A Holiday Romance (7 page)

“Teaching. Hmm.” Alice had reached the point of tiredness where her thoughts wandered in all directions. It wasn’t difficult to push aside the uneasy sense that she’d taken a wrong turn and was circling around her old life like a hiker lost in the woods. “I haven’t taught full-time for a while, but I liked it. I taught elementary school. Fifth grade. The kids were so curious about everything.” They’d given her the feeling that her life was an adventure, too.

She sat upright. She hadn’t thought through her motives before, but now it seemed obvious that this trip was her attempt to recapture that old feeling of adventure. And the desire remained. She
hadn’t
lost her way, only allowed herself to be distracted.

“I couldn’t handle that,” Rivka said. “Fred’s nothing but a big old kid and he gets on my nerves.” She placed the top tier, then climbed down from the chair she’d been standing on, stepping back to take a look.

“Crooked,” said Fred.

They argued good-naturedly until Rivka caught Alice in another yawn. “You should go. I’ve kept you too long.”

“Thanks, but I’ll stay. I want to see this through to the end.” She might be an easy touch, but she wasn’t a quitter.

“We’ve only got a few more hours of work, putting everything together. I’ll probably get in trouble with the boss as it is, keeping you here this long.”

“He’ll never know.”

“He knows everything,” Fred said.

“And he has no compunction about handing out walking papers,” Rivka said. She looked leery for a moment. “But I’m safe. We’re already shorthanded.” She and Fred exchanged a grin. They’d admitted to Alice that they weren’t exactly sad to see the back of Chef Chavez.

“Don’t count on it,” Fred said. “You know the stories.”

Alice was all ears. “Stories about Mr. Jarreau?”

Rivka peered at her through the smudged lenses of her wire-rimmed glasses. “Um, maybe we shouldn’t—”

Fred was less guarded. “Everybody knows. He’s ruthless. He even fired his own—”

“Zip it,” Rivka said.

Fred laughed. “You’re not the boss of me.”

“Ha! I am so the boss of you.”

Alice tried to redirect the banter. “I don’t want to get you two in trouble, but I’d rather not leave until we’re finished.” She bit her lip. Why couldn’t she be this stubborn about making over her life? After all, she’d come here to be carefree!

Was she fooling herself? Was caregiving her true nature?

Rivka filled a pastry bag with white frosting. “But it’s your vacation, Alice. You’re supposed to be out dancing.”

“I was nervous about going alone.” After dinner the night before, she’d gone back to the condo and watched a movie on the flat-screen TV.

Cripes. She might as well have stayed home.

“Fred and I can take you. No vacation is complete until you’ve seen this guy doing the electric slide in silver disco pants.”

Alice stayed to the finish, enjoying the camaraderie even though she did no more than hand Rivka flowers and help transfer the elaborate creation to a cart they rolled to a walk-in refrigerator.

Once they’d cleaned up, Fred volunteered to escort Alice to her condo. By that time they were all dulled by exhaustion. The main restaurant kitchen had shut down hours before.

Rivka gave Alice a big hug. “I’d hire you anytime.”

She left through the employees’ back entrance while Fred and Alice went out the front, walking through the dark rooms of the restaurant to a hallway and finally into the lobby, which was quiet except for a man at the front desk in bleached shorts, cross-trainers and a raggedy-edged sweatshirt.

Alice’s eyes were drawn to him. For one second she thought he was Denver. The crazy notion that the cowboy had been so enraptured by her that he was trying to find out her room number passed through her head. At the same time, she knew that was absurd. She wasn’t the enrapturing type. She was the ordinary girl-next-door who never said no to a favor. For all her grand resolutions for this vacation, it was most likely she’d end up marrying a nice guy from home. Maybe a fellow schoolteacher. A science or history geek, someone serious and comfortably dull.

Not a cowboy.

Definitely not a corporate executive.

The man at the desk turned and said, “Alice,” with alarming intensity.

Fred’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Oh, hell.”

Alice’s toes and fingers went numb, as if her blood had pooled elsewhere. In her hot cheeks, for instance. Her swimming brain. The thought slipped by that she’d been too quick to sell herself short—again.

“Good evening, Mr. Jarreau,” she croaked.

He raked a hand through his hair. Gathered himself as his expression became more guarded. “Miss Potter.” A beat. “Good
morning.
What are you doing here?” He looked at Fred.

Glared, really.

“Dancing,” Alice blurted, even though she rarely lied.

“Dancing,” Kyle repeated, clearly skeptical.

