Читать книгу Summer Escape With The Tycoon - Donna Alward - Страница 11

ERIC CHAMBAULT TOOK a deep breath and stepped out of the elevator, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. He’d had an acquisitions meeting early this morning. Then he’d headed for the airport in order to make his flight. Montreal to Victoria was a long trip, and he’d enjoyed the few hours with his phone in airplane mode. Once he’d landed, though, it had buzzed and rung nonstop. On the last call, he’d told his assistant that every call for the next ten days was to be directed to the appropriate VP and that he would be out of contact. Then he did something he hadn’t done in nearly eight years. He turned it off and left it off.

He’d be lucky if his blood pressure wasn’t skyrocketing again. Thirty-four years old and his doctor had cautioned him about stress and told him to take a vacation. He wasn’t interested in lying on a beach somewhere. Instead he’d taken the advice of one of his friends and started looking into outdoor adventures. Joe had gone on one a year or so ago in South America and said it had been the best trip he’d ever taken.

Initially, Eric had thought it would be a vacation for two. Then the divorce papers were served and it was clear no couples trip would be on the agenda. What followed had been eight months of legal wrangling that had cost him an exorbitant amount in billable hours. In the end, he’d paid his legal bills and hers, too, as well as a settlement that still made him grit his teeth: just over thirty million in a lump sum. The only saving grace was that he wouldn’t have to worry about paying alimony every month for the next four or five decades. Murielle had got her money and he was left with a bad taste in his mouth and a heart full of disillusionment.

He waved his key card over the hotel-room door and it turned green. With a twist of the handle the door swung open and he stepped inside, pulling his large suitcase behind him. He could have had a bellboy bring his things up to the room, but right now he didn’t want to see any other people. He wanted to be alone. Take a shower. Perhaps have a nap before the group dinner tonight, which he was dreading. Because people.

But maybe a shower and a power snooze would put him in a better frame of mind. He just wasn’t there yet.

A sound touched his ears and he frowned. Water running? He looked around and spied a Vuitton case on the luggage rack. What the hell? Was there someone in his room? Eyebrows knit together, he strode toward the bathroom and opened the door.

The string of profanity that greeted him, complete with splashing, had him shutting the door immediately. But not before he’d had a chance to spy long, soapy legs, the tops of some very lovely breasts that were covered with bubbles, and a flashing pair of blue eyes below dark hair, damp from the steam in the room.

A man could notice a lot in two seconds, apparently.

He spoke through the now closed door. “Um...you’re in my room.”

There was a splash and then her words came, sharp as knives. “You’re in my room and I’ll thank you to get out. Now.”

Eric sighed and pressed his fingers to the spot at the top of his nose, where suddenly all his tension had centered. “I just checked in, and I assure you, this is my room. But I’ll wait for you to get dressed. I’m sure the hotel will get this straightened out and you’ll be in your own room in no time.”

And probably a smaller one. At least he’d been put in an executive room, complete with a lavish king bed, a comfortable seating area and a view of Victoria Harbor that was incredible.

There was a great deal of splashing now and the sound of water draining. Eric stepped back from the door and took a breath, then went to the window to look outside. Seriously. He just wanted to relax for an hour. Was that too much to ask? This was supposed to be a first-class hotel with top-notch service. How did this sort of mix-up even happen?

Noises sounded from the bathroom. Unhappy noises. Apparently a little peace was indeed too much to ask for.

When the door opened he schooled his features and turned around.

And nearly swallowed his tongue.

She was angry; there was no doubt about that. Her blue eyes, framed by sooty lashes and set above lips that remained full and plump even as they were puckered in displeasure, snapped at him. She was wrapped in a hotel robe, and it was big on her, but he still had the picture of her legs in his head and the front of the robe gaped just enough to offer a tantalizing glimpse of cleavage.

He swallowed. Hard.

“I suggest you take your bag and go right back down to the desk,” she snapped.

He offered what he hoped was a calm, pleasant smile. “I think we should go down there together. I’ll wait for you to get dressed.”

“I don’t think so.”

