by Lori Borrill
She snapped the note from his hand. Had it really been something so silly? A hot flush sped up her cheeks.
“I hate that it doesn’t let me see what I typed. I just get those dumb dots.”
Frustrated from spending the past half hour trying to get into her own computer, she pushed up from the desk and let Brett type it in. It worked perfectly.
“I understand what you mean about the password thing,” he said in an attempt to shrug off her stupidity. “That’s hung me up a couple times myself.”
Needing to hide the flush on her cheeks, she crossed the room to the bar and pulled a bottle of water from the refrigerator. What was wrong with her? It had been a simple mistake, certainly not worthy of the gut-wrenching panic that had come over her the second the password hadn’t worked. Too quickly, she’d let it fluster her, fearing that if she couldn’t handle her first task without Stefan, she’d never make it an entire month.
Come down from your ivory tower and see how real people live.
Marc’s angry words fled back to her, and she twisted the lid off her water and took a long drink. She had to stop this familiar chill of inadequacy from forming around her. It slipped in too easily, always cloaking her like a shadow and pushing her back to those few places where she felt smart and safe. She was stronger than that. All she needed to do was believe it.
“You need help with anything else?” Brett asked.
“No. Thanks.” She took a deep breath to settle her nerves. “I just panicked when I couldn’t get in. I really didn’t want to have to call Stefan two hours after I’d sent him home. But I’ve got appointments I need to cancel. Marty was planning to drive up here tomorrow and I need to stop him before he leaves.”
Brett rose from the desk. “Your chef? I already told you we’d be happy to accommodate him.”
“I don’t need him, or my Tuesday spa day, or any special hypoallergenic cleaning products. I’m perfectly capable of spending four weeks here on my own.”
There. She said it again. And the more she repeated it, the easier it would be to buy it.
“I don’t understand. Why the sudden—” Brett’s eyes narrowed and he crossed his arms over his chest. “You met with Marc this morning.”
She squared her shoulders. “You two spoke?”
“No, but I’m putting two and two together. Sending Stefan home, canceling your chef—listen, Rachel, I know how Marc can be. If he said anything to offend you, I’ll go straighten him out right now.”
She’d love for Brett to go straighten him out. A crow-bar would be her tool of choice. But despite the bitter slap she’d taken to her pride, she couldn’t deny that Marc had said a few things that stuck. What she didn’t know was whether her reaction to it was the right thing to do, or if it was just another classic impulsive move destined to swing back and slap her in the face.
She wished she were thinking clearly enough to tell, but she was still flustered over the events of the day.
And still reeling from the effects of that sizzling kiss.
She slugged back another large gulp of water, wishing she could get the taste of him off her lips. She flexed her hand, trying to shake off the feel of that hard body still tingling on the tips of her fingers. Her decisions would all be so much clearer if she weren’t working through a fog of unprecedented attraction. And when it came to Marc, that fog was thick and prickly.
Never had a man so infuriated and intrigued her all at once, to the point where she didn’t know if she was thinking through her head or her hormones. She wanted desperately to prove a point to the jerk, but when she set aside her insult, she knew that she also wanted him to like her, to look at her with the same desire and admiration she felt for him. It was the only way she could walk away from here with her pride intact. So despite her reservations, she’d started on this path and intended to see it through.
“I don’t need you to do anything with Marc. The meeting went fine. He simply gave me a couple things to think about and I’ve decided to make some changes.”
If you weren’t so spoiled and afraid, you might actually get something out of this.
She downed the last of her drink, but the sweet taste of him still lingered along with the bitter flavor of his words. Damn him.
“If you’re sure.”
“You said I’d be working with someone named Anita. When does that start?”
“Whenever you’d like it to.”
“Does she work tomorrow?”
“Yes, she works Monday through Friday, eight to five.”
“Then I’ll work Monday through Friday, eight to five.”
“Rachel—”
“And I want to really work. I don’t want to be handed a bunch of fluff jobs. I want a real job like you’d give anyone else.”
“Now I know that’s my brother talking. C’mon, Rachel, what happened in that meeting?”
“Nothing.” If you don’t count turning her body to liquid with one hot and hungry kiss then torching it with a scolding that hit every touchy nerve she’d ever harbored.
“It’s not about Marc,” she went on. “It’s about me taking a four-week time-out from Stefan and all the people who mean well, but have made it their job to run my life. I want to try running it myself.”
He moved to the bar and searched her face. And when he seemed satisfied, he nodded. “I can understand that.”
“I just might need an occasional hand.” She smiled sheepishly. “Like when I can’t spell my own password.”
“You’ve got it.” He checked the time. “I’ve got a couple hours before my dinner date. How about I take you around the facilities? Anita and Jolie are still here. I can introduce you to them and let them know you’ll be starting tomorrow. There are a dozen other people on the staff who will kill me if I don’t eventually introduce you to them. And it will help you to know who the good ones are. So, how about it? Would you like the grand tour?”
For the first time since her meeting with Marc, she started to feel calm and grounded. Knowing Brett was around if she needed him helped a lot. And based on what he’d said, not to mention the welcoming greeting she’d received from the staff she’d met so far, she started to think she might really be able to do this.
