The lobby was soaring and lush with green plants and water features. The check-in process was smooth and quiet, their bags whisked away by white-suited bellmen.
“I’m going to need a nap before we do anything,” Erica said, yawning.
“You go ahead,” Zoe said. “The signal on my cell phone is strong. I’m going to try to reach Kevin and check e-mail. I’ll be right up.”
Erica nodded, her eyes drooping, then walked toward the elevator. Zoe moved to a quiet corner and pulled up her e-mail on her phone. She winced. Six messages from her mother, and from the subject lines, all of them had something to do with changes to the reception dinner seating chart, which Zoe was supposed to be working on.
Postponing reading them until later, she switched to phone mode and punched in Kevin’s number. She desperately needed to talk to him, but considering it was almost midnight in Atlanta, she didn’t expect him to answer. He usually went to bed early so he’d be rested for his morning workouts. When his voice-mail service kicked on, she felt a pang at the warm familiarity of his voice.
“Hi, it’s me,” she said brightly. “The flight was—” traitorous “—fine. I’m—” a big, fat cheater “—fine.” Zoe pressed her lips together, telling herself she needed to act as if everything was normal. As if she wasn’t still tender in places from being with another man, as if she wasn’t still besieged by images of them together. “I’ll call you later. Bye.” It was only after she hung up that she realized she hadn’t said that she loved him.
And the guilt that she’d been expecting finally swamped her body with the force of a flash flood. She closed her eyes against the physical pain until it ebbed, then told herself that there was nothing left to do but to live with it.
She turned to face the expansive white lobby, enjoying the peaceful chiming sounds of Aboriginal music playing overhead. Sun poured in on the gleaming floor tile and polished brass fixtures. Overhead fans stirred the branches of potted fig trees. She inhaled deeply and exhaled, feeling instantly calmer. This soothing ambience was exactly what she needed to relax and to rid her mind of one Colin Cannon.
“This is a nice surprise.”
Zoe pivoted to see the man himself standing at the check-in desk, a duffel in one hand, a briefcase in the other. His leather duster nearly touched the ground. Her mouth opened and closed as alarms sounded in her head. When the shock subsided, disbelief and anger set in.
She strode up to him, her heart racing double-time. “Mr. Cannon,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm, “what happened on the plane was a one-time thing. You had no right to follow me here.”
He looked confused, then smiled. “I didn’t follow you here, Zoe. This is purely a coincidence.”
That was possible, she conceded. “Th-then you’ll have to go to another hotel.”
“That would be rather difficult,” he said.
Zoe crossed her arms. “Why?”
Colin was interrupted by a reservations employee who handed him a flat wooden box over the counter. “Your keys, Mr. Cannon. I’ll ring the bellman.”
He thanked the woman, then turned back to Zoe, taking in her belligerent stance with an amused expression. “Because…I happen to own this place.”
4
AT THE NEWS THAT SHE’D just checked in to a resort owned by the man with whom she’d gotten down and dirty in the airplane lavatory, Zoe’s mind whirled in confusion. Followed by bleeding mortification that she’d just accused Colin Cannon of stalking her.
She blinked and her mouth gaped. “I…I…”
A smile crept across his handsome face as he gestured to the incredibly lavish lobby—his lobby. “Thank you. This place renders me speechless sometimes, too. That’s why I bought it.” Then he leaned in close to her ear and murmured, “My apologies. If I’d known we were bound for the same destination, I would’ve postponed my invitation until we were in more comfortable quarters.”
Zoe swallowed hard. “Let’s just forget about it, okay?”
“Too late,” he said. “You left an indelible impression.”
So had he, she conceded. His close proximity gave her a whiff of the cologne she had smelled on his neck. And he was still wearing the silk tie that had bound her wrists, now neatly reknotted at his shirt collar. Zoe took a step backward to clear her head.
“I’m moving to another hotel,” she announced.
His face creased in disappointment. “Please don’t. It’s a big resort, our paths probably won’t even cross. Are you a regular guest?”
“No,” she said, then gave him a wry frown. “No offense, but it’s a little beyond my normal budget. But a co-worker and I are here for—” she swallowed the real reason “—a treat.”