“But possession is nine-tenths of the law,” he reminded her. “So I’m not leaving. That—” he pointed to the bed “—is my bed and I’m going to be taking a nap on it, so let’s not be difficult.”

A smile touched her lips. “Don’t quote law at me,” she said, a bit of mockery in her tone. “I’m a lawyer.”

Ugh. “Of course you are,” he muttered. He frowned as he looked at her face more closely. There was something unsettlingly familiar about it, but he couldn’t quite place it.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She put her hands on her hips, which only made the gap in the front of the robe wider. He tried really hard not to stare, but damn, she was attractive. There was no denying that. Where had he seen her before?

“It just means that the only thing worse than having someone mistakenly in my room is having a lawyer mistakenly in my room.” He knew it was an unfair thing to say, but seriously. The whole reason he was on this trip alone was because of his divorce and he was still bitter about how much he’d lost in the settlement.

“Wow. All right.” She moved to the desk and picked up the phone. A few moments later she hung up and turned to face him. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get dressed. Someone will be here in a minute to sort this out. Please let them in.”

She grabbed something out of a closet, slammed a few dresser drawers and disappeared into the bathroom again.

He gawped at the bathroom door. Holy cats, but she had cool dismissal down to an art form, and she knew how to sling orders, too. If he weren’t so annoyed, he rather thought he could use someone like her in his company. The way she’d sashayed into the bathroom hadn’t escaped his notice. A memory tugged at the corner of his mind, but before he could try to grab it, she came back out at the exact same time as someone knocked at the door. They both moved to answer it, but Eric sent her a quelling look and stepped forward.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Quinn, Mr. Chambault. I’m Paul, the assistant manager, and I’m so sorry for the mix-up.” He tried a smile. “Mr. Chambault, I’m afraid there was an error upon check-in that resulted in you being given the keys to Ms. Quinn’s room.”

The look on her face was triumphant.

Eric hesitated a moment, searching for the right words rather than the ones spinning through his head. “Accidents happen. If I could be shown to my actual room, that would be great.”

Paul’s smile turned into something that resembled a grimace. “Unfortunately, your room isn’t quite ready yet. It’ll be about an hour. We’re happy to keep your bags for you in the meantime, and you’re welcome to wait in our executive lounge and enjoy some refreshment. I promise that you’ll be in your room and settled before your group dinner this evening.”

“Group dinner?” Ms. Quinn—that was what he’d said her name was—stepped into the conversation. “You’re not with the adventure tour, too, are you?”

Oh, Lord. He didn’t want to go through the next ten days with her in the group. Suddenly that solitary sitting-on-a-beach thing was looking very enticing—why had he chosen this over the tropical vacation he’d initially planned? He met her eyes and was surprised to see something that resembled embarrassment in their depths, not to mention her flushed cheeks. Whether caused by embarrassment or from the heat of the bath, he didn’t know, but the trip was ten days long and he didn’t want this inauspicious event to set the tone.

“I am,” he replied and nodded. “I guess there’s nothing to be done about it.”

There was an awkward pause. Paul began taking Eric’s suitcase and carry-on bag to a bell cart while Eric and Ms. Quinn stood awkwardly in what was, apparently, her room.

“Sorry for the inconvenience,” she offered, slightly more subdued than she’d been earlier. He was about to snap back with a sharp retort when he put himself in her shoes. She’d been relaxing in a bath when a strange man had walked into the room. Of course she’d been angry...and she had every right to be. Even if the mistake had been in his favor, he could understand her reaction.

“And I’m sorry for freaking you out,” he replied. “It’s been a long day.”

Her lips twitched a little, and those pouty lips curved up in a smile. Then a smile with teeth...and then a light laugh came out of her mouth.

He chuckled a little, too. “Not exactly a great icebreaker, was it?”

“No,” she answered and stopped laughing. Her face was more relaxed now, though, and something shimmered in the room between them. Maybe it was just the awareness that he’d caught her in a fairly intimate situation. Whatever it was, he was uncomfortable with it.

