Meet Me at the Honeymoon Suite Page 3

  She swallowed hard and took a deep breath while the stomach skipping subsided. He really had flirting down as an art form. Then again, she supposed if you spent the majority of your life keeping customers happy from behind a bar, flirting was probably as natural to him as breathing.

  ‘Tempting though it is to just chat with you all day, I need to get back to it,’ she said. ‘I have to check in with the kitchen and make sure the honeymoon suite is all set before Sabrina makes her way up there.’

  It was the oddest detached sensation, talking about Luke’s wedding to someone else. As if their time together had happened to someone else. She glanced at the happy couple across the room, Luke looking like some kind of stereotypical rock god, a drink in one hand and his stick-thin model wife in the other.

  Think of them as just any other random couple, that was the way to do it. Think rationally, not emotionally. Remove any partiality and just get on with the job.

  She took a deep breath and turned to head for the lobby.

  Owen experienced an unexpected faint twist of disappointment as she walked away. He was old hat at conversations in bars – it was part of the job. The key being to listen and let your customer talk about themselves. He realised as he looked after her that for once he’d failed on that front - she knew more about him after ten minutes than he did about her. How had that happened? Bloody hell, was he so starved of interaction that wasn’t work-related that he’d blabbed his life story to the first person who asked?

  He liked her. She was funny. And she was also work-obsessed. Maybe that was it - God knew he could relate to that. Without any support from his family, setting up his business from scratch really had been a solitary hard graft. He glanced around the lounge at Luke’s social circle, of whom he knew perhaps ten. His parents hadn’t been invited. Ditto any friends he remembered from his childhood. The room was full of music industry wannabes, models and hangers-on. The kind of people he was happy to have as clientele in his bars. That didn’t mean he wanted to pass the time of day with them. The weekend suddenly yawned dully ahead of him.

  ‘Have a drink with me later,’ he called after Amy on impulse. ‘We can toast independent workaholism.’

  She turned to smile back at him.

  ‘I would. But I’ll most likely be working.’

  CHAPTER 3

  A half-hour discussion with the chef responsible for tomorrow’s wedding breakfast and Amy headed for the stairs confident that all was on track in the kitchen, and thinking through all the plans in place for tonight. This evening the wedding party would split into stag and hen groups. Sabrina and her girlfriends would spend the evening being pampered in the Lavington’s lavish spa. According to her predecessor’s notes, the groom had elected to organise his own stag night, off the premises, simply returning to the hotel at the end of the night. At least that was one thing less to worry about.

  More guests were due to arrive tomorrow for the ceremony. Between then and now, Amy would be able to grab the occasional break but otherwise she needed to be on call the entire time in case there were any problems. To make things easier she was staying on site herself this weekend, in one of the sparse rooms in the staff quarters. Watchword: basic. Not a fluffy white bathrobe or basket of complimentary toiletries in sight.

  Unlike the Lavington Hotel’s luxury honeymoon suite.

  The door was on the third floor at the end of a thickly-carpeted corridor with fluted glass wall lamps that gave the light a soft and smoky quality. No glaring fluorescent strip lights here. The perfect romantic ambience before you even got inside the suite. She pushed the keycard into its slot.

  The trend for wedding weekends had changed the whole nature of wedding planning, not to mention hiking the budget through the roof. When Amy was a kid everything had revolved around just one perfect day. Before she could stop it her mind dipped back to her mother’s non-wedding, all those years ago. Her seven-year-old self feeling like a princess in a pink frothy dress that she’d insisted on wearing from virtually the moment she woke up that morning. A ceremony at the registry office followed by a big buffet at the town hall. Cheese and pineapple on sticks just waiting for the guests to storm in. And a mobile disco. How very Nineties. And all over and done with in one day. If it had gone ahead of course. She shoved the thought back in the past quickly, before it could bite.

