A tanned, teenage bellboy, wearing the Halford House uniform of white polo shirt and white slacks, approached the trio, carefully stepping over the tabby little dogs. His name, Brad, was embroidered on the shirt pocket in dark green thread—the official color of Halford House known as "Halford green."
"Excuse me, Miss Halford," he addressed Shelby, though his eyes flicked admiringly over Laney. "I have a message from your father. He wants you to come to his office immediately. He said it's urgent."
Shelby nodded. "Thank you, Brad. I'll change clothes and go straight there."
"Mr. Halford said to come immediately," Brad insisted. "Like right this second. He said it was extremely urgent and not to waste any time getting over there."
Shelby looked down at her red running shorts and white cotton tank top. Running shoes and white socks completed the ensemble that was fine for her brisk walk through the gardens and subsequent run on the beach, but totally inappropriate for a business meeting in the hotel's executive office. Her hair was all wrong, too, pulled high into a ponytail instead of pinned tightly into her usual efficient chignon.
"You'd better go right away, Shelby," Laney advised. "You know how mad Daddy gets when you don't listen to him."
Shelby knew. Though she was loathe to appear in a business setting in sport attire, angering her father would be worse at this point. At least, it would be until he saw her in this getup, thus embarrassing him in front of his business associates. It was a typical Arthur and Shelby Halford no-win situation, variations of which they'd been playing for years. Everything she did seemed to upset her father, starting with being born a girl instead of the firstborn son he had so desperately wanted.
"I'll keep Paul company while you talk with Daddy, Shelby," Laney volunteered. "I'll give him another tour of the place and quiz him on it afterward." She smiled adorably, and both Paul and Brad looked ready to swoon.
"Thanks, Laney," Shelby said grimly. She had another flash from the old memory bank—Laney's penchant for enchanting any man in Shelby's orbit. It seemed Laney hadn't lost the knack. And Paul, that glazed-eyed satellite, was already spinning toward Laney's magnetic pull.
A few minutes later the door to Arthur Halford's office swung open and Shelby rushed in. Her father, staring out the wall of windows at the spectacular panoramic view of the sea, gasped and clutched his heart as he whirled around to face her. "Good heavens, young lady, you nearly startled the life out of me!"
Shelby's heart was pounding, too, her father's unexpected dramatic outburst having startled her just as violently. Now he was glowering furiously at her.
Defensive and embarrassed, Shelby struck back. "The bellboy, Brad, and three other people stopped me in the garden to tell me to get over here instantly. The minute I stepped in the door, Miss York demanded to know what had taken me so long to get here. You were expecting me, so how could I have startled you?"
"You have a point, but it's invalidated by your entrance, which was all wrong," came an amused voice from the other side of the office.
Shelby turned to face the direction of that voice. It belonged to a tall, muscular man lounging against the antique-papered wall. His sardonic grin lit a face of sharply carved features, including a pair of striking blue eyes, cool and assessing with a piercing intelligence and strangely at odds with his dark coloring. His hair was a thick black pelt that matched his eyebrows, which were currently arched high, giving him something of a satanic look. An arresting and very sexy look.
Shelby tried concentrating on his clothes instead. They were not terribly flattering, lacking all traces of expensive flair. His navy sport coat, white shirt and khaki slacks were reminiscent of a parochial school uniform and his striped tie was dull, totally lacking any pizzazz. In one of the exclusive men's shops in Halford House's charming shopping arcade were clothes off the rack with far more style and dash. And if a man preferred a custom-designed wardrobe, that was also available.
"Here at Halford House, one always knocks before entering," the man continued, his tone definitely mocking. Shelby detected an unacceptable trace of insolence in it, as well. "House rules, I believe. And while your offense is not punishable by death, it is a severe infraction that must be dealt with accordingly. Call the breach of etiquette police! Charges will be filed immediately."
He abruptly removed his boring navy sport coat and tossed it over the back of a chair, then began loosening the knot of his tie. His shoulders were broad and muscular beneath the crisp white material of his shirt, and he rolled the sleeves to his elbows, revealing strong forearms, covered with dark wiry hair.
