Tori Carrington - Shiver / Private Sessions - Shiver / Private Sessions

“God, you are the worst traveler ever. I swear. Why do I keep on taking vacations with you?”

“Honestly? I have no idea.”

Erin took hold of Carrie’s shoulders and turned her to face the front desk. “I meant are you seeing that? ” she said, whispering this time.

All Carrie saw was two guys taking reservations. One had impressive silver hair, really thick, and she wanted him to look up so she could see if the face went with the hair. The other guy didn’t need to look up. He already was. Staring at her. Unblinking, lips parted. There was no doubt even in this long line that his focus was entirely on her. Maybe. She felt her face heat up, then realized he had to be staring at Erin. Everyone stared at Erin. She turned back to her friend. “You should be flattered.”

“Me? He’s staring at you, you idiot.”

Carrie looked again, and holy crap, he was staring at her. She whipped around once more. “What the hell?”

“I know, right?” Erin still whispered and her speech was wonky because she wasn’t moving her lips. “Okay. He looked away.”

“That was weird.” Carrie stole a glance at the desk, grateful whatever that was had stopped. “He must have thought I was someone else. Someone he knew.”

“Or maybe he was struck dumb by your beauty and fell instantly, hopelessly in love the moment he saw you.”

“Yeah. That’s about as likely as actually seeing a ghost.”

The three people in front and the four behind turned to her, each one looking appalled. Carrie winced. “Kidding.”

Erin shook her head and sighed. “I can’t take you anywhere.”

Carrie moved closer to her friend and kept her head down, cursing her own big giant mouth. She’d lasted all of two hours before she’d made fun of these people, and they hadn’t even checked in yet. Jeez.

So she kept her trap shut long enough to listen in on Mr. Stare’s conversations. They weren’t actually whole conversations. More like bits and drabs, but each and every one contained a mention of—what else?—ghosts. She suspected that the person he’d mistaken her for wasn’t among the living. The man seemed very enthusiastic and utterly convinced that the hauntings in this hotel were one-hundred-percent legit. Verifiable, if only one had the good fortune to be in the right place at the right time.

The single thing provable in this place was that the belief in ridiculous nonsense was utterly egalitarian. Age, race, looks, wealth—none of that mattered. Instead of disturbing her, the realization made her feel happy for Erin. There was a world of folks out there with whom she could share her passion, and some of them were very nice-looking men. Because even if he had stared rather rudely, he was downright hot.

A comment from behind her, something about why some people bothered to come to certain conferences if they were stupid enough not to see what was all around them, made her curse her impulsivity again. Carrie had no doubt that the news of her traitorous talk would spread through the hotel like wildfire.

By the time she reached the front desk she was more concerned about being tarred and feathered than she was about the handsomeness of the guy behind the desk.

That lasted about two seconds.

Sam Crider was tall, maybe six-one, and he wore his slim-hipped jeans and tucked-in, mountain-man flannel shirt well. He looked nothing like the guys she usually hung with, who were mostly cartoonists and always tech nerds, who rarely dressed in anything that wasn’t a T-shirt complete with geek-identifying logo and baggy pants. Crider’s brown hair was on the longish side, slightly shaggy. His eyes were an interesting hazel and, well, nice. He no longer seemed creepy, despite his propensity for staring and his certainty about ghosts.

Oddly, before she’d finished filling out her registration information, Crider handed the reins to his compatriot and came around the desk.

“Are these your bags?”

She looked down at her equipment and opened her mouth to explain that none of it was in any way related to ghost hunting, but she stopped herself. “Yep.”

“Hang tight. I’m just going to get the luggage cart. Be back in a sec.”

As he headed for the cart near the elevator, Erin handed her card to the silver-haired guy and turned to Carrie. “The plot thickens. He’s perfect, you know.”

Carrie didn’t have to ask what Erin meant. The other reason she’d agreed to come on this expedition was the Vacation Rule. Established on their first trip together, Erin and Carrie had decided that when they were traveling, men were always on the menu. As long as they weren’t in a relationship, they could each indulge in one-night stands if they wanted. Or even more-night stands if the opportunity presented itself. No risk. No fuss. It was all about pleasure and fun, and dammit, if there was one thing Carrie needed it was some uncomplicated fun.

Two months after they’d made their reservation and Carrie was still hurting over Armand. Ridiculous. Unhealthy. Just plain stupid. So when Erin had suggested that she needed someone to cleanse her palate, so to speak, Carrie had agreed.

“You think?” she asked, watching him walk across the lobby. He certainly had the body of a palate-cleanser.

“Yes,” Erin said. “Just don’t blow it. The guy owns the hotel. He’s a believer.”

There was the rub. But it was too soon to worry about that. The staring business could mean nothing. He might have a wife and seven kids or something. A thought occurred. “If he helps with the luggage, am I supposed to tip him?”

“Don’t ask me. I tip everyone twice as much as I should. You’re the one who’s sensible.”

“Well, that’s not helpful.”

“If you hadn’t alienated yourself from every single person in Crider, Colorado, you could have asked someone.”

“Right. I guess I’ll be spending more time in my room than I’d planned.”

“Oh, no. You’re not getting away with that. Tonight is dinner and then the meet and greet. You’re going to both.”

Carrie scowled, but Erin didn’t seem to care. She just stepped away as the man and cart got closer.

He lifted Carrie’s suitcase first, but she stopped him. “You might want to put the Titanic on there first, Mr. Crider.” She nodded toward Erin’s enormous wheeled suitcase. A body could fit in it easily. Carrie knew that there were at least twenty-eight different outfits in there, complete with shoes, scarves, earrings, makeup and anything else her friend thought she might need in the next six days.

Carrie had long ago given up speaking to Erin about her need to take everything she owned on their trips, but Erin never listened. Even last summer when she’d had to lug the heaviest backpack ever, she remained undaunted.

“It’s Sam,” he said, as he traded luggage. He lifted Erin’s bag with surprising ease. Carrie wondered what he looked like under all that flannel. Vacation Rules were sounding better and better. On the other hand, his handling their luggage seemed to indicate that he was pretty involved in running the hotel, and according to Erin, the ghost hunters had taken over the whole place. So while she was on vacation, he wasn’t. Maybe it wouldn’t be a problem. If it was even a possibility.

Sam stacked everything in sensible order, and when he was done, he put his hand on the small of her back and smiled at her.

Heat filled her, moving from her lower body to her chest, then her face. He wasn’t staring at her now. In fact, he was acting the perfect host. But the hand on her back lingered, as did his smile. She had a really strong, terrifically inappropriate urge to kiss him. Holy crap. This could lead to things. Maybe.

“Shall we?” he asked.

Carrie looked away, because jeez, what the hell? She forced herself to focus. The touch meant nothing. If something were to start, it would have to be started by him, and that wasn’t about to happen in the lobby. Also, the only thing she knew for sure about Sam was that he was pretty damn sexy. Vacation Rules didn’t mean jumping on anyone at all. She had to actually like the guy, and for that she had to spend more than five minutes with him.