Читать книгу A Holiday Romance - Carrie Alexander, Carrie Alexander - Страница 9

“I S IT JUST my imagination, or is almost everyone here kind of old?” Alice asked as she and Chloe walked toward the entrance of the restaurant. The hospitality director had explained that while there were several fine dining spots at the resort, the Oasis de la Luna was the best.

“The guests, that is,” Alice corrected herself. “Not the staff.”

Chloe chuckled. “I suppose you’re right. We do cater to an upscale older crowd. Not quite as much during the off-season, however. This is discount time, when we get more families on tight budgets. But there are always plenty of retirees who stick around, too.”

“Especially at the condos.” Alice hesitated. “I noticed when I arrived that the other residents were mostly senior citizens. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with that. I was just hoping for a diverse crowd.” Pah! She was hoping for young single men.

“Of course you’re right,” Chloe said breezily. “A number of the condos are owned by year-round senior residents. The snowbirds with two homes are the ones who move down in the winter and fly back north for the summer.”

“They seemed friendly.” Except for one old lady who’d been scooting along the sidewalk on a Segway. She’d almost run Alice over.

“Very friendly, some of them. Watch out or they’ll adopt you.”

Alice nodded. While following a porter through the Spanish-style condominium village when she’d first arrived, she’d been waved at and helloed to by the poolside loungers. They’d called her over to join them, but she’d only waved back. After her long trip, she’d been eager to get out of the stifling heat and unpack.

“Thanks for the warning,” she said. “I don’t want to spend my entire vacation playing canasta and taking naps.” She’d had enough experience with that pace of life to keep her until she was eighty.

“The condo gangs seem to be into poker these days. And you might be surprised. Some of them are quite lively.”

“Oh, I’m sure they are. I didn’t mean to stereotype, it’s just that…” Alice broke off; she didn’t want to delve too deeply into her close acquaintance with the gray-haired set on Osprey Island. “I was hoping for more action. My mother and her friends, um…”

They had reached the entrance and were waiting for the maître d’ to return. Chloe looked at Alice. “Yes?”

Emotion had clotted in her throat. “You see, I was caring for my sick mother for a long time, and my life got to revolve around hers. Four months ago, she passed on. So, basically, I’m at loose ends. This trip is a new start for me.”

Chloe was sympathetic. “I hear you. You’re turning a fresh page. You want something different. Not the over-sixties crowd from the condos.”

“Yes,” Alice said gratefully.

“No problem! I’ll see to it that you have an especially exciting stay.” The dimples reappeared in Chloe’s small round face, one high on her cheek, two others framing her rosebud mouth. “I’ve got all sorts of ideas for activities galore.”

“Keep them within reason.” Alice couldn’t prevent a note of caution from creeping into her voice. “I talk a good game, but I’m not sure how daring I’ll actually be.”

“Naturally, the safety and comfort of our guests are our primary concerns,” Chloe said, but then she added, almost to herself, “Hmm, what about Camelback? And rock climbing…”

Oh, dear. “Right now, I’d settle for dinner. It’s been a long day.”

“Of course.” Chloe waved impatiently for the maître d’ while surveying the busy dining room. “I’ll get you a good table. Would you prefer the patio?”

“Anything will do,” Alice said. The clink of silverware, the murmur of conversation and soft harp music were inviting. She watched a handsome, suntanned couple lean close over the flicker of a tea light and wished she wasn’t alone.

Never mind. Make the best of it.

“Even by the kitchen,” she added.

“ Pfft. You deserve better than that.”

I do, Alice silently agreed. She’d spoken out of habit. Like most Osprey Islanders, she was accustomed to humility. Ostentation was not appreciated there.

While Chloe conferred with the maître d’, Alice gazed at the elegant dining room. The rustic stone, wood and stucco of the lobby gave way to a more refined Spanish design with arches, glass lanterns and wrought-iron sconces. White linen and exotic birds of paradise dressed the tables.

Alice smoothed her skirt. It was a style she’d never worn before, striped like a flag in fiesta colors that suddenly seemed too garish and common. When she’d bought it, she’d imagined herself sipping sangria under an umbrella on a sunny patio, not sticking out like a cheap piñata at an exquisite soirée.

