Can't Help Falling In Love Read online

  Can’t Help

  Falling in

  Love

  CHERYL HARPER

  Contents

  * * *

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  An Excerpt from Stuck On You

  About the Author

  By Cheryl Harper

  An Excerpt from Less Than a Gentleman by Kerrelyn Sparks

  An Excerpt from When I Find You by Dixie Lee Brown

  An Excerpt from Playing the Field by Jennifer Seasons

  An Excerpt from How to Marry a Highlander by Katharine Ashe

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Chapter One

  * * *

  WHEN RANDA WHITMORE pushed open the limo door, the furnace blast that was Memphis in August nearly knocked her over. She cursed under her breath about this latest assignment and straightened her shoulders before she slid over the cool leather seat to stand on the sidewalk. Thanks to the shade in this drop-off area at the front doors of the Rock’n’Rolla Hotel, the concrete was solid instead of tarry goo, as she’d expected. Eggs wouldn’t fry on the sidewalk; they’d sprout legs and run away screaming.

  “Can I take your bags, miss?” Randa turned to see a tall young man wearing a tacky Hawaiian shirt. He had a pleasant smile even in this heat. His name tag said Sam.

  She smiled her “Mother Teresa” smile and tilted her head to the side. “Why, Sam, I would appreciate that so much. Thank you. Could you take them on inside? I want to take a quick look at this beautiful hotel before I go in.” She pressed a tip into his hand and nodded as he turned to the sliding doors of the hotel. She made a mental note that Sam seemed like he would fit in well after the hotel changed owners. Since she hoped to be the one running the place, she planned to carefully evaluate all the staff.

  “A very quick look,” she muttered as she forced herself out into the bright sunshine. The Rock’n’Rolla Hotel was boutique property situated right in the shadow of Graceland. Approximately ninety rooms, several small meeting areas, and a full service bar and restaurant… all of them dedicated to the King of Rock and Roll. She shook her head. When the W Group bought it and renovated it, all that would be washed away in a sea of beige sameness. Then it would match every other property of the W Group, and every member of her family for that matter.

  She knew the routine very well. She’d been renovating properties like this for more than five years. The process for every one since she’d started in Fargo had been the same. But the Rock’n’Rolla Hotel was different. Up until now, she’d spent too much time wishing she had her own hotel to run. This time she was going to handle the renovation and then manage the first Whitmore hotel in Memphis so well her father would realize he should have given her a property of her own sooner. Maybe he’d even give up on marrying her to some hotel heir with more money than sense too. She couldn’t face another disappointing fiancé, another messy breakup, or another shouting match with her father. She wanted her own hotel, a place where she was in charge and people listened to what she had to say.

  The façade of the hotel was acceptable. Pink brick. White columns. It looked a little like what she’d seen of the pictures of Graceland. But when she turned the corner to check out the parking lot and the rest of the hotel, she knew she was in for an experience. Instead of the brick, these outer walls were painted with black silhouettes of music notes, records, and the King, shaking his hips and doing his thing. Randa smiled as she tried to imagine hiring a mural painter who could translate pelvic gyrations. This one had done a damn good job. It was too bad it was about to be wiped away. This would never do on a Whitmore hotel.

  She wiped the beads of sweat off her forehead and wished she’d put her hair up in a sleek ponytail as she walked back to the front door. Sweat was another thing that would never do on a Whitmore. Cold-blooded, calculating, and nearly perfect was the way to be in her family. She hadn’t quite mastered any of those things, but her father and brothers did their best to lead by example and sometimes by lesson. And when they were on a teaching spree, she ended up in places like the Rock’n’Rolla Hotel. In Memphis. In August.

  Randa stopped in front of the doors but they automatically swung open. The music notes on the doors were probably a nod to the gates of Graceland. They weren’t so bad. She decided to take a picture and think about it before she made a recommendation to replace them. But the air conditioning that wafted out was as beautiful and welcome as the smell of fresh-baked cookies. If she were a cartoon character, she would have floated in with her eyes closed in ecstasy.

  Sam nodded as she waved and she stopped to absorb the lobby of the Rock’n’Rolla. It was green. Really, really green. And not like green paint or carpet. Green like the rainforest. Plants exploded along one wall of the lobby and she could hear the faint trickle of a waterfall. Heavy wood chairs were scattered around and the floors and walls were some kind of natural stone. What she could see of them. She could feel the cool stone through her shoes and she wanted to sigh with relief.

  But she was distracted because right in the middle of the lobby floor was what appeared to be a dead dog. Well, not dead, but surely dead to the world. Every now and then the loose lips would twitch. Randa approached it carefully because while she loved dogs, she didn’t really have much practical experience. Dogs didn’t work with the all-white, all-designer, all-expensive Whitmore design aesthetic. Her mother had told her that often enough. Eventually, Randa had stopped asking.

  Randa squatted and teetered on her four-inch heels for a minute before she reached out to pet the dog’s long, silky brown ears. Little green bows fluttered as the dog drowsily stretched and moved closer to her. She knew she was wearing a stupid grin, but the softness of his—no, her droopy ears—and the satisfied “hmph” she let out before she went back to sleep were reasons to smile. Randa didn’t care who saw it.