  These days there were linked stag and hen nights and celebrations that lasted all weekend. Crazy locations or themes. An outfit to arrive in, a wedding dress and an outfit for the day after. Champagne practically on tap. The costs could be astronomical and any supplier worth their salt added a massive mark-up, because everyone knew it was all about kudos. Every girl wanted the perfect wedding day.

  She pushed the door open and went inside.

  Behind the glossy door there was no detail too expensive. She ran a practiced finger along the surfaces as she walked the room although Housekeeping had already checked for the slightest speck of dust. The mini-bar was fully stocked with a selection of celebratory drinks and soft options. The bed was beautifully made with tons of squashy pillows and crisp white bed linen. Flowing white voile drapes swathed the high posts of the bedframe.

  It was impossible, given who the bridegroom was, to walk through the suite of gorgeous rooms without the thought that in some parallel universe it could have been her staying here. She almost laughed out loud at that thought. What had happened was inevitable, exactly what she’d come to expect from life. When Luke had moved to London to take up his new job he could have asked her to come with him if he’d wanted to. Yet he didn’t. Instead he’d called it quits. Something better had come along and she didn’t fit with his new improved life, she was just an unimportant part of his old substandard one. Years earlier, groom-to-be Roger had apparently felt exactly the same way about her and her mother. At least Luke had bothered to tell her it was over rather than let things carry on and on in ignorant bliss all the way up to the day of the wedding the way Roger had for her and her mother all those years ago, as they waited happily for their life to begin at last as a proper family. At least Luke hadn’t been that gutless.

  What must it feel like to see all this and know it was for you? To believe that in the years ahead you wouldn’t be going it alone, instead that you’d be part of a team, watching each other’s backs through good times or bad.

  She couldn’t imagine ever feeling that sure of someone.

  Snapping the light switch on, she walked into the palatial en suite bathroom with its delicate floral scent. Sparkling clean roll top bath…check. Double sinks with spotless scrolled gilt mirror above…check. Luxury soft bathrobes and pile of fluffy towels…check…check.

  Satisfied that everything was exactly as it should be, she turned off all the lights and backed out of the door into the hallway. Into the real world where magic didn’t exist and spending a king’s ransom on a luxury weekend was no guarantee of lasting happiness. And also straight into Owen Lloyd.

  ‘Bloody hell, are you stalking me?’ she blurted before she could stop herself. She’d practically walked into his arms.

  ‘Now there’s an idea,’ he said.

  Her stomach gave a dizzying flip. So the flirting continued. Not something that happened every day. Or any day for that matter.

  He held up a key card as she pulled herself together.

  ‘Taking a breather. People are still going strong down in the lounge.’

  His deep voice sounded artificially loud in the deserted hallway.

  ‘I’m sure they will as long as the champagne holds out.’

  In her experience there was nothing like a free bar to give people staying power.

  He glanced around him, then down at his key card.

  ‘I think I might have got off at the wrong floor though.’

  She took the card from him, conscious of the light touch of his fingers as she did so. Her mind processed details about him as if she had no control over it whatsoever. He was broader than she’d realised downstairs, and
tall enough that she needed to tilt her head slightly to address him. His jacket hung open and his dark blue T-shirt picked out the colour of his eyes. She was pulse-jumpingly aware that they were alone in the plush corridor and he was just on the edge of her personal space. She gripped the keycard hard.

  This was ridiculous, he was just another guest, and certainly not the first guest to wander the halls looking for his room. She needed to get a grip.

  ‘You have. This is three, and you’re on two. I’ll show you the way.’ She walked toward the lift just as if he were any other guest and not one that made her stomach do cartwheels.

  The lift was worse. The double doors closed smoothly over a tiny enclosed space with plush walls and a velvet-cushioned bench at the back. She could smell the crisp citrus of aftershave on his warm skin. He leaned laconically against the velvet wall and watched her unashamedly while she tried to stop her eyes meeting his. Her fluttering stomach was made momentarily worse as the car lurched lightly downward.

