by Heidi Betts
That would be Kara. He’d given her a key card that would allow her entrance to the private suite of rooms whether he was with her or not. The only other people with pass cards were staff members, and none of them would come unless he requested it or gave them permission.
He met her in the sitting room, taking a moment to bask in her unmitigated beauty while her nose was still buried in an oversize book resting on top of a stack of other books and folders.
How was it possible for a woman to look mouthwateringly sexy and cute as a damn bug at the same time? The two descriptions were contradictory, to be sure, and yet they both suited her to a T. He was torn between wanting to grab her and tuck her against his chest in a tight, protective embrace…and drag her off to the bedroom to do some very adult, very non-protective deeds with her.
Dragging her off to bed was close to winning out, but he’d made plans, dammit. It had taken him half the night to come up with the idea, and half the morning to put everything in motion.
By dropping the ball now, he would not only risk portions of his staff thinking he was losing his edge, but risk losing ground with Kara. That was more important than anything else, even satisfying his raging libido.
Tamping down on his desire, he cleared his throat to keep from startling her before stepping closer. Her head came up and she blinked like an owl. He’d been right about her not realizing he was there.
“That must be fascinating reading, to keep you so engrossed.”
She made a noncommittal sound deep in her throat, then closed the cover of the book and set the entire pile on the nearby credenza.
“What is all that?” he asked.
“Work. More than I expected,” she murmured. Then she shook her head and met his gaze. “Sorry. I mean, scrapbooks, as well as paperwork for past events held here.”
Eli cocked his head. “You’ve already formed an opinion of how things are running, though. I can tell.”
Rather than respond, she started to nibble at her bottom lip, which was answer enough for him.
“Great,” he mumbled, more to himself than to her. Rubbing a spot at the center of his forehead, he wished he’d waited to begin this conversation.
“All right, we’ll talk about all of that. Later. For now, I have a surprise for you.”
He’d been hoping for a spark of surprise, maybe the hint of a smile. Most women would be squealing and jumping up and down at his pronouncement, eager to find out exactly what the surprise was. But then, Kara was definitely not most women, a fact he’d known and appreciated from the beginning.
Instead, she looked wary.
He couldn’t decide whether to be annoyed or amused by her reaction, but opted for amused. She was still a little gun-shy. Nervous about what they were doing, confused about her feelings for him and even more unsure about the ramifications of both.
So he would cut her some slack. Besides, if this evening went as well as he hoped, he would be one step closer to allaying all of her fears and convincing her that they could—should—be together in spite of the odd circumstances.
“Stop with the frown,” he ordered with mock severity. “You’re going to like this, I promise.”
His assurances were met with continued silence and a doubtful expression. He just managed to hold back a sigh of frustration.
“Fine. I’ll show you, then you’ll believe me. Now, before we leave, do you need to use the restroom or change your clothes or anything?”
She raised a brow. “Where are we going?”
“I told you, it’s a surprise. But we’ll be a short distance from the resort, so I want to be sure you’re comfortable and won’t need to come back for any…emergencies before we’re through.”
She seemed to think about that for a moment, then gave a sharp nod. “Give me just a minute.”
He did, watching her retreat into the bedroom. Several minutes later, she returned. Her hair had been brushed and tied back in a loose ponytail, and she was carrying a small clutch purse. Typical, he supposed, since she didn’t know where they were going, and women rarely went anywhere without at least the bare minimum of a wallet, comb, lipstick, make-up case, the kitchen sink…
When she got close enough, he punched the elevator button, taking her hand while they waited. She didn’t pull away, which he found encouraging. Hadn’t, actually, any of the times he’d touched her or reached for her since the first time they’d made love. To him, that meant progress, and he would take what he could get.
Twelve
From the moment Eli took her past the reception desk to pick up a giant fabric tote with the resort’s name and emblem stamped on the side, and then through the kitchen to collect an oversize picnic basket, Kara had a pretty good idea of what his surprise was going to be. She didn’t let on that she knew, though, because she didn’t want to ruin it for him.
She was also having trouble breathing, feeling almost overwhelmed by the emotions the situation evoked. He was being so sweet and thoughtful and romantic. And it had been a really long time since anyone—especially a man—had been any of those things to her.
Oh, she was sure Eli was on his best behavior this week. He’d set out to seduce her—a fact she still had trouble wrapping her mind around—and was apparently pulling out all the stops.
But since she was already sleeping with him, since he’d gotten exactly what he wanted from their impromptu trip to Seabrook Island, there was no reason for him to go above and beyond any longer. He could have just as easily ordered room service, then kept her upstairs, in bed, for the rest of the night. Something she wouldn’t have minded in the least.
Instead, he led her out of the resort’s main building through a side exit and down a narrow stone path toward the beach. Her fingers were clasped in his left hand, tangled up with the straps of the bag. In his right, he carried the woven wicker picnic basket that bounced against his thigh with every other step.
As they hit the sand, he stopped. “You might want to kick off your shoes,” he told her, doing just that with his own.