  “Can I help you?”

  Randa glanced up across the empty lobby to see a thug in another ugly Hawaiian shirt standing behind the front desk. Thug might be too harsh. He was tall, dark, and not handsome but… attractive in intensely focused kind of way that made her nervous. Randa froze as her eyes locked with his. Close-cut hair gave him a military look, but the dark ink that ran from his wrist to the sleeve on his left arm said he was dangerous. Or different. Or both, but he was wearing a Hawaiian shirt after all. Unless he was robbing the place, he was part of the staff.

  She’d spent most of her life swimming in deep waters where the sharks were hard to see behind designer labels and expensive haircuts. This man was so different that he might have been a whole new species. One with really nice muscles, big hands, and enough controlled power to merit a second and third look. He watched her like he knew her, knew everything about her because he saw her. He didn’t give her the obvious leer that she’d seen and dismissed a million times. This guy, when he looked, saw more than most people. Randa had spent a lot of time blending in with the perfectly bland Whitmore woodwork. Being the subject of that much focus made her restless. She knew exactly how a fluffy bunny felt when it looked up to see a hungry mountain lion. Well, except the bunny would run away. She wasn’t sure which direction she’d run if he crooked his finger right this second. Away was definitely safer, but all of sudden she was tired of safe.

  Randa straightened slowly and felt his stare sweep a hot path from her long blonde hai
r to the ridiculously high heels. She had the impression that he cataloged every inch in between efficiently and she hoped that was a gleam of appreciation she saw. Maybe it was just a trick of the light. She teetered precariously for a quick second before she pulled herself together and put a little extra prowl in her step as she walked over to stand in front of him. No one had ever actually asked her to sashay on the catwalk, but when she was younger, she’d practiced her walk in the mirror. Randa knew she hadn’t lost the skill.

  Instead of showing his appreciation with a smile, a wink, or even a catcall, all time-honored responses to her prowl, he raised an eyebrow. And that was it. He didn’t say another word.

  She pulled out her mental checklist and put an X next to Tony. He didn’t have the outward appearance expected of a Whitmore employee, certainly, and he clearly didn’t have enough sense or good manners to show his appreciation for a very fine walk. She ignored her mother’s voice in her head, the one that told her men didn’t enjoy it quite as much with thighs like hers. She also did her best to shove the small pang of hurt and doubt that flared up over his disinterest. She was Randa Whitmore. He was a hotel clerk. Forget that he was the first man to get her attention in forever. His opinion should be beneath her notice. And if she could just get it through her head that it wasn’t necessary for everyone to love her, she’d do a much better job at being a Whitmore.

  “Good afternoon, Tony. I’ll be checking in now.” She put enough frost in her tone to make it clear that she was so far above him that he should be glad she acknowledged his presence. Randa had never had to practice that tone. It was like the Whitmore family’s unifying superpower: the ability to freeze someone in his or her tracks with the right tone and a cutting word or two.

  He nodded once. “Reservation?”

  Randa pushed her shoulders back and her best assets forward as she flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Oh, I don’t have a reservation. I’ve just heard such good things.” She glanced around at the empty lobby. “Surely you have one room available.”

  Tony didn’t heave a sigh but something about the way he click-clacked on the computer said that he really wanted to. “For how many nights?”

  Sex appeal didn’t appear to be working. Why she wanted it to so badly was something she’d have to think about later. She decided to try sparkling. “Why, I’m here for Elvis Week, of course!” She looked very obviously down at her chest, which was covered in bling. Crystals outlined a silhouette of the King’s head and spelled out Elvis. She’d had to search high and low for a T-shirt she’d actually be seen in. And she would not be happy if she were caught dead in it. Still, it did draw attention to her chest. And if given the chance, Randa would always choose bling.

  Tony flicked a glance at her T-shirt and sniffed.

  That better be a summer cold he’s fighting and not a comment on what I’m working with. Randa’s lips tightened and she started to get mad. She could tell. Her hands were ice cold.

  “We’re all booked beginning on Friday. I can only give you two nights.” His face was impassive as he waited for her decision.

  Randa fought the urge to jump at the chance to take only two nights at the Rock’n’Rolla Hotel. She might have enough time to take a good look at the hotel. She needed to get a report together for her father and brothers by the end of the next week. This was the first time Randa had been involved before the negotiations started. They usually targeted failing properties or those that were up for sale. Thanks to its prime location and room for expansion, the Rock’n’Rolla was different in every way, and the W Group was going to acquire it. The only question was how much it would cost. To come up with that figure, they needed to know just how much refurbishment they were looking at.

  But no one here at the Rock’n’Rolla needed to know that. Not yet. She had to handle this perfectly because it was going to be hers. The lower the cost, the better she looked.

  When Randa felt a warm weight settle against her leg, she looked down to see the dog looking up at her. She reached down and ran her hands over the dog’s head and fiddled with her ears as she tried to figure out which gambit would work here.

