Not in five years anyway. When he was married to Mirabelle, he rushed everywhere for fear something might have gone wrong.
“Carlos?”
Turning, he saw his cousin helping himself to one of the complimentary water bottles kept at the front desk. “Those are for the guests.”
His cousin’s reply was to hand him a water bottle as well. “You didn’t answer my question. What did you do to make his vacation?”
“I promised him a vow renewal ceremony to end all ceremonies.”
“Sounds simple enough.”
“Would be, if we had a decent wedding coordinator.”
“I take it this afternoon’s candidate failed to impress you?”
Busy drinking his water, Carlos could only shake his head. Impress was such a subjective term. While qualified, the man lacked imagination. Anyone could slap together menus and hang decorations. La Joya’s reputation required someone with passion. Whose events sang with magic and romance and all the other intangibles people were willing to pay top dollar to experience. Thus far, he’d yet to find such a person.
Ironically, once upon a time he would have been that person. Pre-Mirabelle, of course, when he saw everything through a romantic lens. Those days seemed so long ago. When he was young and willing to do anything—be anything—for the woman he loved. He’d fallen for Mirabelle on sight, and from that moment on nothing mattered but making her happy.
Little did he know he’d taken on an impossible challenge. Mirabelle could never be happy, at least not for long. Her demons—and did she have demons—needed, needed, needed. Right up to the end, when, sensing his heart had no more to give, she shattered it to pieces.
Perhaps his past was the problem. Here he was relying on his gut to find a wedding coordinator when he’d used up all his romantic instincts years ago. He hadn’t so much looked at another woman since Mirabell’s death. Even if his heart were whole, why put himself at risk a second time?
“So what are you going to do?” Jorge’s question brought him back to the issue at hand: Paul Stevas’s request.
“Have catering pull together a proposal and hope that it’s magical enough to please our young guest and his wife.”
“Seeing his enthusiasm, I think you’re safe.”
“Let’s hope. He did say money was no object.”
“Well, if that’s the case, perhaps you should steal Señorita Boyd’s ideas. I took a look at her file when reviewing our bookings—which by the way, appear to be in order—she and Maria pulled together quite an extravaganza. Too bad, it won’t be taking place.”
“Too bad indeed, seeing as how we’re now stuck paying for nearly half of it.”
“Tarantulas happen. We’d have given the same deal for any other guest.”
“Hmm.” Carlos tossed his empty bottle into a wastebasket. Did he run to the other guests’ rescue?
“Did Pedro spray her foundation? I would prefer we not have to make any further concessions.”
“Juanita called it an emergency. You had no way of knowing—”
“Did he spray?” While he appreciated Jorge’s effort, he wasn’t in the mood to discuss what happened.
“Si.”
“Good.”
“He also checked her room again. As I suspected, this morning’s visitor traveled solo. Although, if you’d like, I could double check myself.”
“No.” The vehemence with which he spoke embarrassed him. “I think we’ve wasted enough of our time on Señorita Boyd’s tarantula.”
“Right. I’ll leave well enough alone, then.” His cousin gave him a long look, full of smug double meaning that left Carlos feeling so exposed, he wanted to smack the man.
Instead, he said, “Thank you,” and headed back to his office.
He spent the rest of the afternoon with his nose stuck in occupancy reports, desperately hoping to push the morning’s escapades from his brain. He didn’t like how Larissa Boyd had captivated his attention. The hold made him uncomfortable. At the same time, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. If anything, the harder he tried, the more ingrained she became. How sexy she managed to look curled on that vanity. How, when she slid to the floor, her body came so close he’d felt the belt of her robe brushing against his pant leg. The way her lips parted in surprise...
Maldita! What was wrong with him? Larissa Boyd was but one attractive woman in a resort full of attractive women—a woman who’d been nothing but trouble, he might add. Why the sudden fascination? Had he been living so long as a monk that her innate sensuality had an extra strong grip?
Whatever the reason, he might as well forget getting any paperwork done. It was time for his evening walk anyway. Who knows what emergencies crept up while he was behind closed doors? Half the time, his inspection found the problems before the staff did.
Thankfully, after six weeks of robbing Peter to pay Paul, the resort appeared back on financial stable ground. The last thing they needed was a rash of bad reviews. But then, wasn’t that his job? To anticipate and erase problems before guests ever had a chance to complain? Lucky for everyone, guests were the one class of people he could keep happy.
The lobby was quiet when he opened the door. He must have been lost in thought longer than he realized. Gone were the sun-worshippers and sightseers. The soft flop of sandals had been replaced by the click of high heels. Guitar music and laughter drifted through the terrace porticos. The bar was in full swing. Both trestaurants would be, as well. Nighttime had arrived. He gave a few parting instructions to the night manager, and with Paul Stevas’s proposal tucked under his arm, set off for the day’s final inspection.
He wasn’t looking for Larissa Boyd, he told himself as he passed the hotel’s open air restaurant. He wasn’t. If he was scanning the tables at the open-air restaurant, it was simply to double-check service. Her presence leapt out at him purely by coincidence. How could a man not notice her? She was the only woman dining alone.