“All righty,” Chloe said. “You’ve got a table by the window, but it won’t be ready for another ten or fifteen minutes. I’d love to take you for a drink in the Manzanita Lounge. It’s right through here.”

“You don’t have to stick with me.” Alice lowered her eyes so that the other woman wouldn’t see how much she really didn’t want to be on her own tonight. “I’m sure you have other guests to attend to.”

“I can spare ten minutes.” Chloe looped a hand around Alice’s elbow. “In fact, you’d be doing me a favor. The new night concierge is a taskmaster. I don’t get to mingle with guests very often since he came on the job.”

“Well, if you put it that way…” Alice said with a light laugh that eased the strain in her throat. She wasn’t as prepared for this adventure as she’d have liked.

Tomorrow, she told herself. Tomorrow she’d have adjusted and would feel more equipped.

They went into the adjacent lounge and sat at the bar to order drinks. The bartender was a good-looking young Mexican whose dark eyes were set off by the high collar of the staff uniform. After serving them with a flourish, he was called away to the other end of the bar.

“Do you know him?” Alice whispered before taking a sip of a prickly-pear-flavored rum punch.

Chloe had settled for the nonalcoholic version. “Ramon? He’s new. Cute, don’t you think?”

“Young.”

“He’s putting himself through college, but he started late. He’s only a year younger than I am.”

“You’re young, too.” This was one of the times that thirty-four and never a bride seemed ancient to Alice. “Sounds like you know him pretty well.”

“We’ve talked.” Chloe grinned. “And flirted.” She swiveled to gaze longingly down the polished stone bar before swinging her stool back in Alice’s direction. “What about you? No significant other waiting for you at home?”

Alice spun her straw, swirling the ice in her drink. “No one.”

Chloe’s eyes creased. They were tilted up at the corners by the pull of her tightly anchored high ponytail. “Has your heart been broken?”

Alice blinked. Did it still show? She’d been jilted by Stewart almost five years ago.

Five years—wow. She hadn’t added it up lately. She felt as if the breakup had only recently happened. Yet she knew that she’d been lucky to be rid of the faithless man and that there were much deeper losses.

Under normal circumstances, she might have been able to get over Stewart and move on. But romantic options on Osprey were limited. She’d been left with far too many empty hours to brood.

“Water under the bridge,” she said, putting on a nonchalant front. “And way down the river.”

Chloe nodded sagely. “We’ve all watched that stream flow by.”

“Some of us more than others,” said a plump, older woman who was passing by. “My rowboat’s capsized a few times, but I keep on paddling.” She raised her hand, calling out, “Yoo-hoo, cutie!” to a silver-haired man in cowboy boots and a bolo tie before hurrying away.

“That’s Leilani Steen,” Chloe said, “assistant to the boss.”

“The taskmaster?” Alice asked.

“Not my taskmaster. A different one. Actually quite a hot one, if he’d ever loosen his tie and pop off his cuff links.” Chloe spun right around, sitting straighter as she did. “Speak of the devil. There he is now.”

Alice glanced over her shoulder and saw the rowboat woman talking to someone who towered over her, while the woman’s suitor hovered at her elbow. “Which taskmaster?”

“Lani’s boss. Mr. Kyle Jarreau.” Chloe’s tone was filled with admiration. “Manager of the whole PM shebang.”

PM meant Prince Montez, Alice remembered, as a second look had her straightening up right alongside Chloe. There was something about the man who’d just walked into the lounge that made a woman draw a breath all the way to the bottom of her lungs.

Lani and her date had moved on and the “taskmaster” stood alone in the archway between bar and restaurant. Alone but at ease, his presence effortlessly commanding as he surveyed the area.

The air in the room became electric, the employees galvanized. Alice rubbed her palms over the goose bumps on her arms. She swiveled toward the bar. The back of her head and neck tingled as if he’d looked her way.

“Uh-oh,” Chloe said without moving her lips. “He’s seen me.”

