The Twin Switch
Barbara Dunlop
She must save her brother’s wedding…without falling for a forbidden stranger! While tracking down her brother’s runaway bride-to-be, Layla Gillen gets sidetracked herself, falling into bed with hotel mogul Max Kendrick. Too bad his twin is the one who seduced the bride-to-be! Now Layla must choose between betraying her brother and pursuing forbidden passion.
Caught in a double bind
of family loyalty and desire.
She must save her brother’s wedding…
without falling for a forbidden stranger!
Layla Gillen needs to focus! But while tracking down her brother’s runaway bride-to-be, she gets sidetracked herself, falling into bed with hotel mogul Max Kendrick. Too bad his twin is the one who seduced the bride-to-be! Now Layla must choose between betraying her brother and pursuing forbidden passion. And Max can be very persuasive…
New York Times Bestselling Author Barbara Dunlop
New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author BARBARA DUNLOP has written more than forty novels for Mills & Boon, including the acclaimed Chicago Sons series for Mills & Boon Desire. Her sexy, lighthearted stories regularly hit bestseller lists. Barbara is a three-time finalist for the Romance Writers of America’s RITA® Award.
Also by Barbara Dunlop (#ufe167c1a-bd62-5db8-9ab3-1a7ee14f31cf)
Sex, Lies and the CEO
Seduced by the CEO
A Bargain with the Boss
His Stolen Bride
From Temptation to Twins
Twelve Nights of Temptation His
Temptation, Her Secret
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
The Twin Switch
Barbara Dunlop
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-0-008-90410-4
THE TWIN SWITCH
© 2020 Barbara Dunlop
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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For Susie Ross:
Thanks for the inspiration!
Contents
Cover (#ude426f95-ef48-5e7a-a109-54a47b6f79a6)
Back Cover Text (#u17179d93-fa73-5a2b-9dab-c2698dc6d811)
About the Author (#u7b5278d0-f1be-5845-8fc9-eabfcceb4a51)
Booklist (#u2cca0b73-6375-5ca7-930e-f7ad00b85778)
Title Page (#ufd72a106-15a2-5e11-b0ec-5bd695379b55)
Copyright (#u430d1703-c3fb-5d95-a986-e5d3d7360716)
Note to Readers
Dedication (#ue6c21147-dc5d-5936-b4b2-88cd9324f752)
One (#u7fa32e78-0c37-55b5-9895-cb1a1a253060)
Two (#u7ec11610-f4b3-5948-a71b-09a5663b58ee)
Three (#u7b5ec0fc-510a-5db5-8cfb-417c50720f94)
Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
One (#ufe167c1a-bd62-5db8-9ab3-1a7ee14f31cf)
If I could choose my own sister, it would be Brooklyn.
She made me laugh.
Better still, she made me think. And when things went bad, which they often did, she’d lie down beside me on my blue silk comforter and listen for hours. She knew when the fix was ice cream and when it was tequila.
She was smart, too. She got straight A’s right from elementary school.
Me, I was more of a B-plus person. But I was a pretty good listener. And I could twist a mean French braid, which Brooklyn liked.
She had long blond hair and beautiful blue eyes. She tanned, too. We both tanned.
Since we were little kids, we’d spent our summers at the beach on Lake Washington. First it was the swings and the jungle gym. A little older, we’d race to the floater in the middle of the swimming area, dive off, then dry on our towels in the sun. Older still, we hung out at the snack bar, batting our lashes at cute boys and getting them to buy us milkshakes.
I didn’t get to choose my own sister. But it was happening, anyway.
In just two weeks, Brooklyn was marrying my big brother, James.
“I can see the Golden Gate Bridge,” Sophie Crush said from the front seat of the cab.
I was in the middle of the back seat squished between Brooklyn and Nat Remington. That’s what happened when you insisted on taking a hybrid from the airport.
“Do you think we’ll have views from our rooms?” Nat asked.
“I want a view of the spa,” Brooklyn said. “From inside the spa, I mean.”
“You heard the bride,” I said.
I flexed my shoulders in anticipation of a deep stone massage. I’d had one once before. It had been a little slice of Heaven that I was dying to repeat.
“Pedicures,” Sophie said.
“Facials,” Nat said.
“I want to sit in the sauna,” Brooklyn said.
“I feel my pores opening up already,” I said.
The sauna sounded like a great idea. So did a facial. I was the maid of honor, and I was determined to look my best.
Unlike some brides—more selfish brides—Brooklyn had chosen gorgeous bridesmaid dresses. They were airy and knee length with strapless sweetheart necklines and fitted bodices of azure-blue chiffon that faded to pale sky at the hemline.
My auburn hair was tricky but, happily, the colors worked. Because for a single twenty-six-year-old, a wedding was a really good place to meet new guys.
I was at a disadvantage this time since half the guests would be my own relatives. Plus I’d met nearly all of Brooklyn’s friends and family over the years. Still, she might have an undiscovered hot second cousin or two in the right age range. A woman could never discount an opportunity.
The cab pulled to a halt beside a rotating glass door and miles of windows that looked into the lobby. Stylized gold lettering spelled out The Archway Hotel and Spa on a marble pillar.
Three men in crisp steel-gray short-sleeved jackets simultaneously opened our doors.
“Welcome to the Archway,” one of them said to Brooklyn, his gaze lingering on her sea-breeze eyes before moving past her to me.
His smile was friendly. He was cute, but I wasn’t about to get interested.
Not that I have anything against valets. He could be putting himself through grad school for all I knew. Or maybe he liked living near the beach and having flexible hours.
Brooklyn moved past him, and he held out his hand to me.
I took it.
It was strong, slightly calloused, definitely tanned. Maybe he was a surfer.
I’m not a snob about professions. I’m a high school math teacher, and that isn’t the most prestigious job. I’m open to meeting people from all walks of life.
He did have really gorgeous hazel eyes, and a strong chin, and a bright white smile.
I came to my feet and he let go of my hand, taking a step back.
“We’ll take care of the bags,” he said, his gaze holding mine a little longer than normal.
It took me a second to realize he was waiting for a tip.
I almost laughed at myself. He wasn’t flirting with me—at least not with any romantic intent. He did this with everyone who arrived at the hotel. It was probably how he paid for his surfboard.
I rustled through my purse for a five and handed it over.
It was a splurging kind of a weekend, I reminded myself. You only got the perfect sister-in-law once in your life.
Two bellhops wheeled our luggage into the lobby and we followed.
“We could go see some male exotic dancers,” Nat said.
Brooklyn winced. “Pass.”
I smiled. I knew Nat was joking. If Sophie had suggested it, I might have taken her seriously.
“Don’t be too hasty,” Sophie said. “After all, what do you think James is doing with the guys right now?”
“You think James is watching male exotic dancers?” Brooklyn asked as we made our way past the fountain to the check-in desk.
“Female,” Sophie said.
There was no lineup. In fact, there were three attendants available. Nice.
Brooklyn swung her tote bag onto her shoulder. “The guys are watching a doubleheader.”
“Afterward,” Sophie said.
I couldn’t imagine James going to a strip show. He was absolutely not the type.
But Brooklyn got a funny expression on her face, like she thought maybe it was a possibility, even though the idea was ridiculous.
“Are you checking in today?” the woman behind the counter asked us in a chipper voice that said she was delighted to be here to help us.
“We’re the Christie party,” Nat answered, deftly pulling a copy of the reservation from her bag.
Hanging back, I spoke to Brooklyn in an undertone. “You’re not worried about James, are you?”
Brooklyn frowned and gave a noncommittal shrug. Then she moved toward the counter, digging into her bag. “Do you need my credit card?”
“I just need one for check-in,” the woman said. “When you check out, you can split the charges if you like.”
