Your Room or Mine?:
Your Room or Mine?:
Charlotte Phillips
HarperImpulse Contemporary Romance Novella1 cheating ex, 3 bottles of white wine, an emergency pep talk from the girls… and this seemed like a good idea at the time:Izzy Shaw’s Getting-Over-Him Action List1. eBay his entire collection of football memorabilia and spend all profits on treating myself to fabulous new wardrobe.2. Turn plans for ‘Loved-Up Mini-Break’ at exclusive boutique hotel into a weekend of spa pampering, me-time and shopping at Harvey Nics.3. Don’t get even, get even better. Have one night stand with drop-dead gorgeous stranger – Mr Tall, Dark & Handsome in the hotel lobby is just what I need!Your room or mine? Go on Izzy…
Your Room or Mine?
Charlotte Phillips
A division of HarperCollinsPublishers
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
Contents
Copyright (#u744cb9fc-bb51-54a1-9a00-6f81307e903a)
Dedication (#u112e3494-c45e-5707-90de-521905f0bdd6)
CHAPTER 1 (#ueea513a9-fc70-5281-9ff9-f7d67bcf1c5d)
CHAPTER 2 (#ue2140323-9609-5c4a-aafc-749238d8f48c)
CHAPTER 3 (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 4 (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 5 (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 6 (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 7 (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Charlotte Phillips (#litres_trial_promo)
About HarperImpulse (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
HarperImpulse an imprint of
HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
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www.harpercollins.co.uk
First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2013
Copyright © Charlotte Phillips 2013
Cover Photographs © shutterstock.com
Charlotte Phillips asserts the moral right
to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is
available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction.
The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are
the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is
entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International
and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.
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No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted,
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written permission of HarperCollins.
Ebook Edition © May 2013
ISBN: 9780007532032
Version 2014-09-30
Digital eFirst: Automatically produced by Atomik ePublisher from Easypress.
For Fran, who is always in my corner. With love and thanks.
CHAPTER 1 (#u0df0c08e-f41e-5d83-95de-c93b7cf7f7df)
Izzy Shaw glanced around the hotel lobby full of loved-up couples revelling in the sumptuous luxury and wondered in what universe she’d thought a night here by herself could succeed where ice-cream, wine and support sessions with the girls had failed.
To pass the time as she queued for check-in, and to strengthen her resolve, she mentally ran through the list she’d made of Joe’s faults, which according to her friend Shauna should be referred to at moments of weakness.
1) Leaves boxer shorts on the floor.
2) Watches more than one show at once on TV resulting in infuriating flicking of remote control.
3) Obsessive preoccupation with major football events plus outrageous cash outlay on season ticket.
4) Leaves toilet door open.
5) Has one night stands while supposedly working away.
Of course, that last one was the only one that really counted. She’d put up with all the others for three years, none of them had been deal breakers.
She reached down for the handle of her overnight bag and moved up two spaces in the line. The couple in front of her were so closely entwined together that she could hardly tell where one person stopped and the other began. As she watched the girl nuzzled into her partner’s neck and Izzy averted her eyes and stared at the glossy marble floor.
Urgh! Get a room!
She supposed that’s exactly what they were doing. Just as she would have been, in that parallel universe where Joe hadn’t let her down.
A few nights in the company of her friends in the wake of her discovery of Joe’s betrayal had certainly filled her with temporary bravado. Opting to take this night away herself as a pamper break instead of just cutting her losses and cancelling had seemed like a great idea when she was buoyed up by wine and chocolate and pep talks.
‘It’ll just be a waste of a good room if you don’t go,’ Shauna had insisted. ‘You won’t get the money back now. It’s luxurious, it’s expensive and best of all it’s got the perfect access for Selfridges and Harvey Nicks. An evening in the spa, a gourmet dinner and then you shop until you drop. You’ll be over him within 24 hours.’
The moment six months ago when she’d booked this place flashed into her mind. Just great. Because what she really needed right now was a flashback to a time when Joe had been everything to her. She gritted her teeth hard. This was her Reinvention Mini-Break, her Get-Strong Mini-Break. It was NOT the planned Izzy-and-Joe’s Surprise Romantic Mini-Break. Plans could change.
