He turned, his expression expectant. “Yes, madam?”
“Emma,” she corrected. “There’s no need to be formal. After all, we are both hotel employees, right?”
“Except you’re staying in a VIP suite. And we’ve been given specific instructions to afford you every service and amenity.”
“Instructed?” Emma wasn’t quite sure she understood.
“By Mr. Kent. He made it quite clear when he called last night that you were to be treated as his special guest.”
“He did?” Robert’s answer unnerved her more than the solicitousness. Gideon had called her “special”? Why would he do that?
“Yes, ma’am. He said you were to be exposed to every amenity the Landmark had to offer.” The mask of indifference slipped slightly, and the concierge smiled kindly. “So I guess that makes you a little more than another hotel employee.”
“No, I’m not,” she said to herself after Robert left, more to quell the butterflies in her stomach than anything. She didn’t know what Gideon was up to, but she wasn’t sitting in a VIP suite because she was special. That was an idea her mother would fall for.
Emma wouldn’t think about how enticing the idea sounded.
On her way back toward the corridor that divided the parlor from the rest of the suite, she stopped and studied her reflection in one of the mirrored doors. A pale, tired woman stared back. Not a woman who enchanted billionaire businessmen, but a woman who needed a nap.
Satisfied that she’d put Robert’s comment well out of her head, she kicked off her heels and carried them through the boudoir into the bedroom. One thing was certain, she conceded as she entered the room. The bed did look comfortable. More than comfortable, it looked downright decadent. There had to be a dozen pillows, a literal sea of them, and the mattress seemed so high and thick she wondered if she wouldn’t float away when she lay down.
She did so, and sure enough, a down topper enfolded her with softness.
“Wow, a girl could get used to this.” She ran her hand across the damask duvet. The sapphire silk reminded her of the ocean.
Or Gideon’s eyes.
Suddenly, the image of those eyes boring into her from above flashed through her brain, accompanied by a hot, needy quiver.
Surely you have one or two fantasies….
Her eyes flew open and she scrambled off the bed as if it were on fire.
This was her mother’s fault. If she hadn’t raised that ridiculous theory in the first place, Emma wouldn’t be entertaining any of these thoughts. Foolish, inappropriate, completely unrealistic, waste-of-time thoughts. Gideon had booked her into this room because he wanted her nearby. For business reasons, nothing more. This suite, this trip—they were a onetime deal.
She was overtired. That was it. Strung out from nerves and new experiences. A hot shower—that’s what she needed. Something to unwind her tense muscles.
Like everything else in the suite, the bathroom was spacious and luxuriously designed. The marble tub had to be the largest she’d ever seen. She’d never really been much of a bath person, mainly because she could never lounge comfortably. Her legs would stick out if she submerged her shoulders, and vice versa. Either way, she got cold. Plus baths were time-consuming; she usually had too much to do to indulge in them.
She had time now, though, didn’t she? Their meeting wasn’t until tomorrow afternoon, and Gideon…. well, she imagined Gideon had friends in the city he wanted to spend time with.
And the tub was big. The size of a small swimming pool, really. She could lie down flat on the bottom and her toes still wouldn’t touch the edge.
Why not? When was the next time she’d get an opportunity to swim in a tub? With bubbles, no less, she thought, grabbing a bottle from the vanity. Feeling silly and rebellious at the same time, she turned on the water and dumped the contents under the stream. Seconds later the room filled with the sweet aroma of citrus and ylang-ylang.
She was just about to submerge her toes in the bubbles when a knock sounded on the door.
Concierge Robert, she thought with a sigh. He’d ignored her protest and sent a maid to unpack her things, anyway.
A large white robe hung on the back of the bathroom door. Throwing it on, Emma went to answer the door.
Only to wish she’d thought to use the peephole first.
CHAPTER FIVE
“IS THIS A BAD TIME, Miss O’Rourke?”