I repositioned myself so that I was beside Brooklyn.
“He’s not going to see a stripper,” I whispered, wondering how she could possibly be worried about James’s behavior.
James, with a master’s degree in economics, who’d landed a job at one of the most conservative consulting firms in Seattle, who only spoke in complete sentences and who guarded his social media accounts as if he had the nuclear launch codes, would not be hanging out at a strip club.
I couldn’t imagine him risking someone snapping his picture in a strip club—even if he did want to see naked women. Which he did not, because there wasn’t a woman in the country more beautiful than Brooklyn.
Brooklyn was a fashion buyer for a chain of Seattle boutiques. But she could have been a movie star or a supermodel. There was nowhere for James to go but down in the looks department.
“What’s wrong?” I asked her.
She turned her head and smiled. “What could possibly be wrong?”
There was something in her eyes. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.
“Did James do something?” I asked her.
“No.”
“Are you mad at him?”
“No.”
“Then what…?”
“Nothing.” Brooklyn smiled again. “He’s perfect. James is perfect. And I’m going to book a spa appointment.” She reached for the brochure on the countertop.
“I can help with that,” the check-in woman said as she handed Nat’s credit card back to her.
“Something with aromatherapy,” Brooklyn said.
I wasn’t one hundred percent convinced by Brooklyn’s nonchalance, but I thought about hot stones pressed slowly across my oiled back and decided anything else could wait.
Massaged and steamed and showered and dressed, I spotted Sophie sitting at the bar in the lounge. A jazz trio was playing in the corner while candles flickered on the mottled glass tables. The chairs were white leather, and a glass mosaic decorated the wall behind the bar.
I was wearing three-inch heels with my silver cocktail dress, so I was happy to rest my feet by perching next to Sophie.
“What are you drinking?” I asked.
“Vodka martini.”
The bartender arrived, another cute guy. “Can I get you something?”
His smile was friendly, definitely flirtatious. And he was classically handsome, probably thirty or so, with intelligent gray eyes.
I certainly had nothing against bartenders, except when you met them at their work. There they flirted with everybody. Like the valets out front, their shift was made or broken by their tips.
“I’ll take one of those,” I said, pointing to Sophie’s glass.
I smiled at him, but made it brief. I didn’t want to spend the evening chatting with the bartender. I wanted to spend it with my girlfriends.
Across the lounge, a very handsome profile came into my view, distracting me.
Okay, this guy wasn’t a bartender, or a valet, or a public school teacher of any kind—that was for sure.
His perfectly cut suit was draped over a perfectly sculpted body. His haircut was shaggy-neat, that kind where you paid the earth to look like you’d rolled out of bed and had every hair fall naturally into place.
Even as I mentally mocked the style, I liked it.
He turned, and I caught his handsome face full-on. He could have just walked off a magazine cover. He should have walked off a magazine cover with that chiseled chin and those startlingly bright blue eyes.
He caught me staring, but he didn’t smile. I felt heat hit my cheeks, anyway.
And then it was over. He turned and kept walking like our eyes meeting had never happened. And maybe it hadn’t. Maybe he hadn’t been staring at me at all. Maybe it was just the fevered musing that took flight in my head when I saw a good-looking guy lately.
I’d read a statistic last month that said sixty-seven percent of women met their husbands before they graduated from college. So I was already in the bottom thirty-three percent.
When you added that to the twenty-one percent of women who never married at all, my odds looked grim. I had a twelve percent chance of meeting Mr. Right.
Don’t get me started on the fifty percent divorce rate because that left me at six percent. And six percent was truly demoralizing.
“Earth to Layla,” Sophie said.
I gave myself a mental shake. This was a girlfriends’ weekend.
“Did Brooklyn come down already?” I asked, focusing on the here and now.
Brooklyn and I were sharing a room, while Sophie and Nat were staying together one floor up. We had ended up with a view of the bridge, while they looked into the building next door. We’d offered to trade, but nobody seemed to care about the view.
The rooms had enormous soaker tubs, steam showers and beds that felt like you were floating on a cloud. Nothing else much mattered.
“I haven’t seen her yet,” Sophie said.
I glanced around but didn’t see her, either. “I have eight pillows,” I said to Sophie.
“You counted?”
“I counted.”
“Did you take the square root?” she asked, grinning as she bit the olive off her blue plastic skewer.
“If I include the gold throw pillow, the square root is three. I considered applying the quadratic formula, but—”
“Layla.” It was Brooklyn’s happy voice in my ear and I felt her arm go around my shoulders. “I thought you’d never get out of the shower.”
“It’s a great shower.” There was something sensual and indulgent about endless hot water.
“What are you drinking?” Brooklyn sounded overly cheerful.
“Vodka martini,” Sophie said. “You?”
“I had a Sunburst Bramble across the lobby there. I wouldn’t recommend it.”
She wore a short, mauve halter dress with a full skirt that swirled around her toned thighs. Her ankle-high gladiator heels were mottled purple and silver. As always, she looked trendy and stylish.
The bartender seemed to magically appear. “The Sunburst Bramble wasn’t to your taste?” he asked Brooklyn, obviously having overheard her comment. “Would you like me to replace it with something else?”
“Would you?” Brooklyn responded. “That’s so sweet of you.”
He slid a slim, leather-bound cocktail menu in front of her.
“Why don’t you pick,” she said, sliding it back with a swish of her shoulder-length blond hair. “Something sweeter, maybe with strawberries or a little Irish Mist?”
I did a mental eye roll. This was the Brooklyn who’d gotten us free milkshakes at the beach all summer long. Only that Brooklyn hadn’t been engaged to be married.
“How many drinks have you had?” I asked her, wondering if she’d hit the minibar while I was in the shower.
“Just the one. But I’m about to have another.”
I told myself to quit worrying. She was in a good mood, and that was great. This was her weekend, after all. I didn’t know why I was borrowing trouble.
The bartender brought me my drink.
“I’m off to the ladies’,” Brooklyn said. “When my drink comes save it for me.”
I turned my head to call after her. “Will do.”
I saw three different men follow Brooklyn’s progress as she walked to the lobby. It was always that way with her. I wasn’t sure she even noticed anymore.
“I think Nat really wants to see exotic dancers,” Sophie said to me.
I refocused my attention on Sophie. “No way.”
Nat was the most straitlaced of the four of us. She was James, only in female form. She was literally a librarian.
“I think she might be ready to burst out of that shell.”
“That would be entertaining,” I said, thinking it really would.
Nat’s long-term boyfriend had split with her a few months back. I knew she hadn’t dated anyone since. I also knew Henry had been hard on her self-esteem.
Sure, Nat wore glasses. But they were cute glasses, and she had the sweetest spray of freckles across her cheeks. Her brown hair might not be the most exotic of shades, and she wasn’t glam like Brooklyn, but she had the most beautiful smile that lit up her pale blue eyes.
“She’s chatting up a guy right now.” Sophie inclined her head.
I turned to surreptitiously follow Sophie’s gaze.
Sure enough, Nat was at a corner table, head leaned in talking to a guy in a nicely cut suit jacket and an open-collared white shirt. He looked urbane attractive, but more fine-featured than appealed to me. But then I wasn’t Nat.
Something banged above us.
I reflexively ducked as my adrenaline surged.
The room suddenly turned black, garnering audible gasps and a few high-pitched shrieks from the crowd.
It went quiet.
“Whoa.” I blinked to focus.
“What was that?” Sophie asked into the darkness.
“Something broke.”
“It sure did.”
My eyes adjusted, and I could see the candles now, little dots of light on the tables illuminating the faces closest to them. They reflected off the windows. Beyond, across the bay, I could see the lights of ships and sailboats in the distance.