“I’m Molly,” she said, stepping forward and holding out her hand. “Molly from Massachusetts.”

“Eric,” he answered, taking her hand. It was still warm from the heat of the water, and soft. But her grip was firm and he liked that. The memory slid back. Damn if she wasn’t the actual reason he was on this particular trip. “Wait. You’re—”

“We’re all set here, Mr. Chambault.” Paul reappeared at the door, interrupting Eric’s sentence. Eric dropped her hand, still a little shaken by his sudden realization. He’d seen that smile before. That soft, plump mouth with a teasing grin. It had been the mention of Massachusetts, though, that had really tipped him off. She was the woman from the hotel. The one who’d outbid him. He’d wanted the trip badly enough that he’d booked one for himself anyway. He’d never dreamed they’d be on the exact same one.

“I’ll see you at dinner,” he said, then stepped away. Maybe she wouldn’t remember him, and he’d just pretend they were complete strangers. Because really, they were.

Ten days. She’d be a part of his tour group for the next ten days. One thing he knew for sure: he couldn’t ever interrupt her bath again. The last thing in the world he needed was a holiday romance. And Molly from Massachusetts could be very tempting, indeed.

* * *

Molly let out a breath as she stepped into the private dining room. She could do this. Good heavens, a room full of strangers was not an unusual thing, and they were all on holiday. No one was worried about division of assets or custody agreements. So why was she so nervous?

She wiped her hands on her linen trousers and admitted to herself that it was all due to Eric...whose last name was something French. She only remembered that because the assistant manager had called him Mr. Something or Other. But it fit. His voice was low and smooth, with just a hint of an accent on certain words. Together with his thick dark hair and chocolaty brown eyes, it was no wonder her sexy-ometer had gone a bit haywire the moment they’d shaken hands.

But that wasn’t all. She’d tried to have a short nap herself, and it had been in that moment just before nodding off that she’d remembered those eyes. She was good at placing people and he was the one who’d lost the bid on this very trip at the benefit this past spring. The big question was, did he remember her?

She was the last to arrive in the dining room, and there was one vacant seat at the table. And, of course, it was directly to the right of Eric. Her nerves went crazy again, sending butterflies winging through her stomach. Oh, well. Might as well get used to it and set the tone. After all, they were going to be in the same group for the next week and a half. At least he didn’t seem to remember her. She could just pretend that she’d never laid eyes on him before. No problem.

She went to the table and pulled out the chair. “Wow,” she said easily. “I didn’t expect you to save me a seat.”

He turned his gaze to her and she felt the little jolt of electricity again. “I didn’t,” he said dryly. “Five minutes ago you would have had a better selection.”

“I’ll survive.” She sat down and reached for her napkin. “Has everyone ordered?”

“No. Just our drink orders.”

A server came by and Molly ordered a pomegranate martini, and by the time it had arrived, food orders were being taken. She decided to start with a beet salad, then a main of duck. She listened as Eric ordered his dinner. Then she took a sip of her cocktail.

He’d seen her in the bath. Ever since, she’d wondered exactly how much he’d seen. She hoped her breasts had been covered. She’d definitely had her toes up on the faucet, but had the other bubbles provided cover for...everything else? Her face heated and she put down her glass and reached for her water.

“Something wrong?” he asked, reaching for a slice of bread. He smeared honeyed butter on the top and took a bite.

“Of course not.” She faked a smile and straightened. “Did you have your nap?”

He nodded. “I did. I didn’t have the distraction of a wonderful view.”

Discomfort slid through her. “I’m sorry?”

“My room is considerably smaller than yours, that’s all.”

She reached for the martini again—this could be a long evening. “It’s probably because I got a deluxe package.” She chanced a glance in his direction. “It’s really just a bucket-list kind of thing.”

He buttered another corner of his bread. “So what about this trip is on your bucket list?”

“Oh, well. Uh... Nothing? I mean, I don’t really have a bucket list.” Too late, she realized she’d contradicted herself, something she never did in her profession. Why was she so flustered?

Their salads were served and she picked up her fork. But Eric hesitated and she paused with her fork stuck in a piece of endive.

