of her,” Adam said, his stoic gaze warning Dale to let him handle the arrangements before his date created even more of a scene.
Dale had never been abandoned like this before, so it took a moment to realize that he had no choice but to back down graciously. Monique obviously didn’t want to be reasoned with, or to be here with him, either.
Fishing out the information for the return flight, he handed it to Adam and told him to bill her charges to his room.
Adam took off, and to his credit, he quickly calmed Monique down enough so the lobby couldn’t overhear their conversation.
What the hell had Dale been thinking to bring a woman on the rebound to this event? Under normal circumstances, he would have been able to produce a more suitable date.
Unfortunately, these weren’t normal circumstances.
Being the boss of his own job had meant enforced good behavior while building this bordello, so finding someone to attend an excursion had been a test of his social connections. After spending nearly two years in Niagara Falls constructing the Wedding Wing, his friends back at his West Coast home barely remembered what he looked like.
If he’d had any sense, he would have attended the grand opening alone. But the thought of three weeks spent lusting after Laura had driven him to action. Now he’d paid the price.
As Adam escorted Monique back to the entrance, Dale heard him reassure her that both she and her bags would be on their way to the airport immediately. She swept past, shooting Dale a dark look that should have shriveled him on the spot.
Turning to Annabelle, Dale thought about how this whole scene could have been worse. If Laura had been here to witness the carnage…
She’d hear about it, of course, but Dale didn’t care. By then he’d have vented his anger on Annabelle, who had some serious explaining to do about why he was suddenly facing three weeks of erotic events alone.
2
“THE ANAL ATRIUM?” Dale sounded a lot calmer than he felt.
“It did the trick, didn’t it?” Annabelle said.
“You chased her off on purpose.”
“I did.” No repentance whatsoever. “I saved you from a miserable three weeks. Monique wasn’t your type, Dale. I’m surprised you even brought her.”
“All I ever did was work around here, Annabelle, so what would you know about my type?”
She handed him a white envelope and a letter opener.
Scowling, Dale sliced through the heavy paper and withdrew what turned out to be an invitation. He flipped it open and found himself riveted by the familiar handwriting inside.
Dale,
I’d like you to be my guest for the Naughty Nuptials and to share the Castaway Honeymoon Isle suite. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since you left. Your visit will give us the perfect chance to enjoy ourselves.
Laura
“So what’ll it be, Casanova?” Annabelle looked smug. “Do I check you into the Castaway Honeymoon Isle or have Adam hold the limo?”
Under normal circumstances Dale wasn’t prone to mood swings. In fact, to hear his family and friends tell it, he was a downright good-natured guy. But, again, these weren’t normal circumstances. He’d swung from mad as hell to happy camper so fast he felt dizzy.
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.
Aside from the fact Annabelle was waiting for an answer about whether or not he wanted to make love to her co-worker, something coiled low in his gut…some wrenching feeling that was wholly unfamiliar.
He should feel guilty that Monique had flown clear across the country to turn around and make the trip back but he couldn’t work up an ounce of regret. Not when Laura had decided to enjoy herself with him.
“Will I need the Groom’s Survival Guide if I accept her invitation?”
“Check in and find out.”
Dale searched Annabelle’s expression. He thought she was joking, but given the events of the past twenty minutes, he wouldn’t bet money. As much as he wanted to heat the sheets with Laura, a stubborn shred of reason insisted on knowing what had made Ms. In-Love-with-Love drag her head from the clouds long enough for a solid tumble on terra firma.
“You’re not considering turning her down, are you?” Annabelle asked.
He’d spent too much time lusting after Laura to pass up this golden opportunity, but somehow when talking to Annabelle, he hated sounding easy.
“Around this place it’s always a good idea to be clear on the details.” An understatement, given the memory of Monique’s departure. “The Anal Atrium, Annabelle?”
“I pulled that out on a dime, can you believe it?” Her laughter rang out loudly enough to draw another glance from the desk clerks, who were working hard to give their sales director some privacy in the limited space. “So what’ll it be, Casanova?”
Tucking the letter carefully back into the envelope, he slipped it inside his jacket pocket. “The Castaway Honeymoon Isle, of course.”
“An excellent choice.” With a smile still on her face, she tapped out a mad burst on a computer keyboard, then handed him a card key. “Enjoy your stay at Falling Inn Bed.”
“I will.” He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. “Thanks, gorgeous. I know the way.”
“ALL RIGHT, ANNABELLE, who is she?” Pausing in the doorway of the sales office, Laura braced herself to hear about the curvy brunette who’d accompanied the man she’d waited too long to decide she’d wanted for herself.
“She’s gone.”
Laura must have braced herself too tightly because it took a second for that statement to register. “She’s gone?”
Annabelle nodded. “Dale’s date freaked when she found out we’re a romance resort. She made quite a scene at the front desk and demanded a limo to take her back to the airport. Adam calmed her down and sent her on her way.”
Laura had seen the brunette clinging to Dale and knew that two plus two did not equal four here. “All right, what did you do?”
“What makes you think I did anything?”
“Oh, please. I work here, remember? I know how we operate. Romance at all costs. If not you personally, then someone around here did something to chase her off. So fess up. What was it?”
Annabelle eyed her without remorse. “Do you really care when your date is in the Castaway Honeymoon Isle as we speak?”
Laura closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, letting the words filter through her and take hold in slow degrees.
No, she didn’t care. She’d fantasized about Dale Emerson for so long that those fantasies