She shed her sandals. Then, because his hands were already full, she leaned down and collected both pairs, letting them dangle from her fingertips. From there, she followed him instead of walking beside him.
Sand slid between her toes as her feet sank deep, slowing her steps. The wind blowing in off the ocean ruffled her hair, pulling thin strands out of the ponytail holder and whipping them around her face. The salty tang of the sea air stung her nostrils and lungs. Three sensations she absolutely loved.
Living in Charleston, she was very close to the water, but never seemed to find the time to truly enjoy it. She’d forgotten how refreshing the ocean breeze could be. How easily the sights and sounds and smells could bring almost instant serenity.
The farther they moved along the shore, the less “touristy” it became, giving over to rougher, rockier terrain. Then she began to notice the signs.
Private beach—no guests permitted beyond this point.
A few yards later: No trespassing. Violators will be fined.
And finally: DANGER: Shark-infested waters. Enter at your own risk. With a rudimentary drawing of a bloodthirsty shark devouring a hapless swimmer.
Granted, there could be sharks in pretty much any stretch of the Atlantic Ocean…or pretty much any large body of salt water, she supposed. It was their terrain, after all. But she’d never known the waters off Seabrook Island to be “infested” and didn’t remember hearing any reports of recent attacks.
“Please tell me you haven’t brought me here to feed me to the sharks,” she said, raising her voice to be heard over the crash of the waves.
Eli glanced back over his shoulder and shot her a devilish grin. Pausing for a second, he waited for her to catch up so they could once again walk side by side, and she knew that if his arms hadn’t already been full, he would have reached for her hand.
“Like that?” he asked. “I thought it was rather inspired myself.”
With a chuckle, h
e added, “I asked one of my employees to section off part of the beach so we could be alone. He found that sign at the back of a storage closet, and we both agreed that if the others didn’t deter visitors from poking around, the last certainly would.”
“I should hope so.”
A short distance past the last warning sign, they rounded a curve of beach and entered an area that was almost an island unto itself. Set back slightly from the rest of the shoreline, it was dotted with small trees and bits of grass, and a bed of sand that was flat and dry, with only a few feet at the front being hit by the surf.
Eli dropped the items he was carrying and began digging around in the bag. He removed a giant blanket and spread it out on the ground, taking extra time to straighten the corners. Then came plates and flatware, glasses and a bottle of wine.
“Sit,” he said, waving a hand at the blanket while he moved to the picnic basket.
Setting their shoes aside, she folded her legs beneath her, careful to keep the skirt of her dress down around her legs. The steady breeze blowing in off the water wasn’t helping.
As she watched, he laid out a platter of crab cakes pan-seared a golden brown, a bowl of chunky, savory southern slaw, and sautéed green beans with slices of onion and bits of crispy bacon stirred in. For dessert, there was a tray of tiny little berry tartlets topped with a dollop of what she was certain was fresh-made, not-from-a-tub, hand-whipped cream that he set aside just to tempt her. It was pretty much a GRITS’s—Girl Raised in the South’s—idea of a perfect meal, and the very sight of it had Kara’s mouth watering.
Eli filled a plate and handed it to her before making one for himself. Then he opened the bottle of wine—a deep, dark claret—and poured them each a glass.
“This is delicious,” she said after they spent a few minutes eating in silence.
“Our chef is one of the best,” he said.
She cringed. “Actually, that’s something I need to talk to you about.”
“What—you’re eating these amazing crab cakes that Jean-Philippe whipped up from scratch, and you have the nerve to imply he isn’t one of the best chefs in all of South Carolina?”
He raised a brow as though he knew that was impossible.
“No, of course not. Jean-Philippe is clearly a genius,” she assured him.
After all, she’d been the one to recommend him in the first place, back when Eli was just building and beginning to staff the resort. Eli had wanted the food at Ocean Breezes to be five-star…ten, if he could have managed it…and had asked for her opinion about hiring a head chef, since a big part of event planning revolved around catering.
“But I met with Diane today, and have been going over the files and scrapbooks for a lot of the past events that have been held at the resort.”
“And…?” His voice was flat, unemotional. A businessman waiting to hear the bottom line before any decisions were made.
Feeling uncomfortable at having to point out the flaws in how his resort’s events were run, and especially in the event coordinator herself, Kara’s gaze skittered off to the side and she toyed with the fluted edges of her dessert tart. Finally, she took a deep breath, lifted her head and looked him in the eye.
“Diane has been offering guests primarily package deals. If someone comes to her wanting to hold their wedding here, she offers them standard, pre-arranged choices. Menus are already designed…the same bands and DJs are used over and over…decorations reused and stored between events.”
She shrugged a shoulder and took a small sip of wine.
“There’s nothing wrong with that at a certain level. I have sample menus for clients who don’t know what they want. I have the names and numbers of several bands and DJs on hand, depending on a client’s needs and the type of event I’m planning. And I have entirely too many decorations in storage myself that I pull out when necessary.”
“But…” he prompted, ever a step ahead of her. It almost made her smile.