It was Gideon, not the concierge, standing in her doorway. “I wanted to review the Chamberlain correspondence.” His blue gaze raked her length, lingering, or so it seemed, on her belt. “Guess I should have called first.”
When she didn’t respond, he frowned. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes, I…” Emma shook coherent thought back into her head. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Obviously.” His grin grew wider.
“I mean, I assumed you would have plans….”
“Ah, didn’t your mother teach you about making assumptions?”
In more ways than one, thought Emma.
“Besides,” he said, “why go out when I can spend a stimulating evening reviewing financials with you? May I?”
He nodded toward her hallway. It took a moment for Emma to realize what he was asking; her head was stuck on his last comment. But eventually she stepped aside to let him pass. “Are you sure I’m not interrupting you?” he asked.
Emma thought of the lavender-filled bath growing cold. “No. Nothing important. My briefcase is in the bedroom. I’ll go get it and meet you in the living room.”
“Sounds good.” He took two steps down the corridor, then turned. “Oh, and Miss O’Rourke?”
“Yes?”
“While you’re in there, you might want to put something on under your robe. That belt doesn’t tie very securely.”
Emma gasped and clutched her collar. She didn’t need a mirror to know her entire body had just turned crimson; the heat washing over her said as much. Holding the neckline tight, she dashed toward the bedroom, stopping halfway there when she realized her clothes were in the boudoir.
Check that; tomorrow’s suit and her pajamas were in the boudoir. The rest of her clothes lay on the bathroom floor. She turned back, grateful that the parlor was out of view. It was bad enough that she heard Gideon laughing to himself as she rushed off.
When she emerged a few moments later, still bare-legged but dressed, Gideon had already made himself at home. So at home that Emma had to catch her breath. He looked amazing. It was as if yesterday’s sailor and today’s prince had decided to merge, creating the perfect combination of casual sophistication. He’d shed his jacket and tie in favor of rolled-up shirtsleeves. Though the cotton garment had gone through a day’s travel, on him it looked sharp as a tack. Even the five o’clock shadow on his cheeks was appealing. She glanced down at her uniform, wrinkled and not nearly as attractive looking, and self-consciously ran a palm across the front of her skirt.
He’d turned on the television and was clicking through stations with the remote. “I hope you don’t mind, but I wanted to catch the market wrap-up.” He looked up, saw her and frowned. “You didn’t have to put your suit back on.”
Instantly, her self-consciousness doubled. “Either that or my pajamas,” she replied.
“You didn’t pack anything else?”
Why would she? “I wasn’t planning to stay more than tonight.”
He made a clucking noise with his tongue. “We’re going to have to do work on that practical streak of yours. Pajamas, by the way, aren’t a problem if you’ll be more comfortable.”
“I wouldn’t be.”
“We’ll have to work on that, too.”
She wished he’d stop saying “we,” as if they were a team. Every time he did, her stomach fluttered, and the sensation disturbed her. Especially after the thoughts she’d had earlier.
Curse her mother for putting those thoughts in her head.
There was a matching chair across from the sofa.
Emma tucked herself in the corner and propped her briefcase on her lap like a shield. “Which would you like first, the correspondence or the figures.”
“The fig— Damn, the Dow took another late-day tumble.”
“A big one?”
“Big enough for me to appreciate being a privately held company. Wonder how Kent Hotels did.”
“I should think, being mostly privately held, the company did well enough. Unless someone impulsively decided to sell…” All the pieces suddenly slid into place.
“That’s why you’re in New York, isn’t it? Your grandmother is afraid Mr. Chamberlain will sell his stock, isn’t she?”
“Ross has taken some big hits. Not to mention last year’s very expensive divorce. Buzz on the streets says he’s looking to shore up his liquid assets.”
“And Mrs. Kent thinks he’ll sell his Kent Hotel stock to do so.”
“Exactly.”
Emma paused, recalling what little she knew of the Kent-Chamberlain friendship. From the tone of Mrs. Kent’s correspondence, the families had been friends for years. “Surely he wouldn’t just sell, not without letting your grandmother know.”