Shelby's eyes widened. The man was shedding his clothes right in front of them! She wouldn't be surprised if he unfastened his belt buckle next. Thankfully, he didn't, but he continued to tug at his shirt, obviously uncomfortable with the stiff, starched material.
She watched him, unable to tear her eyes away. He emitted an intensity that struck her as demented and dangerous. Everything about him—his looks, his body language and mocking words—called forth an inner instinct urging her to turn and run from the office. It was the first time she'd ever had such a weird, primal reaction to anyone and she was completely shaken. It was as if she had some secret knowledge evoked from an unconscious level that was unavailable and inexplicable to her rational mind.
That irritated her. Anything that was unavailable and inexplicable to her rational mind was useless and unacceptable to her. Shelby prided herself on her analytical skills and keen grasp of logic, not to mention her firm grip on reality. Never once had she even mildly flirted with the New Age theories that had abounded during her ten-year stay in Southern California. The powers of crystals and channelers were not for her, nor were ridiculous primal instincts. Particularly when they involved this man, who was watching her with an arrogant, amused air that both insulted and infuriated her.
Shelby bristled. She would not serve as a source of amusement to anyone! "Who are you?" she demanded coldly.
Garrett did not enlighten her. "You have to be daughter Shelby," he proclaimed instead.
He walked toward her, laughing, aware of the effort she was exerting to remain still. He guessed how desperately she wanted to back away from him but she stood rigidly in place, not moving a muscle or even blinking as he came to stand directly in front of her.
"You're not at all what I expected."
His eyes gleamed as they slowly slid over her, taking in every inch of her from the top of her head to the athletically correct running shoes on her feet. It was absolutely true, Shelby Halford was not the image of the militant battle-ax he'd conjured up from her father's descriptions.
Instead of the hatchet face he'd expected, hers was heart-shaped, with high cheekbones and full lips. And her lively, alert hazel eyes had nothing in common with the beady-eyed stare of a jackal. She had thick, straight, nut brown hair pulled into a ponytail and a layer of bangs that accentuated her big, wide-set eyes.
She was about five foot five, but seemed taller, probably because of her impossibly long legs that seemed to reach all the way to her armpits. Not that he had a single complaint about that, Garrett admitted, studying the enticing curves of her thighs, conveniently exposed for his scrutiny by her bright red running shorts. And not even those clunky sneakers of hers could disguise the fact that her calves were slim and well shaped. He wondered if she ever wore four-inch-high stiletto heels, but decided that this was not the time to ask.
The rest of her body, slender and compact, was as pleasing as her legs. Softly flaring hips, narrow waist and firm, rounded breasts now heaving with indignation against the white cotton of her shirt. Garrett smiled, both intrigued and mystified. It seemed a whole new dimension had been added his impromptu agreement to Halford's plea.
Shelby flushed at the intensity of his stare. She was not accustomed to blatant male once-overs. She took pride that her strict, no-nonsense air had always halted such sexist behavior.
He was so close she could feel the body heat emanating f
rom him. At an inch or two over six feet, he seemed to tower over her, his frame solid and strong. She was not accustomed to such physicality—she needed her personal space. It took every ounce of willpower she possessed to keep herself locked in place, breathing in the scent of him.
He expected her to skittle away from him. In fact, she was certain he was counting on it. Well, she wasn't going to. If this was a battle of wills, Shelby intended to be the victor.
"Stop leering at me!" she ordered, and was pleased she'd made it sound like an executive command.
"I'm not leering at you, I'm slavering over you," Garret corrected. "This is leering." He leaned even closer, screwing his face into an insanely ridiculous grimace.
Shelby felt a wild, quick impulse to laugh and immediately stifled it. "I don't know whether you are trying to be funny or not, but I assure you that sexual harassment is not a laughing matter."
Arthur Halford groaned.
"Sexual harassment!" Garrett echoed with delight. "It's the issue of the '90s and this is my very first accusation. I'm in the loop at last! The family will be so proud."