“Nothing but a power failure, folks.” It was the bartender’s hearty voice. “It happens sometimes. Please sit tight and enjoy the ambience. I’m sure the lights will come back on soon.”
“At least we’re not waiting on our drinks,” Sophie said, lifting her glass to take another sip.
“I wonder if Brooklyn will be able to find us.” I looked around, but I couldn’t see much of anything beyond the candlelight.
“Hey, guys.” Nat appeared and hopped up on the stool next to Sophie.
“What happened to your man?” Sophie asked.
“When the lights went out, he squealed like a little girl.”
“That’s disappointing,” I said.
Sometimes I wondered if there were any good men left in the world. I had a list of qualities. I mean, it wasn’t a long list, mostly to do with integrity and temperament. But squealing like a little girl was definitely not on it.
“So not the type to rescue you from a bear,” Sophie said to Nat. She sounded disappointed.
There was laughter in Nat’s voice. “Who needs rescuing from a bear?”
“I might go camping,” Sophie said.
“You?” Nat asked.
Five-star restaurant manager, downtown high-rise-dwelling Sophie was definitely not the outdoor type.
“Well, maybe you,” Sophie said.
Nat had been known to spend time outside—at least in her rooftop garden.
“Then that’s definitely not my guy.” Nat took a two-second gaze back over her shoulder.
I realized then, that after a mere five minutes I’d wondered if Nat’s guy would be the guy. It could have been a really romantic story—Nat meeting the love of her life while spending a girls’ weekend in San Francisco celebrating Brooklyn’s wedding.
We were all single. Well, Brooklyn wouldn’t be single for long. But Sophie, Nat and me hadn’t had a lot of luck meeting men.
Good guys were hard to find. I could list the flaws in each of my dates from the past six months: too loud, too nerdy, too intellectual, too moody.
I knew how it sounded. And I realized perfectly well what I was doing with that list. If I focused on the guys, I didn’t have to explore the possibility that it was me—which, of course, deep down, I knew it was.
I’d love to live in denial. And I would if I could figure out a way that I didn’t know denial was denial.
So far, I hadn’t been able to make that work.
“Where’s Brooklyn?” Nat asked.
“Ladies’ room,” I said.
Sophie craned her neck to gaze across the dim room. “She should be back by now. I hope she’s not stuck in an elevator.”
“I’m going to go look for her.” I slid off my bar stool.
“You’ll get lost, too,” Nat said. “Or you’ll trip and break your ankle.”
I remembered my black-and-gold sling-back stilettos. They were stylish, but not the most stable footwear in my closet. Nat made a good point.
Instead, I retrieved my phone from my purse and shot Brooklyn a text.
I climbed back up and took a sip of my drink.
We all stared at my phone for a few minutes, but Brooklyn didn’t text back.
“Stuck on an elevator,” Nat said in conclusion.
“Or in an ambulance,” Sophie said. “I bet she was rushing to get back to us in the dark, and it all went bad.”
“Don’t even joke about that,” I said. “There are five hundred people coming to her wedding.”
“And it’s a long way up the aisle at St. Fidelis’s,” Nat said. “What if she broke her leg?”
“She didn’t break her leg,” I said and then realized I was tempting fate. “I mean, I hope she didn’t break her leg.”
Brooklyn with a broken leg would be an unmitigated disaster.
It was thirty minutes before the lights came on. When they did, conversation around us spiked for a moment, and there was a smattering of applause.
The bartender went back to work, and the waitresses began circulating around the room. Brooklyn still hadn’t returned from the ladies’ room, and I looked at the lobby entrance, trying to spot her.
“There she is,” Sophie said.
“Where?” I asked, disappointed in my powers of observation.
“Left side of the lobby. Talking to a guy.”
I leaned in for a better angle, but I still couldn’t see her.
“It looks like she got more support from random men than I did,” Nat said.
“He’s hot,” Sophie said.
I got down from the bar stool so I could see more of the lobby.
“Whoa,” both Sophie and Nat said in unison.
“What?”
I saw a broad hand on Brooklyn’s shoulder, and I could almost feel the touch myself. The rest of the man was blocked from view by the lounge wall.
She smiled, and then the hand disappeared.
I surged forward, but whoever he was walked away too fast.
“Seriously?” Sophie said. “The three of us are all single, and she ends up with him in the blackout?”
“Fate is cruel,” Nat said.
“What did he look like?” I asked.
“Hot,” Sophie said.
“Tall,” Nat said.
“Tall and hot,” Sophie said.
“Thanks for that specific detail,” I said.
Brooklyn was coming toward us.
“Who was that?” Nat called to her.
“Can I meet him?” Sophie asked.
“You don’t get to call dibs,” Nat said.
“Dibs,” Sophie said.
Brooklyn was smiling and shaking her head as she drew closer. Her cheeks were flushed, and there was an odd brightness to her eyes.
“What happened?” I asked.
“The power went off,” she said.
“Did you get his name?” Sophie asked.
Brooklyn shook her head. “Can’t help you with that.”
“He squeezed your shoulder,” I said.
From my vantage point, the touch seemed intimate. That tanned, strong hand squeezing down on Brooklyn’s shoulder had sent a shiver up my own spine.
I tried to imagine how James would feel about someone touching Brooklyn that way. He wouldn’t like it. Of that, I was sure.
“He was saying goodbye,” Brooklyn said.
“What’s wrong with you?” Sophie asked me.
“Who squeezes a strange woman’s shoulder?” I asked.
“Who doesn’t?” Sophie returned.
“It’s not like he kissed me,” Brooklyn said.
For some reason, her words didn’t make me feel any better.
“He can kiss me,” Sophie said.
It suddenly occurred to me that Brooklyn might already know the man. That would explain the touch.
But if that was true, why wasn’t she saying so? Was the guy an old boyfriend? Not that she could have an old boyfriend without me knowing. It was impossible.
“We’re going to be late for our dinner reservation,” Nat said.
“Was my drink ever served?” Brooklyn asked.
“I think it got lost in the excitement,” Sophie said.
As if on cue, the bartender arrived. “I think you’ll like this one. I call it an icy wave.”
The drink was in a tall glass, blue green in color, with lots of crushed ice and a strawberry garnish.
“Thank you,” Brooklyn said to him.
He waited while she took a sip.
I waited impatiently to ask her another question.
“It’s good,” she said.
The bartender beamed.
Before I could speak up, shaggy-neat-hair guy walked back into the lounge. The sight of him sent a jolt of electricity across my chest. I sucked in a breath.
He seemed to hear me, or maybe he just felt me staring, because he turned, and we locked gazes. This time there was no mistaking it.
His mouth crooked into a half smile. I couldn’t tell if he was greeting me or mocking me. It could be that my lust was obvious to him even at this distance.
No, not lust, I told myself. Lust made my reaction sound salacious.
This was interest, no more, no less. And there was nothing wrong with being interested in a good-looking guy across the bar.
“We have a reservation in the Moonside Room,” Nat said, interrupting my musings.
I forced myself to break the gaze.
And I was absurdly proud of breaking off the look first this time. I found myself smiling in satisfaction. I had to resist the urge to check shaggy-neat-hair guy’s reaction to my shift in attention.
“I can have your drink brought up to the restaurant for you,” the bartender said to Brooklyn.
No mention of my drink, or Sophie’s. But then that was the way of the world.
“Thank you so much.” Brooklyn flashed her friendly blue eyes.
“Not a problem.”
I could tell the bartender thought he had a shot—despite the big diamond ring on Brooklyn’s left hand. She had a knack for that—for doing nothing in a way that ever so subtly led men on.
