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wanted that orange juice.” She hurried off to clean up the mess and listen to the parents’ apologies.
    The front desk was deserted. Roman decided that Charity’s assistant was either shut up in the side office or out hauling luggage to the cabins. He considered slipping behind the desk and taking a quick look at the books but decided it could wait. Some work was better done in the dark.
    An hour later Charity let herself into the west wing. She’d managed to hold on to her temper as she’d passed the guests on the first floor. She’d smiled and chatted with an elderly couple playing Parcheesi in the gathering room. But when the door closed behind her she let loose with a series of furious, pent-up oaths. She wanted to kick something.
    Roman stepped into a doorway and watched her stride down the hall. Anger had made her eyes dark and brilliant.
    “Problem?”
    “Yes,” she snapped. She stalked half a dozen steps past him, then whirled around. “I can take incompetence, and even some degree of stupidity. I can even tolerate an occasional bout of laziness. But I won’t be lied to.”
    Roman waited a beat. Her anger was ripe and rich, but it wasn’t directed at him. “All right,” he said, and waited.
    “She could have told me she wanted time off, or a different shift. I might have been able to work it out. Instead she lies, calling in sick at the last minute five days out of the last two weeks. I was worried about her.” She turned again, then gave in and kicked a door. “I hate being made a fool of. And I
hate
being lied to.”
    It was a simple matter to put two and two together. “You’re talking about the waitress . . . Mary Alice?”
    “Of course.” She spun around. “She came begging me for a job three months ago. That’s our slowest time, but I felt sorry for her. Now she’s sleeping with Bill Perkin—or I guess it’s more accurate to say she’s not getting any sleep, so she calls in sick. I had to fire her.” She let out a breath with a sound like an engine letting off steam. “I get a headache whenever I have to fire anybody.”
    “Is that what was bothering you all morning?”
    “As soon as Dolores mentioned Bill, I knew.” Calmer now, she rubbed at the insistent ache between her eyes. “Then I had to get through the check-in and the breakfast shift before I could call and deal with her. She cried.” She gave Roman a long, miserable look. “I knew she was going to cry.”
    “Listen, baby, the best thing for you to do is take some aspirin and forget about it.”
    “I’ve already taken some.”
    “Give it a chance to kick in.” Before he realized what he was doing, he lifted his hands and framed her face. Moving his thumbs in slow circles, he massaged her temples. “You’ve got too much going on in there.”
    “Where?”
    “In your head.”
    She felt her eyes getting heavy and her blood growing warm. “Not at the moment.” She tilted her head back and let her eyes close. Moving on instinct, she stepped forward. “Roman . . .” She sighed a little as the ache melted out of her head and stirred in the very center of her. “I like the way you look in a tool belt, too.”
    “Do you know what you’re asking for?”
    She studied his mouth. It was full and firm, and it would certainly be ruthless on a woman’s. “Not exactly.” Perhaps that was the appeal, she thought as she stared up at him. She didn’t know. But she felt, and what she felt was new and thrilling. “Maybe it’s better that way.”
    “No.” Though he knew it was a mistake, he couldn’t resist skimming his fingers down to trace her jaw, then her lips. “It’s always better to know the consequences before you take the action.”
    “So we’re being careful again.”
    He dropped his hands. “Yeah.”
    She should have been grateful. Instead of taking advantage of her confused emotions he was backing off, giving her room. She wanted to be grateful, but she felt only the sting of rejection. He had