“Fred and Rivka invited me to…uh…the nightclub.”

“Which one?”

Did that mean there were two of them? Alice had no idea.

“Hoodoo,” Fred answered, recovering his wits.

She nodded as if that made sense. From her travel reading, she knew that a hoodoo was a rock pillar, but apparently it was a nightclub, too.

Kyle was not convinced. “Enjoy it?”

“Immensely.” Alice was strangely recharged by the confrontation with Kyle. She wanted to show him. Show him what, she didn’t know.

“But I’m done in,” she said. “I need to get home.”

Kyle stepped in, smoothly cutting out Fred. “I’ll take her. You must have hours of work to do on that cake.” He raised a wicked eyebrow. “Seeing that you chose to go dancing first. With a guest of the hotel, no less. Have you forgotten the hotel’s policy against fraternization?”

“They only did it to be nice to me,” Alice declared,
realizing she’d gotten the pastry chefs
into
trouble, not
out
of it.

“Won’t happen again, sir,” Fred said with a caustic tone, adding a “See ya, kid,” for Alice while moving at a clip back the way they’d come.

Kyle watched the other man leave. “Funny how you two came from the direction of the kitchens, not the club.”

Alice met his eyes. “Yes, funny.”

He frowned.

She said no more on the subject and neither did he, other than giving her a hard measuring look as he held open the front door for her. They descended the stone steps and walked past the large fountain, a Moorish star design lined with colorful Mexican tiles. She wanted to stop and dunk her head in the splashing water, but he’d probably disapprove of that, too.

As they left the main hotel behind, the manicured landscaping gave way to a lush garden. A stone path curved into the darkness, where hidden outdoor fixtures threw dramatic fans of light against the spires of cypress and the spreading arms of a grove of olive trees. They entered an oasis of lush acacia and enormous needle-pointed agave and yucca. Low lights dotted the path like fireflies.

Kyle marched along with no appreciation of his surroundings. His face was carved stone.

When the prickly silence became too much, Alice said, “You know I stayed to work on the cake.”

“Yes.”

“You wouldn’t fire them over that…”

Kyle didn’t answer. Her throat tightened. Up till now, she hadn’t fully believed he was the coldhearted boss of the staff’s tales. Chloe calling him a taskmaster had
seemed more admiring than actually fearful. As for the chef’s dismissal, that had been justified, according to Rivka. But she’d then cut Fred off from revealing the details of some other past firing that had sounded dire.

“I
made
Rivka keep me,” Alice said. “They needed the help. You can’t blame them for that.”

Kyle’s stride slowed. “Then who do I blame?” He looked sidelong at her and said, “You?” in a thick rough voice that sent a shiver racing through her.

A
LICE TOUCHED
her tongue to dry lips. “You blame the chef who destroyed their work.”

Kyle gave a quick nod. “Of course.”

The reasonable capitulation was unexpected. He’d been acting like such a grump.

Maybe his tension wasn’t as related to Fred and Rivka as Alice had supposed. She watched him closely as they paused at the edge of the garden where the path rejoined the paved roads that wound around the resort. They were populated during the day with golf carts and scooters bearing the PM logo, but at this time of morning they were empty.

He must have felt her eyes on him, instead of the low stuccoed sprawl of the condominiums. “I had no plans to fire them, even if they had taken you dancing. But I’d like to know why you did it.”

“Why I lied? Or why I
disobeyed?
”

His gaze flicked over her. “I didn’t say that.”

“But clearly you’re used to being obeyed.”

“By staff. You’re a guest.”

“Ah. I’m among the privileged.”

“Yes.”

She sighed. He was so darned correct all the time. It was frustrating.

“Why did you?” he asked again.

“Well, I suppose it was because I wanted to help—” She stopped, swallowing the automatic response.

Why had she so quickly dismissed her resolution to make her vacation an adventure? She’d planned on serving herself a full helping of life. Instead, she’d stuck herself away in the kitchen for the entire evening, doing more of what she did at home. She didn’t regret chipping in, not a bit, but the choice was a clear warning of how easily she could fall into old habits.

“I’m a helper,” she admitted to Kyle. “I always have been.”
But I can change. I
want
to change.

She just had to figure out how to go about it. Scheduling activities clearly wasn’t enough.

“What does that mean?”

“It means my life’s been on hold.” Which hadn’t been entirely because of her mother’s illness, Alice realized, although that was the convenient explanation. Easier than accepting that she’d done this to herself because she’d been wounded by her fiancé’s rejection. Her mother’s situation had simply given her a timely excuse to retreat to the nest.

