did come on to him, and he was here because he thought she wanted some kind of Mexican fling.
“While you are here, you must try our version of café de olla. We brew the coffee with cinnamon and piloncillo. It’s sweet, but not overly so. The secret is in using the right pot.”
“Uh-huh.” She was far more interested in getting through this cup of coffee. Those stainless steel covers didn’t do much to contain aromas, did they? His nattering on about brown sugar didn’t help. Between the two, her stomach was pretty much ready to revolt. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear all his talk was on purpose, to test how long she could hold on before cracking.
“Do all your guests get such personal service from the general manager, or am I one of the lucky ones?” Assuming he was the general manager; she could be promoting him in her head. Drat, why couldn’t she remember his name?
His chuckle as she snatched the cup from his hands was low and sultry, making her stomach list. Well, either the sound or the champagne. “I suppose you could consider yourself lucky. Normally, our wedding director meets with our bridal guests.”
“But you don’t have one,” she replied. Another piece of last night’s conversation slipping into place.
The coffee smelled horrible. Apparently, the resort considered strong a synonym for burnt. Holding her breath, Larissa lapped at the hot liquid. The acidy taste burned her esophagus before joining the war in her stomach.
Check that, the coffee was still debating whether it wanted to join. She put the cup on the desk.
Meanwhile, her dark-suited guest was helping himself to a cup. “That’s correct,” he said. “We are in between coordinators at the moment. Which is why I’m making a point of working with our VIP customers personally. I want to make sure their experience with us is exactly as they anticipated.”
“Little late there,” Larissa replied. This trip already wasn’t what she expected.
Realizing his faux pas, the manager cleared his throat. “That is why I decided to visit you first. I noticed—”
Carlos! His name rushed back. Unfortunately, so did the coffee. Larissa grabbed a nearby waste bucket.
And promptly threw up.
“ARE YOU FEELING better yet?” The voice on the other side of the door rolled far more gently than Larissa’s stomach.
“Yes,” she managed to croak. After her embarrassing display with the waste bucket, she wasn’t about to admit anything else.
Happy Wedding Day to me. Her big day. The moment she’d dreamed about her whole life, when the world would see that she, little Larissa Boyd, found her Prince Charming. No more pinning sequins on someone else’s wedding gown or standing in the sidelines.
Never, in all her dreams, did she see herself sprawled on Spanish tiles with her head propped against a walk-in shower.
Dammit, Tom.
“Do you need anything?”
Something to put her out of her misery might be nice. “I’m fine. I need a few minutes is all.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. There’s no need to for you to hang around. I’ll be fine.”
She listened for sounds of his departure, but heard none. You’d think he’d take advantage of her locking herself in the bathroom to get as far away from her as possible. Was he that afraid she’d pass out and bang her head?
Struggling to her feet, she wobbled to the sink. Shaky as her mind was, she was still able to appreciate her surroundings. The room was so large, you could fit three of her bathroom back home—one in the sunken tub alone. Needless to say, at the moment she could do without all the sunlight. What was it with this place and windows? Brightness poured in from all angles, bouncing off the glass accessories in near blinding proportion.
Too bad she couldn’t keep her eyes closed forever. Crawl under the covers and start the day over. One look at her reflection, however, and she wondered if simply starting the day over would be enough. No wonder the room service guy looked at her askance. She looked like a rabid blue-eyed raccoon. Grabbing a tissue, she swiped at her eyes, succeeding only in spreading the smudges to her temple.
“Señorita?”
On top of everything, he wouldn’t leave. Señor Chavez. No way she’d forget his name again. Although she’d bet he’d like to forget hers. In less than a day she’d gotten drunk, flirted with him and gotten sick in the wastebasket.
So much for being a VIP guest.
Clearly he wasn’t going away until she showed her face, so she might as well drag herself outside. With a heavy sigh, she gave one last useless swipe at her mascara, and reached for the door.
Señor Chavez stood looking out to the lagoon. Meaning his back was to the room, thank goodness. She needed to work her way up to looking him in the eye. As it was, his black-suited presence filled the room with an awkward tension.
Interestingly, she could no longer smell the food. Her breakfast had disappeared.
“I moved the service cart outside,” he said. “I know how overwhelming certain aromas can be when you’re feeling under the weather.”
And yet, he’d made a production of serving her coffee. She’d been right; her little pretense didn’t fool him one bit. If she weren’t about to die, she’d be annoyed.
“And the waste bucket?”
“Outside as well. Housekeeping will bring you a fresh one later today.”
“Thank you,” she said, annoyance taking a back seat to manners. Whether he’d been testing her or not, she had no one to blame but herself for her condition, and they both knew it.
He glanced at her from over his shoulder. “Your bag rang while you were indisposed as well.”
Took a moment to realize he meant her cell phone. “My friends checking in to make sure I arrived safely.” Had to be. Delilah and Chloe were the only two people in her life who cared. Grandma was gone and Tom...well, like he’d call.
“The same people who paid for your upgrade?”
“And the champagne.” The enablers. “I don’t normally drink so much,” she told him, figuring she should at least try and explain her sorry state. “Let alone on an empty stomach. It’s just that last night, I was sitting here...”
When it struck her, she was on her honeymoon alone. What back in New York seemed like such a grand gesture of independence suddenly felt pathetic. And so she figured, why not indulge in a good old pity party?
“I guess I was feeling vulnerable,” she told him. “Today was supposed to be my wedding day.”
“I know. You told me last night.”
“That’s
