The Unexpected Honeymoon

Thank goodness he’d learned his lesson since then.

“Hola, primo! I’ve been looking all over for you.”

His cousin, Jorge, jogged toward him. Like Carlos, he wore a black suit, although in Jorge’s case, the jacket fit snugly around his barrel chest, a fact his cousin, an American football player at UCLA, took great pride in. “You do realize the resort has a perfectly good boat launch that allows you to cover the ground in half the time,” he said, wiping the dampness from his upper lip.

“The boat launch doesn’t allow me to see the beach side of the resort. You might want to consider walking this route yourself. You’re out of breath.”

“Because I’ve been walking all over the property looking for you. Where have you been? You missed morning coffee.”

“I was meeting with a guest.”

“At this hour of the morning? Don’t tell me you’re picking up Rodrigo’s bad habits.”

Upon hearing his predecessor’s name, Carlos’s muscles tensed. “I was meeting with La—Señorita Boyd—regarding her wedding plans.”

“Boyd. Isn’t she the woman who checked in by herself yesterday?”

“She is. Maria forgot to cancel her wedding ceremony.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was,” Carlos replied with a sigh. “It appears she was too busy sneaking around with Rodrigo to let catering know. I had to break the bad news to Señorita Boyd this morning.”

“You’re not charging her, are you?”

“What choice do I have? Everything was ordered, and you know as well as I do the resort isn’t in a position to eat those kinds of costs right now. I gave her as much of a discount as I could.”

That he even had to conduct such a negotiation made him want to rip his hair from his head. “Sometimes I don’t know who I want to strangle more. Maria for being so careless or Rodrigo for mismanaging the resort into financial crisis.”

“I thought that’s why I came aboard. To give you an extra set of hands so you could strangle both simultaneously.”

This was one of those rare days when Carlos wanted to take his cousin’s joke seriously. “I need you to have someone go through every event Maria booked. Call the people and update their contracts. I do not want a repeat problem.”

“I’ll take care of it soon as we get back to the office.”

“Thank you. Meanwhile, let’s hope the wedding coordinator candidate I’m interviewing this afternoon is more levelheaded.”

“He’s male, so at least we won’t have to worry about the two of you running off together.”

Carlos ignored the remark. Wouldn’t make a difference if the candidate was male or female. His days of losing his head were long gone and they both knew it. “Have you checked on the Campanella arrangements yet this morning?” he asked instead.

His cousin nodded. “Everything’s running on schedule.”

“Bueno.”

“The señor and the señora did ask if you’d be willing to make a toast. Apparently someone they know was toasted by the captain of a cruise ship.”

“And they would like something similar.” Carlos thought of Larissa asking about her cake. “So many silly details. As if any will matter six months or even six hours later.”

“It would mean a lot to them.”

“Then I’ll be there.” Whatever a guest wanted. Especially guests like the Campanellas who seemed the type to leave online critiques. He wondered if Larissa Boyd left critiques? What would she say? The general manager efficiently provided aspirin?

“What’s so amusing?”

He didn’t realize he’d chuckled aloud. “Nothing.

“Uh-huh. Is everything all right, primo? You seem distracted this morning.”

“Of course I’m distracted. I thought we were finished mopping up Rodrigo’s and Maria’s messes. Instead I had to bill a jilted customer on her wedding day.”

“Better you than me. I would have caved completely out of sympathy.”

Carlos didn’t say how close he came to doing that very thing. The two of them fell into step back to the office. Although only midmorning, the sun already hung hot in the cloudless sky. Sunbathers, eager to turn their skin to Aztec gold, crowded both sides of the walkway. A mosaic of body shapes sprawled towels and chaise longues. Some of the more cautious tourists staked their claims on the popular cabana beds scattered strategically around the resort. He wondered, would Larissa Boyd find her way to one of them to sleep off her hangover or would she prefer the privacy of her terrace? Pale skin like hers would definitely burn if exposed too long.

“I have to admit,” Jorge continued, “now that you tell me the wedding was canceled weeks ago, I’m surprised she’s here. She must have had nonrefundable airline tickets.”

“Or perhaps she simply needed to get away.” He understood. After a while, all the well-meaning comments and sympathetic looks started to eat at your soul. It was either scream at people to go away or lose yourself in a place full of distractions. “Whatever her reason, ours is not the place to judge.”

