‘James says that if you're going to do something you should always do it with style!’ Anne laughed her enjoyment at Merlyn's awe-struck expression.
‘This is style with a capital S!’ She sank down on to the quilt-covered bed in the adjoining room to her lounge. ‘I can't wait to meet the man who master-minded all this.'
Anne's eyes glowed merrily. ‘Give me a few minutes to change out of these clothes and get back into my “hotel proprietor” garb and then join James and me at the pool for coffee; we usually get together there this time of day. And I know he's looking forward to meeting you, too.'
Thoughts of Rand were kept firmly at bay as Merlyn unpacked her suitcase, changing into tailored red trousers with their pleated waistline, tapering at the ankle, and a black silk blouse which tucked in at the belted waistline. She looked coolly elegant, and more confident of herself than she had felt since she left home yesterday morning with such high hopes of this visit to the Lake District.
Yesterday morning? It seemed much longer ago than that, she realised with a suppressed shudder.
She had no trouble finding her way back to the main building, the whole place geared for simplicity, including finding your way about. She was glad she had chosen to wear a blouse, instead of the jumper the weather called for, as the heat from the pool enveloped her. She seemed to have arrived before Anne, and—–
‘Looking for someone?’ an amused male voice cut in on her reverie.
She turned to face the man, feeling as if she could drown in the liquid warmth of his deep brown eyes. Dark hair brushed away from the face of one of the most handsome men Merlyn had ever seen, the white shorts and open T-shirt he wore moulded to the lean fitness of his body. The tennis-racket he carried was indicative of at least one of the ways he maintained that fitness. At any other time she might have felt interested enough to pursue the acquaintance, but not when she was still raw from her encounter with Rand.
Her smile was coolly dismissive. ‘As a matter of fact, I am,’ she nodded, her attention returning to the pool where several adults and children were cavorting in the heated water oblivious to the dismal weather outside.
‘Could I offer you a cup of coffee while you wait?’ the man suggested, indicating the coffee pot and cups that stood on the table beside them for anyone to help themselves to after their swim. Several tables were placed about the pool's side, the padded chairs around them covered in a restful green material that exactly complimented the abundance of foliage about the room.
Her smile was frosty this time. ‘No, thank you,’ she bit out with emphasis.
‘Then perhaps I could—–'
‘No!'
‘You must be new here today, I haven't seen you about before,’ he smiled pleasantly.
And she was sure he made a point of meeting all the women young enough to find his looks and charm appealing. He had chosen the wrong woman this time! ‘Please,’ she sighed her impatience, ‘I'm waiting for—–'
‘Ah good.’ Anne hurried out to her, the design of the royal-blue dress suiting her ample curves perfectly, the high heels on her sandals giving her extra height. ‘The two of you have already introduced yourselves.’ She beamed her pleasure.
‘No, we—–’ The man Merlyn was rapidly suspecting of being James Benton returned her gaze with the same dawning realisation. ‘Merlyn!’ He grinned at her discomfort, holding out his hand.
She limply returned his firm handshake, deciding that the next stranger she met she would presume was the last person she had suspected; she certainly hadn't even guessed that this was Anne's husband James.
She grimaced—cringed, actually. ‘I'm sorry if I seemed rude to you just now—–'
‘You didn't.’ He gave her an understanding smile, those brown eyes twinkling merrily.
‘What did you do?’ Anne frowned her confusion as they all sat down.
‘What did I do,’ her husband corrected ruefully. ‘I thought I was playing the concerned hotel manager, and Merlyn thought I was trying to pick her up!'
Merlyn blushed as he put into words what she had already realised, all of his friendliness a few moments ago made in an effort to make her feel at home. ‘It wasn't quite like that. We—–'
Anne grinned at her discomfort too now, sharing a look of intimacy with her husband. ‘That makes a change, it's usually the female guests who try to pick James up!'
Merlyn was well aware of the fact that not by a word or deed had James given the impression he was trying to be more than helpful, that she had just assumed— If Elizabeth Taylor walked in here right now and told her she was Beth Jones she would take her word for it! Her judgment was sadly off beam lately.
‘I really am sorry if I seemed rude to you,’ she grimaced at James.
‘Hey, after a run in with Brandon you're entitled to feel a bit jumpy,’ he sympathised. ‘And I'm not exactly dressed for the part of debonair hotel manager,’ he agreed wryly.
This man would look someone of authority no matter what he did or didn't wear, possessing an animal grace that bespoke confidence in himself and his abilities.
Merlyn complimented him on the design of the hotel, avoiding the subject of Rand Carmichael and the night she had spent at his house as his unwelcome guest.
If the truth were known she didn't feel all that well. Her throat was sore, her nose felt ticklish and irritated, and her head ached. But after the mess she had already made of her visit, she felt the least she owed the Bentons was to be sociable now that she had arrived, joining them for dinner in their private lodge a short distance away from the hotel through the trees.
Just being with the other couple was enough to show Merlyn how wrong her first impression of James as a flirt really was; the married couple were obviously very much in love, constantly touching with a warmth that bespoke intimacy, their expressions rapt as they gazed into each other's eyes. After the cool respect her parents showed for each other, the Bentons’ relationship was quite an eye-opener for her.
But she felt even more ill by the time James walked her back to her suite, her eyes stinging too now, and she knew it wasn't just from the cold she could feel coming on. Anne and James had the closest, most special relationship she had ever seen, and the nearest Merlyn had ever come to feeling that sort of love herself had been when she looked at Rand Carmichael for the first time and knew she wanted him. And that wasn't the same thing at all.
‘What happened between you and Brandon last night, Merlyn?’ James spoke in the darkness.
Her face drained of all colour, and the pounding in her head became stronger. She swallowed hard. ‘He made it clear he doesn't want anyone, least of all me, portraying his wife,’ she explained huskily.
‘That was this morning, I'm talking about last night.'
Merlyn kept her face averted, knowing those deep brown eyes could become hypnotic if she let them, and that beneath the gentleness of his love for Anne he could be as ruthless as the next man. She shrugged. ‘What makes you think anything happened?'
His mouth quirked at her evasion. ‘It may have escaped your notice, but the rest of us call him Brandon.'
‘So?’ she challenged, having noticed that discrepancy herself, but putting it down to the fact that last night he had wanted to forget who he really was as he made love to her.
‘So you tell me,’ James prompted softly.
‘He let me sleep in his spare bedroom because he had no choice,’ she dismissed hardly.
‘Is that all?'
‘What else were you expecting?’ She forced lightness to her expression as she turned to face him on their entrance to the hotel reception.
He