Daniel hesitated. He'd hoped a run might sweat some of the bad mood out of him, and while his feet pounded the path, he'd given himself quite a lecture. He was here for a purpose, and bad behaviour wouldn't get him anywhere. They'd both been hot and tired yesterday, and if he could use that as an excuse for his rudeness, then maybe Miss Matheson could use it as an excuse for her…misdemeanours.
He'd already had to revise his original opinion of her as bordering on incompetent. This morning, she'd been politeness and efficiency itself, and he had no complaints other than embarrassment that she seemed to be present whenever his personal life took a turn for the worse, something that was hardly her fault. Now, he needed to smooth things over. He wanted to smooth things over.
"I'd like to apologise," he said, trying on a charming smile for size. "You've been caught up in an . . . awkward situation, Miss Matheson. I believe Natalie came in to see you this morning?"
She nodded. "She wanted another room, but I couldn't . . ."
"That's fine, I understand. You've been extremely patient with us both under the circumstances, and I'm hoping things will be calmer from now on. I'm sure you could do without having to listen to any more arguments." Her blush confirmed his suspicion that she'd overheard more than she would have liked—indeed, more than he would have liked—and he winced inwardly. "Perhaps we could start again?"
"Of course, Mr. Stone," she said politely. "We all have our bad days."
"Please, it's Daniel."
"Then it's Laura."
Their gaze met and held, allowing Daniel to study the colour of her eyes. Like amethysts, he decided, before he realised his heart was racing as though he was still running.
He broke the eye contact and turned to go. He already had enough problems. Jogging was good. Jogging might take his mind off the wretched woman.
****
As Daniel joined the back of the small queue in reception later that evening, it amused him to see Laura visibly straighten her spine. Clearly not satisfied with her excellent performance this morning, it was as though she was determined to prove something to him as she worked her way through the trickle of guests, never anything other than professional and helpful, while he waited patiently in line.
When the young woman who served him coffee that morning popped in, Laura took the opportunity to ask her something for a couple at the front of the queue, holding the exchange in rapid Portuguese and then relaying it to the guests.
By the time it was Daniel's turn, she was almost childishly exultant, beaming at him as she asked, "And what can I do for you?"
The idea of her showing off for his benefit amused him. "Don't worry, Laura, I was already impressed with the way you dealt with this morning's disaster," he said, a smile playing at his lips as he leaned his tanned hands casually on the desk.
"I don't know what you mean!"
Her haughty tone made him laugh. It had been a while, and it felt good as he allowed the deep rumble to reverberate around the stone walls until she smiled cautiously back.
"That's better," he said. "It suits you to smile."
She immediately wiped all expression from her face. "So, what can I help you with?"
Reminding himself it was hardly in his best interests to goad her into being hostile again, he lowered himself into a chair.
"I'm going to need all the usual stuff—street maps, any brochures or leaflets you have of where to go and what to see in the area."
"Do you have any particular interests? Architecture, history, the countryside?"
"I just need one of everything you've got," he said wearily.
She glanced at him in puzzlement as she began to gather together a selection of leaflets. "That doesn't sound very relaxing."
Daniel shrugged. "I'm not here to relax, particularly." Registering her querying expression, he gave himself a mental kick for concentrating on the way she delicately bit her lip with even, white teeth as she focused on her task, instead of on what he was saying. "I . . . won't know what appeals until I've looked into the possibilities," he amended.
Watching her steady gaze, the way stray wisps of hair curled past her ear, her slender fingers on the pile of information she put together as they talked, Daniel recognised he might be about to make a monumental mistake, but he couldn't seem to help himself. The voice telling him he didn't need any complications was countered by his reasoning that if the owners were away, she was his only inside source.
"I wonder if you'd consider helping me sort through this lot—give me the full benefit of your knowledge and expertise," he said. "I haven't been to this area before."
She glanced at her watch. "I have a little time now. Or you could come back in the morning?"
