Page 199 of Wicked Fantasies

Noticing his glance, Pierre looked uneasy.

“I’m afraid the infamous Timothy has struck again,” he answered, sighing heavily.

Rob had to fight to restrain a growl from emerging. Timothy had served as the reservation clerk for one month, until it came to the attention of Pierre, the hotel manager that he was imputing all the information into the computer wrong. As a result, none of the reservations taken during the idiotic man’s four weeks of employment were recorded.

“I thought we’d taken precautions against this?” Rob asked, glancing back toward the bar where his hapless brunette had disappeared.

“Yes, sir. We hold back four rooms every night just in case. This weekend I kept eight rooms open, however, with it being so busy--”

“You’ve already given away all of those rooms,” Rob finished for him.

“And then some,” Pierre confessed. “I just sent a couple to the Wakefield Resort. I’ve called all over the island and there truly isn’t another room to be had. I was just thinking to myself that perhaps we were safe when she walked in.”

“Terrific,” Rob muttered, rubbing his hands over his travel weary face. He’d been in negotiations to purchase property in New York all week. Delay after delay kept him from leaving until finally this afternoon, with the ink still drying on the contract, he headed for his private jet, ready for some serious rest and relaxation. The last 36 months had been nonstop business meetings, conferences, and charity events and he was taking some well-earned vacation time. Glancing at his watch he considered leaving the woman to her own devices for a split second before turning and making his way toward the hotel bar.

The bar was fairly quiet and Rob could only assume most folks were resting up for the festivities set to begin tomorrow. He found her in a quiet corner nursing a drink and shivering. Stopping by the bar, he asked Todd, the bartender for his usual.

“And another one of whatever that young lady is having,” he added, gesturing to the brunette.

Todd smiled at his request. “Yes sir,” he said. “A martini and another Scarlett O’Hara.”

Picking up the drinks, Rob studied her as he approached her table. Her face was truly lovely. She had a wholesome, girl-next-door look he found surprisingly appealing. Spending so much of his time with women who spent a small fortune on cosmetic surgery, personal trainers, and make-up, he found her natural appearance refreshing. Her long chestnut brown hair was still damp from her run in the rain, but as it dried, natural ringlets appeared and he imagined it was quite thick and soft. She had a healthy red glow on her cheeks, no doubt from the running or perhaps the cold. Rob felt an instant attraction to her, something he couldn’t recall ever feeling before. She shivered again and Rob shook himself out of his reverie.

“Excuse me,” he said, gracing her with the most charming smile he could muster. No doubt, he had some making up to do.

“Hello again,” she said softly, her tone distinctly friendlier than he expected.

“I was hoping I could join you for a few minutes,” he said, gesturing to the two drinks in his hands.

Nodding, she pointed to the seat across from her. “Sure,” she said.

“Peace offering,” he joked, placing the red drink he’d bought in front of hers.

Moving her empty glass out of the way, she smiled, saying, “That wasn’t necessary.”

“I’m afraid it was,” Rob answered. “My driver’s actions were reprehensible.”

Interrupting him, she said, “No, please, you don’t have to apologize. I’m terribly embarrassed by my behavior. I’m sure you won’t believe this, but I’m typically not such a hateful bitch.”

“I didn’t think you were anything of the sort,” Rob assured her, surprised by her apology. If anyone was in the wrong, it was clearly him, or at least George.

“Thank you for the drink,” she added, picking it up and silently toasting him before sipping it.

Laughing, he asked, “Scarlett O’Hara?”

Smiling, she replied, “It’s my favorite. Cranberry juice and Southern Comfort. I was planning on drinking only fruity, island concoctions, but after the day’s events, I needed a stiff drink.”

“Ah, I see,” Rob said. “If I’m not mistaken, do I detect a bit of a southern accent?”

“Just a bit. I’m from Northern Virginia. Most folks there can’t decide if they’re northerners or southerners! I like to refer to myself as a middler. How about you? Where do you hang up your hat?” she asked.

“Everywhere,” Rob answered honestly. “My work keeps me traveling pretty much non-stop.”

“And during your childhood?”

“Army brat,” he replied, acknowledging not for the first time that he truly didn’t have roots anywhere in the world. He owned homes on both coasts as well as in three different countries, but he never spent more than a month at a time in any of them. Watching her try to hide her shivering, he stood and took off his suit jacket.

“Here,” he said, draping it around her shoulders. “You’re about to shake yourself off that chair.”

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