Under The Mistletoe (Holiday Hearts #2)

by Kristin Hardy

  She swallowed. “Do you have any ideas?”

  In the background, there was a thump of bass and the snick of brushes on snare as the combo tuned up. Gabe remembered his assurance to Richie. “I can think of one. Do you dance?”

  “Dance?”

  “Yeah, like to music.” He rose and held out an arm.

  It was on the tip of Hadley’s tongue to say no. She never danced. On her very rare nights out, she might go to a ballet, but that was about as close as she came. Certainly, she wasn’t in the habit of taking to an empty dance floor in front of a roomful of people. Somehow, though, she found herself pushing back her chair and rising.

  She had to look up at him, even in her heels. Amusement flickered in his eyes. In the subdued light, they looked darker than before. Hadley hesitated, then tucked her hand through the crook of his elbow, feeling the fine-weave wool soft against her fingers. She was far more aware of the hard solidity of the arm beneath the fabric as they threaded their way between tables. He smelled of something clean and woodsy and completely male.

  On the polished wood of the dance floor, he stopped and turned to her. “Do you know how to waltz?”

  From somewhere in the distant sands of time, she dredged up cotillion lessons. “I did when I was thirteen.”

  He laughed and took her hand to pull her into dance position. “It’s like riding a bike. Just hold on and go where I lead you.”

  Heat sang up her arm at the shock of palm against palm. In defense, she rested her left hand against his shoulder. He was close, so close. Close enough for her to see faint flecks of gold in his green eyes.

  Close enough to kiss.

  “The count is one, two, three. Back, side, touch, basic box step. Smile,” he said. “It’ll be fun.”

  The song was “Moon River,” dreamy and slow. His hand pressed against her back; if he pulled just a bit more, they’d be embracing. Suddenly, it felt as outrageous, as daring as dancing must have back in the eighteenth or nineteenth centuries, when women and men barely touched in public.

  At first, he counted the steps for her, but with the urging of his hands the old motions came back. The awkwardness evaporated and they began to move, dipping and flowing around the floor. Hadley laughed aloud. “This is wonderful.”

  “Didn’t I tell you? You should trust me.” Expertly, he led her into a whirling turn. Then several other couples drifted onto the floor. Aware of the people behind her, she stiffened, stepping forward when she should have gone back, stumbling on his sleek leather shoes.

  He stopped for a minute and leaned toward her. His eyes darkened.

  Adrenaline sprinted through her veins. A touch? A kiss?

  “Look at me,” he murmured instead, his mouth just a breath away from hers. “Trust my lead.”

  This time, when they started again, they moved as one. It was like floating, she thought, anchored by his eyes, the light press of his fingertips at her back. When she’d walked into the hotel she’d felt as if she was stepping into another world. And she had. This wasn’t her, this woman being swept around the floor in the arms of a handsome stranger. The rest of the room ebbed away until only his face mattered. The rest of the world—the rest of her life—was irrelevant. In that moment, that glorious moment, all she wanted was him.

  She didn’t notice when the music ended. She couldn’t look away. It was as though she was diving into him, seeing the answer that he wanted as much as she did. When he leaned his head toward her it seemed completely natural. Her lips parted. Just a taste, just a touch. She held her breath—

  “You are extraordinary,” he murmured. And bowed.

  Blinking, Hadley realized the band was on to a new song, a swing tune, and he was leading her off the floor.

  It was over.

  “You should tell your parents to tip your cotillion teacher,” he said as they walked back to her table. “You did well.”

  “Was that before or after I stepped on your toes?” His arm under her fingertips felt natural now. She didn’t want it to end.

  “It’s always hard with a strange partner. You slid right into it.”

  “You were pretty good yourself,” she said, sitting in the chair he pulled out for her. “Where did you learn all that?”

  “During the swing dance craze I dated a woman who wanted to learn ballroom.”

  “And you indulged her?”

  “We aim to please.”

  “I’d like—”

  “Nice moves, Mr. Trask,” commented a waiter walking by with a silver-domed tray and Hadley froze.

  She knew the name, dear God she knew the name. “Your name is Trask?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

  “Gabriel Trask,” her dashing stranger confirmed, holding out a hand. “I suppose I should have confessed earlier. I’m not just a dance host. I’m the general manager of the hotel.”

  Chapter Three

  Hadley’s feet thudded on the treadmill with metronomic regularity as sweat trickled down the side of her face. Idiot, idiot, idiot. The word repeated in her mind in time with her stride. What in the hell was she thinking, flirting with a stranger on a business trip? Losing her focus, getting all doe-eyed over a man she knew absolutely nothing about.

  And look where it had gotten her. It was embarrassing, the sort of mistake a rank beginner might make. And on a personal level…

  On a personal level it was downright humiliating.

  She stifled a groan. That moment at the end of the dance when she’d thought he was going to kiss her, she could only imagine the look on her face. She’d been thinking romance; he’d been the hotel manager attending to a guest dining solo. And now she had to work with him. She was disconcerted, annoyed, mortified.

  She’d have crawled over broken glass before admitting she was disappointed.

