“Thank you for the help.” Her gaze strayed to his luggage and back to him. “Can I help you? Are you part of the wedding party?”
“No, I’m not.” His voice came out deeper than normal. “I want to check in.”
“Rooms are by reservation only.”
This young woman must be mistaken. “I have a reservation. Now, if you could point me in the direction of the person in charge.”
The young lady pulled off a glove and held out her hand. “You’re speaking to her. I’m Reese Harding. And you would be?”
He stepped closer and wrapped his cold fingers around her warm ones. Her skin was smooth and supple. He resisted the urge to stroke the back of her hand with his thumb. When his gaze caught hers, he noticed the gold flakes in her eyes.
“Allow me to introduce myself. I am P—” He caught himself just in time before blurting out his formal title. It took him a moment to recall the alias he’d used on the registration. He’d borrowed his mother’s family name. “Alex DeLuca.”
Then, realizing he’d held on to her hand longer than necessary, he released his hold on her. He never let a woman affect him to this extent. Being awake more than twenty-four hours was definitely impacting him. If only he could sleep on planes, it’d help.
“You own this place?” he asked, just to make sure he understood her correctly.
“Yes, I do.”
His brows gathered as he studied her. She certainly seemed awfully young to be running her own business. “If you don’t mind me asking, how old are you?”
“I can assure you I’m older than I look.”
Well, now she had him curious. “And that would be—”
“Twenty-five.” Her dimpled chin lifted. “Don’t tell me you’re going to card me too?”
“Um...no.” He glanced away. He was letting himself get off track. It must be jet lag, because he wasn’t here to pick up women—even one as captivating as the woman standing before him. “About the room—”
“The place is full up until Monday.”
“Monday?” That was impossible. The muscles in his neck and shoulders tightened. “I made the reservation for today.”
“If you’d like to make another reservation, I can check our calendar.” She turned and stepped inside.
He strode after her, closing the door behind him. “I assure you I have a reservation, if you’d just check.”
With an audible huff, she stopped in the foyer and turned. “Listen. I don’t have your reservation. In fact, I’ve never spoken to you in my life. I would have remembered the accent.”
He would have remembered her honeyed voice, too. She was as attractive as she was frustrating. “Someone else must have taken my reservation. Surely you’re not the only person who works here.” Then again, this place was smaller than he’d been expecting. “Are you?”
Her forehead crinkled. “No, I’m not. But anyone you’d have spoken to would have checked the online system and known we were booked.”
Not about to give up, he thought back to the phone call when he’d made the reservation. “It was a woman I spoke to about getting a room. She sounded a bit older than you. She took my information.”
She frowned. “Maybe you do have a reservation. It’s possible it didn’t get entered in our system.” She lowered her head and shook it. “But it doesn’t change the fact that I don’t have anywhere for you to stay. We are hosting a wedding this weekend.”
He’d boarded three different flights today just to be sure he’d lost the paparazzi. And he’d suffered through a long layover in the Atlanta airport, cramped in a chair. All he wanted to do now was enjoy a warm meal and a soft bed. He held back a yawn. Rather make that a soft bed and then the warm meal. Anything else was unacceptable.
He straightened to his full six-foot-three-inch height and pressed his hands to his waist. He swallowed his frustration and strove for a professional tone. “What about my deposit?”
Her lush lips gaped and her face paled. “You made a deposit?”
“Yes. Check your computer.”
Her eyes widened. “Mr. DeLuca, I’ll definitely check into getting you a full refund. I’m truly sorry for the inconvenience.”
He glanced around at the historic mansion. His gaze scaled up the rounded staircase, taking in the stained-glass window on the landing. There had to be room somewhere—even if it took a bit of juggling.
“Since you’ve already accepted my money and this place looks spacious enough, I am sure you can set up accommodations for me until this wedding is over.” He flashed her one of his camera-ready smiles. “After all, I traveled a long way to get here. Now I expect you to hold up your end of the arrangement.”
Her lush lips pressed into a firm line as though she were considering her options before speaking. “Why don’t you follow me into the lobby while I clear up this snafu?”
Without another word the spitfire strode away. Her well-rounded hips sashayed from side to side like the metronome from the days when he’d been forced to take piano lessons. Only the swing of her backside mesmerized him in a way the silly rhythm keeper from his childhood never did. He stared at her until she disappeared back down the hallway.
Alex gave himself a mental jerk. He couldn’t let himself get distracted—no matter how beautiful the distraction. He had a job to do. A mission to complete. His sole duty was to protect the crown of the Mirraccino Islands from a messy scandal—one that would most certainly rock not only the palace walls but also the entire nation.
Copyright © 2014 by Jennifer F. Stroka
ISBN: 978-1-472-04861-5
THE UNEXPECTED HONEYMOON
© 2014 Barbara Wallace
Published in Great Britain 2014
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of Harlequin (UK) Limited
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