than tell her the truth—that he liked to run and sweat out all his stress—and see her nose curl in feminine distaste, Diego said, “On this trip I’m a tourist, eager to swim, snorkel and see the sights.”
“Then put yourself into my capable hands, Doctor. No one knows all the fun and cozy spots like moi.” She tapped her breastbone with one long fingernail.
From the corner of his eye, Diego caught a flash of hot pink that brought to mind this afternoon’s intruder. A slight turn of his head afforded him a view of the outdoor swimming pool through floor-to-ceiling privacy glass that formed one wall of the club room. He saw a host of swimmers but none wore pink. Not that it mattered, but his curiosity about the woman was still piqued and would remain so until he discovered who she was and why she’d invaded his room. Perhaps she would also provide a little recreational diversion, as well.
A child ran on bare feet across the concrete and from somewhere he heard a whistle. The Speedo, as he was coming to think of her, had worn a whistle around her neck. He remembered the exact spot where the lanyard crossed the naked flesh of her bosom and the way the silver whistle bobbed when she backed away from him. Maybe she really was a lifeguard, though that still wouldn’t give her liberty to be in his room. He angled his head to one side, trying to see the opposite end of the pool, but one wall obstructed his view.
“Diego?” Sharmaine’s voice drew his attention from the pool to her.
“What?” he muttered. “Oh, sorry.”
“You seem entranced by the pool. Would you like to go for a swim?”
Diego pushed a hand over the back of his neck. His mother would have his hide for woolgathering during polite conversation, and he’d done it twice in one afternoon. Hoping he could blame the lapse in manners on jet lag and mental fatigue, he focused on Sharmaine. “What I’d like is to have a nice quiet dinner. Have you any suggestions?”
She trailed a French-manicured fingernail over his forearm and intensified her liquid Southern accent. “Suga’, you are talkin’ to the right girl. I know just the place.”
And before he could say lobster bisque, Diego found himself with a dinner date. Considering his sudden and unexplained obsession with hot-pink spandex, he owed Sharmaine that much.
Thanks to his mother, no one could fault his impeccable manners. He knew the social game so well he could play it in his sleep. And that, it seemed to him, was the problem. Relationships, especially those of the male-female variety, never stirred him anymore. They came and went easily, as though they didn’t matter. He wanted to feel that leap of kinship again, to care, to have someone touch him as deeply as Leah had. A few had touched Diego’s body, but none had touched his soul.
He longed for that with all his being, but common sense said to hold himself aloof. He was good at that—too good perhaps.
Classy and confident, Sharmaine would fit well with the world he’d grown up in. He had a month’s leave. And though he was weary of the fuss and bother of the ever-unsuccessful dating game, why not spend some time with a beautiful female? He could have some harmless fun—they were both adults—then go on his way, heart intact.
Chapter Two
Ruthie blew the whistle a second time, then climbed down from her small perch to talk to the teenage boy who seemed intent on killing himself to impress a girl on the other side of the pool.
“Justin.” She caught up to him and blocked him from cartwheeling off the shallow end. “It is Justin, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. So?”
He couldn’t have been more than fifteen, all legs and arms and undeveloped chest. Ruthie didn’t let his teenage arrogance bother her. “I know a way to get her to pay attention to you.”
“Who?” Water dripped from the end of his nose. His stomach was stained red from all the acrobatics and belly flops.
“You know who.” She inclined her head. “Kelley. That cute girl in the striped bikini.”
“Oh. Her.” His words denied his interest, but color crept up his neck. Brown eyes flicked in that direction before returning to Ruthie.
“Instead of all this monkey business around the side of the pool, which could get you tossed out and embarrassed, why not try the high dive?” Before he had a chance to take offense to her threat, she rushed on. “You do an awesome somersault, but from down here no one can tell.”
“You think my somersault is good?”
Ruthie’s smile was genuine. “You’ve got talent.”
The boy’s chicken chest puffed out. “Ya think?”
“Yep. Now go to it. I promise you, Kelley will be watching.”
“Cool.”
Before he could escape, Ruthie placed a hand on his wet arm and said gently, “No more crazy stunts, okay?”
“Sure. Whatever.” And he was off to the diving board, walking this time, strutting his stuff instead of running.
Ruthie sympathized with the love-struck boy, remembering those years of adolescent uncertainty, those times of wanting to act grown-up and having no idea how to go about it. But Justin was in luck. Ruthie knew for a fact that Kelley had been watching him, too, pretending all the while not to.
Ruthie’s lifeguard relief arrived, and after waiting long enough to watch Justin execute an acceptable somersault from the high dive, she gave him a thumbs-up and headed to her room. Leaving Naomi alone for more than a couple of hours worried her.
As she unlocked the door to the suite, the elevator down the hall pinged open and Dr. Diego Vargas stepped out. Remembering the embarrassing scene in his rooms, she blushed and hurried inside, hoping he wouldn’t catch sight of her. She hadn’t been able to get the man out of her thoughts all during her stint at the pool. Eventually, she’d have to run into him again, but today she needed time to regain her equilibrium.
Feeling an instant, slam-dunk attraction to a man was unusual for her. In fact, it hadn’t happened since before her husband’s death two years ago. But this afternoon, the handsome Latino doctor in the penthouse had blindsided her.
Maybe that was the appeal. Dr. Vargas was Latino. Just like Jason.
Tossing her room key and whistle onto the small lamp table, she laughed at the comparison. The rich, spoiled doctor might be a dark and beautiful Hispanic male, but he was nothing like her hardworking, good-hearted Jason.
“Mama,” she called, moving from the living area toward the bedroom the two women shared. Their suite was small compared to some of the others, but she considered herself fortunate to have wrangled this much out of the cranky old resort manager. Only after Ruthie agreed to be at the hotel’s beck and call day and night as a fill-in and floater had Miss Montrose agreed to include the living quarters as part of her salary package. Most employees lived in staff quarters, but Miss Montrose wanted her inside the hotel so she could be on the job at a moment’s notice. Ruthie had accepted the conditions gladly. The more work she did, the more she earned. The living room, kitchenette, bedroom and bath weren’t home, but they were close to Naomi’s doctor, and that’s all that mattered right now.
“Mama,”