Alice exhaled. Not me. Of course, not me. “You’d better go on, then. I don’t want to keep you from your job.”

Chloe slid off the stool. “Have a nice dinner.” She laid her hand on Alice’s arm. “I’ll be in touch tomorrow and we’ll plan your schedule.”

Alice watched obliquely as Chloe passed the boss with a nodding bounce of her ponytail and a perky, “Good evening, Mr. Jarreau.”

He returned the nod without smiling.

He was solemn, but young for such a position of authority. Probably no more than forty, tops. Not that Alice knew much about the ins and outs of resort management, her only experience being the cakes she’d delivered to the White Gull Inn from her best friend Susan’s bakery.

She tipped forward and caught the straw between her teeth. The tingles returned, but when she flicked her gaze at Mr. Jarreau, he wasn’t looking her way. She wished he’d move. Go away. Prove that there was no cat-and-mouse awareness except in her overheated imagination.

Suddenly he appeared beside her, leaning past Chloe’s abandoned stool with his hands on the edge of the granite slab of the bar. He pressed forward, flexing tanned forearms beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt. “Busy night, Ramon?”

Loose tie, no cuff links, Alice noted with a shiver. Only a chunky platinum watch around one thick wrist. Chloe had got it wrong.

The bartender smiled, revealing his white teeth. “The usual, sir. The conference attendees drained five gallons of margarita mix in twenty minutes flat. Chef Chavez is causing a ruckus in the kitchens. Can I get you anything, Mr. Jarreau?”

“No.” He pushed away from the bar, ran his dangling tie between two fingers. “Yes. I’ll have a whiskey sour. Light on the whiskey. I have an empty stomach.”

While Ramon busied himself, Jarreau’s glance rested on Alice for a second. She felt overly conscious of her elbows pressed to her ribs and her tongue against her teeth.

I’m nothing to him. Just another guest. One face among hundreds.

The thought rankled her. Why was she so dismissive of herself? Had her status as everybody’s helpmate become that ingrained?

“It’s a beautiful hotel,” she said. Her voice seemed too eager, too bright, if only to herself. “That is, from what I’ve seen so far. I just arrived a few hours ago. Chloe Weston was showing me around.” Now I’m talking too much. “She was very kind and welcoming. A real credit to the resort.”

“Excellent.” Mr. Jarreau took his drink from the bartender, and Alice didn’t know which of them he was addressing until he raised his glass to her. “Enjoy your stay.”

“Thanks.” Deep breath. “I’m Alice Potter. From Osprey Island, Maine.”

“Kyle Jarreau. Pleased to meet you.”

There was a moment of awkward silence. She felt compelled to fill it. “I know what you’re thinking.” She was plucking words from the whirl of her brain. “Alice Potter is such a nursery rhyme kind of name.”

“Huh,” he said, half a chuckle.

The maître d’had appeared at her other elbow. “Your table is ready, Miss Potter.”

She shot an amused glance at Mr. Jarreau as she disembarked. “You see what I mean?”

His mouth moved without quite reaching a smile. “Good evening.” One eyebrow tilted. “Miss Potter.”

Alice laughed and walked away. The swish of her full skirt no longer felt gaudy. It was festive.

K YLE STAYED at the bar in the Manzanita Lounge, ordering a turkey club sandwich from the grill. He chatted with Ramon about hoops and colleges and then college hoops during the bartender’s few quiet moments. That’d show Lani, he thought to himself at one point, even though the gibe felt immature when she was only thinking of his goodwill. His own mother had never been the type to monitor his social progress. She’d rarely even remembered to tell him to eat his vegetables.

From his position, he could see into the neighboring restaurant. At a distant table, a small one tucked in a corner beside a window, sat Miss Potter. Solo. His eyes returned to her again and again throughout the hour, watching as she alternately stared dreamily out the window and scribbled in a small notebook she set aside only when her dinner was served.

Alice Potter of Osprey Island, Maine. She was nothing extraordinary. Mild, affable, a little awkward. And yet something about her had engaged his interest.

Her gentle brown eyes…her tremulous attempt at witty conversation?

