Garden of the Moongate (7 page)

"Oh, just a little mix-up. Nothing to get riled up about, I'm sure," Deb responded with a careless wave of her hand, though her expression was rather defensive. "The maid probably just forgot she promised the dress by this evening. You know how these girls are."

"I know how they used to be—reliable," Ric retorted heatedly. "But obviously that's no longer the case. Why, Deb?"

"Darling, it's virtually impossible to get good help these days; you should know that," Deb protested petulantly. "I've done the very best I can with the staff, but the whole lot of them seem a bit shiftless. They never do everything they're supposed to do."

"Maybe they have too much to do, then," he argued, though obviously trying to keep his temper in check. "I suggest you increase the staff. Hire some more people."

"But, Ric, I just reduced the staff six months ago!"

"You did what?" he whispered incredulously. "Why the devil did you do that? You can't cut staff and expect to provide the same top-notch service to the guests. It's impossible. Surely that wasn't Lawrence's idea?"

"Well, no, but…"

"I thought not. You did the firing after he became ill, didn't you?" Raking his fingers through his thick dark hair when she nodded, he shook his head. "God, Deb, you shouldn't have done that without consulting someone with more experience. You simply can't run a luxury hotel properly if you don't have the staff."

"You could if everyone worked harder, but, as I said, no one wants to work these days. Besides, you're making much too much of this. One dress wasn't returned on time. What's the big deal?"

Allendre blushed as Ric muttered a string of very concise expletives.

"The 'big deal' is that the couple behind me isn't having a very pleasant evening because of that one dress. They wasted an hour waiting for it to be delivered as promised, and now they're taking out their frustrations on each other. And, contrary to what you might believe, we're not in business here to precipitate divorces."

"Oh, you're exaggerating, Patrick Shannon," Deb said with a foolish, ill-timed giggle. "People don't divorce because of one little argument about a dress."

As the muscles in Ric's jaw hardened it was obvious that his patience was wearing thin. "That isn't the point, and you know it. The point is that these people will probably always remember this little episode with the dress, and for that reason they may never come back here. We want our guests to leave here with only pleasant memories, Deb. Any good, experienced hotel manager knows his prime objective is to check out happy people who feel as if they got what they paid for. But I don't suppose you lowered the room rates when you decided to reduce the staff, did you? That explains the high profit margins in the quarterly financial report."

"But I thought you'd be pleased by the increase in profits," Deb muttered, allowing her lips to tremble pathetically. "I tried to cut every little corner I could to make you proud of me."

"Lord, Deb, I thought you knew Shannon House means more to my family than just a convenient way to make a quick buck," Ric answered wearily, grim lines of strain etching themselves around his strong mouth. "My grandfather built this place up from nothing to become the finest hotel in Bermuda, and though I'm sure he was glad it made money, he wouldn't ever have sacrificed the quality of service for a few extra dollars. Even though my father has branched out into other businesses, he still wants to see Shannon House maintain that excellent standard of service. And I feel the same way; some things are more important than excessive profits."

"Oh, now you're angry with me," Deb sniffled, clutching his arm as tears filled her eyes. "Sometimes I think if it weren't for Uncle Lawrence, you'd fire me. But I'm doing the best I can. I'm just going by the lessons I had during that hotel-management course I took in New York last year."

"You would've been better off skipping that course," Ric said bluntly. "You'd have learned a lot more about running this place if you'd stayed here and watched how Lawrence did it."

He sounded so impatient that for a moment Allendre could almost feel a certain pity for Debra Hopkins. But as she glanced at the older girl's face and intuitively detected the insincerity of her tearful reaction she realized that her sympathy was probably neither wanted nor needed. She could understand perfectly why Ric was so upset—Debra was something of a ninny. Embarrassed for the other woman and feeling she shouldn't be witnessing this unpleasant scene, Allendre decided to withdraw discreetly. However, before she could rise to her feet, the discussion began anew.

"Dinner seems to be running smoothly," Ric commented with some relief as he looked around the dining room. "There seem to be an adequate number of waiters. Didn't you reduce the staff up here, too?"