"I was thinking more along the lines of a personal appointment. Over dinner."
She looked momentarily stunned, and there was a long pause as she seemed to weigh up his invitation. "I'm sorry, I can't tonight," she said, finally breaking the silence.
Daniel damped down a flicker of disappointment. "Don't tell me—you're washing your hair?" Way to go, Daniel. Sarcasm will get you everywhere.
"You have no idea what I have planned for tonight!" she retorted indignantly. When he cocked an eyebrow at her unintended suggestiveness, she flushed prettily and hurriedly added, "I've already accepted an invitation to dinner up at the house."
Daniel nodded and unfolded himself from his chair with a cat-like grace. He knew she was curious about him, and even though he told himself he shouldn't be whipping up her interest, as he left he tossed back over his shoulder, "Don't forget, Laura, curiosity killed the cat."
Chapter Five
"Thank you, Maria. That was delicious." Laura sat back, happily full after a plate of Maria's chicken stew.
"You're welcome. Any more trouble with Mr. Stone and his unwanted lady friend today?"
Laura chuckled and filled Maria in on the saga without going into too much detail—every guest was entitled to some privacy, after all. She also carefully left out his unexpected invitation to dinner . . . and the unnerving way her heartbeat had faltered this afternoon by the river at the sight of him in frayed shorts and baggy tee shirt, his bare feet jammed into battered running shoes, his tanned legs taut with toned muscle.
When she'd finished her edited account of the day, Maria patted her cheek. "You've done a fine job, as always. So, have you found out any more about him yet? Other than his poor taste in women, that is?"
"Not really." Laura frowned. "Why do you ask?"
Maria shrugged. "No reason. I was just wondering. As Paulo said, he doesn't seem like our usual sort of guest—not like someone on holiday."
"He certainly doesn't seem to be here to relax," Laura agreed, remembering Daniel's request for all the brochures and bits of information she could lay hands on. She had to admit she was curious about that, but that was all it was—idle curiosity. The man was entitled to make whatever requests he liked—within reason.
"Mother thinks he's a travel reporter," Teresa called across from the sink, where she was up to her elbows in bubbles.
"Teresa!" Maria's voice was unusually sharp.
Laura couldn't hide her surprise. "Honestly, Maria? What makes you think that?"
The older woman twisted her napkin nervously. "I don't know. But I do know he's not a tourist. All those questions he asked Paulo when he booked . . . it made us wonder."
Laura's eyes widened with realisation. "Would it bother you if he was a travel writer? Are you worried he might write about the Quinta?"
Maria shook her head dismissively. "Why would that worry me? It's beautiful here! We've put our souls into the place." She got up from the table, clearly anxious to end the conversation. "Besides, he could be anybody. A writer, a holidaymaker, a travelling salesman for all we know. Who can tell?"
"He could be a gigolo!" Teresa said gleefully.
"Goodness, girl, where do you learn expressions like that?" Maria scolded.
Smiling, Laura finished her coffee and got
up to go. "If it'll make you feel any better, I'll try to find out more about him."
Maria shrugged. "If you're curious, you go ahead, but it doesn't worry me."
Laura nodded and left, but she knew Maria wasn't telling the truth. Daniel Stone clearly did worry her, although she couldn't imagine why. The fact he'd booked independently rather than through the tour operator Paulo let a proportion of his rooms to each year wasn't unusual—quite a few of the guests did the same. Admittedly there was more of a sense of purpose about him than the average tourist, but that was hardly a crime.
No, the Silvas' imaginations had run riot as far as she could see, but in the unlikely event Daniel was some sort of travel reporter, she didn't imagine he could say anything that would do any harm. It was like paradise here! Glancing across at the little reception building, she thought about doing some investigating now, but it was late and she was tired. Tomorrow would be soon enough.
As she tried to sleep, her mind kept coming back to Daniel's invitation to dinner. It was the last thing she'd expected from him. Hadn't he had enough excitement for one day? He'd only just got rid of one girlfriend. Surely he could do without trying to find another?