He considered, watching a smile light her face when a waiter arrived with her dessert, a miniature tower of cake drizzled with fruit and chocolate sauce. She studied the plate for a moment, then picked up a fork, pausing only to look around the room with an expectant smile that went unreturned. Her pleasure dimmed as she focused on the dessert.

Kyle gritted his teeth. Perhaps it was her loneliness that drew him.

He glanced away, fully aware that his continuing presence had put the lounge employees on edge. They hurried back and forth, giving their patrons one level above the usual top-notch service. None had taken a break to dally at the bar and shoot the breeze with Ramon the way they usually might.

They would be dying for Kyle to leave already. Not a single one of them would believe that the pressure on him to deliver far outweighed theirs. Some days—and some solitary middle-of-the-nights—he felt as though an elephant sat on his chest.

He lifted a finger to the bartender, who reacted instantly. The attentiveness meant everything to Kyle. He had command. He’d instilled in the staff a discipline that matched his own. Those things were more important than fleeting gratification or needy personal relationships that only caused trouble.

Ramon parked his fists on his hips. “Can I get you another, boss?”

The plate from Kyle’s meal had been removed, but a small pool of alcohol remained in his glass. “No, thanks. One’s my limit.” He crooked a finger. “Tell me…”

The bartender leaned in.

“When I leave, will the entire staff go on break at once?”

After a startled moment, Ramon smiled. “They’ll wait five minutes to be sure you’re gone.”

Kyle nodded. “That’s what I thought.” He pushed aside a crumpled cocktail napkin, dropped his feet to the floor. “Prepare for the mass exodus.”

He stood and turned, catching sight of Alice Potter again. A waiter was taking away her dessert plate. She glanced at the other diners, catching her bottom lip with her teeth.

“I changed my mind,” he said to the young bartender. “Give me two glasses of champagne, please.”

“Right away.”

Kyle saw that all charges were added to his account, along with a hefty tip for Ramon, then carried the fine crystal into the restaurant. It had begun to empty out, but a number of patrons lingered over drinks to enjoy the Old World atmosphere.

Alice Potter was leaning forward on stiff arms as she gazed out the window at the twinkle of the patio lights and the dark sky beyond. She looked up with surprise when Kyle set the champagne flute in front of her.

“Miss Potter,” he said. “Your first night here deserves to be toasted with champagne. May I join you?”

Her fingers fluttered to her hair, worn shoulder-length in a rather shapeless brown bob. “Of course. But could we go outside to the patio? I was just thinking that I’d like to sit under the stars.”

He picked up the flutes. “Lead the way.”

She rose, hesitant as she reached for her handbag. “I haven’t paid the—”

“It’s taken care of.”

“Oh. Thank you. Thank you so much.” She seemed uncertain about accepting. “I suppose you can do that, charge it to the house, when you are the house.”

“Yes,” he said slowly. So she knew who he was. “Although I’m not really the house. Merely the overseer.” He caught the handle of the patio door with two fingers just as she reached for it, too. Their fingertips pressed.

She yanked her hand away. A waiter stepped in, holding the door open and smoothly relieving Kyle of the glasses.

There was an open table at the periphery, where sage and lavender swayed in the breeze. Kyle held out a chair for Alice.

She glanced at him with a shy smile as he seated himself. “You’re so mannerly.”

“I learned to be,” he admitted. “That’s not how I grew up.”

“Oh?”

He shrugged off her questioning look, not willing to go there. “You’re a long way from home.”

She sipped her champagne, quite the lady herself. “That’s the idea.” She turned her head toward the cooling breeze rolling in off the mountains. “I wanted to be as far away as I could manage. In an unfamiliar place.”

“You’ve never been to the Southwest before?”

“Not since a high-school class trip to Mazatlán. I haven’t been very adventurous. But I’m going to make up for that.” She made a face, and he liked her wry honesty, even the humility.

“During dinner,” she continued, “I was working on a list.”

His interest deepened. “May I see it?”

“Oh, no, it’s embarrassing.”

“Come on,” he coaxed.

