schooled her features sedate, tranquil-then smiled and asked the first question any reservation clerk-worth her salt should ask.

  "Do you have a reservation, sir?"

  The man leaned heavily against the counter; his glazed blue eyes stared across the lobby. “The name's Jeffrey Madison. The reservation was confirmed yesterday."

  Ann rapidly punched his name into the computer. Gazing at the screen, she was dismayed by what she saw printed there. “I'm very sorry, Mr. Madison, but your room was released when you didn't arrive before eight o'clock this evening."

  And she was sorry. Jeffrey Madison appeared to be dead on his feet. Then he turned to her, and his gaze seemed to chill and boil at the same time. She forgot her compassion because the hair on the back of her neck suddenly stood at attention. Unable to break away from his furious glare, she was glad that a high marble counter separated her body from his.

  Jeffrey Madison studied the woman who was keeping him from his bed. Her dark hair was pulled back into a neat, smooth bun and her blue eyes were shielded by expensive-looking glasses. She used a minimum of makeup, and her navy blue uniform was adorned only by her name tag. Ann Waverly, it said. He intended to remember that name. Forever!

  "What the hell do you mean, Ms. Waverly?” he asked. Pushed beyond his endurance, he raised his voice and gestured broadly. “A room was reserved. Yesterday. I need sleep. Tonight. Just find me another room in this damn place so I can get some rest."

  His performance did nothing to reassure Ann. She didn't think the hotel needed to cater to a madman. Not on her shift anyway. “Perhaps the Lasta Motel down the highway has a vacancy, sir. I'll be glad to make the call."

  "Are you kidding?” he exploded. “The Lasta Motel?"

  He looked at her as if she'd just dropped in from Mars, Ann thought, when in reality it was his bloodshot eyes that were beginning to radiate an otherworldly glow. Any second now he'd send a zap across the counter that would melt the silver in her back teeth. Imagining she could already feel that menacing heat, she took one small step backward ... for her own good health.

  "Look, lady, I had a reservation. I'm staying here tonight.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Even if I have to sleep in the damn potted palms."

  Ann kept smiling, although she felt like sticking out her tongue at him. She told herself she had to get the man to leave before he attracted a crowd. It was ten-thirty and quite a few guests were still in the garden lounge in the center of the huge lobby. Just as she was about to speak, Mr. Gillian, the night manager, appeared at her side.

  "What seems to be the problem here, Miss Waverly?"

  Oh, he would have to come out now, she fumed to herself, grimly accepting his condescending tone. He pronounced the word “Miss” as if it were a sin to be single. Before she could explain, he brusquely excused her, then aimed an effusive smile at the disheveled man on the other side of the counter.

  "Perhaps I can help you, sir,” Mr. Gillian said.

  "Please overlook the night clerk's lack of understanding. She's a trainee."

  Ann stalked to the back office. She glanced at her watch and realized her shift was over. Checking to make sure she still had her room key in her jacket pocket, she trudged to the elevator. It was glass on three sides, and as it lifted her to the second floor, she could see the registration desk. She sighed when she saw the night manager give the seedy Mr. Madison a key and another simpering smile.

  "That little fiasco was not an auspicious beginning, Annie,” she muttered.

  When Jeffrey took the key, he experienced a pang of conscience. “Look,” he said. “I don't want Ms. Waverly to get into trouble. This wasn't her fault. She was undoubtedly following house rules."

  Mr. Gillian stopped smiling, but assured Jeffrey that Miss Waverly had nothing to fear. “After all, Mr. Madison, she's only a trainee. Thank you for being so charitable."

  Jeffrey grunted unintelligibly, then wearily found his way to his room. He paused in the bathroom for a long, cool drink of water. When he realized he was still holding his battered knapsack, he tossed it into the corner of the bedroom.

  Yawning and groaning on the same breath, he dropped his jacket inside the closet, bent to untie his hiking boots, then staggered toward the welcoming oasis of his clean bed, dropping clothes and boots along the way. He sank onto the foot of the bed, pulled off one remaining sock, and collapsed across the mattress. Slowly he turned and crawled under the covers like a bear about to hibernate.

  His last thought as he drifted into unconsciousness was that the manager had acted like a grade-A jerk, and that he would check the next day to make sure the attractive Ms. Waverly had not been hassled.

  In her own room, Ann was getting ready for bed. For the hundredth time she thought she probably should have her head examined. What had she been thinking when she'd accepted the unorthodox challenge from Vanessa Cummings, owner of the River Regency?

  "I must have been out of my mind,” she mumbled, brushing her teeth with unrelenting vigor.

  She lifted her head and peered at her reflection in the mirror. Large blue eyes, the irises outlined with indigo, stared back. Her small, straight nose was shiny. When she looked at her mouth and saw the foaming toothpaste bubbling from her pursed lips, she burst out laughing.

  "See?” she said, leaning over to finish her chore. “You've gone mad!"

