by Lori Borrill
He guided her to her feet and held her tightly, closing his mouth over hers and sinking into a long and greedy kiss. “You’re amazing,” he whispered before twirling his tongue around hers then taking her to bed. It was an understatement, and he knew it. A feeble attempt at avoiding trying to label what was really growing in his heart. But it was all he could give.
Because when he really looked close at what this woman was doing to him, he saw something he wasn’t anywhere near ready to face.
“MY FEET ARE KILLING ME.” Rachel slipped off her smock and tossed it in the laundry.
“It’s always like this when the big tournaments clear out,” Anita replied. She pulled her purse from her locker and dug for her car keys. “And with Jolie assigning us twice the rooms, I guess our easy ride was officially over.”
No kidding. With the tennis tournament ending, half the resort checked out at once, leaving their day full of rooms needing top-to-bottom cleaning. It was safe to say that after three weeks, Rachel had finally gotten a real feel for the job. It was dirty and hard, and though she still enjoyed the camaraderie she’d developed with the people she’d met here, cleaning rooms was one thing she wouldn’t miss when her service was over.
Of course, it hadn’t helped that she’d gotten a thorough workout from Marc last night. When he’d gotten her back to her suite, he’d been nearly insatiable, ravaging her body like a sailor returning from six months at sea. Not that she was complaining. If there was a reason to wake up tired and drained, an endless night of sex with a hot and horny hunk was a pretty good one.
“At least we’ve got a weekend before we’re back,” she said. “See you Monday?”
Anita gave her a friendly hug. “Go soak those feet.”
Rachel chuckled. “I’m going to soak everything.”
Her smile lingered as she made her way out of the employee lounge, reflecting on the night she and Marc had shared and hoping tonight might bring more of the same. Though Rachel hadn’t been short on lovers, she’d never had anyone like him. He knew all the right buttons to push, working her body as though he’d been studying her for years. But it wasn’t only his talent in bed that set him apart. He was the first man who’d ever really made her feel as if he was there just for her.
Back in L.A., everyone had an agenda, be it a lead to her parents, the wealthy lifestyle she offered, quick fame or a photo in the celebrity magazines. But with Marc it was only her, and it was a reality that made her giddy, but sad.
Every day she spent with him was one day closer to the end of her stay, and as that day approached, she wished more and more that it would never come. She could easily admit to falling for him if she allowed herself to be real with her heart. She wouldn’t, of course, knowing that accepting her feelings would only make it harder to walk away when it was time to go. And if she’d learned only one skill during her adult life, it was how to guard against the disappointment that the men in her life brought with them.
Over the years, she’d gotten good at keeping things casual, accepting that caution went a long way in protecting her heart. But the more time she spent here, the harder it became to hold her emotional distance. Everything about this place felt right, including her secret lover. And when she let her hopes wander, she could swear he’d felt it, too. She’d seen it in his eyes, the way he looked at her when they made love, and the way those early hungry kisses had turned tender over the past few days.
And when the night was quiet and her thoughts were loud, foolish voices had begun to ask if there was a way this all could last.
Pushing through the heavy wood door that led to the back gardens, she brushed off the thought and stepped into the sunlight, taking a long breath of sweet evening air to get rid of the silly ideas in her head. These were dangerous thoughts and she knew it. It was a fantasy, thinking she had a permanent place here. Keeping the press and the gawkers off the property was a strain that took resources, and she knew she was more a burden than a help. But this was the first time she’d really felt as if she belonged to something, and despite trying to keep her head about her, it was hard to keep the fantasies at bay.
“Hey, wait up.”
The sound of Brett’s voice jerked her from her thoughts and she turned, welcoming the distraction. “Hey yourself.”
“Done working for the day?” he asked, striding up to her side. With the tournament wrapping up today, he wore a Clearwater Springs polo shirt and pressed slacks. It was very preppy and corporate, a look Rachel knew he only brought out of the closet when he had to.
“I’m done working for the rest of my life,” she joked. “You really need to double the salaries of everyone on the housekeeping staff. They work harder than you can imagine.”
He flashed his signature grin. “When Marc and I make our first million, we’ll do that.”
“I spent my day cleaning up after all those people you and your tournament brought in. Some of them were pigs, you know.”
“Oh, I’ve heard stories, trust me. Speaking of the tournament, I was cornered by Mrs. Lesnansky today.”
“Rain’s mom?”
He nodded. “They were on their way out, but before they left, she wanted me to make sure I passed along her sincere thanks for what you did for Rain.”
“I only took the girl shopping.”
“I guess you did more than that. Her mom said after spending the day with you, she’d stopped sulking in the room, cheered her brother on at the tournament and even took her younger sister swimming. Mrs. Lesnansky seemed to think it was thanks to you.”
“Really?” A smile crossed her face at the thought of Rain maybe taking some of her words to heart.
“Yeah. So, what exactly did you tell the girl?”
“That good or bad she was stuck with her family and might as well get along.”
Brett laughed. “That simple, huh?”
“In a nutshell. Though I bought her an expensive purse to go along with the advice. Maybe she figured she owed me.”