Her cheeks were pink, her eyes large and velvety dark, dominating her oval face. She was almost pretty. “It’s nothing. Only a standard list of things to do and places to go while I’m here.”

“Then it can’t be embarrassing.”

“That depends. You don’t think it’s embarrassing for a thirty-four-year-old woman to admit that she has about as much experience as a potted plant?”

Kyle grinned. “I doubt that’s true.”

She returned the grin, erasing every trace of exhaustion and sadness from her expression. “Nearly.”

He wanted to touch her. Instead, he put his elbows on the table and folded his hands against his chin, holding her gaze while he dug a thumbnail into his bottom lip. “Read me something off the list.”

After a moment, she looked away, blushing even more. “I’ll find an innocuous item.” She pulled the pocket notebook from her bag and flipped the pages where her scrawled handwriting looped.

She saw him peeking and shielded the list from view. She cleared her throat. “Here’s one—see a rattlesnake.”

He raised his eyebrows. “At least you don’t want to pet it.”

“It’s silly, I know. But I’ve never seen a rattlesnake. We don’t have them in Maine.”

“What else is on the list?”

“Get a picture taken with a saguaro cactus,” she read. “That’s not very exciting, is it?”

“Don’t pet the cactus, either.”

She rolled her eyes, but her shoulders relaxed and she took another drink of champagne. Pages turned. “Hmm.” Her smile was almost flirtatious. “I can cross off this one.” She searched in her purse for a pen.

“What is it?”

She clicked the pen. “Drinks on the patio with a handsome stranger.”

“You’re making that up.”

“No, really. See?” She held up the book, showing him the line she’d drawn through number fourteen.

“I was number fourteen?”

“Well after the rattlesnake.” Her eyes met his. “I was working up to the really good ones.”

Warmth seeped into his face. He was glad he’d already loosened his tie. “What’s number fifteen? Maybe we can knock that one off, too.”

She turned the page. “Meet a cowboy.”

Kyle frowned. “Your fantasies aren’t very evolved.”

“That kinda feels like an insult, but I know what you mean.” She laughed. “I suppose I’m a slow starter. Except, well, they’re not fantasies, are they? Fantasies are…”

“Kiss a cowboy?” he suggested, knowing he shouldn’t. Her face turned even redder and she thrust the notebook back into her purse. He’d thought a drink with Alice Potter would be harmless, a mild conversation about resort amenities and the weather forecast. He’d thought he was doing it to make her feel better.

Not to make himself feel human.

Human? Try feeling like a man.

She was not a stunner, not sophisticated or smooth. Nothing like Jenna. But she was clever and gentle. She brought out his protective instincts.

“Why did you come here?” he asked. “This resort, specifically.”

She was concentrating on her champagne, taking tiny sip after tiny sip. “Is this a customer survey?”

“Curiosity. You’re different from our usual guest.”

Her head came up. “Meaning I’m not seventy years old and wealthy?”

“And you’re…single. We’re not known as a singles resort, even though I’ve tried to expand our market.” He was striving to sound professional, which had never been a problem before.

“It’s not a spectacular story,” Alice said. “I just needed to get away from home. One day I was surfing the Internet, looking for interesting places I’d never been to, when I landed on a site that specializes in vacation-home exchanges. Long story short, I swapped two weeks with a condo owner. He’s staying at my cottage in Maine.” She toyed with the stem of her glass, her head bent to one side so her neck was exposed.

Kyle’s eyes lingered. “I see. So you’re in one of the condos.” Master of stating the obvious.

No wonder she’d made the seventy-year-old comment. The Prince Montez chain had plunged into the thriving vacation-condo market as an adjunct to their luxury resort hotels. While the condos were technically under Kyle’s command, that wasn’t an area where he needed to spend a lot of his time. Other than the occasional turnover of ownership or HOA—Home Owner’s Association—tussle, their management was a matter of maintaining the status quo.

“I don’t get over to the condos very often,” he said.

That meant he wasn’t likely to come across Alice after tonight. Probably a good thing. One “welcome” drink was fine, but he couldn’t afford to give her the idea that he was interested in her. The PM policy against fraternization between guests and employees was strictly enforced—by him. Although romantic relationships among employees was also frowned on, they happened more frequently than he would have preferred. Take Gavin, for example.