"No," Deb murmured, eyeing him through the damp fringe of her lashes. "Derek Harrison threatened to quit if I tried to reduce his staff."

"Thank God somebody around here knows what he's doing," Ric said bluntly. "Now you see what I mean, Deb. The service here in the dining room is excellent, as it's always been,
because
there's an adequate number of waiters, so…"

"Excuse me," Allendre murmured, getting to her feet at last and smiling weakly when Ric glanced up at her with a questioning frown. "I'm sure the two of you would rather discuss this alone. I'll see you both later." He merely nodded, and she turned and walked away. Though she was somewhat relieved to escape the tense atmosphere, she couldn't help feeling disappointed that he didn't seem to mind she was leaving. But business came first, she supposed, and when she stepped onto the elevator a moment later, she smiled ruefully to herself. So much for our new beginning.

Since it wasn't even nine o'clock, Allendre wasn't quite ready for bed, despite the long day she had put in. For lack of anything better to do, she strolled through the lobby, peering through glass doors into the exclusive little shops grouped around the indoor garden and fountain. Most of the shops were already closed, not that it mattered; she really didn't feel an inclination to go browsing. At last, feeling very out of place among the honeymooning couples who ambled past the fountain, hands entwined, she decided to take a walk in the garden. Some fresh air would enable her to get a really good night's sleep.

Outside, a refreshingly cool ocean breeze rustled through the high, needlelike palm fronds and filled the air with the mingling fragrances of jasmine, ginger, and oleander. The setting sun cast a pinkish glow on the garden's gray stone walls, and Allendre wished she had her camera along so she could at least try to capture some of the beauty of the moment. Tomorrow evening she would take some photographs, she promised herself. There was no need to rush; Mr. Meredith had told her it would probably take at least two weeks to check out all the complaints he had received about Shannon House. But, realizing now how lonely it was to be at a resort by herself, she wondered what she was going to do with her time for fourteen days, possibly longer.

Sighing, she ambled along the white-pebbled path, stopping occasionally to touch the delicate petals of a cup of gold or a mammoth red hibiscus blossom. The path meandered around into thicker foliage, but she paused when she saw an elderly couple examining a Chinese moongate, a large, circular portal of coral limestone.

"The brochure says if you walk through it you'll have good luck and happiness forever, so we must walk through," the woman told her husband, tugging playfully at his hand. "Come on, Will."

With an obliging smile he stepped through the moon-gate into the small, palm-enclosed garden. Hand in hand, the couple strolled down the white stone path. Allendre found the sight strangely touching, for the man and the woman looked as content and pleased with each other as any pair of newlyweds.

Lost in her thoughts, Allendre suddenly felt heavy hands descend on her shoulders, then turn her around. Her questioning frown became a rather shy smile as she gazed up into Ric's dark, ruggedly handsome face.

"Sorry about the scene in the dining room," he said softly, his hands sliding down to her upper arms almost as if he meant to pull her nearer. But he didn't. His fingers simply began a disturbing stroking of her creamy skin. "I didn't forget you. It was just that Deb's staff cuts came as a complete surprise."

"Oh, I understand perfectly," Allendre assured him, striving to conceal the strange breathlessness his proximity evoked. "I know you had to discuss the problem with her."

Before Ric could speak again, the woman at the moongate beckoned eagerly to them, calling out, "Would you two be dears and humor an old woman by walking through here so Will can snap a picture? Please. My friends back home won't be interested in seeing a bare old moongate. But they'd be tickled pink to see a nice honeymooning couple stepping through one. Would you mind? You do make such a lovely couple."

Shaking her head, Allendre began, "Oh, but we're not—"

"We'll be happy to pose for you," Ric intervened before she could finish. Then he lowered his head, whispering so only she could hear, "Anything to make the guests happy, remember? Besides, what can it hurt?"

Nothing, she supposed, so she nodded, smiling at the woman in the mauve pantsuit as Ric cupped her elbow and they walked to the rough-hewn stone gate. He had to bend his head as he stepped through the moongate first; then he turned to give Allendre a slow, evocative smile as he tugged slightly on her hand and drew her into the small, secluded tropical garden with him.

