Music was still pounding in my head when I woke up. I had been dreaming about the old greenhouse out back, but it was different now. For some reason, just the thought of that old wicker furniture and the dusty glass walls made my blood pump. Slowly, bits of the night before slid into place and I remembered.
I opened one eye and saw a tangle of unruly blond hair on the pillow next to me.
Cora stirred in her sleep and pressed closer to me. A dozing smile crossed her lips, and I held my breath. I didn’t want her to wake up. Not yet.
First, I wanted to remember. Tyson’s big party was nothing but a blur, a backdrop to my night with Cora. It had started out as relief; she had been just as reluctant as me to join the crush of people invading my mansion. Then it was fun, racing around the secret passage, escaping out to the garden, and pretending to be someone else.
My heart thumped. I had lied to her all night. I had pretended to be someone else, someone normal, but now she would wake up and realize the truth. I imagined her coming indignation and the inevitable storming out.
Maybe it was for the best.
The last thing I needed was to get involved with a woman now. Why did I have to meet her when I was planning to sell the mansion, rip up all my roots, and start over somewhere else? The timing was terrible, but I should have known. My luck with women had never been good.
In fact, after my last disastrous relationship, I had sworn off women altogether. A one-night stand was all I could handle and the sooner she got over that, the better.
Still, I was reluctant to untangle myself from Cora’s silky limbs. After our passionate outburst in the old greenhouse, we had wound our way slowly back to the mansion and slipped upstairs unseen by the rampant party-goers. I wasn’t going to invite her to stay over but we were so busy talking about wanting new jobs, starting new projects, and trying new things. Somehow, I had never let go of her hand.
She didn’t notice when I tugged her into my master suite. We’d made love again in my huge four-poster bed and fallen asleep in each other’s arms. And I had never confessed that my name was not Sean.
I slipped out of bed and immediately stumbled over Cora’s small purse. Her cell phone skipped across the rug and rattled onto the hardwood floor. I went to retrieve it and stepped on her press pass. It showed her name was Victoria, and I rubbed my eyes before reading it again. Was I not the only one who had lied?
“Good morning.” Cora sat up with the sheet clutched close to her chest. Then her eyes widened. “I can explain.”
“You were just here to get a story on me?” I asked.
“That’s just, um, the only way I could get into your party,” Cora said.
“And your name’s really Victoria?”
“Ah, Cora’s sorta like my nickname. Everyone calls me Cora.” She scrambled to wrap the sheet around her, so she could retrieve her clothes from the floor.
“You didn’t say anything about your job last night.” I watched her, suspicious.
Cora tugged on her tight black sweater without putting on her bra and then shimmied into her satin blue skirt. I held my breath as her sharp blue eyes darted around my master suite. There was no denying who I was now, and the realization came over her brighter than the morning sun. Barefoot and barelegged, she turned and faced me with a fierce look.
“It’s not like you were exactly forthcoming,” Cora said. “Let me guess, your name’s not Sean.”
“You really didn’t know?” Suddenly, it seemed obvious she had not just been after a story. If she had, Cora would have recognized me right away.
“That Storm Morris would lie about who he is at his own party?” Cora’s cheeks were getting red. “No. I had no idea. You’ve changed.”
“Exactly,” I barked. “I’m not the Storm Morris everyone thought they were coming to see. I have changed. People do that.”
“But why lie about it?” Cora asked.
“Do you have any idea what a relief it is when people don’t recognize me?” I paced around my king-sized four-poster bed. “Do you know how nice it was to spend a night being treated like a normal human being?”
The corner of Cora’s mouth quirked up. “It was a nice night?”
I looked at her over the rumpled sheets and gave an exasperated laugh. “Yes. It was a really nice night.”
“Even though you didn’t actually go to your party?” Cora teased.
“That helped a lot,” I said.
Cora sat down on the edge of my bed and started to tug on her sheer black pantyhose. She chewed her lip and looked like she had something else to say but nothing came out.
I waited for her to stand up and then asked, “You know that if you write any of this for your publication, I’ll send a team of lawyers after you, right?”
“I’m not interested in a story about your secret aversion for parties,” she said.
“Or my habit of hiding out in old greenhouses?”
She blushed. “God, you don’t really think I seduced you for a story, do you?”
“You’d be a pretty terrible journalist if you didn’t even recognize your subject,” I pointed out.
“I swear, I just used the press pass to get into the party. You know they’re legendary, right? I wanted to cut loose and have a little fun,” Cora said.
“And did you?”
She blushed deeper. “That’s not something I normally do.”
“Have fun or sleep with men you just met?” I asked.
“Both.” Cora headed for the door.
I had to run to block her from leaving. “Hold on. Wait. Can we just start over?”
“Between the sex, the lying, and the total embarrassment, I think it’s best that I just leave,” she said.