“I’m kept busy here,” he added, not sure why he felt the need to explain himself to Alice, except that she looked almost forlorn. A fringe of overly long bangs had fallen across her forehead, into her eyes.

“Yes.” She studied her fingers, caged around the glass.

Kyle clenched his jaw. He had fired two employees for fraternization. One a guy who’d played cabana boy a little too well, following up on the offers of flirtatious female guests, even after several warnings. The other had been an office worker, though fraternization had been the least of her crimes. She’d also been more than an employee to Kyle. His sister, in fact. Making her flouting of the rules a most uncomfortable situation.

But he’d done what he had to do. And he would do it again, even if that meant letting down sweet Alice Potter with her nursery rhyme name and her large dark eyes that held so much expectation and hope.

His fault, damn it. She’d have had no hopes if he hadn’t already stepped over the line.

“Thank you for sharing my company,” he said, rising to his feet. For making me number fourteen. “I enjoyed it.”

She looked up at him, blinking, then brushed her hair aside. “I did, too,” she said softly.

“Please let…let the staff know if you need anything at all during your stay with us.”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Would you like an escort back to the condo? We have carts available, or—”

“No, thank you. Now that it’s cooled off, I’ll enjoy the walk. The grounds are so beautiful.” She turned her face away, lifting it again to the balmy breeze. His gaze followed hers across the manicured vista, where guests strolled by twos and threes. Farther off, snatches of music played intermittently as the more garrulous groups entered the adjacent nightclub. “I’d like to stay here for a while longer.”

Kyle hesitated, but there seemed nothing left to say. He could not ask her to go dancing. “Good evening, then, Miss Potter.”

Her lips parted. “Good evening, Mr. Jarreau.” She did not meet his eyes.

T HE LONESOME ONESOME , Alice thought with derision as she accepted a second glass of champagne from the attentive waiter, even though one was enough to make her tipsy.

She supposed she qualified as a VIP now that she’d been noticed by the head honcho, but she couldn’t enjoy the moment of glory, such as it was. She’d rather have stayed anonymous than be given a taste of what it felt like to be admired and even flirted with before the attention was taken away again.

But that was the old Alice talking.

The new Alice should have been bolder. Made herself too enticing to resist. Somehow.

Her interlude with Kyle Jarreau was likely the only holiday flirtation she’d get. She would savor it when she was home.

Home alone.

No, focus on Kyle. The way he held himself, for instance—erect and almost regal, evoking formality even with his button-down shirt undone at the cuffs and collar. His posture was so perfect that she’d reminded herself several times to sit up, lift her head high to meet his gaze.

His hair, for another. Short and thick, deep walnut brown and tipped with the slightest touch of honey. His eyes had been almost the same shade. Serious eyes, even when he’d teased her about the list.

She closed her own eyes now, remembering his strong hands, the quick grin, the hint of stubble on his firm jaw, the masculine fuzz on his tanned forearms.

The moment at the door when their fingers had touched.

She’d felt a blazingly intense awareness—of his skin, the heat of him, the solid muscle and discipline and careful control.

Alice pressed her fingertips together hard enough to hurt. She released them and let her hands fall to her lap, curled like limp macaroni as she looked up at the stars and sighed. No sense wishing on them anymore. She’d asked for a handsome stranger and she’d been given one.

Oh, yes. Kyle Jarreau had fulfilled the requirements very well.

Perhaps too well, considering that, despite their apparent connection, he’d seemed determined to remain a stranger.

Prince Montez Oasis Resort, Phoenix, Arizona—the jewel of the Sonoran desert.

July 21

Dear Mom,

I’m not going to actually mail this postcard, but it makes a funny kind of sense that the first one I write should be to you. You’re the one who encouraged me to take this trip, in so many more ways than just $$. So I’m here, and I’m going to do you proud. I’ve already begun—and how!—but I’ll send that postcard to Sue. I’m writing to you, Mom, to say thanks for the inspiration.

Love,

Alice