“The staff is fascinated by her. She made quite a memorable impression yesterday.”

Blue smudged eyes and rat nest hair came to mind. Memorable indeed. Wonder what Jorge would say if he saw her this morning.

Interestingly, he was beginning to think this morning’s version might be more memorable.

Mirabelle used to worry incessantly about her appearance, obsess over every hair, every ounce on her frame. As much as he reassured her that she would be the most beautiful woman in the world to him, his reassurances fell on deaf ears. Fell, and fell, and fell.

Something in him wanted to hope Larissa Boyd was different. Stronger.

“I don’t think we’ve ever had a guest stay solo before.” Jorge’s voice saved his thoughts from traveling down a dark road.

“Of course we’ve had single guests,” he replied.

“Single, yes, but always as part of a group. I can’t remember ever having someone attend completely alone before. Certainly not a woman on her honeymoon.”

“There’s a first time for everything. Perhaps Señorita Boyd will spark a trend.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice?” Jorge grinned, his smile white and even. “We could become the new singles hot spot on the Riviera.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? A hotel full of heartbroken women.”

“What is it the Americans say about getting back in the saddle? Perhaps our señorita could use a stirrup.”

The idea of his muscular cousin touching pale American skin stuck hard in his chest, giving him heartburn. “The señorita came to nurse a broken heart. I doubt she’s interested in riding lessons.”

“You never know. Not everyone—”

“Not everyone what?” Carlos whipped around.

“Nothing.”

As if Carlos didn’t know what he was going to say. Not everyone grieves forever. Of anyone in the family, he expected Jorge to understand.

“It’s just...” His cousin’s voice softened. “It’s been five years. Don’t you think Mirabelle would want you to move on?”

“My days of giving Mirabelle everything she wanted died with her,” he replied. Fitting, really. Given all the times he failed her in life, why should his grief be any different?

Besides, he thought, looking out to the Atlantic, if she’d wanted him to move on, she should have left his heart intact. “The only people I care about making happy these days are our guests. In Señorita Boyd’s case, that means protecting her privacy.”

“Were you worrying about her privacy when you had security checking on her last night?”

Carlos stopped short. He should have known Jorge would hear of his orders. The hotel staff was a small community, and nothing escaped notice. “She’d been drinking. I thought it a good idea to watch out for her.”

“Old habits die hard, do they?”

Some did anyway. He thought about arguing the point, and blaming liability for his behavior, but Jorge would see right through the excuse. After all, his cousin knew all about Mirabelle. More, he’d been there the day they found her.

“I didn’t want to take any chances. There were too many similarities.” More than he wanted to admit.

Before he could say anything, the two-way radio on his cousin’s waist began to crackle. The first sentence was all Carlos needed to hear. “Housekeeping emergency, Presidential Villa.”

CHAPTER THREE

“I’M NORMALLY NOT this squeamish. I mean, I live in New York City. I’ve seen things.” But this wasn’t some scrambling little roach or scurrying sewer rat.

The maintenance man grinned. “Tarantula,” he said.

No kidding, it was a tarantula. One the size of her fist and it was clinging to the bathroom wall next to the bathtub. Larissa shivered, thinking how she’d been sitting on the floor while it had been crawling around. For all she knew, it could have crawled right by her foot. Or her hair. Heebie-jeebies ran across her skin.

All she wanted to do was take a nice long bath, thinking a whirlpool and a jungle view would be exactly what she needed to shake off her pity party and start fresh. Nowhere did her plans include sharing her tub with a man-eating creature.

She looked over from her place atop the double vanity. “Can you get rid of it?”

“Si.” Taking a hand towel, the man brushed the offending creature to the floor. Larissa squeaked and tucked her legs beneath her. How was that getting rid of anything?

Suddenly commotion sounded outside. “What happened?” Señor Chavez burst into the bathroom.

Oh, great, he was back. Was the general manager going to witness every embarrassing moment she had this trip? This time he brought a friend along, as well. A second dark-suited man pulled up behind him.

“The radio said there was an emergency.” He looked Larissa up and down with a scrutiny that made her wish she was wearing more than the complimentary robe. She tugged at the gap, making sure the cloth covered her legs.

“There was an emergency. I had an unwelcome guest,” she replied, pointing toward the floor. The maintenance man had laid the towel on the ground, and the tarantula was crawling onto the cotton surface toward the middle. “I called to have someone get rid of him.”