  She pulled the pins from her hair, and the sable locks fell to her waist. As she brushed her hair, she reassessed the reasons that she'd decided to come to St. Charles in the first place.

  For the last seven years she had worked for a Chicago hotel, part of an international chain. And though she'd risen from clerk to public relations associate during those years, she had known it was time to find a position with more authority. Personal assistant to the owner of a four-star hotel had seemed like the right move.

  She couldn't deny the attraction of the new job, but there had been a catch to the offer. Before she could begin her formal duties, she would have to sample all the diversified jobs executed by the general staff on a revolving daily schedule. It would take a month.

  Vanessa Cummings believed her
strange request was logical. “If you know the jobs, you'll be in a better position to handle complaints,” she had told Ann.

  But Ann quite frankly believed Vanessa Cummings wanted to test her mettle, though her new boss had sweetened the pot by providing this lovely room until Ann could find an apartment near the hotel. She also thought the job was an opportunity she couldn't afford to pass by, no matter how kooky this idea seemed. Anyway, it was right up Ann's alley. She liked to gamble, so long as it involved risking only her own skin.

  She turned out the light and crawled into bed, then released a long sigh and relaxed. As she drifted to sleep, she wondered where Mr. Gillian had put the wild man. She pictured the unlikely guest in her mind. He was tall, and although he was obviously exhausted, he looked as if he might wrestle bears or bulls, or even mountain lions, for a living. Shuddering, she decided she was glad she'd been dismissed. Another minute under that sizzling stare and she would have gotten a free perm.

  By ten o'clock the following morning Ann had been working almost two hours. Today she was a housekeeper, and she'd been given a list of the cleaning chores required for each of her assigned rooms.

  She pushed her cleaning cart along the well-lighted gold-carpeted hallway, which on one side looked out over the lobby. The central part of the hotel was open, rising twelve stories to a glass roof. Ann paused to lean far over the sturdy oak rail and look down at the garden lounge, the bubbling fountain, the ebony grand piano, the intimate seating areas. Straightening slowly, she tipped her head back to gaze up at the fluffy clouds racing like celestial chariots across the blue sky. It was true, she thought, not for the first time: The River Regency's architecture was spectacular.

  She continued on to Room 604. She smoothed her hair and the skirt of her rose-colored uniform, and knocked once. There was no response, and she knocked again, harder. When no one answered, she unlocked the door with her master key and entered the room. Quickly she assessed the bathroom. One glass had been used and she replaced it, but nothing else had been disturbed.

  When she walked out of the bathroom, she stumbled. Glancing down, she saw a boot lying on its side. A trail of clothing led into the darkened bedroom. Like Gretel, she followed, picking up the boot, a sock, a second scuffed boot, a gamey pair of faded jeans which could have stood by themselves, a soft blue-plaid shirt that smelled like wood smoke, and, finally, a pair of navy briefs.

  Just when she realized she was short one sock, a sunbeam peeked through the drapes and spotlighted the elusive gray wool sock at the foot of the bed. Muttering to herself about sloppy guests, she leaned over to pick it up-and came nose to toes with a large bare foot!

  Someone was here ... in the bed, she realized. Was he dead? Frozen in her crouched position, she continued to stare at the foot until the man groaned, kicked off his covers, and turned over. He began snoring, loud enough, it seemed, to rattle the windows.

  Reassured that the guest was very much alive, Ann retreated slowly, stealthily. She kept her gaze glued to a crescent-shaped scar on the bottom of the man's heel, but her peripheral vision nevertheless noticed the rest of him-nude-and lying now on his stomach.

  She paused for just a moment and let her inquisitive gaze meander across the tantalizing expanse of his relaxed muscular body. Suddenly, she caught her breath. Of all the people to stumble upon! she thought. That glorious specimen of the male species was the man who'd checked in last night.

  Taking another step backward, she berated herself for looking. But her self was having none of it. It was a safe bet no one would ever know, and so, feeling assured, she chanced a last lingering look.

  If there was anything in this world she truly appreciated, it was the bold, lean lines of the male form. For Ann, a well-developed body was a joy to behold. She considered it living sculpture. And if she didn't get out of this room quickly, she was going to get into trouble because she was sorely tempted to examine this intriguing three-dimensional work of art with more than her eyes!

  Sighing wistfully, she replaced each item of clothing exactly where she'd found it, then sneaked out the door, taking the Do Not Disturb sign with her.

  Whistling softly, she leaned against the wall and began to breathe again. She had to admit, Jeffrey Madison-in nature's garb, so to speak-was certainly a surprise. Yes, he'd appeared to be very strong and well-built when she met him the night before. But she would never have guessed that beneath those tattered mountain man clothes lay such a fabulous body. Hercules? A Superman? A Rocky?

  "Definitely, a Rocky,” she murmured as she moved to the next room. “And surely a ten!” She whistled again, then knocked so hard on the door of the room that she hurt her knuckles and alarmed the occupants.

