Love & Marry
By
L.K. Campbell
Copyright © 2012 by L.K. Campbell
All rights reserved.
No part of this work may be reproduced in any fashion without the express, written consent of the copyright holder.
Love & Marry is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed herein are fictitious and are not based on any real persons living or dead.
Cover Photo by Piccia Neri / Dreamstime.com
Table of Contents
Love & Marry
Not For Me
The Law & Annabelle Preview
About The Author
Love & Marry
Marry Markham wheeled her new red, organizer luggage through the revolving doors of the beachfront resort and waited her turn in the check-in line.
“Next,” the clerk called out.
“Marry Markham,” she told the clerk. “That’s Marry with two ‘r’s. My parents’ sense of humor. I was born on their anniversary.”
The dark-haired young man didn’t laugh. She wondered if he was listening.
“I didn’t think it was funny, either,” she said. “But it’s a good gimmick for my wedding planning business.”
The clerk continued to ignore her while tapping the touch screen on his computer. She looked around the luxurious lobby. Glass tiles, marble floors and soothing pastel colors all led up to a serpentine shaped staircase and elevators beyond. It had the feel of being on a cruise ship.
“You’re in room 432,” the clerk said. “You have an oceanfront balcony, queen-sized bed and Jacuzzi tub.”
Wow. Mom spared no expense, Marry thought. “Sounds wonderful,” she said to the clerk.
“And here is the schedule for all of the week’s activities,” he continued. “Including the Meet and Greet Breakfast tomorrow morning, bachelor auction tomorrow evening and of course, the Looking For Love In All the Right Places seminar taught by talk radio personality, Dr. …”
Marry stood back and held up her hands. “Wait a minute. Bachelor auction? Love seminars? What kind of place is this?”
A shocked expression registered on the clerk’s face, and he pointed to the mural that decorated the wall behind him.
“Encontrar el verdadero amor en La Luna Resort,” she read in her best tenth-grade Spanish accent. “It’s been twenty years since I took Spanish. Could you translate?”
The clerk continued to point to the sign as he spoke. “Find your true love at La Luna Resort.”
“So you’re telling me that this is some kind of matchmaking resort?”
The clerk shrugged his shoulders. “If you want to call it that.”
“And there would be no mistake about that in any of your advertising?”
He shook his head. “La Luna is advertised as a resort for singles.”
Mom! She wanted to shout out loud, but she took a deep breath and weighed the positives. She’d always wanted to see Puerto Rico, and she desperately needed a vacation after all of the hours she’d been working.
“Thank you,” she said and pushed aside the schedule. “But I won’t need this. What I’d rather have is information on touring the island.”
“Of course,” he said and pointed to the rack of pamphlets and brochures at the end of the counter. “Feel free to pick up brochures on whatever interests you, and I’ll get a bus schedule and riding pass for you. Most of the tourist sites have buses that pick up and drop off at different times during the day.”
“Good, I won’t have to rent a car.”
After collecting her bus schedule and pass, she headed for the elevators and was almost tempted to stop in for a stiff drink at the bar located across the lobby. A margarita would definitely take the edge off. What was Mom thinking? Silly question. She knew exactly what her mother was thinking. Marry is thirty-five and running out of time to give me grandchildren.
The elevator dinged and the doors opened onto the fourth floor. She’d expected to emerge into a darkened, narrow hallway. Instead she stepped out into bright sunshine emanating from floor-to-ceiling windows in a well-appointed lounge area. She stepped over to the windows to take in the view of the resort gardens below, rich with blooming foliage and paths that led to private nooks and gazebos. It couldn’t be more idyllic, she thought.
“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” someone in close proximity said.
She turned and looked at a tall stranger with clean-cut brown hair, a friendly smile and nice build from what she could see in the loose shirt and trousers he wore. The guy was just her type if she had come to La Luna Resort looking for a man, which she hadn’t.
“Hi, I’m Dr. Love,” he said.
Marry couldn’t restrain herself. She laughed out loud. “Well, of course you are,” she said.
“No, really,” he said. “Dr. Allen Love.”
Oh, sure, as if a good looking doctor would need to come to La Luna to find a mate. She gripped his extended hand and recalled his name from the schedule-of-events flyer that the clerk had shoved in her face. Heat flushed her cheeks, and she broke off the handshake.
“You’re the seminar leader, aren’t you?”
“The one and only,” he said, then laughed. “Oh, I’ll bet you thought my introduction was a lame pick-up line.”
Marry shrugged one shoulder. “Well, yes. It’s kind of funny.”
He laughed again. He has a nice laugh, Marry thought. Warm and inviting like an overstuffed recliner at the end of a hard day. Her eyes darted down to his left hand. No wedding ring—not that she was the least bit interested.
“When I first started my couples’ therapy practice, the name thing didn’t occur to me,” he said. “Then when I went on the radio, my publicist thought it was a great angle. You know how publicists are. Always looking for an angle.”
She smiled and nodded, even though she wouldn’t have a clue how publicists are or what they do.