People could change too.
She reached the front of the line. She carried her bag to the Receptionist and forced a smile across the high marble counter.
‘I have a booking in the name of ‘Shaw’,’ she said.
The receptionist pressed buttons, nodded efficiently.
‘I have a table booked in the restaurant for tonight,’ the receptionist said. ‘And a His and Hers Spa Treatment.’
She’d forgotten about that. The lobby seemed suddenly too warm.
‘Can I change the Spa treatment?’ she said, trying to keep her voice as muted as possible. There was zero privacy at the crowded check-in desk. ‘Something a bit more…’ she groped for the right description and failed. ‘For one?’ she said.
The receptionist glanced up, clearly taking in the fact that she was alone. The warmth of a blush crept upwards from her neck. She might as well have stood on the counter and announced to the room that she was unexpectedly single.
‘I’m afraid the His-and-Hers Treatment is part of the Romantic Getaway Package,’ the receptionist said, not bothering to lower her voice. ‘I can cancel it of course, but I can’t swap it for anything else.’
Izzy stared at her.
‘Of course, you’re welcome to book additional treatments as you like, they will be charged individually. If you’d care to ring down to the Spa when you’ve checked in, they can give you a list.’
‘Fine,’ Izzy said. ‘Please can I just get checked in?’
‘And would you like me to cancel the His-and-Hers…’ she glanced at the screen ‘…Massage?’
‘Cancel it!’ Izzy snapped. ‘Just cancel it. Not a problem.’
She felt eyes upon her and glanced sideways. A few feet away a man was being checked in by the other receptionist. Standing out, like her, singleton among cosy couples. Thick dark hair, lightly tousled. Strong jaw. Dark suit so sharply cut it had to be crushingly expensive. Broad shoulders and a chiselled handsome face that had the receptionist fawning over him. Izzy registered the ghost of a smile on his lips as he looked at her, clearly listening in on every word.
Her heart, broken of course and so not working as it should, upped its pace in her chest because he really was gorgeous. In fact if her head, still channelling anger, hadn’t reminded her that Joe had used his nights away with work to bed random women, then her jaw might have hit the polished counter top as it dropped. Was this how he used to behave – eyeing up women at hotel receptions, picking the perfect candidate? She snapped her eyes away.
Think about the shopping, Izzy. Think about complimentary chocolates in the room with no need to worry anymore that they might go straight to your hips…
‘Would you like help with your luggage?’
‘No, thank you.’
She didn’t want help with her luggage or complimentary newspapers or to be stared at by other guests, especially drop-dead gorgeous ones with possibly dubious motives. She wanted to get to her room and pull herself together.
****
At last taking the keycard from the receptionist, she swung around, handbag hooked into one hand, holdall in the other, and crossed the lobby towards the stairs. A misjudged glance back, just a general glance of course, definitely NOT to see if Mr Dark-Tousled-Hair was still looking at her, and she somehow managed to catch her overstuffed holdall in the enormous plant stupidly located at the corner of the sweeping staircase. It promptly toppled off its ornate circular table and emptied itself onto the deep pile rug at her feet.
The buzz of noise in the lobby dropped a notch as people turned to look. Izzy’s face burned hotter than ever. What kind of moron had placed a plant there of all places?
Exasperated, she shoved her bags to one side and knelt down on the carpet to set about picking it up, feeling the eyes of everyone in the lobby burning into her back. Soil dusted her hands and collected beneath her fingernails.
A pair of hands appeared next to hers and helped her right the pot and ease the plant back into it. Big strong hands, a dark-stoned signet ring on the left little finger. Surely too expensive to belong to the scrawny concierge, who had looked about twelve. She glanced up, straight into the hazel eyes of the man from the check-in desk. His eyes crinkled softly at the corners as he smiled at her and her stomach gave a slow and traitorous backflip. She snapped her eyes back down to the black soil littering the carpet and rearranged her face into what she hoped was a neutral expression.
Scooping soil up between her hands, she thrust it back in the pot, pressing gently to reseat the plant. The schoolboy concierge joined them.
‘I’m really sorry,’ she told him. ‘I just caught it with my case and tipped it over.’
‘No problem, madam.’