  The hours passed quickly. Ann had plenty to keep her busy. But at odd moments-when she was smoothing the covers on a bed or running the vacuum-her mind supplied a most graphic image of Jeffrey Madison sprawled nude upon his rumpled sheets. Inconsequentially she wondered how he'd gotten that crescent scar. Maybe he'd been kicking at one of those mountain lions he wrestled and got swiped by a claw, she thought, picturing the battle in her vivid imagination. And of course Mr. Madison had won. There was no doubt in her mind.

  Jeffrey's mother, owner of the River Regency, wakened him in mid-afternoon when she phoned.

  "Oh, darling,” she said when she heard his groggy voice. “I'm sorry I disturbed you. You should have slept at Mountainview before you flew all the way from Utah."

  "Hey, Legs, you call, I haul,” he said lightly.

  "Did you find the lost little boy?” she asked.

  "Yup, all safe and sound."

  "I'm so relieved, son."

  "Me too. He must have been scared to death, but he didn't show it.” He yawned and stretched. “Are you still losing convention business?"

  "Yes, two more last week. Since you're the investigator, I hope you can catch the guilty party soon, though, Lord knows, I've asked you often enough to take over here."

  "Now, don't start that again, Mom."

  Jeffrey had been raised in the hotel business. His parents had owned the Mountainview Inn for three decades until four years ago, when his father had died suddenly-His mother had sold out, taken one year to travel, two more to get herself pulled back together, then had purchased the River Regency.

  The only time he'd been here was before she'd taken over and brought in new management. Since then he'd stayed away on purpose because he was sure she needed some space to prove to herself she could manage alone. Personally, Jeffrey never doubted his mother's abilities. He believed she could handle anything in the hotel business. He also knew she loved it. He, on the other hand, did not.

  Jeffrey had chosen to use his knowledge of the business world to investigate white-collar crime. Embezzling, patent fraud, the theft and sale of corporate secrets were a few of his specialties. He loved his work because he was a risk taker, had been since he was a child. And he knew how to keep a secret.

  "When did you get in?” his mother asked.

  "About ten-thirty last night. And it was some experience!” He purposely exaggerated the circumstances. “The first person I met was a woman named Ann Waverly. Boy, have you got her brainwashed. She just kept smiling and telling me my reservation had been released. Finally I was given this dinky little room."

  "There are no dinky little rooms at the River Regency, young man."

  He chuckled at her imperious tone. “Well, I feel closed in."

  "You'll get your suite. Within twenty-four hours. Those are house rules."

  "You run a tight ship, ma'am."

  "But it's sprung a leak somewhere, so let's get busy.” Vanessa was sure one of her employees was tipping off another hotel about convention inquiries, and they'd been undercutting Regency's bids.

  "Do you have any suspects?” Jeffrey asked.

  "Three.” She named the public relations director, the convention coordinator, and the general manager. “They're all new, you know. The only person I brought from Utah is Charles." />
  "It'll be good to see him."

  Charles Jones had been only eighteen years old when he was hired to be Sam and Vanessa Cummings's chauffeur. The following year Jeffrey had been born, and it seemed natural when the two formed a strong bond, almost like younger and older brother. Charles had helped Jeffrey's parents curb their son's youthful headstrong impetuosity. After Jeffrey reached adulthood, he admitted that it had probably taken all three of them to guide him through the maze of adolescence.

  "Remember,” his mother said now, “you don't know either Charles or me."

  "Right. Are you in the penthouse now, Mom? I thought you'd come down to greet your only son."

  "I'm in the hospital."

  Jeffrey's teasing vanished instantly. He listened intently as Vanessa explained that she'd worried herself into a gall bladder attack, but was feeling much better now. The doctor had insisted that she have a complete physical checkup, so she would stay in the hospital for the rest of the week.

  "I've been telling you to take it a little easier, Mom. I wish you would."

  "And I will, son ... as soon as you give me my grandbabies."

  Jeffrey ran his hand through his sleep-tousled hair. “Now, Mama, you know I'm kinda old-fashioned about that. I have to find a wife first."

  "Well?"

  "You're too sexy to be a grandma."

  "Like hell I am! I've said it before and I'll say it again-"

  "I know, Mom."

  Together they recited, “Thirty-four years is a damn long time to wait for another baby!"

  "Well, it is!"

  "I'm working on it."

  "Are you even looking, young man?"

  "Sure, I am. All the time,” he said with a lilt in his voice. Unheralded, the image of the attractive Ann Waverly came into his mind. “I love you, Mom. See you later."

  "You will not see me. I don't want this caper queered."

  Jeffrey chuckled as he hung up the phone, then he rolled out of bed. On his way to the bathroom he picked up his clothes and boots and dumped them in the closet. In the bathroom he reached for his glass, but had to unwrap a clean one.