look up too high, you’d think you were outdoors, with the minivillas in the courtyard, the French doors and balconies up on the wall.
“Well, you’ve come to the right place if you want to relax,” the clerk told him. “We’ve got a world-class golf course designed by Jack Nicklaus and ten outdoor mineral hot springs for you to relax in when you’re done. And, of course, Palm Springs is only another half hour up the highway, if you want to get out and see the sights.”
He’d already seen the best the desert had to offer, Rand reflected, flashing on the stranded motorist he’d stopped to help. He’d glimpsed her fighting with the tire as he’d driven past. Tired as he’d been, he couldn’t help thinking about his mother or one of his sisters stuck on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. Once he’d done that, stopping to help was a no-brainer.
Then he’d walked up and seen her triangular, tilty-eyed face, looking out at him from her absurd little roadster like a fox peeking out of a thicket. And suddenly being the chivalrous gent hadn’t seemed like a hardship at all. The only thing that had been a hardship had been making himself drive away.
He shook his head faintly. Rand Mitchell liked women. A lot. He liked the way they looked, the way they felt, the way they thought, their sometimes quirky behavior and insecurities. He dated the same way he played in a local basketball league before he’d moved to Europe—with casual enjoyment, adeptness and no particular commitment. Serious wasn’t for him; it never had been.
Done deal, he reminded himself as the clerk handed him his room folio. His mystery woman was probably a rich wife headed off to her estate in Palm Springs. Meanwhile, he had a date with a shower and a bed.
“Okay, we’ve got you in a room overlooking the San Jacinto Mountains. It’s a lovely view and very quiet.”
“Sounds great. How late does room service run?”
“Dinner until eleven and a limited menu overnight.” She paused and gave him a smile of invitation. “If there’s anything I can do to help you, anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask.”
Just what he needed, a hot fling with an employee. “Thanks for the offer,” he told her, “but I think I’m all set for now.”
“All right then,” she said, with a hint of regret. “Enjoy your stay, sir.”
“I intend to.”
2
CILLA LAY ON HER STOMACH on the poolside chaise lounge and dealt the cards for yet another game of solitaire, stifling a sigh. She’d woken late, savoring the sensation of a day without appointments. Her first stop had been the spa, for a massage and facial, then a manicure and pedicure. Lying around on a chaise by the pool was the perfect way to spend the rest of the afternoon, just enjoying the sun. Relaxation, that was the theme for her weekend.
Being bored wasn’t.
It made her feel inadequate. If she’d been Paige, she’d have been quite content to lie there and contemplate the universe. If she’d been Trish or Thea, books would have been company enough. But she was herself and she needed something more. Not scheduled meetings and swank party something mores, but company, conversation, fun. Solitaire wasn’t cutting it.
She needed a man.
Like that gorgeous specimen who’d changed her tire, for example. If he were lying here beside her, that would be just perfect. They could laugh together, have a few drinks, do some dancing. Maybe even give each other a run through in bed, considering that here it was April and she’d yet to have sex in the new year. Playing hard was the perfect antidote to working hard.
In retrospect, she felt silly for having been so cautious with him, especially when he’d turned out to be such a good guy. Not that she’d talked with him much, of course. In that sense, he’d been the perfect fantasy: tall, dark and handsome, a blank slate for her to color as she would. He’d be her kind of guy, the kind of guy who could make her laugh, who was just a bit unpredictable, who knew what he wanted and was ready to go after it.
Especially in bed.
Now there was a thought, much more interesting than cards. She closed her eyes, imagining how he would be. Sexy in that take charge, I’ve-got-to-have-you-now way. Fabulous body, that went without saying, and hands to die for. Hands that would know just how to touch her, hands that would make her shiver and moan.
Cilla sighed and opened her eyes. She wasn’t quite ready to go on the prowl, even if she was on a mini-getaway, but the thought of sex—good sex—made her weak.
Oh, well. She sighed again and put the red queen on the black king. Woman on top, her favorite position.
The waitress stopped at her chaise. “Can I get anything for you?”
What the hell, Cilla thought, it was close to cocktail hour, just a couple of time zones over. She looked out toward the palm-shaded bar across the pool and considered her options. The bartender set a margarita down on the bar. Now there was an idea, something frosty and tangy tart to cut the heat. She’d have a drink and then she’d go mingle a bit and see what kind of entertainment she could scare up. “I’ll have a margarita on the rocks,” she began, watching the guy at the bar pick up his drink. “Ask the bartender to please use a lot of lime and add a shot of—”
Cilla broke off, eyes widening. The guy with the margarita had turned toward her enough that she saw his profile, and then his full face. What were the chances, she asked herself as the corners of her mouth began to tug up. It couldn’t possibly be her Samaritan from the night before, showing up here of all places. It couldn’t be.
It was.
“Scratch that order,” she told the waitress. “I’ll go to the bar myself.”
He wore turquoise trunks, his blue-green Hawaiian shirt hanging open over them. As near as she could tell, she’d been right the night before: his body was prime stuff, washboard abs, sinewy legs, pecs that suggested he had more than a passing acquaintance with a weight room. But it was his face that captivated her.
He stared out toward the green of the golf course, nodding to the music as the breeze stirred his hair. He wore it long enough on top to be hip, short enough in the back to be tidy. The five o’clock shadow from the day before was gone, which was a pity. The gorgeous lines of cheekbone and jaw were not. Dark glasses hid his eyes.
Cilla sat up and scooped up her deck of cards. She was done with solitaire, she thought, finger-combing her hair and rising to tie on her sarong. The game she wanted to play now was deuces.
RAND STARED OUT at the arc of mountains that rose high and sudden beyond the resort. He’d seen a lot of Europe in the past few months, but when it came to drama, the desert had it hands down.
He stifled a yawn. By dint of heroic struggle, he’d managed to stay awake the night before until about eight o’clock, then nodded off into dreams of his roadside maiden in distress, dreams in which he’d jacked up her car—and she’d jacked him up. None of which prevented him, predictably, from waking at a ridiculous hour. Even taking time to work out and linger over breakfast had still seen him on the golf course before eight. He’d practiced his driving a bit to get the rust off and then took on the full eighteen-hole course.
All things considered, he figured he’d more than made up for sitting on a plane for fourteen hours. His