‘It should be fine but still you might want to consider repotting it,’ she added automatically, the part of her that spent her entire working life around plants taking over. ‘It looks to me like it might be potbound – did you see there were mostly roots there rather than soil? And some of the leaves are turning yellow?’
The concierge stared at her as if she were an alien. Her shoulders sagged. Why was she bothering?
‘Sorry,’ she mumbled and grabbed her bags, leaving the remains of the mess behind her as she took the stairs.
She was a few steps up when she realised the man from check-in was keeping pace next to her.
‘Thanks,’ she said, because he was wearing a suit and still he hadn’t hesitated to get soil under his nails on her behalf.
‘You’re welcome,’ he said. ‘You obviously know your way around pot plants.’ His voice was deep and smooth. A voice that could draw you in.
‘Not literally, unfortunately,’ she said.
He smiled and she offered a polite smile back.
‘I’m a gardener,’ she said, turning at the first landing. He stayed alongside her.
‘Really? You don’t look like a gardener.’
‘What does a gardener look like?’
He shrugged.
‘Sweaty, old jeans, grimy hands, crack of butt on show.’
She laughed.
‘Yeah well, it is my day off,’ she said.
He smiled a delicious lop-sided smile that lifted the left corner of his mouth and crinkled the warm hazel eyes at the corners. A smile that had meaning beyond politeness.
Izzy looked away as her heart gave a skip of triumph, such a long-forgotten sensation that it nearly brought her to a standstill.
He was flirting with her.
When had she last flirted with anyone? Three years of pouring herself into work, building her business up from scratch. Joe doing the same, working all hours, both of them with their shared future in mind. A deposit on a house perhaps, a bit further down the line. The first cautious steps towards proper visible commitment. More than just that denoted by length of time.
Correction: what she’d thought was their shared future in mind.
Turned out putting in the hard work for Joe had been too much like…well, like hard work. Her heart froze again towards him, a cold hardening in her chest that made her throat contract and her eyes tingle.
She flashed a smile at the man walking next to her along the ornate galleried landing. Why not respond? What was there to stop her? It was so nice just to be found attractive – something that had been called into question deep inside her since she’d discovered Joe’s betrayal.
It hadn’t helped that she’d discovered the full horror of Joe’s infidelity after a particularly long hard day working on the McNulty garden. There had been soil in her unkempt hair, dirt under her fingernails and across one cheek, and Joe hadn’t missed the chance to build his defence on exactly that. Then again, did she think she might somehow have felt better about him playing away if she’d been dressed up to the nines with her hair and make-up done? Idiot. She was too work-obsessed, he’d said, she never made any effort to look good for him anymore, she’d stopped being fun. All comments designed to make him feel better about his behaviour by making her feel worse.
Human nature. That didn’t stop it from hurting.
And so a bit of harmless attention from a man who looked like an off-duty aftershave model with his open-necked white shirt, perfect suit, tousled hair and lop-sided smile was just the thing to kick off the Make-Izzy-Strong Reinvention Mini-Break.
‘I’m this way,’ she smiled at him, coming to a stop and tilting her chin at the sign on the wall listing room numbers. He inclined his head almost imperceptibly, the hazel eyes holding her own for just a beat too long. Her stomach, now awakened, wasn’t about to quit and gave a slow and delicious flip.
‘Oliver Forbes,’ he said, holding out his right hand. Easy for him, he had minimal luggage.
She looked from his hand to his face. The smile was still there. She shifted her case from one hand to the other and shook hands briefly with him.
‘Izzy,’ she said. ‘Thanks again for before.’
Oliver Forbes watched from the corner of his eye as she held her head high and lugged her own bags down the passage, key card poised in her hand.
Her unease in the lobby had been almost palpable, drawing in his attention until the rest of the bustle around him seemed to pale into the background. Her finger-drumming impatience at the bureaucracies of check-in, the blush of embarrassment as she cleared up after knocking the plant flying that managed to highlight her porcelain skin so prettily. She was clearly desperate to escape to her room.
He wasn’t usually given to noticing such detail.
Then again, he’d been knocked off-centre by the tedium of taking a hotel stay when what he’d wanted, what he’d expected was the work to have been finished on his new house in Highgate by the moment he chose to move into it. Turned out his travel and business commitments had lulled his supposedly impeccable team of contractors into a false sense of security over the urgency of the work. Not good enough. Heads would roll.