Yet for a brief moment, she'd almost been tempted to accept. He'd seemed sincere about their truce by the river, and he was certainly easy on the eye, though not so good for an even heart rate. And she was curious about him, a fact she obviously hadn't hidden well. More to the point, the family was curious, too. If she went out with him, she could find out more about him—for Paulo's sake, of course.
Then that brief moment of madness was gone, and her innate common sense kicked in. Her better judgement told her Daniel Stone and his attendant complications were best left alone. Her main concern this summer was looking after the hotel and its guests for Paulo and Rachel. Daniel was just one guest among the others, all deserving equal levels of attention, and she was perfectly capable of delivering that without falling at his feet in a simpering heap.
****
When Laura finished her morning duty the next day, she decided to head into town for a coffee and a little window-shopping, so she went up to the house first to see if there was anything Maria needed. With a small list of errands, she drove into Viana do Castelo to pay Maria's cheques into the bank and place a couple of orders with specialty food stores for ingredients needed to cater for the coming weekend's wedding reception. Her jobs done, she decided she'd earned her coffee and chose a table in the Praça da República, Viana's main square. Sitting in the warmth of the late morning sun, she happily absorbed the scene around her, watching people go about their business and reacquainting herself with the stone fountain, gothic arches, and wrought iron balconies.
With an almost physical pang, she was reminded how much she loved this place. If only she could take Paulo up on his offer to come out for the entire six weeks of the school holidays! The first time he'd suggested it, she'd only laughed. The next time, she'd gently explained how impossible that was. The only way she managed to come out for three weeks was by cramming all her preparation and planning into the other three. Just the thought of what awaited her back home made her feel exhausted.
When she'd finished her coffee, she drove back to the hotel, popped into Maria's kitchen to report on the progress of her morning's errands, helped herself to fruit and yoghurt, then went down to her room to change into her black one-piece swimsuit and make for the pool.
She read and dozed a little, but the pool was too cool and inviting to ignore for long. Taking a deep breath, she dived in, surfaced with a gasp, and swam rapidly to get her circulation going again, stretching out her limbs as she warmed up. Ten minutes later, she climbed out and picked up her towel, cheerfully greeting a couple of approaching guests whilst secretly pleased she'd had the water to herself, and headed up the path.
Back in her room, she wrapped herself in the towel and wriggled out of her swimsuit—but as she picked it up from the floor, she saw a large, unrecognisable insect clambering over its wet folds, almost camouflaged by the black of the fabric. With a shriek, she flung open her door, tossed the swimsuit outside, insect and all . . . and met a shout of protest from Daniel Stone as the sopping garment hit him full in the chest.
Laura watched in dismay as he caught the dripping bundle and dropped it to the floor, his suit and tie covered in damp patches. As he glanced down at himself and then back up at her in disbelief, her heart sank. It was bad enough he should be walking past her room just at that moment. Why did he have to make matters worse by wearing such an expensive suit?
Daniel bent to retrieve the offending item, holding it out to her at arm's length, and without thinking she reached out to take it, almost losing her towel in the process. With lightning reaction, she clutched it tightly to herself with her other hand.
"I thought we'd called a truce yesterday," he said, his eyes thankfully back on her face after a quick and obvious roam elsewhere, which caused Laura to blush like a schoolgirl. Amused glints in the blue depths of his eyes complimented the faint smile at his mouth.
"I . . . I'm sorry," she stammered, flustered. "There was something crawling on my swimsuit and I didn't like the look of it, so I . . ."
"So you thought you'd fling it out at any poor unsuspecting passerby?"
Laura nodded miserably. Despite her embarrassment, she found herself wondering why he was dressed in a business suit—and couldn't help but notice how distinguished he looked in it. The expensive cut was obviously custom-tailored for his broad shoulders and long legs. She shivered—whether in reaction to her survey or from cold, she had no idea.
