by MK Meredith
But they’d lost it. They hadn’t made it five years in a row, thanks to cuts and mismanagement from the European director of marketing and sales. Their budget cuts over the previous year stretched beyond orders of pillow mints and well into the hotel’s customer care staff. A hotel couldn’t be number one if it didn’t have the staff to make it work.
If they’d gotten that critical recognition, Mateu would have finally been able to slow down a bit and help his father more with the orchard. The call from his brother last week confirmed it. His father’s health was in jeopardy. Every day was wearing on the man, and if something didn’t change, his health would suffer.
Mateu studied his travel companion. He wasn’t used to women offering to help pay for anything, much less half, or carry their own luggage. The women he’d dated had made spending his money look like a contact sport, and the use of his service staff a white-collar job.
When his assistant had approached him with the identity of London Montgomery as hotel reviewer L.M. Cipriano, he’d never imagined her to be so damned beautiful.
Tapping London’s phone, he asked, “Mapping our route to make sure I’m not kidnapping you?” Honestly, he was surprised she’d trusted him as much as she had. It made him feel that much worse about what he had to do.
She glanced up with those sweet, searching eyes. “Please, with how helpful you’ve been, you should be worried I’m the one kidnapping you.” She angled the phone so he could see. “No, I’m looking over my itinerary.”
He read the top line and couldn’t help his own smile. “Once in a lifetime?”
“Don’t you dare laugh at me. I work all the time. And I mean all the time. I have a lot of responsibility back home, and this is my chance to really live before I have to get back to reality.”
Her eyes did not waver, though she tapped a finger just below her full lower lip. She wasn’t joking about her itinerary, which intrigued him. She was clearly a planner and took her goals seriously.
Her vacation agenda was also a great cover for her work. Hotel inspectors worked anonymously and needed to be in the hotel to do their job, but this list had her traipsing all over Barcelona. She was taking every precaution to keep from revealing why she was really there.
“Let me take a look.” He lifted the phone from her fingers, and she tried to grab it back.
“Hey!”
He held it just out of reach. “A cooking class, a vermouth barhop, Picasso… My cousin, Maria, works at the Picasso Museum. I’ll have to tell her to look for you.” He continued down the list. “Ahhhh, now we’re getting somewhere…the Erotic Museum on La Rambla and the nude beach. I like your style.” He winked at her, then finished skimming through the list, reading the last item twice.
She wanted to kiss a Spaniard.
He looked at her hard.
That would never do.
He forced himself to stop staring at her mouth. “This is quite a list. All except the hot-air balloon ride. I’m not a fan of heights.” Being that far up in the air didn’t leave much room for control. He had zero influence on how things turned out, and when the stakes included plummeting to his death, he’d rather manage his risks and keep his feet firmly planted on the ground.
Quick as a hummingbird, she snatched her phone away from his hand. She stole a quick peek at him then focused back on her agenda, but she didn’t return to her side of the shuttle. He respected a woman who held her space.
Without leaning back, she studied him. “It’s hard to imagine you being afraid of heights.”
“We all have our weaknesses.” He took in the softly bowed curve of her upper lip. Carall.
“Fear of heights? So no roller coasters, no rock-climbing, no skydiving or hot-air balloon rides. Isn’t that a bit boring?” she asked with a teasing glint in her eye.
This one must be a daredevil. “I’ve never been accused of being boring.”
“I don’t know.” She slid her gaze over him, pointedly, just a hint of a smile in her eyes. “You look pretty straitlaced to me.”
He shoved all thoughts of letting her solve that problem out of his mind. He had a job to do, and it did not include following his instincts with this woman.
“Actually, I have another item I’d like to add to my list. Ever since you told me about your family’s orchard, I can’t seem to get it out of my head. Is it very far from here?”
Now that was unexpected. With a slow shake of his head, he answered, “Just at the edge of the city, north of here.”
“Do they have visiting hours?”
“Why? You want a tour?” It wasn’t something they did beyond a few local school field trips, but considering she was only one person, a VIP of sorts, it might just be a brilliant idea. He’d be sure to steer all conversations clear of what he really did for a living without having to tell his mother more than she needed to know about this situation.
She nodded. “I really would.”
His home pride got the best of him and, with a tilt to his chin, he agreed. “I’ll set it up.”
They drove the rest of the way with London studying the scenery as if cramming for final exams. He pointed out Collserola Park. “It’s a wonderful park to forgo the city crowds for a bit of nature.” Then, directing her gaze along the landscape, he continued, “See the mountains? Barcelona sits between two rivers and is encircled by the forested mountains you can see there. As a child, I always thought it felt like a special force field of sorts.” He chuckled. “The hills and the water make it very easy to know which direction you’re headed in, but the limited space has made for a seriously packed city.”
Her eyes never left the scenery. “It’s beautiful.”
He followed the graceful lines of her profile as she admired his hometown through the window. It would have been interesting to have met her under different circumstances. As far as she was concerned, he was an orchard laborer, and that was how he’d keep it. He’d learned the hard lesson that when women found out he was loaded, they lost interest in who he was as a man and cared only about what he could do for them—all anyone had to do was look at his ex-fiancée.
