by Donna Vitek
"Yes, but…"
"Why don't I let you talk to Mr. Shannon about the problem?" Loretta suggested, trying to be helpful. "He's in the office right now, as a matter of fact."
"Oh, is he?" Allendre said, her voice strained. Guided by an instinct for self-preservation, she had been avoiding Ric for the past three days. It wouldn't be wise to seek him out deliberately now; yet she didn't know what else she could do. She didn't want to disappoint Myrtle, who was waiting up in her room at that very moment, hoping somebody would at least try to find her ring. Reminding herself of that, she finally nodded. "Well, okay, I'll…"
"I'll get him for you," Loretta said, going toward the door immediately and knocking. "I'm sure he'd want to know about this situation anyway."
After Loretta stepped into the office, Allendre unnecessarily smoothed her golden hair, then straightened the collar of her white georgette blouse and brushed an imaginary piece of lint from her best black skirt. With extreme reluctance she lifted her head when the office door opened again, and, as she had feared, simply seeing Ric made her heart beat with dizzying rapidity. As usual, he looked too good. His cream-colored turtleneck sweater emphasized the dark smoothness of his skin, and the dark brown trousers he wore didn't totally conceal the muscular lines of his long legs. He smiled warmly at her, and she smiled back but clasped her hands together to hide their embarrassing shakiness.
"What's this about your losing your ring?" he asked, coming around the desk to join her. "When did it happen?"
"Oh, it's Mrs. Wainwright's ring that's lost, not mine," she corrected quickly, then went on to explain the entire situation, concluding, "Of course I'm just assuming there's one of those little J-shaped pipes under Mrs. Wainwright's drain."
"You're assuming correctly, then," he said, smiling down at her indulgently. "Those 'little J-shaped pipes' are called traps, and they're an integral part of every plumbing system. So we should find your friend's ring easily enough." He turned to Loretta. "You should have called maintenance this afternoon as soon as you heard about this."
"But Miss Hopkins…"
"Miss Hopkins what?" he questioned when the clerk hesitated. "What does Deb have to do with any of this?"
"Well, Mr. Shannon, she… she told Mrs. Wainwright nothing could be done about the ring," Loretta explained reluctantly. "I guess because it really isn't a valuable piece of jewelry."
"It's valuable to Mrs. Wainwright," he said sharply, then relented, apparently remembering that Loretta wasn't at fault. "All right, no real harm was done, I suppose. But call maintenance immediately and give them Mrs. Wainwright's room number. Tell them I want that ring back on her finger tonight."
"But, Mr. Shannon, I can't call them now," Loretta declared bewilderedly. "No one's there after two in the afternoon."
"What do you mean, no one's there? What about the two-man night crew?"
"Miss Hopkins let them go about two months ago, the same time she laid off some of the day crew and reduced the working hours of the rest of the men."
"Why in heaven's name did she do that?" Ric exclaimed furiously.
Loretta shifted her feet restlessly, obviously none too eager to be the one telling him this news. "Well, she said it cost too much to keep a crew here all the time and that they'd have plenty of time to keep the place up only working until two every day. Uh, two of the men quit because they said they couldn't make a decent living that way. They went to work at the Bridgemont Arms, I think."
Ric swore under his breath, apparently trying to get control of his temper. "Call all the men right now," he said calmly. "See if you can find two willing to start working the night shift. And tell the others they'll be working a full day from now on." Loretta nodded and scurried to the phone, obviously relieved to escape.
"Perhaps I should go talk to Mrs. Wainwright myself," he said, turning to Allendre, "and assure her that we'll do everything we can to find her ring tonight. I'll talk to Deb tomorrow and get this mess straightened out once and for all," he added grimly.
As Allendre hurried along beside him when he strode toward the elevator she didn't doubt a word he had said.
The next morning, soon after Allendre returned to her room from breakfast, her phone rang. Unable to imagine who might be calling, she lifted the receiver gingerly, then almost let it slip through her fingers when she heard Ric's voice. Their conversation was brief and rather one-sided. He had something to discuss with her and wanted her to come see him at his cottage.