“What’s the matter?”

He shrugged. “I guess I’m just confused. If this is a bucket-list trip, but you don’t have a bucket list...”

Right. And the last thing she wanted to do was get into her motives and personal life. Instead she smiled. “Oh, that. Well, I’m a bit of a workaholic. I hadn’t really considered an actual bucket list, but I decided that I could do with some time off and something exciting. Trip of a lifetime, amazing experience, yada, yada.”

He nodded and the mood relaxed. “I get the workaholic thing. You’re a lawyer?”

“Yes, family law. Partner in the family firm. Dissolving marriages since 1982, when my dad started his own practice with a friend.”

“Oh.”

That was all he said, and the air seemed to cool around them. To her surprise, he then turned away and began talking to his neighbor on his left.

Maybe her first impression had been right after all. Rude and entitled. Maybe there’d been a moment of something that had flashed between them, but his snub just now had been real. Fine. She ate her salad and struck up a conversation with her neighbors, a husband and wife from northern Alberta who were involved in an oil-and-gas company. Their previous expedition had been walking the Camino de Santiago in Spain, and soon they had her laughing at some of their stories.

The duck was succulent and tasty; a glass of wine after the martini helped take the edge off her irritation with the man on her left. By the time dessert arrived, she was more than ready to head to bed and get a good night’s rest before tomorrow’s beginning of their trip.

She’d ordered the hotel’s signature cake, rich with hazelnut and cream, and promised herself she’d only take three bites and have a strong coffee. Eric had momentarily turned back, and when he saw the dark liquid in her cup, he gave it a side eye. Was it possible she’d been mistaken? The man beside her now didn’t hold any of the warmth and humor that she’d sensed in the mystery bidder back on Nantucket.

And why did she feel like tonight she’d been judged and had come up lacking in some way? Even her coffee got a sideways glance.

“It won’t keep me awake, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she said.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to. Listen, I don’t know what I did or said to put you off, but maybe we should just agree we got off to a rough beginning and then stay out of each other’s way during the trip.”

“It’s your job.”

“Pardon?” She put down her fork.

He faced her. “It’s not you. I mean, this afternoon was embarrassing, and yes, I’m judging you on something superficial, but I just went through a major divorce. Let’s just say it was nasty and I lost a lot of money.”

“And you lost your wife, too, right?”

He gave her a cold look. “Don’t act like you care about that. Her lawyer certainly didn’t. It was all about the numbers, and putting a price tag on the six years we were married. Apparently I was such a horrible husband that she deserved five million a year in compensation.”

She knew that wasn’t how it worked, but that he was speaking from a place of bitterness. Moreover, he had to be loaded. Thirty million? He’d paid his ex-wife thirty million dollars?

“Your lawyer should have done better for you,” she said firmly, picking up her coffee cup. “Children?”

“None, thank God.” She sloshed some of her coffee and he shrugged. “Not that I dislike children. Quite the contrary. I’m just glad we didn’t have any to get caught up in a custody battle.”

She relaxed a little and met his gaze. “I know.”

“Do you?”

His tone was accusatory but this time she let it bounce off her. She did know. Her parents had stayed together but custody agreements were tough, and if anything made her cry in her job, that was it. Children were not possessions or assets. And sometimes there was an internal struggle between fighting for her clients’ interests and trying to do what was right for the kids.

“I think I’ll go up now.” She put down her cup and started to push out her chair.

“Nantucket,” he said, his voice firm and definitive. “You outbid me, Ms. Quinn.”

Her cheeks flamed as she put her napkin on the table. “Yes—yes, I did. I wasn’t sure you remembered. Mr....?”

“Chambault. And I remembered.” His gaze was hard, his body language sharp and edgy as he reached for his drink. “You held out to the last minute.”

“I play to win.”

“Not everything is a game.”

“No, but strategy matters. Good night, Mr. Chambault.”

She turned on her heel and walked away, her heart pounding. The evening hadn’t gone as she might have liked, but at least she’d ended it with the last word.