"Oh, isn't that sweet," the woman sighed dreamily as her husband focused his camera.

"Let's really make her happy," Ric whispered, his tone teasing. But the sudden glow in the blue depths of his narrowing eyes seemed disruptingly real and serious as he cupped Allendre's chin in one large hand. His arm slipped around her waist and he drew her against him, tilting her head back as his mouth descended to cover hers gently.

Not really surprised, though perhaps she should have been, Allendre made no attempt to resist him. Yet she didn't respond ardently, either.

After only a second Ric lifted his head again. "Come on, Allie, you can do better than that," he whispered, feathering his thumb across the full curve of her lower lip. "You want this to look convincing, don't you? Open your mouth a little."

He lowered his head once more, his firm mouth brushing playfully over hers until her hands fluttered up to curve into small fists against his chest. He raised his head again slightly, his darkening eyes wandering over her delicate features and holding her gaze for a breathtaking second. Then, suddenly, his arm around her waist tightened and she was pressed close against him as his hard lips captured her. What had begun as pretense became a reality so unexpectedly exciting that Allendre's heart was thudding violently, and as her fingers spread open against his shirtfront she could feel his own heart beating rapidly, strongly, against his hard, muscular chest. Her legs weakened beneath her, and she moved unresistingly as he guided her away from the moongate into the palm-shaded perimeter of the small garden. She only remembered they were not alone when Will spoke to his wife.

"Come along, dear," he prompted. "I don't think we're really needed here now."

As the couple's footfalls receded along the pebbled path Ric lifted his head and pulled out the pins that held her hair in place. When the silken strands tumbled down over his hand on her nape, his fingers curved around the back of her head, holding her captive as he kissed her again.

"
Allendre
," he whispered huskily against the soft lips that had parted at the touch of his. "You're lovely."

Opening her bemused eyes to the glimmer in his, she trembled as his warm breath caressed her lips. Then, as his mouth took hers once more with a breathtaking urgency that forced her head back against the lean, long fingers tangling in her hair, she gripped his lapels, too weakened by his demanding kiss to offer resistance.

Perhaps she was overly tired and the setting was too romantic, or perhaps it was merely Ric's expert caresses that overwhelmed her. The sweet scent of the flowers, the gathering dusk, and the massaging hands on her back were potent inducements. As he widened his stance, pressing her tightly against the hardening contours of his body, she experienced her first truly overwhelming response to a man, and it startled her.

She struggled instinctively but only elicited a soft groan from him as he gathered her closer still. The fact that their bodies seemed to fit perfectly together, as if they were made for each other, heightened her awareness of danger. Yet, as she pushed at his chest, her effort was so ineffectual that he didn't seem to notice it.

His caressing hands slid down her spine, following the enticing insweep of waist to the gently rounded curve of her hips as his tongue touched first one corner of her lips, then the other, then entered the opening sweetness of her mouth to brush over her own. A shiver ran along her spine, not unpleasant, but too intense.

Whispering her name, he arched her back against his arm, pushing aside the braided straps of her dress. His warm, hard lips played over her bare shoulders and pressed into the scented hollow at the base of her throat. His breath burned her satiny skin downward to the rounded slope of her breasts. As the tip of his tongue tasted her sensitized flesh she gasped softly. Despite the fact that her throbbing breasts ached for his touch, she murmured a startled protest when his fingers slipped inside the bodice of her dress. He had gone too far. Kisses were one thing, but, by her standards, it was far too early to allow such an intimate caress. Catching his hand, she guided it back up to her slender neck, shaking her head as she reluctantly dragged her lips away from his seeking mouth. "No," she whispered breathlessly. "Don't."

"It isn't all that private here, is it?" he whispered back, his hands spanning her waist. "Your room or my cottage, then? Where would you rather go?"

Tensing, Allendre pulled back to look up at him, obvious confusion widening her eyes. "I… don't know what you mean."

"Let's not play games, Allie," he murmured, nuzzling her ear. "It's been a long day, and since we both know exactly what we want, we…"