Allendre agreed, but, after replacing the receiver, she stood immobile for a moment, trying to analyze the call. Despite the fact that he was always friendly to her lately, he hadn't uttered any of the typical telephone pleasantries. There had been no "How are you this morning? Fine, I hope." He had only said he wanted to talk to her, and he had sounded unusually serious, which aroused considerable apprehension in her. Could he be angry with her for some reason? She had no idea why he might be. Last night the two of them together had succeeded in making Myrtle Wainwright very happy, and since his prime objective was to make guests happy, Allendre didn't think he could possibly be upset about that situation.
"All the second-guessing in the world isn't going to help," she reminded herself firmly. Walking across the room to the cheval glass, she tried to decide if she looked presentable in her grass-green wrap skirt and white T-shirt. She looked fine, she conceded at last. At least, she no longer looked as if she had parboiled herself in the sun. The redness had darkened to a light tan, and if the freckles now sprinkled across her nose and cheekbones made her appear younger than she was, well, that simply couldn't be helped.
After brushing her hair until it glowed with a healthy sheen, she applied pink lip gloss, snatched up her straw carryall purse, and left her room before courage could desert her. It was an overcast day, but that made the gardens no less lovely. Actually, the jewel-clear colors of the myriad flowers possessed a muted beauty in the grayish light, and their fragrances were not diminished in the slightest.
Ric's house also looked like a muted jewel in the misty haze of the day. Surrounded by a lush green lawn, its walls edged with clinging scarlet bougainvillea, it possessed an elegance only houses very old and very much loved can possess. Despite Allendre's desire to see the interior, however, she warily tapped the hammer of the brass knocker on the massive mahogany front door. A plump, middle-aged woman in a gray dress answered and welcomed her into a large wainscoted hall. Beneath a central mahogany table was an intricately designed black-and-red Rabat carpet, and a curving staircase led up to the second floor. So far the house was as lovely as Allendre had imagined it would be, and she looked around with unabashed admiration.
"Mr. Shannon will see you in his study," the housekeeper said, leading Allendre to the double sliding doors to the left. After pushing them open and announcing her to Ric, the woman departed.
"Come in, Allie." Unsmilingly, he rose from behind a massive desk by the French doors that opened onto a garden patio. He came around to meet her and gestured toward one of the high-backed leather armchairs that formed a cozy arrangement with a matching sofa.
Her heart pounding with an inexplicable excitement, she perched on the edge of the chair, which faced an alcove of floor-to-ceiling bookcases. When Ric sat down in the opposite chair, she gave him an uncertain little smile.
He didn't return it. "Except for last night, I haven't seen you the past few days," he began unceremoniously. "Where have you been?"
"Oh, here and there, sightseeing every day. I've been so tired that when I get back to the hotel, I've just been having dinner in my room," she lied. She had actually been trying to avoid him, but she could hardly tell him that. Instead, she babbled on. "Room service has really improved, by the way. I hardly have time to hang up the phone after ordering dinner before someone is there with it."
"I'm glad to hear it," he said flatly. "That's the way it should be."
She nodded. An uncomfortable silence fell between them, but she couldn't think of anything to
say and Ric simply sat back in his chair, looking at her, as he stroked his chin with one long, lean finger. Under that dark, enigmatic gaze, she shifted nervously on the chair, clasping her hands around her knees.
"Tell me about your job," Ric commanded abruptly. "What exactly is it that you do?"
"My job?" she squeaked, her face paling slightly. Could he have possibly learned that she worked for Meredith Travel Guides? And if somehow he had, how would she ever be able to persuade him that she wasn't at Shannon House to dig up some dirt with which to smear its fine reputation? He might never believe that she and Mr. Meredith wanted to continue rating the hotel as super deluxe, nor that she was there incognito only to be certain she was treated like the average guest. Instead he might believe she was a despicable sneak, there to do him and the hotel harm. Suddenly feeling trapped by his unreadable expression, she stammered an evasive half-truth. "Well, uh, I work for this firm that's involved in publishing. And I… well, I'm sort of low man on the totem pole, if you know what I mean. I get to run all the errands and make the coffee."
