“I’m so sorry, but we’re completely full, and so are all the other nearby hotels. I just checked for another couple a few minutes ago.” The clerk at the front desk winced in apology. “With the PCH closed, people wanted to stop for the night. And Hearst Castle is having an event, so most places between here and San Simeon are probably booked too.”
Shit. They needed someplace to rest. Dark circles had appeared beneath Alex’s eyes, and they wouldn’t both survive two more hours of his unique vocal stylings.
Who would die, she couldn’t say. But definitely one of them.
“Do you have any suggestions?” Alex leaned his elbows on the counter and scrubbed his face with both hands. “Someplace within easy driving distance that might have vacancies?”
“Maybe check around Cambria? There are B and Bs there, and a few motels. Nothing fancy, but …” The clerk lifted a shoulder. “I wish I had better news for you, Mr. Woodroe.”
So the young womanhadrecognized Alex. Lauren had wondered about that.
At the sound of his name, he straightened and made an obvious effort to perk up. “Thank you for your help …” After glancing at her name tag, he smiled. “Carmen.”
With laudable patience, he posed for a selfie and autographed one of the hotel’s notepads, and then they were back in his car and headed down dark, twisty roads toward Cambria.
No Vacancy. No Vacancy. No Vacancy.
But then—
“There.” She pointed to the right. “That looks like a B and B. Want me to run in and check if they have rooms available?”
“Have you never seenPsycho,woman?” He turned into the small parking lot. “Of course I’m not sending you in alone. Jesus Christ.”
All the official spaces were occupied, so he simply parked on a strip of gravel.
The reception area was small and somewhat dated but appeared clean. The young man behind the counter frowned at their arrival, and she knew what he was going to say before his mouth even opened.
“I’m so sorry. We’re full. And from what customers are telling me, so are all the other lodgings in the area.” He cast them a look of seemingly sincere apology. “Any other night, we’d have plenty of room, but …”
At sunset, the temperature had dropped significantly, and the reception area wasn’t particularly well heated. When Lauren shivered, Alex guided her against his side with a warm hand between her shoulder blades, pressing her against his hard furnace of a body, and she shivered again for an entirely different reason.
A hundred-dollar bill suddenly appeared between his fingers. “Are you absolutelycertainyou have nothing available? We need two rooms. Large, small, whatever. We’ll take anything you have.”
Lauren shifted slightly away to stare up at him, becausereally? People actually did that in real life? And who the hell carried around hundred-dollar bills and produced them that freaking smoothly?
Alexander Woodroe, apparently.
The young man’s eyes landed on the bill, and he licked his lips. “Well …”
“Yes?” Alex’s grin had turned smug, as he sensed imminent bribery victory.
“We actually have one room free,” the clerk said, and she couldfeelAlex’s chest puff out in triumph. “But we haven’t been letting people stay there because the AC won’t turn off, and it’s freezing. We’re getting it fixed tomorrow. That doesn’t help you tonight, though.”
A flick of Alex’s hand dismissed that concern. “We’ll just get some extra blankets for the beds. No problem.”
“Uh …” The young man visibly swallowed and cast a longing glance at Alex’s money. “Not beds. Bed. A full.”
Her chin dropped to her chest at the prospect of more driving and more high-volume sing-alongs to Def Leppard. She allowed herself one sigh, then slid out from under Alex’s arm and prepared to soothe his own disappointment and frustration.
Only to find, instead of a frown or weary resignation, an expression of dawning delight.
“Let me get this straight.” He braced his hands on the counter and leaned in closer to the clerk. “There’s only … one bed?”
The young man blinked at him. “Yes, sir.”
When Alex pumped his fists in triumph, punching the air, Lauren and the clerk both jumped.
“This is the best day of my fuckinglife!” he shouted. “Only! One! Bed! My second-favorite trope!”