“I’m afraid tarantulas are an unfortunate byproduct of sleeping so close to the jungle,” the other man replied with a smile. In comparison to Señor Chavez’s scowl, it was positively blinding. “Our staff does its best to sweep them off the property, but every once in a while one makes its way into a room. I’m Jorge Chavez, the assistant manager, by the way.”

“Pleasure to meet you.” Larissa watched as the maintenance man scooped up the towel and spider. “What’s he going to do with him?”

“Pedro will release him away from the property. Don’t worry, he won’t be back.”

“I’m more worried about whether he has friends.”

“I doubt there are others, but we’ll sweep the villa to make sure. Of course, if you’re truly uncomfortable, I can arrange for you to move to a different suite.”

“No, that won’t be necessary.” With the spider gone, she was feeling a little braver. Not brave enough to move off the vanity, but braver. “As long as there are no others.”

“I’ll check the property myself.”

“Thank you.” She looked to the general manager, who hadn’t said a word since bursting on the scene. At first, she blamed the silence on annoyance, but now that she looked closer, she saw that he’d gotten lost in thought. Distance allowed her to see past the shutters, revealing the haunted sadness she remembered from last night. A sympathetic ache curled through her stomach. He didn’t seem the kind of man who would look so lost, and yet at the moment, lost was exactly the word she’d use.

“I didn’t mean to cause a big scene,” she said, raising her voice. Partly to let Jorge hear her and partly to shake Chavez from his thoughts. “When I called housekeeping, I didn’t expect an entire army to show up.”

“We were in the area.”

“They said it was an emergency.”

Both men spoke at the same time. Because it was the first Señor Chavez spoke since entering, Larissa turned her focus to him. He’d shaken off whatever ghost captured his attention and returned to scrutinizing with such ferocity you’d think she’d committed a crime, rather than been a victim. “It was an emergency to me,” she said, defensiveness rising. “You all might be accustomed to finding poisonous spiders in your bathrooms, but I’m not.”

“Contrary to popular belief, tarantulas aren’t deadly. At best, you’d get a slight fever.”

“Good to know. I’ll sleep much better knowing if one does decide to bite me, I won’t die.” His blunt tone surprised her. What happened to the exceedingly polite, do-anything-to-please-the-guest manager she met this morning? This man seemed far more intent in glaring at her. She didn’t understand the change, since she swore when he first burst into the room she saw real live fear on his face.

“No sign of any hairy friends,” Jorge announced, returning to the doorway. “I’ll have Pedro do a more thorough search and wash down the outside walls to make certain. I’m sorry for your discomfort.”

“Me, too. Now I’ll be looking everywhere for creepy crawlies my entire vacation.”

“We can still switch you to a different suite, if you’d like.”

“That really isn’t necessary.” A new room wouldn’t stop her from tiptoeing every time she stepped through the door. A thought occurred to her. “Although, I wouldn’t complain about having something taken off my bill. I mean, since my ability to relax has been compromised.” Laying it on a bit thick, but seeing how she was in the hole for seventy percent of her wedding, every little bit helped. She arched a brow in Señor Chavez’s direction, hoping he’d take the hint.

Instead, the man turned and spoke to his assistant in Spanish. Larissa didn’t understand a word of their conversation, but she noticed Jorge’s expression soften as he touched his boss’s shoulder.

“I’m going to find Pedro,” Jorge said after a moment. “If there’s anything else we can do to make your stay more comfortable...”

“I’ll let you know,” Larissa replied. She had a feeling she’d be able to parrot the phrase by the end of the week.

“Guess I’m not doing well when it comes to being low-maintenance,” she quipped once Jorge left.

The manager didn’t crack even the hint of a smile. “I’ll take another ten percent off your reception bill.”

Looked like she owed the tarantula a thank-you note. “Too bad his friends weren’t around. I might have gotten the costs knocked off the bill completely. I’m joking,” she added at his continued glare. “Nothing would be worth having five or six of those suckers crawling on my walls. One was bad enough.”

“You do realize you were never in any real danger. There was no need to tell housekeeping you had an emergency.”