She stepped back to the computer and sat down to bring up her address book. “Let me give Marty and Gwen a quick call, then you’re on.”
5
HE REALLY SHOULDN’T HAVE kissed her.
On Marc’s list of regrettable moves, he’d have to place kissing Rachel Winston somewhere near the top. Probably just below the time he’d borrowed his dad’s new Beemer without asking then stacked it three blocks from the house. Torturing himself with a sampling of Rachel’s body then thinking he could go about his day had ended up nearly as stupid.
He stood on the terrace overlooking the fountain, while Paige, his event coordinator, went over the details of a wedding taking place that weekend. With a golf tournament running concurrently, he really should be paying attention. Instead, his mind kept going back to how good Rachel’s lips had felt on his, how his heart had surged with the simple touch of her waist against his palms, the dizzying fragrance of her sweet perfume. What he’d give to crawl between the sheets with her naked body and see exactly how much steam they could produce over the course of one night. Or a week. Enough to power a freight train, he suspected, judging by the lasting effects of that one measly kiss.
But he wasn’t supposed to be thinking about things like that, not now, not ever. Paige was going over the script for the wedding, and unless he wanted to spend his Saturday serving cake for lack of staff, he needed to start listening. Heck, maybe even take a note or two.
He glanced around the garden area trying to remember where he’d set his notepad when a terse huff sounded from across the stone walkway.
“You haven’t heard a word I’ve said.”
Marc spun around to see Paige standing in the shade of a lemon tree, a clipboard in her hand and an impatient look on her face. He tug
ged at his collar. The weather report had predicted mideighties today, but damned if it didn’t feel warmer.
“Is it hot out here?” He unbuttoned his shirtsleeves and rolled them up.
“It’s summer in the Coachella Valley. Look, if you want to do this another time, I can rearrange my schedule.”
Paige had a no-nonsense style that he’d always respected, though much of the staff considered her a bitch. He’d figured that was their problem, until now, having that disapproving glare directed at him. While it was entirely his own fault, he now understood how the woman might be considered intimidating. She wasn’t the least bit amused, nor did she seem to care that he was technically her boss.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “You were talking about the fountain.”
She eyed him warily but went on. “The ceremony will be short, probably no longer than twenty minutes. That means I’ll need someone from maintenance here by three-thirty.”
“Assign someone on your end to make sure that happens. With the tournament going on, they’re going to have their hands full. Don’t leave it up to Kyle to remember.”
She flashed a sour smile. “I never do.”
He rubbed the back of his neck and tried to recall the notes he’d made about the two events. They’d already gone over the kitchen staff and the need to bring in extra help for the servers. With the reception dinner starting only an hour after the post-tournament buffet, they would have their hands full. What else was there?
He glanced around again for his pad. He’d been making notes that morning while he waited for his meeting with Rachel.
Crap, what to do with Rachel. He really should track her down and apologize for the way he’d spoken to her. Yes, he’d meant every word of it. And yes, he wholeheartedly believed she’d needed to hear it. But it hadn’t been his place to judge her, and he’d gone way over the line considering she was, in some respect, a pseudo-guest at the resort. He still couldn’t believe he’d popped off like that, and he’d been feeling ashamed ever since. The problem was, in order to apologize he’d need to go see her. And seeing her meant being near her. And it seemed every time he came near her, he took one look at that brain-scrambling body of hers and all his gentlemanly tendencies packed up and flew south for the winter.
Would it be cowardly to send her a handwritten note?
“I lost you again,” Paige called from across the terrace. This time she wasn’t waiting but making a beeline toward the door. “I’ve got the parents of the bride showing up in fifteen minutes. When I’m done, I’ll write this all out and leave it on your desk.”
“Paige, I’m sorry.” He snapped back to attention but it was already too late. She was reaching for the door to the reception room.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “I know you’ve got a lot going on with Rachel Winston showing up yesterday. I’ll just type up the main details and we can regroup after you’ve looked them over.” Then she pulled open the door and disappeared into the building.
Dammit, this was ridiculous. Not since he started dating had a woman ever put him in a lusty haze this thick. Most definitely, he’d never let one interfere with his goals or his business. He’d always been driven, focused on the central task of owning and operating a resort. And while several girlfriends had vied to put themselves ahead of that, he’d never let one push him to the point of distraction. Until now.
He plopped down on one of the stone benches and took in the beauty of the valley and the mountains beyond. It was late June and the orange and lemon trees were just bearing their fruit, lending a fresh citrus overtone to the sweet roses surrounding them. He soaked it all in as a reminder of why he needed to keep his mind on task. This resort was everything he’d ever wanted for as far back as he could remember.
The hospitality business had seeped into his blood when he was a kid and it had never left him. Whenever people asked why he wanted to own a resort, his answer was always, “How come you don’t?” This was a place where precious memories were made. People married here, won awards, celebrated achievements and bonded as a family. For whatever reason they came, this resort represented a special time in their lives, and Marc got the daily pleasure of being a part of that.
But along with that pleasure came the overwhelming burden of making sure those moments weren’t ruined. His guests put their faith in him and the staff not to let them down, and that was exactly what would happen if he went about his day with his mind on what was under Rachel’s skirt.