Sophie was very pretty. Nat was girl-next-door cute. But none of us could hold a candle to Brooklyn’s allure. Men tripped over their own feet when she was in the room. She invariably got us great tables and great service from earnest waiters and maître d’s.
Mostly I just took the perks without bothering to be jealous of Brooklyn.
“Through the lobby?” she asked the bartender.
“Straight across to the gold elevator. It will take you to the fifty-eighth floor. Mandy can show you.” He beckoned one of the waitresses.
“Just in case we can’t read the sign,” Nat whispered to me.
“Just in case he misunderstood the diamond ring,” I whispered back.
“Men have no consciences.”
“Luckily for James, Brooklyn does.”
My best friend, and an only child with two distant, busy parents, Brooklyn had spent countless weekends and holidays with my big extended family. She’d had a crush on James since we were old enough to know what a crush was. He’d finally invited her to the junior prom, and there’d been no going back.
Their relationship made such perfect sense for everyone, including me. I’d been testing the term sister-in-law inside my head for months now. I couldn’t wait to use it in real life.
As we walked to the elevator, I looked around for shaggy-neat-hair guy.
He wasn’t in the bar, and he wasn’t in the lobby.
Ah, well. There was always tomorrow.
The sauna and spa lounge were coed. He could be a spa guy.
Or maybe I’d check out the exercise room. He definitely looked like the weight-training type. And I could see him on an elliptical machine…or rowing.
I could definitely picture him rowing.
Two (#ufe167c1a-bd62-5db8-9ab3-1a7ee14f31cf)
I wasn’t a morning person at the best of times.
It was doubly hard to wake up with the daylight filtered by an opaque blind, the air in the room cool on my face and cozy in a bed that was softer than a cloud.
Reluctantly giving up my state of sleep, I reached for the last wispy threads of my dream. There’d been a blue-eyed man on a surfboard off the beach of a tropical island. A dog was playing in the sand while the palm-frond room of a nearby hut rustled in the floral breeze.
I’d felt safe and warm inside the hut, but I couldn’t remember why. I struggled to find the details, but the synaptic connections evaporated, locking me out of my subconscious.
It was morning.
I opened my eyes to see the bathroom light on, the door partially closed.
I listened, hoping Brooklyn would be done soon so I could take a turn.
I looked to the bedside clock and found it was nearly nine.
I’d slept a long time.
I was hungry.
As I waited for Brooklyn, I weighted the cost-benefit of eggs Benedict. It was my all-time favorite breakfast. But the béarnaise sauce meant extra crunches next week and maybe some extra laps in the pool.
My bridesmaid dress was exactly the right size, and too much indulgence this weekend would blow the lines. A custom-fit dress deserved the flattest stomach I could muster.
Still, one breakfast of eggs Benedict—how much would that hurt?
“Brooklyn?” I called out. “Are you almost done?”
My bladder capacity wasn’t unlimited.
She didn’t answer, and I got up out of bed.
We’d come back to the room together after dinner last night.
While we ate, she’d been alternately chipper and chatty, and then suddenly lost in thought. She was the first of my close friends to get married, so I couldn’t tell if this was normal. It could easily be normal, but something seemed off.
I’d planned to talk to her once we got in bed. There was nothing like girl talk in the dark to get to the heart of a matter.
But I’d gone out like a light while she was still in the bathroom.
Now, I found it empty.
I was both surprised and relieved. I wouldn’t have to wait any longer, but I did wonder why she didn’t wake me up for breakfast.
I hoped they all hadn’t eaten without me. I’d be more willing to dive into a plate of eggs Benedict if I had coconspirators in the indulgence. Hey, if the bride was going all out, I wasn’t going to be a wet blanket.
I changed quickly, ignoring my makeup bag, and threw my hair into a ponytail. I climbed into a pair of jeans and a casual blue blouse along with a pair of ankle boots and some earrings. I was good enough for breakfast.
I headed for the Sunriser dining room on the main floor.
There I found Sophie and Nat. Like me, they’d decided it was a day to go for it with plates of gooey Belgian waffles and steaming mugs of hot chocolate.
“Where’s Brooklyn?” I asked as I sat down on a cushioned seat at the table for four.
The room was West Coast elegant, with gleaming wood beams soaring above us and a high wall of windows looking onto the bay. Sunlight streamed in across leafy plants and navy-colored tablecloths, glinting off the glassware and silver.
“We thought she was with you,” Sophie said.
“She wasn’t in the room when I woke up.”
The waitress offered me coffee, and I gratefully accepted, finding the cream in a little silver pitcher in the middle of the table.
“Did you check the spa?” Nat asked.
“No. Don’t you think it’s too early?”
“She’s probably working out,” Nat said. “Her wedding dress doesn’t leave any room for error.”
I found myself rethinking my eggs Benedict.
Nat cut into her waffle, releasing a wave of the delicious aroma.
“Are you ready to order?” the waitress asked me.
“Eggs Benedict,” my mouth said before my brain could mount a decent argument against it.
Once made, I was happy with the decision. I could work out at the hotel gym sometime today. It was going to be worth it.
“The woman has willpower,” Sophie said of Brooklyn.
I smiled at that as I sipped my sweetened coffee. It was true.
Thanks to Brooklyn’s insistence, we swam to the far floater and back every time we drank a milkshake at the Lake Washington Beach. I didn’t gain an ounce over summer breaks. To this day, I used swimming to stay in shape.
I should thank her for that.
I’d have plenty of time in the future.
She and James were shopping for houses in Wallingford. The area was close to my apartment in Fremont. After the wedding, we’d be able to see each other even more often than we did now.
While I waited for my breakfast, I shot her a text.
“At least we know she’s not stuck in an elevator this time,” Nat said.
“Are we shopping this morning?” Sophie asked.
“Do you need something?” I glanced at my phone, but there was no symbol to indicate Brooklyn was answering.
“Clothes,” Sophie said. “Maybe some throw pillows or shelves. I could use some shelves for that little corner by the patio door. I bought those two blown-glass sculptures at the pier last month, and I have nowhere to put them.”
“I don’t need anything,” Nat said.
“I respectfully disagree,” Sophie said. “Your studio needs a complete makeover.”
“It’s functional,” Nat said with a sniff.
“It’s criminal,” Sophie said. “All that glorious potential, and you haven’t done a thing with it.”
“I hung some pictures.”
“That I gave you. On hooks that were on the wall from the last tenant. The arrangement doesn’t even make sense.” Sophie turned to me. “We should go on a shopping spree for Nat’s place.”
“We should probably ask Brooklyn,” I said, thinking the weekend was supposed to be all about her. And I’d make it all about her, too, if I could only track her down.
My eggs Benedict arrived, looking outstandingly delicious.
“Brooklyn will go for it. She loves shopping,” Sophie said.
I took a first bite. It was to die for.
I’d be happy to shop or sightsee or hit the pool deck. I’d even go for another massage. I’d always go for another massage.
“In that case, we can shop for Brooklyn,” Nat said. “I don’t want to clutter my place up with knickknacks and dust collectors.”
“Another word for them is art.” Sophie smirked as she went for her phone. “If the bride says we’re redecorating your studio, we’re redecorating your studio.”
“That’s not how it works,” Nat said.
“It’s exactly how it works.” Sophie held her phone to her ear.
“I’m counting on you,” Nat said to me. “Talk some sense into her.”
“I can’t see redecorating your apartment being Brooklyn’s first choice,” I said honestly.
My money was on Fisherman’s Wharf or Golden Gate Park.
“She’s not answering,” Sophie said.
I hoped that meant Brooklyn was in a shower at the gym. She should really get over here and try some of these eggs.
“What the heck?” Sophie said, surprise in her tone.
I looked up.