Shelby swung away from him, her head held high. It didn't matter that she was the first one to move, she assured herself. It was time to end this stupid game of one-upmanship he'd begun and she was the one to do it. She was in charge here, not him.
"Dad, who is this … this person?" she demanded crossly. There were so many other nouns she would have rather used.
Garrett seemed to know it. He didn't bother to stifle his impulse to laugh. Shelby knew he was laughing at her. She fumed.
Arthur Halford reddened, and he cast a worried, apologetic glance at Garrett.
"Please, introduce me to your charming daughter, Art," Garrett invited.
* * *
Chapter 2
« ^ »
Halford took a deep breath. "Mr. McGrath, I'd like to introduce you to my daughter, Shelby." He seemed to gulp for air. "Shelby, this is Garrett McGrath, the owner and CEO of the, uh, Family Fun Inns."
Shelby stared at him. "Garrett McGrath?" Now it was her turn to gasp. Everyone hotel industry knew that name—some considered it interchangeable with Mephistopheles.
Garrett nodded his head. "Your father said he told you something about our arrangement, about why and how I've come here to Halford House to learn all about the upscale hotel business from my betters."
He glanced at Art. Poor Halford had cringed when he'd confessed the ruse he had cooked up to keep his daughter clueless regarding the sale. Garrett's first reaction had been incredulity, then his sense of humor had kicked in. He'd been more curious than ever to meet the demonic daughter who'd driven her father to such lengths. And now he'd met her.
Garrett's gaze slid over Shelby's lithe figure, then back to her sultry mouth and flashing hazel eyes. "This should be an interesting experience, to say the least."
"Interesting is hardly the word I'd choose," Shelby replied coldly. "The entire arrangement is ridiculous."
She was frustrated, exasperated. Didn't her father understand? Garrett McGrath was mocking them. That gleam in his impossibly blue eyes was derision, not friendly mirth. "And I told my father so. Having you stay here to observe the way we run Halford House is a complete waste of your time, Mr. McGrath." And ours, she added silently but implicitly.
Garrett arched his black brows higher. "Sounds like you're implying that nothing I learn here will be of any use to me in running Family Fun Inns."
"You know it won't," Shelby said tightly.
"I assume rich people have families and want to have fun just like the patrons of the Family Fun Inns. So isn't it possible that—"
"You're deliberately goading me, Mr. McGrath," Shelby cut in. "And I—"
"I'm just trying to learn from you, Your Highness." It was Garrett's turn to interrupt and he did so, grinning broadly. "So far, I haven't learned much about running a swank joint like Halford House but I've learned that when you're on the losing side of an argument, you take the offensive. Accusing me of goading you is a good diversionary tactic, although it didn't work. You still haven't convinced me why I shouldn't be here to learn about serving the high and mighty?"
Shelby's mouth tightened. "Are you always so argumentative, Mr. McGrath?"
"Always," he assured her. "Usually, I'm even worse, but I'm on my best behavior today. I'm hoping to impress my superiors here at Halford House. How am I doing?"
Her father didn't give her a chance to reply. "Please don't take offense at anything Shelby says, Mr. McGrath. She's wary of new acquaintances and … um … tries to test them. As for me, I'm happy and proud to share my forty-some years' knowledge of the business with a man as brilliant and innovative as you."
Shelby stared at her father as if he'd taken leave of his senses. "Dad, may I remind you that this is the Garrett McGrath who put a Family Fun Inn on the same island as the Blue Springs Resort, sending their property value and stock into a free-fall. Who built a Family Fun Inn practically next door to the Snow Bird Hacienda in Aspen and caused its patrons to flee the state. Whose Family Fun Inns and their faithful retinue of T-shirt shops, themed burger joints, frozen yogurt stands and souvenir junk places have taken over formerly quaint little towns and turned them into tourist traps. I can recite the names of them, beginning with—"
"Stop, you're embarrassing me!" Garrett's blue eyes taunted her. "There's no need to tout the spectacular success of Family Fun Inns. Just basking in the glow of your admiration is praise enough."