“And who do I have the pleasure of conversing with?” he asked.
“Marry,” she said. “With two ‘r’s, and I’m a wedding planner, so I guess I know something about angles, too.”
“I guess you could come up with all kinds of catchy slogans,” he said.
She shook her head. There had to be a better slogan than the one her ad rep at the newspaper had thought up. Marry, Marry How Does Your Wedding Go.
“I hope I’ll get to see more of you during the week, Marry,” he said.
“Actually, you probably won’t see much of me. I’m not here for any of that singles stuff. I’m here by mistake.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets and shook his head. “I’m afraid you have me at a loss. The reason people come to La Luna…”
“I know that now,” she said, interrupting him. “I thought my mother had given me a regular vacation for my birthday. I only found out when I checked in that this is a singles resort.” She reached down and grabbed the handle of her luggage. “So, I plan to just keep to myself, enjoy the island and get a tan.”
“Suit yourself,” he said. “But you might miss out on some fun.”
She tossed him a sideways glance. “I’ll take my chances,” she said. “By the way, do know which direction I go in to find Room 432?”
He smiled and pointed to the right. “That way.”
“Thank you. It was nice meeting you, Dr. Love and good luck with your seminars.”
She wheeled her luggage off in the direction he had pointed. Luckily, she didn’t have to go far. Marry slipped her key card in the slot while reading the placard on the door, “The Sunshine Room” and also in Spanish “La Sala del Sol”. When she opened the door, she understood the name. The decorating scheme was composed of yellows, creams and muted oranges, and an obstructed view of the ocean.
�
��Wow!” she said aloud. “Have I died and gone to heaven?”
She went straight for the balcony doors and slid them open to reveal a semi-circular balcony with two lounge chairs—not the cheap plastic stuff, either. It looked like teak and had padded vinyl covers that matched the colors in the room. She walked to the railing, looked out on clear blue water and inhaled the scent of ocean air and surf. A cruise ship sailed into the nearby harbor while a speedboat darted through the waves. Just what I needed, she thought. Seven days and six nights of paradise. She dropped down onto the lounge chair, kicked her shoes off and closed her eyes. The sound of the surf lulled her until she dozed off.
Marry’s eyes popped open. Was that a man’s voice she heard? He sounded as if he could be a just a few feet away, and his voice seemed familiar. She got to her feet and walked to the railing. The only people about were four stories below her at the pool. The voice she’d heard was much closer. She was sure of it. She leaned over and looked to the balcony on her right and didn’t see anyone. But looking to her left, she saw bare feet propped on the balcony railing. Definitely a man’s feet, she thought. She heard the rat-a-tat of fingers typing on a keyboard. Not wanting to be intrusive, she moved back away from the railing.
She stepped back inside her room, closing the balcony door behind her. After getting a glimpse of the hotel’s three swimming pools, she didn’t want to waste any more time in her room. She unzipped her luggage and pulled out her new lemon yellow bikini and cover-up. She’d bought the daring outfit to celebrate losing most of the weight she’d gained during several months of depression. Thanks to throwing herself into starting a new business, one sad chapter of her life was finally over.
She spied the green light blinking on her tablet indicating email in her inbox. She wanted to ignore it, but the temptation to peek was too great. What if one of her clients needed her? She started to pick up the device but stopped short. Her assistant was a bright, capable young woman who could handle anything that popped up. Let her handle it. You need this vacation, Marry, she said to herself. She closed the suitcase with the blinking tablet still inside.
Floating in the warm water, her skin caressed by the tropical breeze couldn’t have been more rejuvenating, but if she stayed in the pool much longer, she’d end up shriveled like a prune. She swam to the ladder and looked up at a pair of tanned, masculine legs. A hand reached down.
“Need help?”
She looked up at a familiar face. “That’s quite alright, Dr. Love,” she said. “I can manage.”
“Please call me Allen,” he said.
He didn’t move while she climbed up rung-by-rung. Nice legs, she thought. The right amount of muscle and not too hairy. She averted her eyes when they came level with the front of his army green swim shorts.
“Could you step back, please?” she asked. “So that I can have a little room?”
Allen grabbed a couple of towels from the courtesy rack and held it for her. She took it from him and wrapped one around her torso and used the other to dry her long mane of auburn hair.
To her chagrin, he followed her back to her lounge chair.
“I expected you to be off exploring the island,” he said and sat down on the chair next to hers.
She reached for her sunscreen. “I’m here for a week, so there’s plenty of time.”
“But you said you didn’t want to take part in any of the events, and the pool party starts in fifteen minutes.”
Oh, shoot. Why had she tossed out that schedule?
“Does that include all three pools? I can move.”
He shrugged and stared at her legs for a little longer than she found comfortable. “Yes, you could move to one of the other pools.” He paused and made eye contact with her. “But I wish you wouldn’t.”
His eyes were as warm and blue as the sea that stretched out beyond the infinity pool. Incredible. Why hadn’t she noticed those eyes at their first meeting? She forced herself to look away.
“I-I really don’t want to spend the afternoon being hit on by a bunch of desperate men,” she said.
