And now she was playing with a small dog by the fountain, rubbing its head, laughing at its antics. So lovely—too lovely in that sundress, her smooth golden shoulders catching splashes of dappled sunlight, her collarbones dusky with shadow, making his lips want to...
Oh God! Telling himself that this was all about business and keeping her safe was all very well, but there was more going on here, wasn’t there? A scary kind of more. The kind of more he hadn’t courted—wanted!—let himself think about for years. And he didn’t want to be thinking about it now, even entertaining it, because this was Quinn—Dad’s little pet—the last person in the world he should be thinking about more with.
His stomach seized. But how to switch off these feelings, draw back, when he didn’t want to dampen anything, when he wanted more? More of her time, her laughter, her loveliness, more of this tingling, glad-to-be-alive feeling. His heart pulsed. And what of her feelings? What would drawing back do except hurt her, make her think he was shutting down on her again? His heart caught. He couldn’t do that to her. Not again.
He inhaled, letting his gaze widen. Trees... Paths... People...
Resolution! Nothing for it but to keep the inner crazy well-stoppered and carry on. After all, it wasn’t as if anything could happen between them—rules of the workplace and all that. He felt his pulse settling. No... As long as he stayed on the right side of the off-limits line, he was safe, fine to let himself enjoy this for what it was, which, right now, was Quinn coming up, a little breathless, full of smiles.
‘Did you see the cute dog?’
He felt his own smile spreading. ‘I did.’
‘And you weren’t tempted to come over, give him a cuddle?’
They seemed to be walking again, heading for the parapet.
‘I didn’t want to butt in.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘You’re not scared of dogs, are you?’ And then, quickly, ‘Not that there’s anything wrong with that... I mean, lots of people are.’
Always that kindness with her, that irresistible warmth of spirit. No wonder he was a barrel of confusion.
He shook his head. ‘No, I’m not scared of dogs, although—caveat—if a dog is scary, I reserve the right to be scared.’
She chuckled. ‘Well, that little one was soppy. That’s my favourite kind: pure-bred soppy!’
‘Figures.’
‘Are you saying I’m soppy?’
‘No, but you’re warm.’
She seemed momentarily stunned, and then she was putting her hands to her cheeks, laughing. ‘Especially now, thank you very much. You’re making me blush.’
No more than himself, at least on the inside, but twisting it up into a bit of fun would soon cure them.
He put his hands up. ‘Sorry, but you know, there is this ongoing pressure to be nice!’
She laughed, and then she was drawing in a large breath. ‘And on that nice convenient note, I’m going to change the subject.’
‘To—?’
‘The hotel.’
Business—the perfect antidote to whatever this was.
He smiled over. ‘What about it?’
‘I was just thinking about what you said last night, about the commercial perils of offering choice...’
He felt his business brain waking up. ‘Only because consistency is what I know.’
‘I get that, but you raised a valid point.’ And then she was stopping, turning to face him, her eyes serious. ‘If you’re a guest looking to pay top whack for a unique room then it absolutely follows that you’re going to want the room you want, not some disappointing second choice option if that one isn’t available.
‘And I know I said I’ve seen it working in London, and that all the rooms should be equally desirable, and that with so few rooms, filling them shouldn’t be difficult but see, now I’m wondering if we shouldn’t rein back on the bespoke angle a bit.’ She gave a little shrug. ‘I mean, we could easily go top end with something less avant-garde, less polarising...’
He felt himself staring into her eyes, his heart sinking in his chest. Was she doing this for him? All because he’d raised a point based on his über-narrow experience with the Thacker business model. Talking about compromise for his sake! It was even-handed of her, beyond touching, but he didn’t want this. He hadn’t come back here to pour cold water on her ideas. Yes, he had questions, but mostly he was enthralled, excited. If she couldn’t see that, wasn’t getting it, then clearly, he needed to spell it out.
‘Quinn, come...’
She blinked. ‘Where?’
He felt a flash of impatience and grabbed her arm. ‘Just come, okay?’ Because there was a gap opening up by the parapet railing which would heal over with other tourists if they didn’t claim it quickly, a place where they could talk without getting in anyone’s way.
When she was safely installed and looking at him again, he drew a breath. ‘Whatever you’re thinking, you need to stop, okay? I don’t want us to go less avant-garde and I can see from your face that you don’t either.’
‘But what you said—’
‘Is irrelevant.’
‘No.’ She was shaking her head at him, using a slow, emphatic tone. ‘You have got a point.’
Were they really here again, arguing the toss, like on the day she’d nearly fallen through the floor? If he didn’t nip this in the bud right now, it would run and run.
He pressed his gaze into hers. ‘But you’ve got more points, good ones too. As you just said, we don’t have many rooms to fill so there’ll always be someone ready to...’ He felt a tingle. ‘In fact, now I think about it, there’s an easy way to circumvent the whole disappointment angle with a booking system that only shows details of the available rooms for the date being searched...’
Her eyes flickered. ‘That could work...’ And then her gaze was reanimating. ‘So you really believe my idea’s a goer?’