“Never underestimate the power of a greedy ex-wife breathing down a man’s neck. Did you hear how worried Mariah was by a man called Gerard Ambiteau?”
Of course she had. “Your grandmother makes me run news searches on the name every week.”
“Glad to see the Internet’s making Mariah’s obsession easier. Ambiteau, or more specifically, Gerard Ambiteau, is Mariah’s archenemy. Ever since he tried to buy Kent Hotels following Edward’s death. He made the mistake of implying the hotel business was too much for a young widow with three children to handle.”
“Ouch. Bet that went over well.”
The smile Gideon flashed made Emma’s toes curl.
“About as well as a hydrogen bomb. Needless to say, Mariah took the offer as a personal affront. I swear she expanded the Kent empire as much to spite Gerard Ambiteau as anything.”
“The ultimate revenge. Your grandmother’s a formidable woman.”
“Mariah’s a survivor, that’s for sure. Then again, married to Edward Kent, she’d have to be, right?”
Emma had heard the stories; Edward Kent’s womanizing and debauchery were almost as legendary as his business acumen. “Surely it wasn’t all bad,” she said. “They did have three children.”
“Ah yes, children, the ultimate indicator of true love.” The bitterness in Gideon’s voice made her shudder.
“Sorry,” he quickly added. “I should learn to keep my cynical views to myself.”
“That’s all right. I understand what you’re saying.”
“You do?”
Was that surprise in his voice? “I was raised by a single mom, remember?” Emma of all people knew children weren’t a guarantee of marital bliss.
Heck, few things were. She certainly knew of far more failures than successes. “Makes you wonder sometimes why people ever bother getting married in the first place.”
“Exactly.”
It was the succinct, definitive answer of a man whose mind was made up. Emma didn’t know why, but her insides twisted at his decisiveness. Maybe it was the sudden change in atmosphere that followed. Gideon’s cynical comments had caused him to fold into himself, taking the warmth from the room.
It was as if he were a human thermostat, Emma realized. When he was “present” the room pulsed. But as soon as he withdrew, the air grew cold, the coziness sucked away. It made her want to burrow next to him on the sofa and prod him teasingly until he returned.
However, since those actions were far too intimate and familiar for her to carry out, she settled for switching to a lighter subject. “How do you think your grandmother and Hinckley are getting along?”
Gideon didn’t return completely, but his half laugh erased some of the fatigue from his face and brought back some of the warmth. “Right now I’m guessing they’re arguing over who gets the bulk of the sofa.”
“Wonder who will win.”
“Hinckley, without question. When it comes to his comfort he’s extremely stubborn. Mariah has met her match.”
“Is that why she’s cat-sitting?”
“Why, Miss O’Rourke, are you suggesting I foisted my spoiled, entitled, stubborn cat on Mariah as payback?”
“In a word, yes.”
He pressed a hand to his chest. “I’m crushed that you could think such a thing. I was merely acting as any loving pet owner would, making sure my beloved cat was as comfortable as possible.”
“My mistake. I apologize.”
“She says while laughing.”
Emma couldn’t help it. His feigned indignation was so over the top, she had to. “Sorry,” she repeated, trying to rein in her smile. She failed.
Earning herself a grin to beat all grins from the man across from her. A grin that not only brought back the warmth and coziness, but was bright enough to light Manhattan. Seeing it, Emma felt her insides tumble.
“I guess I can forgive you,” he said. “But—” he pointed at her with the remote “—this means I get to choose the room service order.”
“Wait a second. Your father sent an e-mail about that subject a few months ago….”
She was smart, that’s for sure. Watching Emma search her laptop for a memo about Kent’s overseas projects, Gideon couldn’t help but be impressed. One mention of a figure and she could recall a document or memo, sometimes months old, referencing the conversation. Moreover, she had an intuitive ability to link content from one document to another seemingly unrelated one. No wonder Mariah was so keen on her secretary. Like with the hotel decor, the woman had a real feel for the business.