  Of course, if he’d told her who he was up front, everything would have been different. The treadmill chirped, informing her that she was shifting into cool-down mode. Cool down? Not likely to happen anytime soon. A day and a half later, irritation still bubbled through her. There was no way she’d have chatted with him, certainly no way she’d have danced with him if she’d known who he was. All it would have taken was a name badge, something that was standard in every hotel she’d ever been in. Apparently Gabriel Trask was more interested in preserving his Armani than being professional.

  Even spending all day Sunday searching out flaws in his hotel and drafting a plan for cuts hadn’t salved her pride. She still had to contend with the embarrassment of facing him.

  And that would be today, of course. Monday, glorious Monday. Still, the best move was to get it over with. She wiped her face with a towel and headed toward the door. After all, it wasn’t as though she’d thrown herself at him or anything. All she’d done was dance.

  And wait for a kiss.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. With any luck, he’d be the one embarrassed once he found out what was going on—and maybe a little concerned about his job. As well he ought to be. There were big changes in the offing. She needed a manager who could help her implement them, not one with mixed up priorities. She needed a professional who understood how things were done.

  And if that meant someone other than Gabe Trask, so be it.

  Gabe sat at his desk, finishing his November month-end report. With a few brisk key strokes he sent it to Susan, who would gussy it up and send it off. There had been a time when he hadn’t worried about letterhead, just shot quick e-mails directly to Whit or called. These days, he mailed formal documents to the executors of the estate, who presumably forwarded them to the new owners.

  Or maybe just tossed them in the round file. Who knew? Almost five months after Whit had died, Gabe hadn’t heard a word about what came next or who even owned the hotel. In the absence of direction, he supposed he could have played it safe and socked the profits into an interest-bearing account until the new owners appeared. Instead, he’d stubbornly continued investing in improvements. If no one was going to give him guidance
, then he’d continue with the plans he and Whit had laid out in January, as they’d done every year. The old lady deserved as much as he could give her, no matter what happened next.

  Clicking on an e-mail from his executive chef, he opened the attachment of menus for the following week. He stared at the list of meals, ingredients and estimated costs, and his thoughts drifted back to the last time he’d been in the dining room.

  It had taken willpower to stay away from the hotel the previous day, the one day off each week he granted himself. No one on staff would have thought anything of him doing a walk-through, of course, but Gabe knew why he found himself debating it instead of skiing or heading over to Vermont to visit his family. It had to do with a certain slender blonde laughing up at him on the dance floor, with the feel of her soft, cool hand in his, the lingering memory of her scent.

  And that moment at the end when he’d thought only of kissing her.

  Off-limits, he reminded himself. Just his luck that when he finally met a woman who knocked him back on his heels, she was a guest. All for the best that he’d been called away—talking with her had been entirely too tempting, and he had no business taking it any further. He knew where the boundaries were.

  And he’d thought about them all day Sunday.

  Shaking his head, he turned back to the menu estimates and began to crunch numbers. A few changes here and there would bring the costs into line with budget. He was in the midst of sending a reply to the chef when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Glancing up to look out the door across from his desk, Gabe saw the head of personnel walk into her office across the hall. Eight o’clock, he realized, wondering how two hours had whipped by since he’d sat down.

  One of his first actions after becoming manager had been to unbolt and open that hallway door. Sure, Susan was an efficient interface with the outside world. Visitors still came to him through her office. Staffers, though, were a different matter. If people wanted to talk to him, it was simple enough—walk down the hallway and knock. If he wasn’t in a meeting or a telecon, they were free to come in and chat. It meant giving up a little time and privacy, granted, but over the years the communication had paid off. He was wired into the workings of the hotel in a way his predecessors never had been.

  And around him the pulse of the hotel quickened.

  Hadley headed toward the executive wing of the hotel. The soft, drapey sweater was gone, replaced by a trim taupe suit, matching pumps. Brisk, professional, ready to take care of business, a leather portfolio in her hand. First impressions were everything. If she couldn’t have that opportunity back, at least she could start fresh with a show of strength.

  As she approached Gabe Trask’s office she slowed, looking for his receptionist. Beyond, a man in chef’s trousers leaned into an open door, talking animatedly.

  And she heard Gabe Trask’s voice in reply.

  He was there, just inside that room. For an instant, she could only think of his eyes, his smile, his touch on her back as they moved around the dance floor together. And the embarrassment of finding out afterward what was really going on. What must he have thought of her—a poor flower that needed his pity? She needed no one’s pity. In fact, that particular shoe was about to be on the other foot.

  His, to be precise.

  She banked the embers of her anger and walked up to rap on the door. “Good morning, Mr. Trask.”

  There were people he’d have been more surprised to see standing there, but Gabe couldn’t think of any offhand. It was as though he’d conjured her by thinking. One moment she was in his mind, the next she was in his doorway.

  And all he could think of was that moment she’d been in his arms.

  “Hey,” he said, rising to escort the chef out and go to her. “You disappeared the other night.”

  “Yes, but I’m here now. May I sit down?” she said, crossing to one of his client chairs.

  She was different today, he thought. Still cool and blond, but the mischief, the vulnerability, was all but hidden beneath a hard, glossy shell.