She put her phone under my nose with a friend-finding app open. I squinted, but it was too close for me to see the little map.
When she spoke again, she sounded completely baffled. “What’s Brooklyn doing back at the airport?”
My first thought was Brooklyn had been kidnapped.
It was the only thing that made sense.
She had no reason to leave the hotel voluntarily. We had spa appointments, and there were Belgian waffles and hot chocolate on the menu. What more could a woman ask for?
I wanted to call the police right away, but Nat convinced me they’d need more evidence before they opened a missing-person case. Brooklyn was an adult, and she hadn’t been gone very long by law-enforcement standards.
Nat was right.
I was letting emotion overrule reason. That wasn’t like me at all.
Instead, we checked the hotel room and discovered Brooklyn’s suitcase was gone.
I took heart from that. I took that to mean she’d left willingly. Our best guess was that there’d been an emergency in the middle of the night—maybe a medical emergency, presumably one of her family members, maybe her mom or dad.
If something had happened to James, they would definitely have called me, too. Still, it made no sense that she wouldn’t wake me up. I’d have gone with her.
While I was pondering the mystery, I came across her note.
I opened my mouth to alert Sophie and Nat. But then I read it and my heart sank to my toes.
I didn’t say a thing. Instead, I hid the damning words in my jeans pocket.
“She’s off-line,” Sophie said, holding out her phone on the friend-finding app.
Brooklyn’s icon had disappeared.
“Did she get on a plane to Seattle?” Nat asked.
“Possibly,” I said.
“Should we go after her?” Sophie asked.
We should. We would. At least I would.
But I was going by myself. I didn’t know much, but I knew Brooklyn hadn’t gone back to Seattle.
“We don’t know for sure where she went,” I said. “Let’s not all rush off.” There, that sure sounded more like rational me.
It took me a few precious minutes, but I convinced Sophie and Nat to sit tight at the hotel, promising to track down Brooklyn and bring her back to San Francisco to finish off the weekend.
As I made my way to the airport, the note weighed heavy in my pocket.
Layla, it had said. I’m more sorry than you can know. I’ve tried so hard, but I can’t marry James. I’ve met my soul mate. Please forgive me.
Her soul mate? What was she talking about, her soul mate?
James was her soul mate. He was the love of her life. They were fantastic together.
Sitting on a hard, plastic chair in the airport, staring at the departure board, I hunted through my phone and looked up the airspeeds of commuter jets, considering the radius of the distance Brooklyn could have traveled by now, and mapping out the cities in the circle: Sacramento, Reno, Los Angeles.
I rehearsed the many ways I could talk some sense into her.
It had to be temporary insanity—the stress of a five-hundred-guest wedding, or her mother fussing over the dresses and the flowers and the dinner. Or maybe it was James wanting children right away.
I knew Brooklyn wanted to wait a couple of years before they had kids. I didn’t think the disagreement had been a deal breaker. But what did I know?
I knew I was going to find out.
I knew that much.
I thought about phoning James. But I couldn’t exactly call him out of the blue and ask about his future kids. Plus, he’d want to talk to Brooklyn. I’d have to say she wasn’t with me.
He’d try to call her, and who knew where that would lead. Nowhere good, that was for sure.
The marker for Brooklyn’s phone suddenly appeared on my screen.
My heart jumped. I’d found her!
She was in Las Vegas.
I was on my feet and heading for the bank of check-in counters while I scrolled to see which airline had the next flight to McCarran Airport.
A few more searches on my phone, a plane ride and an Uber ride later, and I was in the lobby of the Canterbury Sands Hotel.
Brooklyn’s phone told me she was here. Since I wasn’t with NASA or the CIA, the accuracy of the app was spotty, and I couldn’t pinpoint her, but she was definitely here somewhere.
I glanced around. The hotel lobby was posh luxury as far as the eye could see: marble columns, carved woodwork, potted palms, discrete lighting and leather armchairs set into corners and alcoves.
Since she wasn’t conveniently hanging around in the lobby, I tried the front desk. Brooklyn wasn’t registered. Or maybe she was registered, but the professional staff knew better than to reveal personal information about their guests.
I tried explaining I was Brooklyn’s maid of honor and we were getting ready for a wedding. But the female desk clerk seemed unimpressed.
I supposed a wedding in Vegas was hardly a monumental event. I’d seen a bride in a limo as my Uber had turned into the hotel drive and another was visible right now posing for photos outside in the garden.
This bride looked gorgeous, and her groom looked happy, as he joked and jostled with his friends. I loved weddings. Who didn’t love weddings?
When the bridal party moved on, and Brooklyn still wasn’t anywhere in sight, I found an empty table in a lounge at the side of the lobby. I was going to wait it out. Odds were she’d pass by this central point sometime.
I’d tried calling her again, but she hadn’t answered. I wasn’t about to let her know I was in Vegas. I didn’t think she’d run from me again, but it was possible.
I decided it was better to confront her in person. I wanted to see her expression when I asked what I had to ask—which was what the heck did she think she was doing?
It was hot, and I was thirsty, so I ordered a five-dollar cola. I was hungry, too, since I hadn’t had a chance to finish my divine eggs Benedict. But I couldn’t bring myself to order a twenty-five-dollar snack.
This might be a weekend of indulgence, but I had limits. I’d seen the waiter pass by with the order for another table. They served designer food here. Three shrimps and a swirl of greenery weren’t going to impact my hunger in any meaningful way. So why waste the money?
I’d texted Nat before the plane took off, so they knew I was on Brooklyn’s trail. I kept the soul mate thing—which struck me as a temporary thing—to myself for now. Instead, I let them assume Brooklyn was blowing off steam in the run-up to the wedding.
She was, in a way. Just not in a good way.
Halfway through my glass of cola, my attention caught on a man on the other side of the lounge. He rose and was moving in my general direction. He stopped at one table and chatted, then he stopped at another, and then he waved to a third.
I’m admittedly not the best at facial recognition. Every September I have to make a seating chart for each class and then work really hard to memorize the students’ faces. But even with my limited skill, and at this distance, I could swear this was shaggy-neat-hair guy from San Francisco.
I squinted in the dim lounge light, watching him walk and talk and smile.
Then he looked me straight in the eyes, and my chest jolted with that same electricity. Either this was him, or I was a huge sucker for a particular type.
He was coming straight toward me now. Then again, I was sitting near the exit. I told myself not to get too excited. But when it came to good-looking, possibly eligible men, myself didn’t listen much.
My brain started to hum. I should keep eye contact. I should smile. I should say something.
“Hello,” he said, slowing to a halt next to my table.
“Hi.”
A beat went past in silence.
I started to break it. “Were you by any chance—”
I stopped, distrusting my own memory and not wanting to look foolish. Then I told myself to speak up. That was what I told my students. If you have a question, speak up. There are no stupid questions.
“Were you by any chance just in San Francisco?” It did sound foolish when I said it out loud. Worse, it sounded like a line. I might as well have said: “Do you come here often?”
Sweat instantly gathered at my hairline.
“The Archway?” he asked.
Relief rushed through me. I wasn’t imagining things. “Yes.”
“I thought I recognized you.”
My embarrassment disappeared, but my hormones zipped off like a rocket ship. Up close, he was a hunk, superbuff, great-looking, oozing sensuality.
“Business or pleasure?” he asked in a gravelly voice that seemed to come straight from his deep chest.
It was neither, but I wasn’t about to go into detail.
“Pleasure,” I said.
He swung his gaze around the lounge. “Are you here alone?”
“Yes.” I hadn’t found Brooklyn yet, so I was currently alone.
He smiled at that. “I’m Max Kendrick.” He looked at my drink. “Would you like something more interesting than cola?”