“Well, they were smitten with you and wanted to make sure I let you know how much they appreciated it. Cornered me and Marc this morning before they left.”
“Thanks for telling me. That made my afternoon.”
“No problem.” He folded his arms over his chest and chomped away at his gum, eyeing her up and down as though there was more to say.
“Was there something else?” she asked, not sure what to make of the assessing look.
“It seems a lot of people around here are smitten with you,” he finally said. “Even my own big brother.”
She blinked, not sure where that came from or where it was going. “That’s nice to hear.”
“You two have gotten pretty cozy lately, huh?”
Okay, so it was going right where it shouldn’t. She decided it was time to start walking. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He moved to keep in step with her. “Aw, c’mon, Rach. You can be real with me. What’s going on between you and Marc?”
She tossed him a casual frown as they made their way down the main garden path. That wasn’t a question she cared to grace with an answer, but she knew ignoring him was about as futile as herding cats. So she mentally worked up her most convincing denial when she rounded the corner and saw the preparations for a wedding ahead.
“Ooh, is someone getting married?”
Over a hundred bright white chairs were lined up on the grass facing a luxurious fountain surrounded by orange and lemon trees and rows of colorful roses. Though she’d been past this spot a dozen times, she hadn’t seen it set up like this, and always a sucker for weddings, she couldn’t help but stop and ogle.
Caterers dressed sharply in black and white were setting up what looked like a giant champagne fountain. A maintenance crew was fiddling with lights and a half dozen people scampered about, shuffling between the area outdoors and a large buffet room inside. Three sets of French doors joined the two spaces, and as eager to check it out as she was to dodge Brett�
�s questions, she stepped inside to see what else was going on.
What looked like an acre of tables made a U-shape around a large maple dance floor. At the head of the room, maintenance workers and waitstaff were setting up what would no doubt be the long bridal table. Behind it, technicians were readying the stage for a band that hadn’t yet arrived, and off to the side a mile-long buffet table was being formed.
“Come on, Rachel,” Brett said. “Don’t dodge the question.”
“I love weddings,” she said, ignoring Brett intentionally, though it wasn’t a lie. She really did love them, especially this part where all the details were being pulled together and the room was abuzz with anticipation. She’d helped a number of friends with their weddings and adored each experience. It was like setting up a stage production and she’d gotten to be the director.
“That’s great,” Brett said, ready to press again. But before he could, a tall woman holding a clipboard came rushing through the door with Marc and what appeared to be the bride. The woman moved to the far wall, slid open a large paneled door and rustled through a storage area, emerging with a silk flower arrangement.
“We’ve got these that we can use for the tables,” the woman said. Noting that the ensemble was somewhat weathered, she made an attempt to pretty it up. “I can get some extra people in here to fix them up a bit, but they’re our standard stock for banquets. We’ve got plenty to fill the tables.”
The bride, dressed in a simple veil and an expensive slip dress Rachel guessed was Vera Wang, studied the arrangement, her expression worried and less than enthused. “I guess they’re better than nothing. You don’t have any other colors?”
Looking nearly on the verge of tears, the bride crossed to the closet and peeked inside as Marc came over to greet Rachel and Brett.
“Sightseeing?” he asked.
“I was on my way back to my suite and had to stop.” Rachel glanced around the room. “This is all so beautiful.”
“Yeah, well, tell that to the bride. Her entire delivery of flowers just ended up in a pileup on Ten. We’re scavenging around trying to see what we can do.”
Rachel’s heart sank. “The poor girl.”
“What has Paige come up with?” Brett asked.
“We cleaned out the lobby boutique and managed to put together bouquets and boutonnières for the bridal party.” He pointed to the arrangements the two women were hunkered over. “We’ve got these standbys for the tables that we keep around for banquets. It looks like Paige has sold her on those. But I guess she’d had some special rose trees ordered for the dance floor and stage setup. I don’t know what we can do about that.”
The woman circled the dance floor biting a fingernail she’d probably just had manicured. “We’ve got balloons,” Paige offered. “We’ve got plenty of helium tanks, right, Marc?”
He and Brett stepped across the room and looked around. “Enough to do a decent job I’m sure.”
“Balloons are tacky,” the bride spat, tears threatening to spill over into her hundred-dollar facial, ruining everything she’d probably spent half the day in the spa perfecting.
“We’ve got gold and silver—” Paige started.
“And if I come back for my anniversary, I’ll remember that.”
Paige eyed Marc as though the woman was incorrigible, which Rachel found inconsiderate. Had she never dreamed of the perfect wedding before? There were no do-overs when it came to weddings. A bride had only one shot at getting it right or the day would be gone forever. Who could blame her for being upset?
Stepping around the room, Rachel studied the area and listened while they brainstormed, none of their ideas apparently satisfying the bride. It sounded as though she was about to surrender the situation and accept what she had, when Rachel tossed out a thought.
“What about the potted topiaries on the plaza?” she called out.
The four turned to her and stared, their blank faces taking some of the wind out of what she thought might be a neat idea.
“You know. The ones around Desert Desserts and the coffee shop?” she went on. She made a gesture with her hands trying to describe the potted plants she’d remembered admiring.