  “Please. I’ve got a few minutes.” It wasn’t strictly true—he never had a few minutes, but no way was he going to let work interrupt. “How are you? Everything all right with your stay?”

  “More or less,” she said, taking a seat.

  He looked at her. Something was definitely off. “Care to be more specific? It’s my job to take care of the ‘less’ part. Has business services supported you all right? You look like you’re off to your meetings.”

  It wasn’t quite a smile, more an impression of enjoyment. “That’s true, I am.” She sat upright with almost military precision. Her hair hung smoothly to her shoulders, her bangs just brushing her brows. Under them, gray eyes stared back at him, as level as a gunfighter’s.

  “Is your meeting here?”

  Definitely enjoyment. “Why, yes.” She crossed her legs with a quick whisper of hosiery. “In this office, actually.”

  That stopped him for a moment. In the back of his mind, suspicion began to brew. “Care to be more specific?”

  “Certainly. I’m here to meet with you.”

  “I don’t recall seeing anything on my calendar.”

  “You wouldn’t. However, I’d appreciate it if you’d clear some time for me.”

  “To discuss what?”

  Now the smile did spread across her face—but it was anything but friendly. “You gave me a surprise Saturday night. Now it’s my turn.” She rose and offered her hand. “I’m Hadley Stone, with Stone Enterprises. We’re the new owners of the hotel.” She gave him a cool look. “And I’m here to talk about what happens next.”

  It was just a handshake, a professional gesture she’d made countless times. She’d touched him the night before; the contact now shouldn’t have surprised her. But it did, carrying with it an intimacy, a connection that went far deeper than skin. For an instant, she felt laid open to him, thoughts and emotions.

  And he was furious, she could feel it.

  When he released her, she turned back to her chair without a word, resisting the urge to rub her hand against her thigh.

  “And what does happen next?” he asked calmly.

  “Changes. We’ve got to assimilate the hotel into the Stone organization.”

  “I see.”

  It was like being out on the water when a squall swept through, changing everything from sunny and warm to blustery wind and churning seas in minutes. It wasn’t a surprise to her that he was unhappy about it all. What was a surprise was how deeply the diamond-hard anger in his eyes cut.

  Not that what he felt would change anything, of course.

  Gabe crossed to the hallway door and closed it, his expression taut. Still, his voice remained even as he returned to his desk. “Stone Enterprises? As in Whit Stone?”

  “My grandfather. He left the company to my father, Robert Stone.”

  “Nice to get that cleared up,” Gabe said pleasantly.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Whit passed away five months ago. For five months, I’ve been stonewalled by the lawyers every time I’ve tried to find out just who’s responsible for the property besides me. All it would have taken was a letter.”

  Hadley smiled. Payback for the night before was about to begin. “WSI is a multibillion dollar corporation. This hotel represents a fraction of a percent of the whole. First things first. You were on the list when we could get to you.”

  “Which is now.”

  “Exactly. My job is to bring the property up to speed.”

  That got to him, she saw. “If you’ll look at the books, you’ll see the property is making a profit and showing revenue growth year over year. We’re in good shape.”

  “Not as far as we’re concerned.”

  “What’s the problem? We’ve been operating in the black for the last five years,” he said, a faint edge in his voice.

  “That may have been adequate under my grandfather’s ownership. Not anymore. We expect double or eve
n triple your profit margins from our holdings.” Or Robert did, anyway. “I’ve looked at your balance sheets. You’re not even close to target.”

  “How about that.”

  Hadley stared at him a moment. “Don’t mistake how serious this is.” She opened up her portfolio and pulled out a printed sheet. “Fortunately, we should be able to meet the numbers with the right approach. I’ve been making notes. You’ve got some unnecessary amenities that are driving up costs. They can go.”

  “Really.” Gabe leaned forward with interest, propping his chin on his tented fingers. “And they would be?”

  “Flowers in the rooms, for one. It’s a nice touch but a waste of money.” As a guest, she might want to keep them; as a Stone employee with targets to meet, she couldn’t afford to. “Stick with flowers in the public areas only.”

  “I see. Go on, please.”

  The other night he’d embarrassed her personally. Now he was trying to do it professionally. “All right. Your dinner portions could probably shrink, you could reduce the menu options,” she said, her tone intentionally dismissive. “The food is more exotic than you need. Skip the lobster and seared tuna, stick to lamb and sole. For that matter, your breakfast buffet is far in excess of what it should be.”

  “What it should be?” He let a beat go by. “I assume you’ve got hospitality experience to support these directives?”

  She leaned forward, resisting the urge to bare her teeth. “Let me make this clear. I have bottom-line experience. As far as you and I are concerned, that’s all the experience I need.”

  “You don’t think you need to understand an operation before you wade in demanding wholesale changes?”

  Hadley snapped her portfolio shut. “I think some of the changes required are obvious, but to answer your question, I’m not coming in here on the fly. I spent three weeks reviewing major chain hotels and compiling a database. Almost across the board you’re spending dollars on services, amenities and staffing that they don’t. Your rooms are twice the size of a conventional room, which we can use to double the hotel’s capacity once we can afford to spend money on construction.”