“I didn’t.” Was that why he was angry? Okay, so her voice might have been high-pitched and panicked-sounding, and she might have asked that they get to her room “right away,” but she never used the word emergency. “It’s not my fault your housekeeping staff takes panicked tarantula calls seriously. Is that why you came back? Because you thought I was in danger?”

“I was told it was an emergency.”

A point he seemed incredibly intent on repeating. “Emergency could mean anything. It could mean a broken water faucet. What made you think something happened to me?”

He didn’t answer. Rather he strode to the large window on the far end of the bathroom. Hands clasped behind his back, he looked out the large window at the mangrove trees waving in the breeze. For a moment, Larissa thought he’d pulled inward again. “How’s your headache?” he asked.

“Better. Manageable.” What did that have to do with anything?

“And your mood?”

“Well, until Hairy the Spider showed up, I was planning on soaking myself into a better one. Why?”

“You were pretty upset when I left.”

“I was annoyed because I’m stuck paying for a wedding I’m not going actually have. Wouldn’t you be? I still don’t get what that has to do with—” Seeing him wash a hand over his features, a horrible thought hit her. “Don’t tell me you thought I—”

“To be honest, I wasn’t sure what to think,” he said, turning from the window. “When I left you were shaky, upset, stumbling around. Any number of things could have happened. You could have slipped and fallen, cut yourself on a broken glass....”

“Thrown myself off the balcony.”

“It’s not funny,” he snapped. “Distressed people behave unpredictably.”

So they did. But, considering his over the top reaction, Larissa had also managed to touch a nerve. She regretted the remark. “I’m sorry.”

“I am the one who should be sorry, Señorita Boyd. I overreacted. Hotel managers never like hearing there’s an emergency situation. The word is somewhat of a hot button, I’m afraid.”

Something about his expression, the way he avoided looking in her direction, said Larissa wasn’t getting the complete answer. “Have you ever had a guest...you know?”

“A guest? No.”

But someone. He’d avoided her gaze again. Larissa suddenly felt very, very bad about giving him a hard time. “I thought we decided you were going to call me Larissa.”

“So we did. And you should call me Carlos.”

“Fair deal. Thank you for saving me from the big mean spider, Carlos.”

“Housekeeping saved you, but you’re welcome anyway,” he replied with a smile. Finally. While he didn’t look completely relaxed, the shadows had receded from his features. Larissa was surprised to feel her own spine loosening as well.

Suddenly, it dawned on her that she’d held this entire conversation while curled up on the bathroom vanity. Slowly, she straightened one leg at a time, wincing at the stiffness in her kneecaps.

“How long have you been sitting there?” Carlos asked.

“Awhile. I was afraid to move past the spider, so I climbed up here to call housekeeping.”

“Tarantulas don’t jump.”

“I didn’t want to take any chances.” She swung her legs, trying to get back her circulation. Her joints clicked with the movement, sending sharp jolts across her kneecap. “Looks like I’m going to need that soak more than ever now.”

“Would you like some help getting down?”

“I’ve got it.” She scooted her bottom forward, so that when she dropped, she wouldn’t land with much force. When she reached the edge, her feet still dangled six inches or so from the floor. “Funny, I remember jumping up with far less issue,” she said before sliding to the tile. No sooner did her toes touch down, than her ankles, numb from her sitting on them for so long, turned, causing her to wobble. Carlos immediately grabbed her elbows. They ended up standing hip to thigh. Larissa felt the roughness of summer wool against her skin, a reminder of how exposed she was beneath her robe. One little movement in either direction and the terrycloth would gap open. Warmth rose from the small space between their bodies. It joined with the coolness of his breath at the hollow of her throat, causing goose bumps.

“Are you steadier now?” he asked.

Larissa nodded. “Looks like you were right to worry. I’m not as steady as I thought.” More disturbing was the rush of awareness coiling through her system. She couldn’t remember ever reacting this strongly to a man’s proximity before, not even Tom’s, and here she’d reacted to Carlos twice. Afraid of what he’d think about her burning cheeks, she dropped her gaze to the floor.

“Perhaps after your bath,” Carlos began.

“Perhaps.” She wasn’t so sure. Relaxing her muscles when they were already like jelly didn’t seem like a smart idea all of a sudden. The solidness of his grip disappeared. Larissa reached back to hold the vanity.

“I’m sorry I gave you a hard time a moment ago. It was very kind of you to be concerned.”

“No more than I would do for any guest.”

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