In the meantime, since he faced a few more days without his private refuge, a face like hers with its blush touching the smooth cheekbones and its tiny spray of golden freckles on her nose, was a welcome distraction.
Gardener? Really?
He took in her appearance as she walked away. Softly curving figure, long legs, healthy-looking rather than skinny. Honey coloured hair gathered loosely at the nape of her neck, touched gold at the ends by the sun. Lightly sun-kissed cheeks and nose beneath minimal make-up. No jewellery, no nail varnish, no accessories. Suddenly her stated profession seemed more plausible.
He wondered what she was doing, checking in alone to her booking for two. He’d barely registered anything his own receptionist had said, it had been far more interesting to listen to Izzy’s discomfort at check-in. Damsels in Distress – his particular weakness.
Because where there was fluster, there was always a way in.
****
Izzy slid the door key card into the slot and pushed the panelled door open, still enjoying the afterglow of his attention. The smile on her face faded on her lips as she leaned back against the closing door and drew in a long breath.
‘Oh hell,’ she muttered out loud.
So the Spa Treatment wasn’t an end to it. In the course of the joint brainwave with her friends to turn the intended surprise night away with Joe into a Get-Over-Him Mini-Break for herself, she had failed to remember that she’d booked the hotel’s Romantic Getaway Package for two.
It wasn’t called that for nothing.
Was there anything in this room that wasn’t his-and-hers? Her eyes took in matching white fluffy bathrobes and waffle slippers, two crystal flutes stood next to the complimentary champagne. And as she walked into the adjoining bathroom she was greeted by Jack-n-Jill sinks.
She stared at her own dismayed face in the ornate scrolled mirror above them. How the hell was she meant to stop thinking about Joe when this whole place was a made-for-two luxury nightmare that mocked her from every angle?
CHAPTER 2 (#u0df0c08e-f41e-5d83-95de-c93b7cf7f7df)
IZZY SHAW’S GET-OVER-THE-BASTARD ACTION LIST
1) Enlist friends for supportive esteem-building summit meetings.
2) Stock up on wine and ice cream and eat/drink without regard for calorie counting.
3) Calculate budget for Joe’s intended birthday and Christmas gifts and spend said amount on treating self to new clothes.
4) eBay his collection of football programmes and add profit to own treat-budget.
5) Make list of all Joe’s faults for reference at weak moments.
6) Block him on Facebook and delete all texts and messages from him before responding.
7) Book up girls’ nights out for the next couple of months.
8) Take a night away for me-time, pampering and contemplation.
9) Don’t get even, get even better. Have a no-strings one night stand.
Izzy leaned back against the smooth tiled wall and closed her eyes to soak up every ounce of relaxation that hot steam had to offer. Tension in her shoulders ingrained from the endless bending and stretching that came with her job slowly began to loosen its grip. It was early evening now and she had the basement pool area and steam room almost to herself as people drifted away to get ready to go out or have dinner. No rush for that. Her appetite hadn’t been up to much these last few weeks, she’d rather stay here a bit longer.
When door opened and Oliver Forbes climbed into the steam room, she took an unintentional deep breath, filling her lungs with steam and launching a spectacular coughing fit.
He stared at her through the hot mist, one hand on the door.
‘Are you OK?’ he asked doubtfully.
She turned away, her eyes and nose streaming, one hand plastered over her mouth, the other flapping at him.
‘Fine,’ she croaked in between hacking.
He sat down on the opposite bench and raised one foot. As she gradually got her cough under control she was grateful for the steam, which she hoped might hide her undoubtedly tomato-red face.
She offered his concerned expression an I’m-perfectly-alright smile and he nodded and closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the tiles. Hah! The perfect opportunity to steal a proper sneaky look at him in his dark blue swim shorts. He had the most toned abs she’d ever seen. Broad shoulders, lean and fit body, legs roped with muscle. His dark hair was damply tousled from the steam and he had a light tan. She imagined him on some extreme sports holiday abroad, leaping off a cliff in the sunshine.
He opened his eyes unexpectedly and she snapped her gaze away and examined her fingernails.