"I do not admire you and I'm certainly not praising you!" cried Shelby.
"You take the bait every time, don't you, honey?" Garrett surveyed her lazily. "Oh, yes, working here with you the next couple of months is definitely going to be interesting."
"Couple of months?" both Shelby and her father chorused in pure dismay.
"Why not?" Garrett shrugged. "I haven't taken a vacation in ages. Of course, I stay at Family Fun Inns all over the country throughout the year, but that's work, not a vacation. So I think I'll take one here. Sort of a busman's holiday, if you will. A high-end one."
Shelby felt a peculiar panic ripple through her, growing stronger the more she contemplated the prospect of a steady daily diet of Garrett McGrath. "You can't stay here, Mr. McGrath," she blurted out.
"Shelby!" There was nothing well modulated or polished in the roar that Arthur Halford emitted as he glared at his daughter. "Mr. McGrath is our guest. Our honored guest. He is welcome here as long as he cares to stay."
The smile Garrett flashed at Shelby set her teeth on edge.
"Thanks, Art. I'll take that cottage you so graciously offered me earlier and settle in. Of course, I'll be flying home to our corporate headquarters in Buffalo for a day or so every week to stay in touch, but with faxes and teleconferences, I'll be able to manage things very well from down here."
"Your corporate headquarters are in Buffalo?" Halford repeated with forced joviality. "I hadn't realized that."
"The first Family Fun Inn was in Niagara Falls," Garrett explained. "My family had ended up in Buffalo, after living in a string of cities. We were sort of like Gypsies, traveling from place to place."
"That certainly fits," muttered Shelby. She could easily visualize caravans of McGraths descending on one world-class resort after another, fleecing them of their worth.
Her father shot her a quelling glance, then turned to Garrett. "Well, we're delighted you are here at Halford House, Mr. McGrath." Halford was once again the quintessential host welcoming his guest. "September is an ideal time to learn the ropes of running, um, a place like this. Our peak season is in winter and early spring when freezing weather up north brings our guests here to Port Key for some sun and warmth."
"Summer is peak season for Family Fun Inns," Garrett said, "although we do well during school holidays, especially Christmas break. Our inns are swarming with kids during school vacations." He smiled. "Speaking as the oldest of nine, I think kids are great. There can never be too many of them around. Wh
at are your facilities for children here at Halford House?"
Shelby and her father exchanged uneasy glances. When he hesitated to reply, she stepped in to tackle the question. "We don't get very many children here," she admitted. She felt as if she'd been called to the principal's office, condemned by a failing grade. "Many of our guests are older," she hastened to explain. "Their children are grown, with families of their own. We do have a wonderful children's boutique in our arcade of shops that is filled with unique gifts for doting grandparents to buy. It does very well," she added lamely.
"I've seen some of the guests around here and they aren't all grandparents," Garrett challenged. "There are younger people staying here."
"We have many childless, two-income couples who like to come here to relax." Shelby wondered why she felt so defensive and was irked that she did. "Then, of course, there are the couples who do have young children but who come here to be alone."
"Leaving the kids behind," Garrett said flatly.
"Where is it written that parents can't take a vacation without their children?" Shelby flared.
"Shelby, you're talking to a man who has built a chain of motels dedicated to the proposition of parents vacationing with their children," her father reminded her. "We sincerely respect your position, Mr. McGrath, and we admire your incredible success," he added with a fulsome smile.
Her father sounded like a fawning sycophant! Shelby gaped at him. Could this be the same man who'd always expounded at length on the horrors of having to cater to guests under twelve? Who'd considered banning teenagers from the premises—unless they were working here at less than minimum wage. It was safe to say that Arthur Halford did not dote on children. Shelby could personally attest to that, having grown up as one of his own.
Garrett glanced at his watch. "I have some calls to make," he announced abruptly. He grabbed his sport coat and headed toward the door.
"Shelby will escort you to your cottage," Halford offered at once. "And she will be at your disposal until we meet for lunch at one. I have a table reserved on the terrace—if that meets with your approval?" He glanced deferentially at Garrett.
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