She was adorable, too. The way she stuck her nose in the computer, the tip of her tongue protruding in concentration… She’d relaxed enough to move from the chair to the floor, where she sat with her long legs curled like a cat’s. Her shoes were off, and he could see her bare toes digging absentmindedly in the carpeting.
Again, adorable. He felt bad for letting his cynicism color the mood earlier. This atmosphere was far more pleasant.
“Here it is.” Emma beamed with victory. “I knew I read those figures before. See?” She pivoted the computer screen so he could look. Sure enough, there was the memo outlining in great detail their upcoming Dubai project, including its impact on revenue.
“Management’s very high on this new property,” she said. Based on projected earnings, he could see why.
“Of course, the numbers are still a few years out.”
“True, but unlike a lot of investments, this one promises to turn a profit fairly quickly.” He gave a quick nod of approval and turned the screen back toward her.
“Good call, Miss O’Rourke. This might be exactly the carrot we need.”
“Just doing my job.” She was trying to sound nonchalant, but he caught a hint of pink washing her cheeks.
“Is it your job to remember every detail of every memo Kent Hotels has ever issued?”
“No, but with your grandmother, a good memory helps.”
“I suppose it does. Lord knows hers is long enough. Mariah’s lucky to have you, you know.”
“In this economy, I’m the lucky one. Good jobs don’t grow on trees.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. Mariah doesn’t sing praises easily, and she definitely sings yours.”
Another blush. Gideon leaned back against the sofa, taking in the woman across from him. For someone so competent, she sure wasn’t use to compliments. Hard to believe. You’d think she’d be swimming in them.
“Have you ever thought of applying for a management position? You have a nose for business.”
She laughed, clearly deflecting the suggestion. “Down in the lobby you said it was an eye for design.”
“So I did. Maybe you’ve got both, a nose and an eye.”
“Goodness. I can’t wait to find out if I have a mouth.”
Oh, she did…a gorgeous on
e. It was Gideon’s turn to look away as a half-dozen images, all of them inappropriate, popped into his head. That she seemed clueless to the innuendo made the remark all the more arousing. How on earth could a woman be so oblivious to her charms?
He pushed himself to his feet and moved to the window. Nighttime had claimed the sky, transforming the view into a study of shadows, shapes and light. After years of endless tropical horizons, he wasn’t used to seeing buildings clustered so close together. It looked strange to him.
“What an amazing view.”
Emma approached, her eyes wide as she gazed out at the skyline. “It’s breathtaking.”
“Absolutely.” Though he wasn’t thinking about the view. Like this afternoon in the lobby, he found her expression far more captivating than his surroundings. Watching her made the male part of him flood with awareness. Forget sweet. She was beyond sweet. Why weren’t there men lined up to spoil her?
Then again, maybe there were. Maybe there was a guy back in Boston spoiling her to death. For some reason Gideon found that idea unsettling. Probably because if there was a guy, he was doing a pretty poor job. A spoiled woman wouldn’t blush at every compliment. Or lack expectations.
There were elements to Miss O’Rourke that just didn’t line up.
“What building is that?”
Her question drew his attention. Emma had moved closer and was pointing to an angular structure a couple blocks away. She looked at Gideon expectantly.
“I’m not sure. The skyline’s changed since my last visit. I think maybe a bank.”
“Oh.”
Dammit if he didn’t feel he’d let her down. Determined to make up for it, he steered her by the shoulders until she stood in front of him. “Here,” he said, “look to the left. That’s the Chrysler Building.”
He watched as she craned her neck to get a better view. Though he hadn’t meant to, his maneuvering left her cradled against his chest. He could feel her body heat through his shirt. When he turned his own head to follow her gaze, his nose caught a hint of her vanilla-scented skin.
“You can’t get views like this from the second floor,” he said. It was taking all his self-restraint not to bury his nose in the curve of her neck and inhale.
The Cinderella Bride Page 6