“But this is Ocean Breezes.” She stressed the name, because in most of the high-class social circles Ocean Breezes catered to, the name really did say it all. It was one of those Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous destinations—the wealthy spent their weekends and vacations there, and the less-than-wealthy aspired to someday at least drive by and see how the other half lived.
“A luxury resort. A dream getaway for half of the United States. Anyone holding their wedding ceremony or fiftieth anniversary celebration here doesn’t want the Surf and Turf Menu from Column B of the Seafarer Party Package. They want flowers and ribbons and other assorted frippery chosen just for them…a menu designed just for them…every detail to be exactly as they’ve imagined in their wildest fantasies, and unique only to them.”
Leaning back, Kara blew out a breath, grateful to have that little speech out of the way. Now she just needed to wait and see how he would react.
“In other words,” he murmured after several long, tense seconds had ticked by, “we’re tantamount to the Plaza delivering motel-quality arrangements.”
Her mouth twisted. “Something like that.”
“What would you suggest we do to fix things?”
“I think that depends on how far you’re willing to go.”
He gave a low chuckle, turning the situation from awkward to once again comfortable and relaxed in a split second.
Reaching for his wine, he took a long, leisurely swallow. “I think you know me well enough to know I go all the way,” he replied with a sexy wink, the double entendre in his words clear.
“I want my hotels to be the best, and Ocean Breezes is the crown jewel of Houghton Hotels and Resorts,” he added plainly. “Whatever changes need to be made, whatever the cost, I want it done. So…what are your recommendations?”
Lowering her gaze to her plate, she continued to pick at her food while she told him the truth. “I think you need to find out what your clients want and give it to them. Don’t just give them options to choose from, but be willing to fulfill their every desire.”
“I kind of thought that’s what we were doing,” Eli mumbled. Then, “Give it to me straight, darlin’—does Diane have what it takes to do this job, or doesn’t she?”
With a sigh, Kara dropped the fork she’d just used to stab a series of green beans and met his eyes. “I don’t want to answer that. It’s not my place to evaluate your employees. I mean, I know you brought me here to do just that, but…” She shook her head. “I’m a guest. I spoke with her for all of two hours. I haven’t even finished going through all the files.”
“But your instincts are already telling you something, aren’t they? You’ve already made up your mind, even without proof.” He gave an approving nod. “I follow my gut, too, when it comes to business, and I want to know what yours is telling you.”
“Fine,” she said, even though her chest felt tight and she really, really hated what she was about to do.
“Diane is a nice enough woman. She’s probably very good with people.”
“I’ve always thought so.”
“But she doesn’t seem to care about the events she’s organizing. She seems to be…phoning it in, for lack of a better description. She likes the packages she’s concocted because it makes her job easy. She never has to race around off-island searching for a supplier of pink calla lilies when they’re out of season. Or spend two days on the phone trying to find a kettle drum band.”
“And that’s the sort of thing you do for your clients,” he said, making it a statement, not a question.
She laughed, popping the beans into her mouth. “You have no idea. I once flew a magician in from Seattle for a birthday party and picked him up at the airport. On the drive, he made me hold three of his rabbits on my lap. They weren’t in a carrier. And they weren’t potty-trained.”
“Oh, no.”
His eyes danced with amusement and he was trying not to laugh, she could tell.
“Oh, yes. For the record, you don’t try to launder a skirt that three rabbi
ts have pooped and peed on. You throw it away, take a long, hot shower, and buy a new one the next day. Having the car detailed isn’t a bad idea, either.”
This time, he did laugh. A low rumble of sound that rolled up from his chest. “I hope you billed the client for all of that.”
“I did,” she assured him, silently remembering how relieved she’d been that the father of the birthday boy had very deep pockets and hadn’t batted an eye at the exorbitant bill she’d handed him after the event. He’d simply written her a check and then sent several new clients her way in the months that followed.
“I can’t envision Diane holding a rabbit on her lap, never mind letting it pee on her.”
“And poop,” she reminded him with a small shudder. “There was also poop.”
He chuckled again, and she reached across the blanket to smack him on the arm.
“I’m sorry,” he said, not sounding the least bit sorry, since he was still shaking with mirth. “But I’ve got a picture in my head now, and it’s really funny.”
“I’m sure it is. Did I mention that the magician was in costume the entire time? But not your typical magician’s outfit. He was wearing a sparkly purple jumpsuit, complete with full-length cape. Imagine walking through the airport with someone dressed like that. Getting him through security on his way out of town was a nightmare.”
He was imagining it, and rolling with laughter. He wasn’t even trying to control himself, but was flat on the ground, holding his stomach and guffawing. And the terrible thing was that she was laughing right along with him.
“All right,” she admitted after he’d settled down and she’d caught her own breath. “I suppose it was somewhat funny—after the fact. But my point, if you’d allow me to finish making it before you find any more amusement at my expense,” she added with mock severity, “is that you have to be willing to go above and beyond to give your clients the best day, the most memorable event, of their lives. I don’t think they’re getting that from Ocean Breezes right now, and I think if they were, you’d get more bookings and word-of-mouth endorsements.”