She stole another look at Kyle. He was as tall and straight and square-shouldered as ever. But somehow more approachable, maybe because of the shorts and old sweatshirt, or the nonaccusatory questions.

Maybe it was the safety of concealing darkness.

“My engagement had been broken,” she confessed, “and my mother was seriously ill.” Deep breath. “But that’s not an excuse. That’s life. Everyone deals with these things.”

“Some handle it better than others.” Kyle inclined his head toward her. “How is your mother?”

She shook her head.

“I’m sorry,” he said simply. She felt his light touch on her shoulder, as if a bird had landed there. And then a corresponding solid warmth in the pit of her stomach, like her cat had landed there.

She felt herself smiling. She’d had an aching sense of loss over the death of her mother, but it was good to know she could still feel pleasure, too.

“I’m sure you’ve had similar challenges to overcome,” she ventured, wishing she could lure Kyle into talking about himself.

He shrugged. “Sure.”

“Like what?”

“Like employees who undermine my authority with the complicity of the guests.”

“Baloney,” she said, disappointed. “That’s no obstacle for you. I get the feeling you barely have to lift a foot to squash any rumblings from the minions.”

“Minions?” His laugh was short but unrestrained. “Am I that over the top?”

She swept out an arm. “Lord of the manor.”

He peered more closely at her. “What has my staff been telling you?”

“I picked up a few clues from the upside-down cake and the steamrollered sugar flowers.”

“I didn’t cause that. I merely solved it.”

“No, you finished it. You told the minions to solve it.”

“Semantics.” One side of his mouth lifted. “I’ll concede the point. But, Alice—” again, he touched her shoulder “—
you
are not a minion.”

She felt the glow of warmth in her middle again. “Sometimes I forget. Forgive me.”

“Nothing to forgive.” His hand moved to the small
of her back. They resumed the walk toward the condos. “I was being needlessly hardheaded about letting you help out. Obstinacy is one of my, let’s say, personal challenges. I’ve got a one-track mind.”

“A lot of men do.” Her insides tugged toward the press of his hand. “But I prefer that to wishy-washy, um, wishy-washiness.” Her tongue felt like a fish on dry land. “At least you’re direct.”

“Unlike I’m guessing, your former fiancé?”

“Yes. No. I mean, he seemed to know his mind very well when he finally got around to admitting that he’d dumped me because I wasn’t ‘there for him.’ Or so he said.”

“Not true?”

They’d reached the Spanish portico at the pedestrian entrance to the condo complex. Deep shaded loggias ran along the front of each building. Vines of night-blooming jasmine filled the air with perfume.

“Technically, yes.” She was reluctant to talk about Stewart’s justifications for his betrayal. “My mother’s illness made it necessary for me to be on the island. It was breast cancer. She’d tried to get along on her own, with a lot of help from me and my brother, but the chemotherapy kept her bedridden with nausea. Jay had a family of his own to look after, so it was up to me to move in with Mom. I didn’t know I’d be there for the next six years.”

Hearing herself, she put off Kyle’s reply. “Let’s not get into that. I’m on the verge of whining. I don’t want to be a whiner.” She cocked her head to look up at him. “
You’re
not a whiner.”

“Maybe I should have done some whining. Not tried to keep everything to myself.” Abruptly he cut away from
the tantalizing direction of his thoughts. “I suppose I never saw the point of rehashing. Things are what they are.”

“Does that mean ‘what will be, will be’?” Alice mused.

“Definitely not. We make our own choices.”

“That’s what I’m doing—taking charge of my own life.” She would do better at that tomorrow.

“Good for you.”

There was a long silence. Not the kind of silence Alice was comfortable with. Nor the romantic moment she’d fantasized about when she’d dreamed of meeting a dashing stranger on her vacation.

“It’s not going that great,” she blurted. “So far I’ve choked down a pound of chlorine, developed several blisters from the nature hike and fallen off a horse.”

In a snap, Kyle reverted to his professional distance. “Were you hurt? Were you offered medical attention? We have a doctor on staff. It’s no problem to—”

“I’m fine. Still a little sore, but that’s all.”

“You shouldn’t have been working in the kitchen.”

“And we’re back to square one.” She chuckled. “Let it go, Kyle.”

Surprisingly, he did. “What happened to ‘Mr. Jarreau’?”

“You told me to call you Kyle, and I’ve decided I prefer it, too.”

“Huh. And here I’d been thinking that ‘Miss Potter’ was rather intriguing.”

“Tonight I’m just Alice.”