When the shuttle pulled to a stop a few minutes later, he assisted with her bag and led the way to the registration desk inside the hotel.
As they walked through revolving doors that seemed to run uninterrupted to the high vaulted ceiling, she sighed in appreciation. “This is what I’m talking about.” She gestured around the lobby bright with natural sunlight, green with palms, and soothing with a background of waterfall features. “The tranquility of the Huntington franchise is unmatched. I feel like I can breathe here.”
That was exactly the kind of thing he was hoping to hear her say. “I agree. They do a beautiful job at carrying the natural and even sensual elements throughout the public rooms and the suites. It’s easily the best hotel I’ve ever stayed at.” And was the very reason he alone had to take care of this little task. He didn’t trust this opportunity in the hands of anyone else.
Motioning for her to walk ahead of him, he couldn’t resist slipping his hand along the small of her back to direct her to the desk. She sucked in a breath and her chest rose, revealing the top swell of her breasts at the V of her jumpsuit.
He wouldn’t deny finding her long waves of hair or her soft, supple skin tempting to his fingers. The color of both were that of the honey his mother liked to sweeten the family’s homemade citrus tea with.
“All settled, la meva amiga?” he asked.
Yawning behind her room keycard, she nodded. “I am, thank you. I have no reason to be tired, but traveling always does this to me.”
He checked the time. “Get some rest. Would you meet me for drinks? I’m here for a few days, and I’ll be a familiar face as you plan exactly how you want to tackle that agenda of yours. Maybe I can give you some suggestions from a local. Besides, we’ll have to schedule that tour.”
She looked at him through narrowed eyes. Her mouth twisted in thought.
“Say, seven o’
clock?” The increased heartrate was surely due to worry she wouldn’t let him curate her experience, and not because of anything else—like the way she was once again tapping the little hollow beneath her lower lip.
“I’ll see you at seven.” She yawned a second time. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry.” She covered her mouth with a wide-eyed look. “Apparently, a nap is exactly what I need. The Oceà Bar?”
He smiled. “Go, before you fall over.”
She studied him a moment, then spoke softly. “Thank you. You made a potentially very bad beginning quite fun. You rescued me.”
Holding her gaze, he dipped his chin.
He watched her cross the lobby until she disappeared around the corner toward the elevators. Her shoulders were toned with the built-up cap of a woman who lifted weights. He followed the curve it created down her arms, then switched his attention to her ass. Impeccable.
Normally, he’d ask a woman like her out for a night on the town. Let her know right away he was interested.
Not being able to do so was exactly what he deserved for the game he was playing.
Curate her experience, make sure she had a good time, distract her from any slipups the staff might make—which they sure as hell wouldn’t, because they were his very own highly trained, hardworking staff—make sure she had fun when she left the hotel, so a bad experience at a restaurant doesn’t come back to the hotel with her and affect her review.
His assistant had accidentally learned the identity of the reviewer for Elite Travel & Life during an industry event. And not just anyone, but the most sought after one—L.M. Cipriano. Or as Mateu had come to know her, London Montgomery. When she’d booked a stay with Huntington Place Barcelona, it made sense that it could only be to do this year’s review.
He hated the idea of manipulating her stay, and, in any other situation, would never even consider it, but after their drop in ratings, he had to do what was necessary. If he didn’t get the hotel turned around, and fast, he wouldn’t be able to help his father. Regardless of the directives at a regional level, his hotel’s performance was a direct reflection on him.
Mateu had finished cleaning up the immediate mess just before the holidays. And now that operations were humming along smoothly again, he’d been planning on shifting his hours—half-time at the hotel and half-time remotely from his parents’ orchard. Scaling back a bit. Being more present with his family. His father was showing more than the wear and tear of decades of hard physical labor; the damage was becoming permanent. And as much as Mateu loved the challenge and competitive nature of being the CEO of Huntington Place Barcelona, he also missed the sharp smell of citrus and the chaotic but orderly scramble of family life on an orchard.
But he couldn’t do that until the management slipup was fully remedied.
With his father’s health on the line, he was on board with showing London a great time. He’d create plenty of opportunities for her to experience the impeccable customer service of Huntington Place.
London Montgomery wanted a dream vacation, and he would give her one.
Chapter Three
London welcomed the slight flutter in her stomach as the elevator descended in an almost silent whoosh. Earlier, when she’d made her way up to unpack and take a nap, the reality of where she was had hit her with a giddy rush of excitement.
Barcelona.
Her first vacation in years. And she’d met a sexy Spaniard, no less.
She could sleep once she was back in the States.
Instead of having to cover the cost of an in-home caregiver, her mother’s best friend, Margo, was visiting for two weeks. A twinge of guilt that it wasn’t her stayed stubbornly perched on the back of London’s neck—the same guilt she suffered every time she traveled. But if she didn’t travel, she didn’t get paid, which would make taking care of her mother completely impossible, instead of just difficult. Knowing the two women would binge-watch their favorite Netflix series every night she was gone had helped ease her worry enough to board the plane.