I pried her hand off the door handle and held it. “Hey, we’re both in the same boat. The least we can do is have breakfast together.”
Cora spied her purse on the floor and had no choice but to head back over to my bed. She scooped up her phone and looked relieved when the screen was still locked. Then she stuffed the press pass and her bra into the little purse and marched back to the door.
“You’re really inviting the press to breakfast?” she asked.
“Off the record,” I said.
Cora’s mouth twitched into an irrepressible smile. “Hi, I’m Cora, and you are?”
“Storm.” I shook her hand and then held on. “Nice to meet you, Cora.”
“You might want to put on some pants before you ask me to have breakfast with you, Storm.”
I laughed and tugged her away from the door before I went to pull on a rumpled pair of jeans and an old concert t-shirt. Cora eyed my comfortable attire with a jealous glance.
“Want to borrow something?” I asked.
She was tempted but finally shook her head. Cora didn’t say anything but followed me out of the master suite and down the wide gallery. Classical masterpieces were mixed with modern portraits and framed concert posters. She dragged her feet just enough to take in everything with her wide blue eyes. I thought again about the expression I had seen on her face when I looked through Caroline’s studio windows. Maybe Cora had lied about being a member of the press, but I was sure she’d been telling the truth about wanting to start a whole new career.
After the gallery, we connected to the main hall. There, she recognized the door we had slipped through to the secret passage.
“You have a truly beautiful home.” She paused and breathed deep at the top of the winding stairs.
“I’ve been meaning to have someone come in and photograph it. There are so many views and details I don’t want to forget,” I said.
Cora didn’t take the bait. Instead, she gave a wistful sigh. “So, you really are thinking about selling it and moving on?”
I leaned on the banister and looked down at the glittering crystals of the chandelier. “It’s like we talked about last night—I need to restart my life.”
“And you’re sure your life isn’t here?” Cora asked.
I couldn’t answer that so, instead, I hinted at her passion for photography again. “Do you know anyone who could come and photograph the place?”
She took a few stiff steps down the wide staircase and then stopped to look back up at me. “I might,” she said.
Content that she was at least tempted, I took her hand and led her down the stairs. The wreckage of the party was minimal, meaning either Tyson had stayed up late or gotten up early. Either way, we were bound to run into him soon, and I didn’t want Cora to panic and try to leave again. Not yet.
“Looks like people had a good time last night.” I swept some party streamers and plastic cups out of Cora’s path.
“Now, that would make a great picture.” Cora tipped her head toward my manager, festooned with the decorations he was picking up.
“Yes, please,” I said.
Cora laughed, dug out her phone, and snapped a few shots of Tyson as he worked his way down the hallway from the kitchen. I glanced over her shoulder, unable to contain my curiosity, and was excited to see I had been right. Cora had an eye for angle, color, and her quick shots had captured Tyson’s personality perfectly.
She noticed me craning over her shoulder and shrugged modestly. “Just a hobby.”
“No,” I said. “That’s talent.”
Before Cora could argue, Tyson spotted us. “You know she’s a member of the press, right?” he called.
I laughed and held her hand tighter. “Yes, Tyson, I know. And now she knows my name isn’t Sean, so we’re even.”
Tyson frowned at Cora. “You’re not going to be able to publish a story about any of this.”
“Because you have a team of lawyers,” Cora finished his thought. “Don’t worry, we’re off the record.”
“And that goes for you, too,” I told Tyson. “No one else needs to know I have a houseguest.”
“Houseguest?” Cora and Tyson asked in unison.
“Come on,” I said. “We’ll discuss it over pancakes. Tyson makes the best pancakes.”
“Have we met before?” Tyson asked Cora as he reluctantly led the way to the kitchen. “You look familiar.”
“I’ve been to Murtaugh a few times,” she said.
My manager continued to study her as we settled down at the wide kitchen island. Luckily, his fondness for breakfast foods soon distracted him, and I was able to talk to Cora more about the plan that had been forming in my head.
“So, the way I figure it, since we’re already even, we can continue to help each other out,” I said.
Cora sipped the coffee I poured for her and gave me a suspicious look over the rim of her mug. “What kind of help do you need from me?”
“I need you to come back and photograph my mansion. Consider it a farewell spread for the media,” I explained.
“But that would take days,” she pointed out.
“Less if you actually stay on as my houseguest,” I said.
Tyson dropped a spatula but kept his shock and suspicions to himself.
“What makes you think I can do this place justice?” Cora asked.
I picked up her phone and reopened the photograph she’d snapped of Tyson. “This makes me think you’ll be able to capture the quirks of the old place.”
Even Tyson had to admit the snapshot she’d gotten of him was good. “She did that just with her phone? Talented.”
Cora was surprised but pleased at the endorsement. “You really want me to stay?”
I nodded, and Tyson piled pancakes high on her plate. “Welcome to the Morris Mansion,” he said as he handed her the syrup with a smile.