"You'll catch your death dressed like that," he commented. "If you can call it being dressed."
Laura blushed furiously, grateful for the hotel's insistence on generously sized towels. "Well, again, I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sure your suit will dry out alright, but if not, let me know and I'll have it cleaned and pressed or something."
"I have a better idea. Come out to dinner with me tonight and I might forgive you." When she looked dubious, he added, "I am a guest here, remember? As my host, you're obliged to help me enjoy my stay."
Her eyes flashed bright violet. "I'm obliged to help all the guests enjoy their stay," she pointed out. "I couldn't possibly have dinner with everyone!"
Daniel's lips twitched. "That's true, but you have an extra duty of care after accosting me with a waterlogged swimsuit and a deadly insect. I could sue."
Laura's shoulders drooped, beaten. He was right, she supposed. Not about suing—he was joking about that, surely?—but that she was struggling to find a good reason to refuse, and besides, she had no intention of standing here any longer in nothing but a towel, arguing the point. Against her better judgement, she nodded.
"Good," he said with smug satisfaction. "I'll call for you at reception at eight."
He strolled whistling to his room, leaving Laura to wonder if she'd taken leave of her senses altogether.
****
Daniel was thinking much the same thing as he stripped off his suit, placed it carefully on a hanger to dry out, and stepped gratefully into the shower. As the cool water slid over his skin, he tipped his head back and let it flow over his face. Hypnotised by the spray, he allowed his mind to empty of the myriad thoughts and details from his meetings today, only to be replaced by a vision of Laura standing in her doorway with a towel wrapped around her, water still glistening on her lightly tanned shoulders, dismay in her eyes and a pretty blush on her cheeks.
He'd tried not to stare—honest, he had—but he'd lost the battle. Not that the hotel's large towels gave much away. It would be the first and only time Daniel was actually annoyed by a hotel's insistence on luxury, although even that wouldn't have done Laura much good if she hadn't had such quick reactions when the towel began to slip from her fingers. Daniel's blood pressure spiked just thinking about it. In punishment for his wayward thoughts, he turned the shower to almost cold and stood there several minutes longer.
When he
padded back into his bedroom, his mobile phone was ringing. He glanced at the caller display and answered. "Hi, Ben. How's it going?"
"Well, if you can ignore the fact I'm doing the work of three people, everything's hunky-dory." There was a slight pause. "I do think you could have thought a bit harder before you gave Natalie the time off, Dan. It's not easy with both of you out of the office at the same time."
There was recrimination in Ben's voice, but Daniel was more concerned with what he'd said than the way he'd said it.
"I'm well aware of that, which is why I wouldn't have agreed to her taking time off while I'm away on a trip. She told me you'd agreed to it."
"So if I didn't agree to it and you didn't agree to it, what on earth is going on?"
Daniel's jaw clenched. "She's playing us off against each other, that's what's going on. Did you know she's out here?"
"What? Out where? You mean with you in Portugal?"
Daniel rolled his eyes. "Yes, in Portugal, but no, not with me. I sent her packing. It wasn't pleasant." Tucking the phone under his chin, he headed for the fridge to pluck out a cold bottle of water and roll it across his forehead before taking a large gulp.
Ben was still spluttering at the other end. "But I . . . I don't understand."
"Ok, let me break it down for you. Natalie tagged herself onto my booking—and into my room—without telling either of us what she was up to. She even got an earlier flight from a different airport, presumably so I couldn't turn her back before she got here as a done deal. When I arrived, her lingerie was already laid out on my much-wanted bed and she would have been more than happy to join it."
"And . . . and did she?"
"Oh, she was in my bed alright." When he heard a gasp at the other end, he took pity and added, "I slept on the floor."
A cough neatly covered Ben's splutter of laughter.
"Not funny, Ben. I had to get her a room in town and practically push her out of here."
Holding Back Page 4