She’d saved for this vacation for the past year, which had afforded her a week and a half of luxuries. God, she wished Susan, her best friend, were here with her as they’d planned. But a sister with a new baby and a deployed husband meant Susan needed to go help her instead. Understandable.
Alone or not, it was London’s chance for shopping, good food, and better adventures—and maybe a steamy Spanish tumble to take home and dream about when work got hectic and her head felt like a jackhammer.
Time to get started.
She texted Susan.
London: Hey, do me a favor and see what you can find out on a Mateu Espasa whose family owns a local citrus orchard. I want to write an article.
Susan: You got it. Sounds sexy. I hate not being there with you. Everything okay?
London: Too sexy. :( You have enough to worry about. But I’m just fine. I’m in Barcelona…even if it is alone. :)
Susan: Stop it! You know I feel terrible.
London: As you should. LOL!
Susan: What eva! Okay, I’ll get back to you ASAP.
London: Thanks, baby doll!
Waving at the doorman, she stepped out into the heavy summer evening air. The Huntington Place grounds sat on a coveted piece of property right off the Balearic Sea and along the southern edge of Gothic Quarter—shopping. In one direction, blue waters flowed in white-capped waves for as far as the eye could see. A multitude of cityscapes reached to the trees of surrounding hillsides in the other. With the distance, it looked as if the city was horseshoed by a tiny mountain range from water’s edge to water’s edge. The most romantic force field she’d ever seen.
A sexy-as-hell pair of heels was first on her agenda. Something to help Mateu remember her when she was gone.
Gothic Quarter was packed like every other street in Barcelona, three to four people deep on every sidewalk, with the energetic hum of pre-dinner and pre-drink conversations. She passed a bakery and breathed deeply, the goodness so rich, she could almost taste the sweet dough of the pastries. Tourists checked out the sights in T-shirts and tennis shoes while locals skimmed the crowds with an inborn sophistication Americans always aspired to. Both walked the streets in a casual manner, as if the buildings didn’t rise above them like they were built from Maleficent’s very own crown. The wrought-iron-spiked windows were both menacing and sensual at the same time.
London entered the exclusive shoe boutique she’d scouted out prior to setting foot on Spanish soil and breathed in the scent of decadence and luxury. Red-soled Christian Louboutins and the classic silhouette of Manolo Blahniks lined shelves like one-of-a-kind pieces of art in Picasso’s very own gallery.
One particular pair caught her eye. A classic-shaped pump with a tall, delicate heel and a peep-toe. Her mother, Alanna, would adore them. Multiple sclerosis hadn’t diminished her mother’s love for shoes, only made the wearing of them infrequent. But you could bet your ass the woman still had a closet full. London grinned and asked the attendant for a size seven.
Taking care of her mom had never been in question, because she’d always been there for London, but the medical bills didn’t leave a lot of room for anything extra. So this trip was all about indulging. She sighed in pure bliss as she ran her fingers along the rich textures until she came to a pair that seemed to whisper her name.
These beauties would more than do the trick.
A tall sandal with an intricate ankle strap of tiny gold and silver chains wrapped around a narrow strip of nude leather was featured front and center on the CL shelf. One strap crossed the toes with the same dainty chains. The shoe was simple but so sexy, kind of like wearing nothing but a pair of nude panties and a diamond bracelet. She tested the light weight of the ankle strap with her fingers.
“They’re exquisite, no?”
London nodded. “They are.” Hell, she might just wear them around her house in nothing at all, just to make sure she gave them their proper due. “I’d like to see them in an eight and a
half, please.”
“Of course.”
Slipping her freshly pedicured toes into the fine leather felt insidiously delicious. Any other day, in any other country, the price tag would have made her cry.
But these babies were the life. “I’ll take them and the black peep-toe as well, por favor.”
On the way over, she’d passed a clothing store that had a fine nude, body-skimming dress with spaghetti straps. It wouldn’t give her hips she didn’t have, but at least it would show off her endless squats in the gym. And it would be perfect with the shoes, almost as perfect as wearing them naked.
Almost.
Making her way toward the store, she couldn’t get over the cleanliness of the city and the gritty creativity found in the graffiti. The two didn’t always go hand in hand, but there they were anyway. She ran her fingers along the bright swirling colors of one addition and marveled at the artistry in the work. It should be in a gallery. But then again, what better way for people to see an artist’s story than on the streets?
With her purchases securely held in front of her, along with her cross-body bag, she made her way back to Huntington Place and up to her room, counting how many soccer T-shirts she’d seen along the way. This city was proud of its soccer—fifty-four shirts and counting.
Her cell buzzed with a message from Susan as soon as she’d set her bags down on the bed.
London read through the text, each word increasing the weight pressing in on her chest.
Mateu wasn’t an orchard farmer.
He was Nicolau Mateu Espasa III, the rising star CEO of the Huntington Place Barcelona, as well as being from a family of entrepreneurs who were decidedly gifted at investing. CliffsNotes’ version, he was not a simple laborer negotiating a supply contract; he was high up the food chain of the Huntington, and he was loaded.