"You've been in Bermuda almost two weeks now," he commented expressionlessly. "I suppose your vacation's nearly over."
Her brain worked frantically. How in the world was she going to explain a longer stay? And she had to stay longer. Mr. Meredith had ordered her to. Two days ago, when she had called him to tell him she was having no luck proving or disproving the overcharging allegations, his instructions had been emphatic. "You'll have to find a way to prove or disprove them, then, Miss Corey," he had said briskly. "Accusations of bill padding are very serious, and Meredith Travel Guides has to learn if they're justified. So you stay there until you know the truth. Understood?" She had understood perfectly. But now how was she going to explain an extended vacation to Ric? Don't give an elaborate explanation, her common sense told her, so at last she said simply, "We have terrific vacation benefits. Everybody gets from four to six weeks."
Ric inclined his head, as if he accepted what she said. "Do you like your job?"
Allendre lifted her shoulders warily and attempted evasion. "It's a job."
He leaned forward, propping his elbows on the chair's armrests. "Last night, after you left Mrs. Wainwright's room, she told me that you'd had some experience working in a hotel."
Allendre was now thoroughly confused. What did this have to do with anything? "I did work in a hotel during summer vacations from college. They called me an assistant manager, but I suspect that was just a glorified term for desk clerk." When he smiled at her at last, she was relieved, yet disturbed by the dizzying effect a mere smile could have on her senses. She longed to touch light fingertips to the enticing indentations that appeared beside his mouth. Tightening the entwined fingers she had clasped around her knees, she gathered the remnants of her composure enough to ask, "Why are you interested in my hotel experience?"
His dark blue eyes searched her face. "Would you be willing to quit your job in Chicago to come to work here as the hotel's day manager? I know you don't have extensive experience, but I'd be here to help with any large problems that might arise. I just need someone in that office every day who knows how to handle the guests."
For a moment Allendre could only stare at him disbelievingly, too astonished to speak, and when she was finally able to, she wasn't particularly coherent. "You mean… me? But Deb…"
"Deb will be handling the office at night from now on," he said flatly and with no remorse. "Then she'll have fewer opportunities to get into trouble."
He was being very harsh on a girl he was supposed to be so close to, Allendre thought, shying away from even imagining how he might treat a mere acquaintance like herself if she ever displeased him. But perhaps Deb had been right when she had told Gerald that Ric didn't let personal relationships influence the way he did business. Deb would probably be furious if Ric demoted her, though, and Allendre still couldn't quite believe he wanted to hire her to take the day manager's position. And apparently her disbelief was very obvious.
"Don't look so shocked," Ric said, smiling at her incredulous expression. "I'm making you a serious offer. I think you'll be an excellent manager. You're much more diplomatic in your dealings with people than Deb is."
"But she… she'll have a fit, won't she?" Allendre exclaimed. "She's not going to like it one little bit if you switch her to night duty."
"I've already spoken to Deb about this, and you're right—she didn't like it at all." Ric shrugged almost carelessly. "But I'm the person who has to make the decisions concerning Shannon House, Allie, and I've decided that unless Deb learns that providing excellent service is more important than adding a few dollars to the profits, then I don't think she's suited for the job. But you have the right attitude, Allie—you think the guests should get all the little extra services that they're paying for. And I think you care about Shannon, about keeping it the way it's always been. I want you to come to work for me, Allie."
She swallowed convulsively. How could she refuse him anything when his voice was so melodiously low and serious and the look in his dark blue eyes was so intent? She didn't want to refuse; yet wouldn't it be unethical to take this job while she was still working for Meredith's Travel Guides? Not really, she decided. If she worked at Shannon House, she would soon know if the overcharging allegations had been true; and if they had, she could tell Ric, giving him a chance to straighten out the situation before she reported to Mr. Meredith. Then, having completed her assignment, she could simply resign from Meredith's. She had to admit to herself that it would be heavenly to stay here in Bermuda, to work at Shannon House, to be close to Ric. But would it be wise to get even more involved with him?