“Ah,” he said. “A prewedding treat?”
She nodded, awash with shame.
“Then a treat you shall have,” he said with a wink. He turned back to the reservations desk. “Please arrange for Ms. Smythe and—” He looked back to Zoe. “What is your friend’s name?”
“Erica Winston.”
He nodded to the clerk. “Please arrange for Ms. Smythe and Ms. Winston to have complimentary use of our spa during their stay.”
“Very good, sir,” the woman responded.
“That’s not necessary,” Zoe said, feeling flushed all over again.
“It’s my pleasure,” Colin said, his green eyes reflecting something akin to regret. “Enjoy your stay, Zoe.” Then, with a little salute, he strode away.
She watched his broad back receding, feeling shaky, as if she had just averted disaster. She exhaled slowly and hugged herself for extra assurance that she wasn’t coming apart at the seams. Everything was fine, she told herself. The man seemed content to forget about their impromptu encounter and, in fact, seemed eager to offer inducements for her to forget, too. It was probably just another in a long line of hookups for him, she realized. He wouldn’t understand that for her, the incident had been a lapse of monumental proportions, one that would be harder to forget knowing that he, too, was staying at the resort.
On the other hand, what explanation could she give to Erica for changing hotels? They’d both been looking forward to this getaway. And now, with unlimited use of the spa…
No, she’d stay put, at least until Erica left in two days. Then she’d take stock of the situation. Like Colin said, the resort was a big place—he and she might never cross paths.
With her mind still clicking away, it was clear that the nap she had promised herself was not to be. Instead she shouldered her bag and exited the hotel, blinking in the bright sunshine. Knowing how brutal the Australian sun could be, she smeared on sunscreen and purchased a wide-brim hat at the first shop she came to. It was fall in the States, but spring had sprung here on the lower side of the equator, and it was surprisingly warm considering the proximity of the bay waters.
Zoe wandered the streets looking for eclectic jewelry stores, as she did at each travel destination, searching for beads, stones and other materials for her jewelry-making hobby. Australia was known for its amazing opals and she’d decided they would be perfect accent stones for the silver link bracelets she was making as gifts for her bridesmaids.
The task also put her mind back where it belonged—on her future, on her wedding—while she soaked up the atmosphere of the harbor city. The tang of salt rode the air, along with the sounds of the accents of the people strolling by, going about their day.
Zoe loved to catch hints of their conversation—the way the words seemed to roll together with a buoyant rhythm that told anyone listening that Australians were generally a happy and upbeat people. Greetings among friends were exuberant, backslapping events with raised voices and broad smiles. The common phrase of “no worries” summed up the people’s sunny attitude.
She walked into shops and browsed bins of trinkets. Intrigued by colorful Aboriginal clay beads, she purchased several to make something for herself at a later date. The selection of opal jewelry was extensive, as were the range of hues of the distinctive stones—from pale and milky to dark and vibrant, each alight with fiery specks of color. When she didn’t find any loose stones, however, she gave up the search for another day. Conceding to her growling stomach, Zoe bought a fish sandwich at a concession stand near Circular Quay and walked to the pier surrounding Sydney Cove to have lunch.
Sydney Harbour was one of the greatest tourist attractions in the country, although the locals also hung out there, obviously drawn to the cobalt-blue water and the buzz of activity. The famous whitewinged Sydney Opera House was in easy viewing and walking distance to her right—she had endured the long lines and toured it on a previous trip to Sydney. The Harbour Bridge ascended to her left. If she squinted, she could make out the slow-moving train of ants on the arch, high above traffic and the harbor, that were actually people braving the famous Sydney Bridge Climb.
Along the Circular Quay pier, upscale restaurants and shops amiably shared space with street vendors and picnic tables. Fat pigeons and gulls flocked at the feet of diners, poised to dive on falling crumbs. Boats of all sizes were docked at the marina—runabouts, sailboats and ferries. But many of the slips were empty on this sunny, breezy day, further evidenced by the bobbing dots on the near and far horizons.