  “What kind of dog is she?” Randa asked as she stared into the dog’s eyes. She kissed the flat spot right between the green bows before straightening up.

  Tony’s face had thawed slightly, she was happy to see. When their eyes locked, Randa had to remind herself to breathe slowly and evenly. She caught her breath when he looked back at the computer and said, “Bloodhound. And pampered princess.”

  For a minute, she got the feeling he was talking about her with the last part, but his face was back to normal. Hard to read.

  Before she could decide which play to try, a very short brunette came out to stand next to Tony. “Hey, thanks for giving me a break. I can finish this up if you like.” Her nametag said Laura. He smiled down at her and Randa was amazed at the difference that smile made. His emotionless mask cracked and she could see respect and appreciation on his face.

  Softer and gentler was a very good look for him. He was still tough, but that smile seemed to say that if he ever fell in love, he’d make that woman his world. Maybe he already had. She tried to ignore the sadness that came along with a nice twinge of jealousy. If her father had his way, she’d always be second to something, whether it was his hotel business or the collection of bikini models her father-approved fiancés preferred.

  The only way out of that was to get something that was hers. She needed her own place. She would make her own decisions. People would listen to her. Maybe she had trouble measuring up as a Whitmore, but she knew she could run a hotel. She wanted this hotel.

  The first step in the acquisition plan was getting a room. Randa thanked her lucky stars Laura had appeared, because Tony looked ready to show her the door, and she pinned her hopes on this woman who had somehow tamed the beast. Maybe they were a couple. Hopeless devotion would totally explain his lack of interest in her. She normally had much better luck getting what she wanted from men than women, even married ones, but this Tony guy wasn’t budging. Not with her anyway. Laura would clearly have better luck. Randa cleared her throat as she shoved that annoying pang of doubt aside again.

  She tilted her head and pasted on a smile. “Well, Laura, I’d like to check in but Tony tells me you can’t accommodate me here.”

  Laura frowned and shrugged a shoulder. “He’s right then.”

  Randa leaned forward. “Really? Couldn’t you check for me? Or maybe I could talk to the manager?” She didn’t want to go to the manager. She wanted to stay under the radar for as long as she could, but to do that she needed a room. “I’d be willing to pay extra, maybe double the room rate. I’ve just heard such good things and I know staying here at the Rock’n’Rolla would make my Elvis Week one to remember.” She tried a “let’s all be friends” smile.

  Laura smiled back and shot a look at Tony. “Well, Ms… .”

  Randa patted the desk. “Oh, please. It’s Miss Whitmore, but call me Randa.” She’d struggled over whether or not to come in with a false identity but couldn’t figure a way around the credit cards. And she’d been determined to do this on her own. Since the kind of press she got was all charity events and no business, she was the least-known Whitmore. As long as she fit in with the other hotel guests, there was no reason the busy employees of the Rock’n’Rolla Hotel would decide to investigate. So she’d worn Elvis attire. And she’d visit Graceland, and she would throw around a few “I love Elvis” comments as needed.

  If she’d had a bit more time, she’d have studied up a little, watched a movie or two, but her father had given her this assignment and told her to get on a plane immediately. Since she’d just broken his latest brokered engagement and he wasn’t very happy with her, he’d told her to be gone a week. So she was less prepared than usual. As it was, she was going to just have to pretend she belonged there and hope she convinced them.

  Laura tilted her head as she studied her. “Well, Miss Whitmore, the
truth is that there are no hotel rooms available on Friday. And Tony is the manager. He would know that better than anyone.”

  Randa scratched the dog’s head and looked down into her warm eyes again as she tried to figure out what to do. She didn’t want to be here at all, much less for a week. But failure wasn’t an option.

  She tried one more play. “I apologize. Of course I should have made a reservation. I have no one to blame by myself. This is my first Elvis Week visit. I had no idea what to expect.” She tried a lip quiver and let her shoulders slump in what she hoped looked like dejection.

  Neither Tony nor Laura bought it. She could tell by the looks on their faces. “Fine. Give me the two nights.”

  Laura looked up at Tony, then said, “Well, you know… maybe we could set you up in one of the staff apartments. We’ve got a studio that’s empty.” She raised her eyebrows. “It’s not a great room, but you’d have access to the rest of the hotel’s amenities. If you’d like, you can stay on the first floor of the hotel for two nights and then move on Friday.” There was some kind of gleam in Laura’s eyes as she made the offer, but Randa couldn’t decide if it was amusement or calculation. Maybe both.

  Tony huffed out a small breath but his face never changed.

  Randa looked around at the lobby. “I don’t really want to stay anywhere else.” She pulled out her credit card and slid it across the desk to Laura. “Thank you so much for your help. That sounds like an excellent plan.”

  Laura nodded and entered her credit card information. “That’s fine, Miss Whitmore. You’ll need to see me or Tony here at the desk on Friday and we’ll get you set up.”

  Randa shot a look at Tony but he hadn’t moved. He was watching Laura but Randa couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Or if he was thinking. Or really even if he was breathing. What an annoying quality in a man.