I almost said no. I wasn’t here to get picked up in a bar. Then again, this was far from a honky-tonk. It was a fancy hotel lobby. And hadn’t I been fantasizing about this very thing just yesterday—meeting a great guy on my gals’ weekend?
This one seemed pretty seriously great, and he was dropping right into my lap, and I was sitting here tongue-tied and questioning every breath I sucked into my lungs. I had to get a grip.
“Have you seen the price list?” I don’t know why that silly question popped into my head. If he was staying here, and if he was offering, he must be able to afford the prices.
His smile broadened. “A time or two.”
“Sure,” I said, before I could come up with anything more senseless to blurt out.
“Great.” He sat down at the table. “What’s your pleasure?”
I considered pulling a Brooklyn by asking him to choose something for me, maybe batting my eyelashes and pretending to be überfeminine.
But überfeminine wasn’t me. Neither was batting my eyelashes, or pretending I didn’t know my own mind.
“A chardonnay.”
“Any preference on the label?”
“No preference.” Whatever the house served was going to be fine with me. Given what I’d seen so far of the house, I was betting their wine would be spectacular.
He gave the waitress a glance, and she came straight over.
“Can you bring us a bottle of the Crepe Falls Reserve?”
“Right away,” she said.
“A bottle?” I asked, wondering if he was less of a gentleman than I’d guessed. Was he expecting me to knock back a few this early in the afternoon?
“Better value that way.”
“So you’re not trying to get me drunk?”
“Do you have a reason to get drunk? Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine.” The answer was automatic—even though fine was quite the stretch at this particular moment.
“Okay,” he said, looking suspiciously at my expression. His gaze seemed perceptive.
I had to tell myself he couldn’t read my thoughts. “It’s all very fine.”
“If you say so.”
“I do.” I took another sweep around the lobby looking for Brooklyn. I couldn’t let her slip past me because I was distracted by Max Kendrick.
“You sure you’re not with someone?” he asked.
I gave him a look of reproach. “I’m sure.”
“You’re jumpy,” he said.
“You’re suspicious.”
He shrugged without denying it.
Fair enough, I supposed. We’d only just met.
“I’m watching for someone,” I said.
“Who?”
“A friend. A girlfriend. I’m meeting her here and I don’t want to miss her.”
“That’s not exactly alone.”
“It is until she gets here.”
“You lied.”
“I didn’t lie.”
“You omitted. You’re hiding something.”
I wasn’t about to touch that one. “You thought I was a cheater.”
“Maybe.”
“Is that a takes-one-to-know-one statement? Do you have a girlfriend? Are you a cheater?”
“Nope.”
“How do I know you’re not lying? Cheaters probably lie.”
His smile said he got that I was joking. I felt warm about that. Not everyone caught on to my sense of humor.
The waitress returned with our wine, and we both fell silent as she poured.
When she left, he held up his glass for a toast. “To honesty and integrity.”
“Faith and loyalty.” I thought about Brooklyn as I touched my glass to his.
I took a sip. The wine was outstanding—crisp, buttery and light on my tongue.
“Now that we know we’re on the same wavelength,” he said. “Tell me something about you. Maybe start with your name.”
I realized then that he’d introduced himself, but I hadn’t.
“It’s Layla—Layla Gillen.”
“Nice to meet you, Layla Gillen. Will you be in Vegas for long?”
“I certainly hope not.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “You have something against Vegas?”
“No, nothing. It’s the first time I’ve been here.” I scanned for Brooklyn again. I spotted a blonde woman in the distance, but she turned and I saw her profile—not Brooklyn.
“Where are you from?” Max asked.
I turned my attention back to him. “Seattle. You?”
“I have a place in New York, but I travel quite a bit. What do you do in Seattle?”
I didn’t want to sound nerdy. Then again, I sure wasn’t about to lie.
“I’m a teacher.”
“What grade?”
“High school.”
“What subject.”
“Math.”
His smile said he’d discovered an embarrassing secret.
My pride kicked in. “You have something against mathematics?”
“You don’t look like any math teacher I ever had.”
“I’m fully qualified.”
“I’m not questioning that.”
“It sounded like you were.”
“No.” He cocked his head and his gaze grew warm. “I was thinking if my math teachers looked like you, I’d have enjoyed the subject a whole lot more.”
My heart fluttered. It seriously, embarrassingly, fluttered there for a second.
My cheeks grew warm, and I told myself to get a grip, covering the reaction with another sip of wine.
This was obviously a crush-at-first-sight, and I’d never felt anything like it.
I didn’t want to check into a 700-dollar-a-night hotel room when I had a perfectly wonderful prepaid room waiting for me back in San Francisco. But evening was falling, and there was still no sign of Brooklyn.
Max had said goodbye after lunch, and I’d left the table pretending I had somewhere to go. I didn’t, of course. But I’d found a comfortable seat at the opposite end of the lobby with a good view of the main entrances and exits.
The vibe of the lobby was beginning to change from daytime to evening. I knew if I wanted to continue blending with the crowd, I had to get out of my jeans.
There were shops dotted around the periphery of the lobby. The clothes were very high-end, but I managed to find a little black dress on a sales rack.
I wasn’t about to interrupt my surveillance by heading into the fitting room. Luckily, the dress had simple lines and enough stretch that I was confident it would fit. My black ankle boots weren’t exactly perfect for the occasion, but I was wearing a silver necklace and dangling earrings, and I could pull my hair up in a messy bun.
I’d do for the evening crowd.
I hated to interrupt my surveillance, but eventually, the need for a restroom break became urgent. In the ladies’ room, I changed in a flash and was back out in the lobby again with my jeans and blouse folded into the boutique shopping bag.
“I take it you don’t have a room?” It was Max’s voice beside me.
I was embarrassed, like I’d been caught freeloading.
I worked to erase my guilty expression before facing him. I wasn’t freeloading. I was genuinely waiting for a hotel guest. And, anyway, the lobby was a public space.
“My girlfriend has a—” I turned and my words dried up.
This afternoon Max had looked good in a dusty blue shirt under a steel-gray suit. Now he looked fantastic. His shirt was crisp white. His suit was black, and his tie was dark burgundy scattered with black flecks.
“A room?” he prompted.
“Are you going to a party?”
“I wouldn’t exactly call it a party.” He took in my dress. “What about you? Big plans?”
I didn’t have any plans at all beyond staking out the lobby until Brooklyn arrived. I refused to let myself think she and her faux soul mate were holed up in a hotel room together for the night, ordering room service and lounging in a whirlpool tub.
The image was too much for me to wrap my head around, so I shook it out of my mind.
“You haven’t found her,” Max stated. He didn’t give me time to answer. “What’s really going on, Layla?”
“Nothing.”
“Are you a private investigator?”
“No.”
As I denied it, I wondered if Max wanted me to be a private investigator. Private investigator sounded like an exciting job, better than math teacher. Maybe I should consider switching careers.
“A stalker?” he asked.
“I’m not a stalker.” I wasn’t—at least not usually. Today, well, I supposed it was debatable.
“Have you tried calling her?”
“What a great idea.” I wasn’t annoyed with Max. I was just generally annoyed, and that put the sarcasm in my voice. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it myself.”
He didn’t seem to take offense. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
“That’s a yes.”
He peered at my expression. “Did you have a fight?”
“No.”
“Is she with a guy?”
I was trying not to think about that. I wanted to deny it. But I didn’t feel like lying outright to Max. I didn’t even feel like omitting anymore.
Other patrons milled around us, dressed to the nines, talking and laughing, coming together in groups and lining up at the on-site restaurants.
“I think she might be,” I admitted.
“So she ditched you for a man.” Max’s words weren’t a question.
