Grand Passion

great deal of gurgling, a yellow plastic duck popped to the surface.
    “Lucky Ducky,” Sammy exclaimed in delight.
    Max eyed the plastic duck. “Very lucky. From now on Lucky Ducky had better do his swimming somewhere else.”
    “Okay.”
    Cleo appeared in the doorway, breathless and more disheveled than ever. She was heavily burdened with luggage in both hands. Several tendrils of hair had escaped the topknot and were hanging down in front of her eyes. She blew them out of her way. “How's it going in here?”
    “Max saved Lucky Ducky,” Sammy said.
    “My hero,” Cleo murmured.
    “I believe the toilet will flush properly now,” Max said coldly.
    The bathroom light sparkled on the lenses of Cleo's glasses as she grinned at him. “I'm really very grateful to you. This is Mr. Valence's regular room, and I was afraid I'd have to shift him to another one. He doesn't like to be shifted around. He's kind of fussy. Tends to get upset when things deviate from the usual routine.”
    Max held the dripping plunger over the toilet. “Look, if you don't mind, Ms. Robbins, I would very much like to speak with you now.”
    “Just as soon as I've got this lot settled and dinner has been served. In the meantime, I seem to have lost my bellhop. Any chance you could lend a hand?”
    “He hurt himself.” Sammy pointed to the cane leaning against the wall.
    Cleo's gaze darted to the cane. A deep, embarrassed blush rose in her cheeks. “Oh, sorry, I forgot. Never mind. I'll get someone from the kitchen staff.”
    For some reason that rankled. “I can handle a few suitcases, Ms. Robbins.”
    She looked skeptical. “Are you sure?”
    “Yes, Ms. Robbins, I'm sure.”
    Her smile was brighter than the fluorescent light over the mirror and infinitely warmer. “Terrific. By the way, please call me Cleo. I like to be on a first-name basis with anyone who can unstop a clogged toilet in a pinch.”
    “Thank you,” Max said through his teeth.
    Cleo looked at Sammy. “Maybe you'd better see if they need any help in the kitchen, dear.”
    Sammy assumed an air of grave importance. “Okay, Cleo.” He looked up at Max. “Family always pitches in at times like this.”
    “Well, I'm off,” Cleo announced. “Got to get this luggage to the right room. See you later, Max. Grab dinner in the kitchen when you get a chance.” She whirled about and disappeared around the edge of the door.
    “Bye, Max. Thanks for finding Lucky Ducky.” Sammy dashed out of the room in Cleo's wake.
    Alone in the bathroom, plunger in hand, Max looked down at the plastic duck floating in the toilet bowl. “What the hell have you gotten me into, Jason?”

    For the next three hours, Max was fully occupied. He carried countless suitcases, straightened out a logistics problem in the tiny parking lot, poured after-dinner coffee and sherry for guests in the lounge, and replaced a burned-out bulb in one of the rooms.
    He didn't get a chance to go in search of Cleo until after eleven o'clock. When he finally tracked her down, she was alone in the small office behind the front desk.
    She was seated with her back to him at a table that held a computer and several piles of miscellaneous papers and notes. His trained eye skimmed appreciatively over her. It was not the first time that evening that he had found himself intrigued by the subtly graceful line of her spine and the sweet, vulnerable curve of her neck. Her feet, still clad in the silver athletic shoes, were tucked under her, toes resting on the chrome base of the swivel chair.
    He stood silently in the doorway for a moment, watching Cleo as she concentrated intently on a printout spread out on the desk. Without taking her eyes off the figures, she absently reached up to unfasten her hair clip. The simple feminine gesture triggered a heavy, pooling sensation in Max's lower body.
    He stared, enthralled, as Cleo's hair fell free around her shoulders. The glow of the desk lamp highlighted the red fire that shimmered in the depths of the thick, dark stuff. Max had a sudden, urgent need to warm his fingers in the flames. Unconsciously he took a step forward. His cane thudded awkwardly on the floor.
    “What?” Startled, Cleo spun around in her chair. She relaxed when she saw Max. “Oh, there you are. Come on in. Have a seat. I thought you were George.”
    “Who's George?” Max regained his self-control in a heartbeat.
    “My night desk man. He phoned and said he'd be a little late tonight.”
    “I