Allen leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “How about just one desperate man?”
His ivory cotton shirt fell open, and her eyes dropped to the light dusting of brown hair across his muscular pecs. She’d always liked a man with a little bit of hair on his chest—not to mention a boatload of charm.
“Dr. Love…Allen, we just met. You don’t know anything about me.”
“Carpe diem,” he said. “Seize the day or the moment. That’s what I tell the people who call into my show.”
Marry shook her head. “And how has that worked out for you? You’re still single in spite of being a rich doctor.”
He lowered his head, and she had feeling that she’d said the wrong thing.
“I’m a widower, Marry. My wife was killed in a car accident five years ago. That’s why I know better than anyone that there’s no time like the present.”
She could have crawled under the chaise lounge she was sitting on, but that still didn’t change the fact that she had no intentions of having a vacation romp with Dr. Love.
“I’m very sorry about that,” she said. “But I don’t do flings or have casual sex with men I hardly know.”
He narrowed his eyes, and she could have a sworn that a light blush colored his cheeks. “Okay,” he said. “That’s good to know, but I was only looking for a date to the pool party.”
She mentally slapped herself for behaving like a goof. Well, that was her modus operandi when it came to meeting men. Which is why you’re still single, she could hear her mother saying.
“I’m not going to be pushy,” he said. “But you might want to stay for the bacon-wrapped shrimp and piña coladas plus a great, local salsa band.”
She could eat her weight in bacon-wrapped shrimp. The chef salad she’d had on the plane had long since worn off.
“Don’t I need a name tag?” she asked, pointing to the one on his shirt.
“Be right back,” he said.
She grabbed her floral print cover-up that screamed tourist and pulled it over her head. She didn’t want to be clad in just her itsy bitsy yellow bikini when dozens of single men poured into the pool area. Before she could get her feet into her flip flops, Allen was back. He handed her the nametag along with a pen.
“Would I be too out-of-line if I wrote ‘Not interested’ under my name?” she asked.
He answered her with a crooked smile.
“So, why aren’t you interested in finding love, Marry?”
“Alright,” she said. “You’re a psychologist, so it’s time for the head-shrinking, right?”
“Not at all,” he said. “I’m just making conversation.”
Marry pulled the backing off the tag and slapped it onto her upper chest.
“My business has finally taken off in the past year. It seems like the only time I’m not working or thinking about work is when I’m sleeping. The last thing I need right now is a man to make me feel guilty that I’m not spending enough time with him.”
“It’s a wonder you took time for a vacation,” he said.
She probably wouldn’t have if the most recent wedding hadn’t been such a nightmare. She had kept looking for camera crews from one of those T.V. shows about hateful brides.
“As I mentioned earlier, this vacation was a birthday gift from my mother. I wish I had known that she was sending me to a lonely hearts last resort.”
“Hmm, wonder why she did that?” he asked.
“Not because mother knows best,” she said. “She’s been married three times. My dad was husband number two.”
He rubbed his chin. “Is that so?”
“See, you’re starting already,” she said. “This is why I could never become involved with a psychiatrist.”
“Psychologist.”
“Psychologist, psychiatrist, psychoanalyst. It’s all the same.”
Allen shook his head. “Not entirely, and I wouldn’t dream of
practicing on anyone who didn’t ask for my help. I do find it interesting that you have such an averse reaction to psychology.”
She sat up straight and looked out toward the ocean. “My mother’s third husband was our family counselor when her marriage to my dad was breaking up. Instead of helping her repair her marriage, he helped her out of it. So, yeah, I kind of have an aversion to your profession.”
He made a disturbed face. “That was unethical to say the least. How old were you when that happened?”
“Fourteen,” she said with a wave of her hand. “Oh, look, they’re setting up the bar. Can I get you a piña colada?”
He nodded and she walked over to the bar, hoping that he wouldn’t follow. Over the years, she’d learned to lock away her hurt and anger towards step-daddy dearest. Why had one question from Dr. Love taken the lid off that cauldron of emotions? While she was waiting for their drinks, he came up beside her and nudged her arm with a plate.
“As promised, bacon-wrapped shrimp along with stuffed mushroom caps,” he said.
Marry could resist the man, but she couldn’t resist the food. She was starving. She took the plate from him, collected her drink and returned to her lounge chair. The band began to play, and she tapped her foot to the quick, Latin beat.
“When you’ve finish eating, will you give me the honor of a dance?” he asked.
She laughed. “I shouldn’t admit this,” she said. “But if anyone had a video of me dancing, it could probably go viral on You Tube, and not in a good way. I have two left feet.”
He stretched out on the lounge chair next to hers and grinned. He had the type of smile that at one time could have melted her resolve, but she was older and wiser now.
“Salsa dancing is more about the hips than the feet,” he said. “And I have a feeling you can move those pretty well.”
She nearly swallowed a mushroom cap whole and had to take a huge gulp of her drink to wash it down.
“Ex-Excuse me? And just how did you come to that conclusion?” she asked.
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