What a difference from the woman he left this morning. Gone were the smudged makeup and floppy hair, replaced by a thick blond bob. The strands brushed just below her jawline, the restaurant lighting turning the color silver. Perhaps the lighting was why her skin looked more radiant, as well. The waitperson said something, and she smiled with such enthusiasm, Carlos swore her face glowed.
Before he realized, he was halfway across the dining room floor.
She was gazing out the window when he approached the table. Mindlessly sipping from her champagne glass. A fringed shawl, so delicate a strong breeze would carry it away, covered her shoulders. Every time she raised her drink, the material would slip, revealing a sliver of white shoulder. Not much. Only enough to make you want to see more. Reminded him of the morning’s terrycloth robe, modest and tantalizing at the same time. Like this morning, his body reacted appreciatively.
His voice was uncharacteristically hoarse when he spoke. “Enjoying your dinner?”
She turned quickly, liquid spilling over the rim of her glass. “Señor Chavez! You startled me.”
“Lo siento. I didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” he said, retrieving the handkerchief from his breast pocket. “And if I’m to call you Larissa, you should call me Carlos.”
It dawned on him she was the only guest he’d ever suggested use the familiar term. Oddly, the suggestion felt completely natural. “I take it, our view has claimed another victim.”
“Afraid so. I thought my villa cornered the market on beautiful, but I was wrong.”
“Paradise through every window.”
“For once, the advertising brochure doesn’t exaggerate.” She slipped the cotton from his fingers with a smile, a little shyer than the one she gave the waiter, but bright nonetheless. “You must think I’m a horrible klutz. Every time we meet, I’m stumbling or something. I swear I’m usually more graceful. Not much, bu
t definitely more than you’ve seen.”
“This spill I’ll take the blame for. The others we’ll blame the champagne.”
“Oh, I blame the champagne for a lot of things, including not seeing my hairy visitor sooner. Cristal definitely does not come up as smoothly as it goes down.” His eyes must have flickered to the glass because she hastily added, “Sparkling water. My drinking alone days are finished.”
Good to know. Perhaps now she’d stop occupying his thoughts so much.
Or perhaps not, he thought, scanning her length. Worry certainly wasn’t what he was thinking at the moment. “You certainly look like you’ve recovered from your ordeals.”
“I have, thank you.” She handed back his handkerchief, now damp. “Amazing what a long soak and a five-hour nap can do for your psyche. I’m ready to start this trip fresh.”
“I’m glad. I hope your stay is everything you envisioned.”
“Well, that ship sailed six weeks ago, but I do plan to make the most of it. Who knows when I’ll get back to paradise?”
There was that smile again. The muscles in Carlos’s cheeks tightened, making him realize he was smiling broadly in return. “Well, let’s hope it’s not too long between trips.”
This was the point where he normally moved on, to greet another set of guests, to complete his perimeter check. “By the way, if you haven’t ordered yet, I recommend starting with the ceviche. It is Frederico, our head chef’s, specialty.”
“Oh, I intend to. Along with the sopa de lima and the pollo ticul.”
He recognized the menu immediately. “You’re having your reception dinner.”
“Of course. I planned it. I’m paying for it. By God, I’m going to eat it.”
“You’re a woman on a mission, then.”
“Damn straight. And after dinner, I plan on having two pieces of my cake. Diet be damned.”
Just as he hoped, she was stronger than she first appeared. Carlos’s appreciation grew stronger. Did she had any idea how attractive a quality resilience could be? “In that case, I hope the meal is everything you hoped for. Buenas noches.”
Finally, his legs moved and he took a step toward the next table.
“Carlos, wait.” Her fingers brushed his cuff, stopping him in his tracks. Turning, he caught her peering up through downcast eyes, the blue still vivid in spite of the mascara curtain. Her lower lip worried between her teeth. Simultaneously erotic and shy, the gesture turned his entire body alive with an awareness he hadn’t felt in half a decade.
“I don’t suppose you’d like to join me?” she asked.
CHAPTER FOUR
“JUST FOR A little while. A drink.”
Larissa could feel her cheeks getting hotter by the second. She was handling this all wrong. After this morning’s “moment” in the bathroom, he probably thought she was hitting on him. His tense expression said as much.
“It would give me the chance to pay you back for all your kindness the past twenty-four hours,” she continued, hoping the reason was enough to erase any hint of a come-on. She didn’t know why his opinion mattered so much to her, but it did. This morning’s tarantula incident clearly touched a nerve, and she hated being the one responsible for bringing up bad memories. She’d spent a good chunk of the afternoon dwelling on the horrible impression she’d made.
When she wasn’t flashing upon the way his hands felt gripping her elbows, that is.
Why that moment caused such an intense wave of attraction to begin with was a mystery. After a long soak, she decided to blame a hazardous combination of exhaustion, alcohol and adrenaline. Along with a dose of old-fashioned female appreciation. He was a handsome man, after all.