“May I walk Alice to her door?”

“Yes.” Anticipation ratcheted up her pulse, but when they reached the Raffertys’ condo, Kyle stepped away, instead of coming closer.

“Sleep late,” he advised, all professional. “Call room
service for breakfast. Or there’s a poolside brunch that serves till one.”

“Maybe I’ll see you there?” At his silence, she explained, “Seeing as you’re up just as late—or early—as I am.”

“I’m used to four or five hours’ sleep a night.” She’d almost convinced herself that there was regret in his voice when he added, “Besides, I rarely mingle with the guests.”

And good night to you, Miss Potter.

“W
HY ARE YOU
so grumpy this morning?” Lani asked, coming in with Kyle’s coffee. She was dressed in a suit so yellow he wished he had his sunglasses. “I heard
about you firing the chef, but a dismissal’s never affected you like this before. Even that time with Daisy.”

He sipped the coffee. Strong and black, sweetened with a hint of sugar. “I haven’t said two words. How do you know I’m grumpy?”

“How long have I been your secretary?” Lani didn’t wait for an answer. “Three years and then some, ever since you were promoted from assistant manager.” She settled down with her cappuccino. “You think I can’t read your body language by now?”

“You read me wrong. I’m just a little tired. I didn’t get my usual five hours.”
Three
nights in a row.

“Mmm-hmm. I heard all about it. You were prowling the grounds at 2:00 a.m.”

Kyle grunted. On any given morning, Lani stopped on her way to the office to chat with the doorman, the front-desk clerk, the housekeeping staff. She called them the PM grapevine. He called them her spies. But since he wasn’t above making use of their inside information himself, he could hardly complain when she turned the tool against him.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said. “I went for a late workout.”

“Then why not sleep in? It wouldn’t kill you to come to the office after 7:00 a.m. once in a while.”

“I couldn’t sleep this morning, either.”

Lani’s lashes fluttered at him over the rim of her cup. “Insomnia?” she suggested with false innocence.

“Huh.”

The secretary grinned. She could even interpret his monosyllablic grunts.

Kyle swiveled around to stare out the windows. After leaving Alice at her door, he’d gone back to the hotel with something other than blood charging in his veins.
Not frustration, exactly, but whatever he’d felt, he hadn’t liked it. For one, he wasn’t in control. Worse, he’d overreacted. Alice bailing out the pastry chefs hadn’t been that big a deal. He’d come off as pompous and rigid—and she’d tweaked him for it. Rightfully.

So that didn’t completely explain his inability to sleep. He’d been out of sorts even before he’d discovered Alice in the lobby with that goofy purple-goateed chef. And while pumping iron at one in the morning wasn’t his usual practice, it wasn’t unheard of, either. The staff shouldn’t have had
that
much to comment on.

Then why was Lani watching him with such a calculating expression? She didn’t think he was losing it over one somewhat pesky but otherwise unremarkable woman, did she? A
guest?

Hell, no. Not him.

Kyle put the coffee aside and pulled over the stack of departmental year-to-date reports. “Are we ready for the nine-o’clock meeting?” He’d called for every manager to attend with their annual reports fully updated. There’d be no surprises when the executives arrived next week. No surprises at all.

Lani clucked her tongue. “You could use a yoga class or two. It’d really loosen you up.”

“Not necessary. I can touch my toes.”

“I wasn’t thinking of that kind of flexible.”

Acing the performance review would end his anxiety. He might even feel so relieved that he’d sleep for twelve hours straight.

Kyle pulled at the constricting knot of his tie. Admitting anxiety, even to himself, was not getting him anywhere.

Lani handed him a couple of sheets of stapled paper.
“Today’s agenda, hot from the printer.” She added a brightly colored card. “And here’s your invitation to your mother’s birthday party.”

That
he brushed aside. Open the door an inch and the entire tribe would bust through. He couldn’t risk distractions, not now.

Lani made another clucking sound, but he ignored her.

“Thanks. That’ll be all for now.” He took up the agenda, relishing the crisp paper, the scent of fresh ink, the neat printing and perfectly aligned row of bullet points. The schedule sliced into ten-minute increments.

He had order, action, dedication to one goal. That was plenty.

H
UEVOS RANCHEROS
sounded exotic, but the dish turned out to be a fancy name for scrambled eggs and fixings plopped on top of a tortilla. Nothing new and different there, until Alice bit unexpectedly into the tomato sauce, which was hot with chile. She cooled her tongue with a gulp of guava juice, then sampled some green stuff that turned out to be guacamole.