"Say yes, Allendre," he coaxed, obviously sensing her indecision. "Please. I need you."
The evocative words alone were enough to start her pulses pounding in her temples. And when, smiling at her gently, he reached over to take her hand in both of his, she was lost. She couldn't refuse his offer, though she knew very well how unwise it might be to accept. Yet people in love weren't always wise, and she was in love with Ric. The moment his hand touched hers, she knew she wasn't just falling in love. She already loved him, so she had to say yes. "All right," she whispered, nearly mesmerized by the sudden dark narrowing of his eyes. "I'll come to work for you."
"You won't be sorry," he whispered back, his thumb brushing slowly over the back of her hand. "And I'm certain I won't be. I think I'm going to like having you around on a permanent basis."
"You didn't want me around even on a temporary basis when we first met," she reminded him, needing to keep the conversation light. "You didn't like me."
"And you didn't like me, either," he retorted, laughing softly, holding her gaze. "But we like each other now, and that's what's important, isn't it?"
Too breathless to answer, she merely nodded, averting her eyes as she tugged her hand free and stood. She had to get out of this cozy room and away from him. That familiar attraction they felt toward each other seemed almost tangible at the moment, and she was afraid to stay and allow it to flare into a situation she might not be able to control. Looking down at him with an uneasy smile, she fidgeted nervously. "Wh-when do you want me to start to work?"
"We'll decide that later. Right now I have something entirely different on my mind," he said softly, gripping her wrist to relentlessly pull her down onto his lap. Though she gasped softly, his arms closed around her waist, pressing the rounded softness of her breasts against his muscular chest. His mouth lowered to brush against hers. "It seems longer than three days since I've kissed you."
She closed her eyes on the dangerously compelling flare of passion in his. As her lips parted involuntarily, his mouth covered hers with a rough urgency that she had never known from him before. A primitive fear arose in her, only to be swamped by an excitement so strong and intense she felt she could never be close enough to him. As her slender arms wrapped around his neck and she moved against him the hardening of his lips was echoed throughout the lengt
h of his body. The large, demanding hand that slipped beneath her shirt to squeeze her waist wasn't gentle until it moved up to cup the straining fullness of one breast. Then his touch became so light and confidently arousing that an exquisite ache radiated throughout her entire body. Her head came to rest in the warm hollow of his shoulder, and she trembled as his lips trailed over the creamy, sensitized skin of her throat. His warm breath tantalized her ear as he whispered, "I like to touch you."
"I like to touch you, too," she whispered back, proving her words by tugging open his shirt and grazing her hands over the fine hair on his chest. But she had not been prepared for the savage ardor of his reaction. Groaning, he pressed her even closer, holding her tightly even when she instinctively tried to pull away.
Knowing the potential danger of this kind of lovemaking, she dragged her mouth from his, hoping to cool his passion by uttering the first thing that popped into her head. "It's n-nearly lunchtime," she whispered, feeling silly. "Aren't you hungry?"
He lifted his head slightly, an indulgent smile softening the sensual curve of his lower lip. "Only for you, Allendre," he muttered huskily, his eyes half closed as they intently surveyed the parted softness of her mouth. "You're delicious, did you know that?" When she shook her head, he nodded. "Well, you are. You're the most delicious, softest girl I've ever known, and I can't seem to keep my hands off you. Forget about lunch."
"But, Ric…"
His hands tangled in her thick golden hair, holding her fast as his mouth descended on hers again to tease her lips with tugging nibbles by his strong white teeth. "Touch me again," he commanded roughly before his kiss became hard and possessive. It was a demand she could not resist.
With an almost comforting sense of inevitability, she didn't even try.
Chapter Nine
The next Tuesday, as Allendre stood behind the desk in the lobby, she looked down at her wristwatch, tapping the crystal thoughtfully. Then she turned to smile at Loretta, who was manning an unusually quiet switchboard. "It's five-thirty, so why don't you take a break from now until six, when I leave? Then you'll feel more like holding down the fort until Miss Hopkins takes over for you at nine."