Paige glared at Rachel as though she’d just spouted off something absurd, opened her mouth no doubt to say so, when the bride cut in.
“The ones in the cobalt-blue pots?”
“Yeah,” Rachel said.
The bride looked alternately to Marc and Paige, her face brightening with hope. “Could we?”
Paige shook her head. “They’re far too heavy and I’m certain they’re full of bugs.”
“Actually, we had to move them last month to reseal the sidewalk,” Marc said. He glanced at Brett. “How long did it take Steve and Javier to move the whole lot?”
“It wasn’t a big deal,” Brett said. “And we stored them in the south banquet room for a week. I don’t recall a problem with bugs.”
“Too bad you couldn’t decorate them with little white lights,” Rachel started. “Wouldn’t that be pretty?”
“Got about a million of those in the Christmas shed.”
Marc looked at the gleeful expression on the bride’s face. “It sounds like we have a plan?”
The bride nodded, bouncing on her heels before scattering about the room to decide how many they might need and where to put them. And with the two women busy, Marc glanced at Rachel, his eyes filled with pride and appreciation.
It touched a part of her she’d tried hard to shield, but she couldn’t help it. You did good, the look said, nourishing a place in her that had been starved for a long time. She smiled to hide her fears, wishing that silly expression hadn’t hit her as deeply as it did.
“I think we’ve got our solution,” he said.
The bride went on babbling about the ornamental trees, all the while gushing over what a savior the resort was in helping her salvage her wedding. Marc called over to one of the maintenance workers then started barking orders into a walkie-talkie. And with the group suddenly in the throes of planning, Rachel took the opportunity to slip outside and head to her suite—because in spite of the fun of being the hero of the moment, she hadn’t forgotten Brett and his inquisition.
He’d somehow caught on to them, and rather than stumble over denials and half truths, she decided she’d rather leave the man in the hands of his brother, letting Marc decide how much he should say.
12
IT WAS NEARLY SEVEN when Marc finally headed back to his office, having gotten the wedding off to a start and leaving it in the hands of Paige. Rachel’s idea had saved the day, and Marc mused that if he had two people like her he could fire his whole management staff.
It was the latest in a number of revelations that had struck him lately, this one being how much Paige relied on him to solve problems she should be able to solve herself. No wonder he was buried each and every day. Between Brett’s disinterest in the operations and Paige expecting Marc to run constant interference, he was carrying twice the load he’d expected when he started this venture.
Rachel wanted to know why he didn’t relax more. Well, tonight she got a glimpse of the answer.
Welcome to Marc Strauss Crisis Management Service. Oh, and in my spare time I run a resort.
He crossed the lobby, thinking the only bright spots in his day had been the thanks from the Carlsons when they discovered their daughter’s wedding was salvaged, and the same warm appreciation he’d gotten from Mrs. Lesnansky this morning. How ironic that both of them were owed to one beautiful brunette who was quickly finding a place next to his heart.
Reaching his office, he pulled open the door and found Brett sitting on his couch, his feet propped up on the coffee table and an unlit cigar between his teeth.
“Celebrating?” Marc asked.
Brett pulled the cigar from his mouth and twisted it between his fingers. “Just another day in paradise.”
“I’m glad you’re having a good time.”
Marc shut the door
behind him, walked over and collapsed at his desk, needing to get off his feet for the evening. Or maybe a month.
“Apparently, you are, too,” Brett said. “When were you going to tell me you’re sleeping with Rachel?”
Marc coughed. “What?”
“Come on. I know you are. I just want to know why you didn’t tell me.”
A dismal liar, Marc worked up a good laugh nonetheless. “That’s ridiculous. What gave you such a hare-brained idea?”
“Margaret noticed it first, but it got me thinking.” Brett popped the cigar back into his mouth and spoke through his teeth. “You were awfully fun to dine with last night. In fact, I’d go as far as saying you were actually a likeable guy.”
“So I crack a joke or two and you assume I’m getting laid? How long did it take you and Dr. Watson to put that together, Sherlock?”
“Twice in the past two weeks you turned down my offers to come over and watch a game.”
He held up a hand. “You’re right. Only a woman could keep me from my beloved Cubbies. Is that all you’ve got, Gil Grissom? Because I’ve got a date with a microwave tonight and I’d really like to get to it.”
Brett laughed and pointed a finger at Marc. “Good one. And it’s cute you’re denying it and all, but you’re too late. Rachel already spilled.”
That wiped the smirk from Marc’s face. “Rachel what?”
“She admitted it.”
Marc closed his eyes and shook his head. “What did she do that for?” he muttered under his breath.
The cigar fell from Brett’s mouth as his jaw hung agape. “You mean it’s true?”
“You just said—”
“I was bluffing.”
Marc shot out a curse and wondered if he still had enough strength on his brother to knock him into next Wednesday. Even if he didn’t it might feel good trying.
“I can’t believe this. You were so cocky when she first showed up. ‘No special treatment. She’s our ward, not a plaything,’” Brett said, mocking the words Marc knew all too well.