  She could have just waved him off down the corridor of course. But would that really be going the extra mile that the hotel management had banged on about at this morning’s motivational meeting?

  She stepped out of the lift and headed down the hallway.

  ‘Here you are,’ she said, coming to a stop outside one of the glossy doors. ‘Room 205.’ She handed him the key card. ‘I’d better be getting back.’

  ‘Fancy a drink?’ he said immediately.

  His blue grey eyes held hers steadily as her pulse hit the roof.

  ‘Didn’t we already cover this?’ she managed.

  He shrugged.

  ‘I thought I’d keep asking until you say yes. Surely you must be due a break? I do have staff you know - there are health and safety rules.’

  She was indeed due a break as of two hours ago. Her hesitation told him that much.

  ‘Brilliant. Come in for ten minutes. I’ll make you a coffee.’

  He held the door open and waited for her expectantly.

  Breaks were expected to be taken in the staff quarters. Taking him up on this would be mad. Then again, it had been a bit of a mad day, given the battering her ego had taken. Her usual sensibility clashed momentarily with recklessness, fuelled by the feeling of inadequacy that today had brought. She rationalised madly. So what if she had coffee with a friendly guest? Especially one who would be, by virtue of stereotype, in charge of tonight’s stag activities. It couldn’t hurt to get a bit of an insight into what he had planned. All in the interests of the weekend running smoothly of course. It could almost be construed as work if it wasn’t for the flirtatious undercurrent and the vague sensation that she was really operating outside the rules here.

  She squared her shoulders. Sod the rules. She was fed up with feeling like the reject. She was due a break and he was fun to talk to. It was nothing more sinister than that.

  ‘Just coffee then,’ she heard herself say.

  She stepped into the room.

  ‘What’s the plan for later then,’ she said as he poured coffee and handed her a cup. She added cream and stirred it slowly.

  The L-shaped room was miniscule compared with the honeymoon suite but it was still three times the size of her tiny rented bedsit. Amy walked around the room trying not to think about the double bed with matching velvet coverlet was just out of view around the corner. On the desk was a laptop and a pile of property details. She glanced at the top one – a club for sale in Amsterdam. He certainly was putting in the hours with his business. She could easily relate to that. She sat down at one end of the berry red velvet sofa.

  ‘Later?’

  ‘Luke’s stag do. I’m assuming you’ve been tasked with it.’

  He scratched his head, mussing his dark hair, and half-grinned.

  ‘I knew there was something.’

  She stared at him.

  ‘You mean you haven’t made any plans? Booked anywhere?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘I just thought we’d head out somewhere…have a few drinks…maybe hit a club.’ He held his hands up at her incredulous expression. ‘Hey – the more organised something is, the more scope there is for it to go wrong, right?’

  ‘That is the biggest pile of crap I’ve ever heard. And if he isn’t standing at the end of that aisle right on the dot of 2pm tomorrow, I will hold you personally responsible.’

  He laughed. A rich, deep sound that made her stomach flip deliciously over.

  ‘I’m bloody serious. If this wedding has the slightest hitch, I won’t get the permanent post, so no handcuffing Luke to lamp-posts or sticking him on a train up North. I will find you and make you pay. I know where you work.’

  He held her gaze wickedly.

  ‘That sounds interesting.’

  She tried to think of an adequate flip reply, but unfortunately flirting wasn’t her strong point. Instead she concentrated hard on her coffee in the hope that he wouldn’t notice the warmth of the blush rising in her cheeks.

  ‘It must be a pretty full-on job, organising a wedding,’ he said, letting her off the hook. He sat down in the chair opposite with his own coffee.

  She shrugged, more comfortable with the conversation if it was going to be work-themed.