‘How’s the stay going?’ he asked. ‘Making good use of the spa?’
She knew just from his pointed tone of voice and the smile that lurked on his lips that he’d overheard at check-in.
‘Trying to,’ she said. ‘It’s all such a treat, especially the whirlpool bath and steam room. I get a lot of back pain in my job.’
She raised eyebrows at his cheeky grin.
‘What now?’
‘I was imagining you with a shovel.’
‘What can I say, I give good garden,’ she said. ‘What about you? Are you here for the leisure complex too?’
‘Not really,’ he said. ‘Not that the gym and spa aren’t a nice bonus. This is a bit of an unscheduled stay. It’s in a good location for me for work.’
‘How long are you staying?’
He shrugged.
‘As long as I need to.’
So he was clearly not on the budget break. Why was she even surprised? Everything about him oozed cash – the clothes he’d worn at check-in, the expensive leather overnight bag, the way he spoke.
‘You?’ he asked.
‘It’s a treat break,’ she said. ‘You know, one of those packages you can book. Dinner, bed and breakfast with use of the spa thrown in.’
He was looking at her politely and she supposed he’d never had to look for the deal price in his life.
‘So just the one night, ‘she added.
‘Better make it count, then,’ he said and the way he held her eyes a moment too long made it feel like he wasn’t just talking about the spa and the gourmet restaurant. Her stomach felt suddenly melty, not helped by the fact she was hitting the edge of her heat tolerance.
‘I am,’ she said. ‘I’ve tried out every facility in the spa, well, the free ones anyway, and I’ve still got dinner to go. Then tomorrow I hit the shops.’ She stood up. ‘I need to cool down. Excuse me.’
She stood eyes closed under the aromatherapy shower, letting it cool her skin, then walked around the pool to the lounger where she’d left her bag and towel. Oliver Forbes with his perfect body was still in the steam room. Instead of lying back on the towel she picked it up and automatically wrapped it around her. Confidence in the way she looked wasn’t her strong point right now. If Joe was washed up drowning on a beach she’d throw a bucket of water over him, but that didn’t diminish the little seeds of doubt he’d planted in her mind when he’d tried to shift some of the blame for his behaviour her way. OK so she knew she was carrying a few extra pounds, mainly around the hips, but she’d been so sure of Joe’s love she hadn’t given it a second thought before.
Oliver Forbes emerged from the steam room and stood under the shower. She watched as the water cascaded over his body, knowing she shouldn’t be staring but unable to tear her eyes away. Joe hadn’t been keen on exercise beyond playing a bit of football with his mates. What might it feel like to be with someone that fit? He grabbed a towel from a row of hooks, then skirted the pool and headed towards her.
‘You mind?’ he indicated the lounger next to her. There was a roomful of them to choose from and he wanted that one? Her heart gave a tiny skip.
She shrugged and he sat down, rubbing his hair with a corner of the towel.
‘Drink?’ he asked, reaching for the phone on the table between loungers.
She looked up at him. A drink? A flurry of excited butterflies zipped briefly through her stomach before common sense bashed them into submission. A drink did not mean he was hitting on her, and even if he was she couldn’t be less interested. Someone like him would never look twice at her, he was obviously just being polite.
Her own package deal danced through her mind. Outside its remit, you were practically charged for drawing breath in this place. Why not take him up on the drink, it meant nothing.
‘I’d love coffee,’ she said.
He gave the order over the phone and sat back.
‘I can’t remember the last time I went swimming,’ she said, pulling her own towel a little closer around her.
‘You don’t belong to a gym?’
That meant he did, presumably. Who was she kidding, of course he did. You didn’t get abs like that from sitting around watching TV. He clearly put in a lot of work.
She shook her head.
‘My working hours are long,’ she said. ‘Sometimes I’m so tired by the time I get home the last thing I’d want to do is more exercise.’
‘I thought your job was more about potting plants,’ he said, a grin touching his lips. ‘I didn’t realise it could be so physically demanding.’
She raised an eyebrow.
‘It’s not standing with a basket picking flowers,’ she said. ‘There’s a lot of heavy work involved. You have to be prepared to get your hands dirty.’
He reached across suddenly and paused, hand outstretched.