It wasn’t what he was thinking. But I couldn’t explain the situation without giving away private information, so I just stood there looking like a pathetic fifth wheel abandoned in the hotel lobby.
“Join me for dinner,” he said.
It was a mercy date if I’d ever heard of one. No thank you. “I have no intention of crashing your party.”
“There’s no party. There’s just me.”
I didn’t believe that for a second. “Then why are you dressed like the top of a wedding cake?”
“Because this is a nice hotel, and it’s after six.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t have to believe me. Just join me for dinner.”
“So you’re saying you have nothing to do tonight.”
A man like that, in a suit like his, in a place like this? Not a chance.
“I’m saying there’s nothing I have to do tonight.”
“But you have options?”
“We all have options. All the time. Right now, you’re my first choice.”
“Why?”
“I swear, Layla, I have never had this much trouble getting a woman to have dinner with me.”
“I can’t,” I said, even though I wanted to say yes.
A guy like this didn’t come along every day—at least not in my life. In my life, a guy like this didn’t come along any day.
“Why not?”
“I can’t risk missing my girlfriend. She’ll be through here anytime.”
He gave me a look that said I was borderline delusional. “I’m no expert. But it seems like she doesn’t want to be found.”
Brooklyn might not want to be found, but for everyone’s sake, I needed to find her.
“Maybe you should leave it until tomorrow,” Max said.
“No.” That would be bad. It would be very bad to leave Brooklyn and her faux soul mate alone for the night. I had to find her as soon as possible.
“I’m assuming she’s over twenty-one.”
“She’s twenty-six.”
“There you go. She’s perfectly capable of making her own decisions.”
Technically that was true. But I knew Brooklyn wasn’t thinking straight. Something was wrong, and I had to get to the bottom of it before she made a life-altering mistake.
“We can eat in the Grill Room,” he said. “See that curved booth right there, the one facing the lobby? I’ll get the hostess to seat us in it.”
I gauged the view from the table. It was probably better than the view I had from here. And I was truly starving at this point.
“It’s probably reserved.” It looked like a prime spot.
“I’m sure they’ll fit us in.” He sounded confident in his ability to get preferential treatment.
“Do you come here often?” I asked. Then I laughed at myself. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
“You weren’t going for a cheesy pickup line?”
“No.”
“Too bad.”
I ignored the flirtatious lilt to his words, refusing to let myself meet his gaze. It would be all too easy to let my imagination run away with me. And the last thing I needed was a further distraction right now.
“I’m a fairly frequent guest,” he said.
“My lucky day.”
“I was going to say it was mine.”
This time I did look at him. I’m not made of stone. His smile was warm, and his eyes had an inner glow, and my heart fluttered again.
Before I could sigh or swoon or do anything else ridiculously humiliating, he started across the lobby to the restaurant entrance.
“Mr. Kendrick.” The hostess’s greeting was friendly as we approached.
“Hi, Samantha. Can you put us at the front booth?”
“Of course, sir.”
She extracted two leather-bound, gold-embossed menus from below the counter. “Bernard will seat you.”
“Hello, Mr. Kendrick,” Bernard said. “It’s great to have you with us tonight.”
Max waited while I slid in one side of the booth, going partway around. I set my purse and shopping bag beside me.
I felt outclassed by the surroundings, and I was grateful to have ditched the jeans.
Max slid in the other side of the booth and matched my position. It was cozy with the high-backed plush seats, a flickering candle, the two of us sitting only a couple of feet apart.
I had an expansive view of the lobby, but the table still felt intimate.
“Can I have the waiter bring you your usual?” Bernard asked Max.
“Please,” Max said to Bernard.
To me, he said, “It’s a classic martini with a lemon twist.”
“Sounds good.” It did.
I hoped the drink would take the edge off my worry. Fretting over Brooklyn wasn’t going to help me find her any faster. When she showed up, she showed up.
“The drinks will be out right away,” Bernard said. “Please let me know if there’s anything else you need.”
“They really do know you,” I said to Max as I took yet another scan of the lobby.
“They do. But they treat all their customers well.”
That had certainly been my experience so far.
“This isn’t the kind of place where I usually eat,” I said.
He moved the glass-encased candle so we had an unobstructed view of each other. “What’s the kind of a place where you usually eat?”
“The Rock a Beach,” I said. “It’s a funky little seafood place on Moiler Bay. They have picnic tables on a covered deck. There’s great local beer on tap. You can get fish and chips served on newspaper or a wooden hammer to crack your crab. In the winter, they close it in with plastic sheeting and light a central fireplace. My family loves it.”
“It sounds great.”
“You wouldn’t need a suit.”
“It sounds like I’d need a bib.”
“Recommended.”
We both smiled.
“I’d like to take you there sometime,” he said.
I could see it. I could picture that. And it was great. The image was so compelling that it took me a second to realize what he was doing.
He was good. And I was a fool for following along like a little puppy dog.
I wasn’t usually swayed by emotion like this. I’m usually nothing but rational. I pride myself on it. I drew back, forcibly pulling myself from his spell. “Wow.”
“Wow what?”
“That was fast, and not particularly believable.”
“I—”
“You’re a smooth talker, Max Kendrick. But here’s a heads-up for you—what you’re after is not what’s going to happen.”
“That’s not where I was going.”
“Sure it wasn’t.” Logic and reason told me that much.
“You’re a skeptic, Layla Gillen. I’m simply enjoying our conversation.”
I wasn’t about to believe that. Guys often took a shot and backed off when you called them out on it.
Then again, he’d vaguely mentioned a second date. He hadn’t suggested skinny-dipping in his hot tub or checking out his hotel suite. Maybe I was too quick to judge.
“Okay,” I said. “My mistake.”
“No. It was my mistake for letting it come out wrong. Can I back up a couple of minutes and take a do-over?”
He could. I wasn’t about to say no when he put it so reasonably. But just in case I really did have his number, I was keeping up my guard.
Three (#ufe167c1a-bd62-5db8-9ab3-1a7ee14f31cf)
Just as the chocolate soufflé arrived with Devonshire cream and a whole lot of pomp and circumstance, I spotted Brooklyn. She was crossing the lobby, her long blond hair swinging in a high ponytail. I couldn’t see her face, but I recognized her walk, the slant of her shoulders and the oversize green-and-gold earrings she’d bought from a funky little stand at Pier 54.
The soufflé looked magnificent—a molten center, topped with the Devonshire cream, powdered sugar and plump raspberries. I’d gone with a seafood salad for dinner, saving space for an indulgent dessert. But I couldn’t let Brooklyn get away.
“I’m sorry,” I said to Max, grabbing my purse and shopping bag as I slid from the booth.
The pastry chef and the waitress looked baffled.
“Is something wrong?” Max asked.
I kept my gaze on Brooklyn. She disappeared behind a pillar.
“I’ll settle up later,” I called back to him, tossing the words over my shoulder as I hurried away.
I felt terrible sticking Max with the bill. I told myself I could drop off some cash at the front desk. They might be sticky about confirming someone was a guest, but surely they’d take an envelope for them.
I also hated to waste the chef’s hard work. He’d clearly taken pride in the chocolate soufflé. I also selfishly hated to miss eating it.
That was twice today.
Indulgence karma was not on my side.
I could see now that Brooklyn was alone. Perfect.
The lobby was octagonal with four passageways leading off the four corners. She headed down one of them. I thought it led to the pool, an outdoor restaurant and an atrium garden.
I wanted to call out, but I didn’t think she’d hear me. And I was half-afraid she might try to escape. She’d gone to a lot of trouble to stay away from me.
I knew why she’d done that.
I knew that she knew that I knew she didn’t really want to do this. And she knew I’d talk her out of it without half trying.