  ‘It is, but it’s all about making sure nothing is left to chance,’ she said. ‘Double checking every arrangement in my experience catches most cock-ups before they happen. Some weddings are more complicated than others of course but ultimately you have to go with what the clients want, however insane that might be.’ She paused to take a sip of her coffee. ‘To be fair, Sabrina and Luke’s plans are fairly straightforward compared to some. I’ve organised Wild West weddings with line dancing and hog roasts. I did a hideous pirate themed one where everyone dressed up, the main drink was rum and the background music was sea shanties.’

  ‘Sea shanties?’

  ‘I know.’ She shook her head pityingly. ‘Some people have awful taste. The point is, you can’t let your own views influence that. Not that mine would anyway. I don’t believe in marriage.’

  The conversation screeched to a halt. He held up a hand.

  ‘Hang on a sec. You’re a wedding planner. How the hell do you not believe in marriage?’

  She shrugged because it made perfect sense to her.

  ‘It’s a long story. And it’s not an essential requirement, you know. They don’t look at your CV and check you believe in magic before they let you become a wedding planner. It’s a personal common sense choice. Nothing in my working life has convinced me that getting married is a way of securing happiness. There is no happy-ever-after.’ She sipped her coffee matter-of-factly. ‘There is only happy-for-now.’

  Never expect anything and you’ll never be disappointed. That mantra had been proven effective yet again today.

  He was staring at her and she shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

  ‘That’s really weird,’ he said.

  She raised her eyebrows.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Your attitude about happy-ever-afters,’ he said. ‘You’d think someone in your line of work would be an incurable romantic, not a total cynic.

  ‘Has it occurred to you that my realism could be an asset?’ she said defensively. ‘Brides don’t want some head-in-the-clouds ditsy individual who acts like a flock of white doves help her out with the organising. They want someone who quietly and efficiently gets things done.’ She sat up straight, her shoulders rigid. ‘Life isn’t a fairytale. I know that better than anyone. I can’t guarantee them lifelong happiness. But I can make sure the flowers are perfect and the toastmaster gets here on time. Once this day is over, they’re on their own.’ She paused. ‘And good luck to them, because they’ll need it.’

  ‘Not necessarily.’

  She flung a hand up in exasperation.

  ‘No, and kudos to all of them for giving it a go. But in my personal experience it’s likely enough to make me not want to take the chance. Why put myself through all the hideous
stress of getting serious with someone when the chances are a break up is just waiting for me down the line. She jabbed the air with an emphatic finger to press her point. ‘I don’t do emotional interaction. It just isn’t my thing.’

  ‘What about physical interaction?’ he said immediately, knowing he was pushing his luck and not caring.

  Their eyes met and held, and in the light flush high on her cheekbones he saw the effect he had on her. Heat began to spark deep inside him, a desire to take that further, to see where this could lead. She intrigued him with her spiky attitude.

  ‘I think we’re veering off-subject a bit here,’ she said. She glanced pointedly at her watch and stood up, smoothing her jacket. ‘I just don’t need complicated relationships. Work is enough for me. Call it a life choice if you like. I guess I just want guaranteed results instead of leaving things to chance. And to be honest,’ she pointed at him, ‘you really didn’t strike me as the believe-in-magic type either.’

  He stood up and followed as she made a move toward the door. Ten minutes had skidded by. When had he last spent time talking to someone and wanted to make it last longer? It seemed he’d become a bit of an expert in pointless small talk these last months. Amy Wilson with her off-the-wall take on life had given the day a lift. And it didn’t hurt that she was seriously cute too, with her freckles and her hair escaping from its up do.

  ‘I’m not saying you don’t have a point,’ he said quickly. ‘Even when it works, a cast iron family unit isn’t the be all and end all.’ He couldn’t help thinking of his parents with their single minded way of doing things, their agenda for his future that simply hadn’t been up for debate. ‘But when it comes to believing in magic?’

  She turned at the doorway and narrowed her eyes at him, challenging him to contradict her. Sparks tingled down his spine and impulse drove him forward.