He needed to get it together, sooner than later, so pushing up from the bench, he set off to go make that apology he owed Rachel. When that was done, he’d put Jolie in charge of her stay and start the process of seriously wiping his thoughts of her and her sinful body for the next four weeks.
He made it as far as the poolside café when he heard Rachel’s voice and the sound of Brett’s laughter. Stepping to the gated entrance, he found them standing near the bar chatting with Miguel, the bartender.
Rachel was still wearing the sexy dress that had driven him mad that morning, and when he caught a good glimpse, he realized that even his memory had diminished how stunning she was.
His feet rooted in place as he watched the three converse. Brett cracked a joke and she laughed and placed a hand on his shoulder, sending a biting wave of envy down the back of Marc’s spine. This wasn’t right, this feeling of possession. Nor was the longing in his gut that gripped his jaw and muted his speech. She was just a woman, a hot, beautiful woman, of which there were dozens in a place like this. So why was he letting this one get so far under his skin?
Whatever the reason, the need and lust and jealousy had to go. He cleared his throat and forced his legs to move forward. The gesture caught their attention, and when Rachel turned and saw him, the easy smile slid from her face. She stiffened, and while she wasn’t exactly glaring at him with hatred, he definitely got the impression that the wet blanket had arrived.
It grated on him more than it should have, throwing hurt into the stew of mixed emotions that was already burning his insides.
“How’s everything going?” he asked.
“Great.” Brett smiled, oblivious to the tension surrounding him. “I’ve been showing Rachel around, introducing her to some of the staff.”
Miguel flashed a wide grateful grin.
“We caught up with Jolie and Anita just now,” Brett added. “Rachel’s starting in housekeeping tomorrow morning.”
Marc blinked. “Tomorrow’s Tuesday. I thought that was your spa day.” Somehow, he managed to make the remark without any added twinge of sarcasm.
“Rachel’s—” Brett started, but she quickly cut in.
“I’ve rearranged my plans.” She jutted that sweet, dimpled chin then turned back to Brett and smiled. “Speaking of which, we should move on. I’ve got a number of things to take care of this evening, and I’d like to turn in early so I’m fresh for tomorrow.”
She took Miguel’s hand and offered sweetly, “It was a pleasure to meet you.”
The man lapped it up. “You know where to find me.” Then he pointed a finger. “And don’t forget, jalapeño is the new pomegranate. You stop by and I’ll make you one of my famous hot pepper martinis.”
She chuckled. “It’s a date.” Then without so much as a glance Marc’s way, she gestured to Brett. “Walk me back?”
“Actually,” Marc said. “I was hoping I could have a word with Rachel.”
She raised a brow. “I think I’ve had enough of your words for one day.”
He should have known she wouldn’t make this easy, but knowing he deserved it, he pressed on. “I owe you a couple more, including an apology.”
She sized him up, clearly surprised. He could see those blue eyes calculating, and he thought she would concede to come with him. Instead, she squared her shoulders. “Apology accepted. Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have a long day ahead of me tomorrow and I really need my rest.” She took Brett’s arm. “Shall we?”
“Rachel,” Brett
said, “maybe you two should clear the air.”
“Oh, we cleared plenty of air this morning. I found it rather unsatisfying.” She shot Marc a glance stuffed with innuendo. “Now, if you don’t mind, I really need to move on.”
Unsatisfying?
Marc balled his fists at his sides to keep from reaching out and grabbing her. Unfortunately, if he caught hold, he wasn’t sure if he’d end up shaking her senseless or kissing her silly. The woman was as exasperating as she was sexy, which made it all the more ludicrous that through all that spit and fire he only wanted her more.
“Rachel—” Brett started, but Marc held up a hand.
“That’s quite all right. Our guest is tired. I don’t want to keep her.”
Had that come across as juvenile as he feared? The last thing he needed was to come off like a rejected lover. Mostly because that was exactly how he felt. But he couldn’t afford a public scene, and as he considered the situation, he concluded that he was probably better off if she hated him. At least it would keep her at a distance.
Brett glanced between the two, then gave up. “Fine, let’s go.”
And as he and Rachel walked off, Miguel whistled soft and slow. “Wow, ice. What did you do?”
Marc watched those erotic hips sway as she disappeared through the gate and down the path. “Someday, I’ll tell you all about it over one of those martinis.”
“I’ll hold you to it, mi amigo.”
“MAKING BEDS IS SURE easier with two people.” Anita snapped the starched white sheet and let it float down over the bed. “I’m going to be spoiled by the time you’re gone.”
Rachel appreciated the kind words even though she had a hard time believing them. “I think I’ve been more of a hazard than a help these past three days.” She grabbed her end of the sheet and pulled it taut.
Anita smiled. “You’re doing fine. I think it’s better you’ve never cleaned before. You aren’t bringing along a lot of bad habits, you know?”
“You’re sweet,” Rachel said, and she meant it.
Anita Cooper was a plump woman with a pretty face, a turned-up nose and glowing skin that Rachel would die for. And she was just about the nicest person Rachel had met in ages.
