Page 1 of Best Laid Plans
1
Arriving in Amalfi – a most lively and dramatic town in which to begin your journey…
When Indigo Hughes had spent long hours daydreaming about her walking holiday along the Amalfi Coast of southern Italy, this wasn’t exactly what she’d envisioned.
Luggageless – after the airline had inexplicably sent her backpack containing her carefully chosen walking gear to goodness knew where instead of Naples – and apparently dispossessed, because of a foul-up on the computer with her hotel booking, she was now facing the reality of spending the first night of her much anticipated holiday sleeping rough on the streets of Amalfi.
Whilst she wasn’t averse to roughing it – she’d travelled to enough festivals and partaken in enough camping trips for that not to be an issue – she’d been looking forward to falling into a comfortable bed after a crazy week of late nights and early mornings and was not in the mood to laugh this off.
‘But my ex-boyfriend booked a room in this hotel months ago,’ she explained again to the receptionist, her voice now projecting the disconcerting characteristic of a crow with a sore throat.
The intimidatingly poised receptionist pursed her blood-red lips and tightened her arms across her impressive cleavage. ‘I’m sorry, signorina. As I said, I have no record of your booking, and we are fully booked. If you had the email to prove it, or even the credit card it was booked with, I could perhaps do something for you, but as it is…’ From the look on her face, she clearly wasn’t keen on having someone as scruffy as Indigo messing up her beautifully appointed five-star hotel reception desk.
Panicky heat rushed to Indigo’s face. ‘As I explained, myex-boyfriend booked the room, so I don’t have the credit card or email. I assumed giving my name would be enough.’
The woman’s helpless shrug, then her over-emphasised shift in eye contact to the next person in line tipped Indigo over the edge of frustration into fiery indignation. But before she could draw breath there was a movement behind her and a tall man in a beautifully cut linen suit stepped forwards to stand next to her at the desk.
‘Pardon, mademoiselle,’ he interjected smoothly, his fresh, spicy scent hitting her nose at the exact same moment his eyes locked with hers.
Indigo had never related to the expression ‘being swept off your feet’ before, but that was exactly how she felt right now. As if the power of his presence had physically lifted her into the air, her internal organs quivering as if she were in freefall. She gazed up at him, his unusual combination of whisky-brown eyes and sandy-blond hair keeping her transfixed as her pulse beat an enthusiastic rhythm in her throat. But apparently, she didn’t capture his interest in the same way because, after giving her a curt nod, he turned sharply away, bringing her back down to earth with a thump.
‘I have a reservation,’ he said to the receptionist in a deep, smoky, French-accented voice which made Indigo think of the actors in the Gallic art house films she’d been so in love with during her college days.
Lounging against the desk, he held up his smartphone so the receptionist could see the screen and type the booking reference into her computer.
Indigo looked from one to the other in disbelief. She seemed to have been well and truly dismissed.
Something she’d become rather too familiar with recently.
Before she could open her mouth again to point out that they were both being utterly rude and that she wasn’t going to be ignored like this, the receptionist shook her head and looked up at the Frenchman, her expression projecting a lot more contrition than when she’d dealt with Indigo.
‘I’m sorry, signor, I don’t have a record of your booking.’
‘That’s not possible; check again, please,’ the man replied in a tone that clearly brooked no argument.
Indigo watched with a sense of self-righteous vindication as the receptionist typed the number in again, then checked something else on another screen, her shoulders stiffening as she finally accepted there was a problem with the booking system.
She seemed a little pale when she looked back up at him. ‘My apologies, signor,’ she breathed. ‘I don’t know what could have happened. It appears there was a glitch with the computer, and I’ve given your room away. I only have the honeymoon suite available now, but it would be my pleasure to let you stay there tonight. We will correct the mistake by tomorrow and I will have your original suite available for you then.’
Indigo frowned as she twigged what was going on.
‘Hang on a second. Why didn’t you offer me the honeymoon suite? I was here first!’ she protested, feeling a cocktail of humiliation and umbrage warm her face again.
The woman’s gaze slid to hers. ‘Because the gentleman booked a suite, signorina, so this room is more in his – category.’ She gave Indigo a tight little smile as if to say,That’s not the word I was grasping for, but you get the message.
‘Okay—’ the Frenchman began in his smooth, lyrical accent.
But even the strength of his charisma couldn’t keep the bubble of anger from rising through Indigo’s body.
‘Really?’ she spluttered, taking a step back to run a critical gaze over his long, lean body. ‘You’re really going to take the room when you can plainly see that I was here first!’
He turned to look at her again, his expression giving nothing away as his heavy-lidded gaze swept over her face.
She felt exposed, almost naked under his scrutiny and had to fight not to wrap her arms around her body for protection against it. Locking her jaw, she stared him out, knowing from experience that not backing down was the only way she was going to get what she wanted. Or, in this case, what she needed, i.e. a comfortable bed for the night. Which had already been paid for!
A muscle twitched in the Frenchman’s jaw as he kept his gaze fixed on hers. He really did have the most striking face, with prominent high-set cheekbones and a broad masculine brow above those mesmerising eyes. What was it about French men that made them so unutterably sexy? The few she’d met throughout her life had all had the same confident, direct gaze that made her feel as if she was being sexually appraised. Right now, it was as though he was scrutinising the whole of her exterior whilst also looking deep inside her.
The feeling of being so thoroughly examined made her skin tingle.