I saw the paradox in my thinking. If she knew all that, she wouldn’t be hiding from me. She’d simply admit she was wrong, and I was right, and she’d made a big mistake. But I was always the rational one between us. Brooklyn was emotional, and she could talk herself into peculiar things.
She was still a hundred feet ahead of me when she turned again, disappearing from my sight.
I broke into a trot, then discovered she’d taken a doorway that led to the garden.
I followed on polished brick pathway that wound through lighted shrubbery and towering palm trees. I hurried, but I couldn’t see her in front of me. Then the pathway forked.
I stopped to consider my next move.
I could hear voices in one direction, and music and laughter. I could see the lights of a restaurant or a patio lounge.
The other way was quiet, no sound but a burbling brook beneath an arched footbridge.
Brooklyn liked to be where the action was, so I followed the music.
I came to a café called the Triple Palm. It was fresh and lively, with a breeze blowing through. Beech-wood tables and chairs were surrounded by greenery and decorated with lights and candles. A trio of musicians played in one corner, and a few couples danced on the raised floor. This was Brooklyn’s kind of place.
I did a methodical search of the tables. Then I checked the bar area. Then I repositioned to see the entire dance floor.
No Brooklyn.
I couldn’t believe I’d guessed wrong.
I didn’t have any time to waste.
I trotted again. It was hard to trot in the heeled boots, but they were better than pumps or spiked heels. That was for sure.
I made it to the fork and over the footbridge. Things got quieter around me. The music faded into the distance. The lights were fewer and farther between.
I listened hard, but I didn’t hear anything. My best guess was that Brooklyn was meeting her new soul mate in a secluded corner to talk or cuddle or kiss.
I couldn’t see her having sex in a hotel garden, not when just anybody could happen by and catch her. That wasn’t like Brooklyn.
Then again, this wasn’t like Brooklyn. I realized there was a chance that she’d been having risky outdoor sex with James all this time without telling me.
I groaned out loud and quickly scrubbed that image from my mind.
“Layla?” It was Max.
I heard his footsteps before he appeared around a corner.
I was more than surprised to see him. “How did you find me?”
“I looked.”
I gave him an eye roll.
“I saw you turn toward the atrium. There are only so many places you can go at this end of the hotel.”
My guilt over cutting out on him came back. “I was going to drop some cash off at the front desk.”
“What for?”
“To pay for dinner, of course.”
He waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t be ridiculous. I invited you.”
“That doesn’t mean you should get stuck with the bill. I didn’t mean to cut out on you.”
“You saw her, didn’t you?”
I nodded. “But then I lost her.”
“Did you check the Triple Palm?”
“She’s not there. And she doesn’t seem to be here.” I glanced around. “Unless she’s found a secret corner to hide.”
“You did say she was with a guy.”
I shook my head. “I know what you’re thinking.” I refused to let myself think that. “She’s not like that.”
“You don’t know what I’m thinking. And not like what?”
“She’s not having sex in a public garden, that’s what.”
He grinned in a way that said I was amusing him.
“There are other things for men and women to do in a quiet corner of the garden than have sex.”
“I know that.”
He shifted a little bit closer to me. “This is a very romantic garden.”
Lighted mesquite trees towered above us. Small cactuses lined the path, with pink and yellow flowers adding color. The air was sultry sweet along the smooth, winding red-toned path, heavy with moisture and soft on my skin.
“That’s not really what I want to hear,” I said.
“Why not?”
His gaze captured mine. It was as sultry as the air, dark and deep.
I forgot what I was saying. “What?”
He shifted closer still. “You know, you are incredibly beautiful.”
I couldn’t help it—my heart warmed at the compliment. It beat more deeply, slowly, thudding inside my chest and echoing in my ears.
I told myself to hang on to reality. But myself didn’t want to do that right now.
Max touched my arm. The touch was simple. It was light. His thumb brushed slowly across my skin, and I lit up like one of the mesquite trees. Logic and reason flew into the night.
“Max,” I whispered.
“Layla,” he whispered back.
The breezed cocooned us as he stepped in. One hand slid to my bare shoulder. His other touched the small of my back.
I put my palms on his chest, thinking to stop him, thinking they’d be a barrier between us that would pull me out of this spell.
But it didn’t work out that way.
I touched the crisp fabric of his shirt. I could feel his heat beneath it. His chest was firm, his pecs defined.
I’m not shallow. I know there’s more to a man than the shape of his body. But the particular shape of this particular man’s body was doing very strange things to my brain waves.
I lowered my hands, feeling the ridges of his abs. A sudden vision of him naked bloomed in my mind, my fingertips trailing across his glorious frame.
I wanted that. I wanted it more than I’d wanted anything in a very long time.
He enfolded me in an embrace, the solid, strong, definitive hug of a man who’d decided exactly what he wanted. And what he wanted was me. I was torn between amazement and arousal.
I tipped my chin, and his lips touched mine, and my amazement fled. There was no room for anything inside of me except arousal.
His lips were hot, firm, moist, with the perfect amount of pressure.
He tasted like fine wine and smoky dreams.
My lips softened, they parted. I invited him in and his tongue swept mine in an encompassing kiss that sent waves of pleasure all the way to my toes.
My hands started to move. They unbuttoned his shirt. They touched his skin, and he gave a guttural groan.
“This way,” he said.
I didn’t know what he meant. I didn’t care what he meant, just so long as his kisses didn’t stop and he let me keep feeling my way to his shoulders.
I figured out what he meant, and it was a good thing.
I couldn’t believe his room was this close. But there we were, down a narrow pathway, across a patio and through some French doors.
You really couldn’t call it a room.
It was a suite—a presidential suite or a royal suite, or something with its very own name. I could feel how big it was even in the dim light.
Then Max pulled off his jacket and ripped his way out of his dress shirt. And everything around me disappeared. He was hot with a capital H.
Before I could look my fill, he pushed down the strap of my dress. He kissed his way across my bared shoulder. Every brush of his lips sent new tingles deep into my skin.
I breathed deeply—such a fresh crisp scent. My fingertips traced their way from his abs, to his pecs, up the breadth of his shoulders that went on and on. My lips followed suit, and I felt his warm breath on my hair.
I knew I should stop. My left brain told me I couldn’t careen off on a wave of feeling. I had things to do. I had Brooklyn to find.
Finally, my right brain told me. Finally, after so very many disappointments today, an indulgence was mine for the taking.
The debate was very short.
Indulgence won with a capital I.
I didn’t want to make Max guess, so I stripped off the little dress. I stood there in my panties, making myself perfectly clear.
I was in his arms in a flash, his embrace warm and engulfing. My breasts pressed against his bare chest, sending my arousal to new heights.
Then he lifted me like I weighed nothing. He started walking.
“Bedroom,” he said.
My right brain cheered. It was probably the sexiest thing that had ever happened to me.
He carried me through a door to a second big room. Light filtered through an opaque blind, and I could make out a king-size bed, a padded headboard and a huge mound of pillows.
We collapsed together onto the soft bed, Max on top, propping himself with his elbows.
The quilt was smooth silk against my body. It was cool. A fan stirred the air overhead.
His hands clasped mine, and he moved in slow motion to kiss my lips.
I simultaneously moaned and sighed, melting against his mouth, then his thighs, then his chest as we pressed closer and tighter together.
His weight felt good. It felt sexy. It pushed me deep into the soft mattress.
His kisses were long and thorough, expertly sending messages to my breasts and inner thighs, making them tighten and buzz with desire.
His lips were magic. His hands did nothing but caress my palms, yet I was writhing and stretching and lifting my hips.
My panties were thin. So were his boxers. My thighs spread apart, and our touch through the whisper of fabric was a prelude to lovemaking.
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