‘May I?’
She stared. What exactly was he playing at?
She watched in surprise as he took one of her hands in his, no impulse kicked in to pull it away despite the sudden hot feeling in her stomach. He uncurled her fingers to see the palm and turned her hand to see her fingernails.
‘This doesn’t look like the hand of a heavyweight gardener,’ he said.
She took her hand away and held both of them up.
‘Yeah well, it’s amazing what a bit of hand cream can do. Sometimes at the end of a working day they look like shovels.’
‘So gym, spa treatments and swimming is a welcome break then. Is this something you do often?’
Because she really looked like a gym bunny. Not.
‘Not often. I’m treating myself.’
‘And you prefer to do that alone?’
Her self-consciousness about staying here alone resurfaced and she squashed it back down.
‘It wasn’t supposed to be a solitary thing,’ she said.
‘No?’
For a moment she considered fobbing him off, but she was used to being the subject of gossip now. Why bother making up some story for someone she didn’t know and didn’t care about?
‘I booked the room for a romantic night away with my boyfriend.’ She looked him boldly in the eye. Nothing to be embarrassed about. ‘This hotel offers themed breaks – dinner, spa, breakfast, one price and it’s all included. Ex-boyfriend now,’ she added, pasting on an I-couldn’t-care-less smile, to prove she was absolutely fine with that.
‘You came alone on your own romantic night away?’ He sounded amused. ‘You didn’t cancel?’
She couldn’t blame him. It did sound a bit insane spoken out loud. She squared her shoulders.
‘It seemed a shame to waste it,’ she said. ‘It was a non-refundable payment. So I figured I’d turn it into a Reinvention Break instead.’
She mumbled the last part and he leaned in close enough for her to see the tiny droplets of water that still clung to his skin and hair. A light frown touched his eyebrows.
‘Reinvention? Of what?’
She looked straight at him. He was a total stranger, what the hell did she care what he thought?
‘Of me,’ she said.
Oliver leaned back in his lounger as their coffee arrived, watching her, all obstinate bravado protesting that she didn’t care.
‘Odd choice of word, ‘reinvention’’, he said, when the waiter had gone. ‘Implies that you need to change. Which in turn implies that you’re somehow responsible for whatever went wrong.’
‘I’m not!’ she snapped.
He looked at her over his coffee cup.
‘Call it something else then. Not reinvention. I haven’t seen anything about you yet that I’d change.’
As he heard her light intake of breath and saw a touch of blush rise high on her cheekbones, he wondered when she’d last received a compliment. Long-term complacent relationship? A breeding ground for lack of appreciation. All he had to do was take advantage of that.
There was something very appealing about her at close quarters. Put aside for a moment the fact that she was pretty, albeit in a dishevelled outdoorsy sort of way. There was an air of defiance about her that he liked. Whatever the ex-boyfriend had done, she wasn’t sitting at home crying into her pillow was she? She’d kicked him into touch and had turned her romantic break into a treat. He couldn’t help but admire that fighting spirit.
‘How about I call it my Freedom Break instead then,’ she said. ‘Shopping and spa relaxation. Just what I need.’
‘Perfect,’ he said. ‘And tonight?’
He held her gaze intently with his own. She didn’t drop her eyes. Encouraging.
‘A luxury meal in the restaurant,’ she said.
‘Alone?’
‘I’m quite happy with my own company.’
‘Understandable.’ He paused, then added in another compliment. ‘I like it too.’ He paused to gauge the effect and when she smiled softly he zoomed in.
‘How about having dinner with me? The place is full of couples. We can keep each other company.’
There was a sudden loud clatter as she dropped her cup into the saucer from a height and then tried to cover up her mistake by fiddling with the spoon. He watched, enjoying putting her on edge.
‘Don’t you have some kind of other plans?’ she said, not looking up, furiously stirring the remains of her coffee.
He leaned back against the lounger and took a sip of his own drink.
‘Nope. Dinner alone for me too. And I’d much prefer your company to my own.’ He waited and then added in extra encouragement . ‘It would be my treat of course.’ He paused. ‘Unless you want some time alone to – you know – get over things.’