“There is no need to pay me back for anything,” Carlos said. Larissa blamed the tightness she heard in his voice on her imagination. “I was only doing my job.”
“I disagree. You went above and beyond, and I’d like to say thank you. Please.” She gestured to the empty seat across from her. “Word on the street says the kitchen has an abundance of chicken.”
“Well...”
She could hear him weighing the option in his head. “Seeing as I do own thirty percent of the chicken....”
“You mean forty percent, don’t you?” she corrected. “Don’t forget, I earned an additional ten percent thanks to Hairy the Tarantula.”
“Of course, forty percent. How could I forget?” His comment held a hint of humor, however, and he took a seat. Instantly, a waiter appeared with a place setting.
“Wow, I didn’t even see him watching the table,” Larissa noted.
“You aren’t supposed to. We train our staff to be as discreet as possible.”
“So as not to disturb the moment.”
“Precisely. Our guests like their privacy. Although—” he paused while the waiter poured a glass of water “—there are moments when our staff has been too good at their job.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Put it this way. While my staff members might be discreet, our guests don’t always follow the same rules.”
Larissa got the picture. “I suppose love and paradise will cause people to get carried away.”
“Yes, they will,” he muttered into his glass.
Great, she’d gone and said the wrong thing again. Quickly, she rushed on, hoping to erase whatever bad thoughts she’d churned up in his mind. “Luckily, your staff can relax where I’m concerned. There are absolutely no indiscretions on my agenda.”
A hint of a smile played on his lips. “Back to practicing low-maintenance, are we?”
“Hey, it wasn’t my fault a man-eating spider decided to vacation in my tub.”
The waiter reappeared with their appetizers. “I’ve often heard Americans call ceviche the Mexican sushi. Interesting that you picked so many traditional Yucatán dishes for your reception,” Carlos remarked as he set down the plates of spiced fish. “Most of our American guests insist on American staples for their big day.”
“American food didn’t go with my destination theme. I figured why travel all this way and not completely embrace the culture? Consistency makes for a far more memorable event.”
“You sound like an expert.”
“Nah, just something I learned from my grandmother. She was a seamstress, and always telling brides ‘you don’t want one bridesmaid sticking out like a sore thumb and ruining the photo.’ I figured the same advice applies to the rest of the wedding.”
“Interesting logic.”
“Thank you.” Larissa decided to accept his remark as a compliment, whether he meant it as such or not.
Almost twelve hours since she saw him last, and, with the exception of his five-o’clock shadow, he looked as darkly perfect as he did this morning. The wear and tear of the day enriched his appearance. The wrinkles in his suit added depth; the stubble gave him a feral edge.
He ate with the same predatory grace that dominated all his movements. The prongs of his fork slipped neatly between his teeth, disappearing as his lips sealed shut, only to slip free a moment later. Larissa had never paid much attention to how a man ate before, but now she found herself following every bite.
“Is something wrong?” he asked suddenly. “You’ve barely touched your appetizer. Don’t tell me after all your effort, you don’t like the dish?”
“The fish is delicious. I—” I was too busy staring at your mouth to eat. She speared a piece of fish with her fork. “I was thinking how nice it is to have someone to talk with. Privacy is great, but when you’re by yourself, things can get a little dull. Let’s face it, there’s only so much introspection a woman can do.” Not that she’d done much at all yet.
Quiet settled between them, as they chewed their food. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?” Carlos asked after a moment.
You had to commend him for politeness. Most people would have gone ahead and asked, the question was so obvious. “You want to know what I’m doing here by myself in the first place.”
“Far be it for me to downgrade my own resort, but La Joya is a couples getaway. If you wanted to spend time in the sun, there are dozens of quality Mexican resorts that cater to single guests. Why come here, especially considering you and your fiancé planned...?” He let the question drift away.
“You mean, why pour salt in the wounds by showing up at the same resort where I planned to be married?”
“Exactly.”
Where did she start? Setting down her fork, Larissa folded her hands in front of her and tried to put her thoughts in order. Since she’d given the same speech to Delilah and Chloe, the answer should have come easily, but her mind didn’t seem to be working the same way today as it had been the past six weeks. “Six weeks ago, I would have said the same thing. Why come here. In fact, I had my hand on the phone the next day, planning to cancel everything. Plane tickets and reservations included.”
“What made you change your mind?”
“Michael D’Allesio.”
“Who?”
Goodness, but she hadn’t said that name in almost nine long years. “He was a boy I knew in high school.” Pimply-faced Mike D’Allesio who played trumpet in the band and worked Saturdays at the ice cream shop. He’d always smiled at her when she went to his window to order. “I asked him to go to the prom, and he said yes, only to take Corinne Brown instead.”
“He canceled?”
Larissa shot him a look. Clearly he’d never been an unpopular chubby girl. “More like never followed through.”
“You mean, he stood you up?” A foreign concept to someone like him, who lived and breathed etiquette.
The Unexpected Honeymoon Page 5