That finally seemed to galvanise her into action. The implication that she was here to lick her wounds, that she might spend the evening crying into her pillow and enjoying the martyrdom of sitting alone in the sumptuous restaurant among the loved-up couples.
She put her coffee cup down on the table, no clatter this time, and sat back taking in the surroundings. A pause this long was not a good sign. Win some, lose some. Not that he ever lost out on a dinner date, or more, when he put his mind to it. For some reason the thought of missing out on this one brought a disappointed stab in his chest. Must be the thought of being stuck here overnight with no entertainment when he should be settling into his newly-finished luxury pad.
Then she looked at him, a tiny smile playing about her full lips, and his heart turned over softly.
‘Dinner is thrown into my booking,’ she said. ‘It’s a package deal. Spa treatments, dinner, bed and breakfast. So maybe you’d like to have dinner with me?’
He stared at her, momentarily wrong-footed. Had she really just counter-offered him on dinner? There was a hint of challenge in her eyes that made his mouth leech of moisture, as if he’d sunk his teeth into one of the hotel’s fluffy towels.
‘Sod the thrown-in dinner,’ he said. ‘You’ll get the package-deal dinner menu, nothing worth having. Have dinner with me and choose what you like.’
****
Izzy pawed through the contents of her overnight bag and laid out the only possibility on the bed.
If she’d known she’d be having dinner with male model material, she would have packed something a bit more alluring than the maxi skirt, top and cardigan. She’d planned on eating early to avoid any pitying stares, followed by a likely return to the spa with a stack of magazines. At least she’d packed matching underwear instead of any greying old cotton.
Not that her underwear should matter. Because this was just dinner – right?
She looked at her reflection in the scroll-edged upright mirror. Her hair had behaved itself for once, the unruly waves lying softly over one shoulder.
Did she really think a man like him, on his own for the night in a luxury hotel, would ask a girl he didn’t know to dinner with nothing more in mind than eating a meal? Her stomach gave a slow and delicious flip at the thought and she pressed her hands hard against it to make it stop. Rubbish. Why the hell was she reading any more into it than just dinner? And wasn’t it irrelevant anyway? What mattered was the alternative – sitting alone in the restaurant at a table for two surrounded by couples playing footsie.
Whether he expected something in return or not, she didn’t have to give it. She could have dinner with him, enjoy an evening of flirting and then walk away with her self-esteem happily boosted.
Unless she wanted more.
Item nine on her GET-OVER-THE-BASTARD LIST pranced through her mind. Don’t get even, get even better…
She sat down hard on the bed. Where had that come from? By the time they reached the end of compiling the list, she and Shauna had been pretty drunk. A one-night-stand had been added as more of a laugh than anything, because of course they both knew that Izzy Shaw didn’t do that kind of thing.
She shook her head lightly to clear it. Dinner didn’t have to lead anywhere. She was safe, dependable play-by-the-rules Izzy. Impetuous flings with strangers were not part of that remit.
Because of course that remit had really worked for her in the past. Not.
The fluttering in her stomach was back with a vengeance.
****
A tiny heart-shaped chocolate made up the centrepiece of each place setting in the candlelit dining room, soft piano played in the background and the set menu was a special romance-themed selection.
Oliver stared at the pink embossed menu, eyebrows raised.
‘Romantic Getaway Three Course Menu For Two…’ he read.
Her cheeks felt a little too warm and she didn’t look up. Instead she picked up her heart-shaped chocolate and dropped it into her purse. After a pause, she added his chocolate too. With no need to diet ever again, she could scoff them at leisure.
‘Like I said, it’s a package deal break. Dinner, bed and breakfast for one all-in price.’
Oliver beckoned the waiter and issued swift orders for a bottle of champagne and the standard menu while she tried to control the mad squiggling in her stomach.
‘Like I said, sod the knocked-down package break.’ The waiter returned and handed her the full restaurant menu. ‘Choose whatever you like.’
****
Oliver watched her as she tucked into the main course of roasted sea bass with celeriac and truffle with obvious enjoyment. She’d finished every bite of the starter, too. He liked her uninhibited delight in the food. And he liked her relaxed outfit. She wore her hair loose, and just a touch of makeup highlighted the grey-green eyes and long eyelashes. Her lips looked peachily softer than ever with a touch of gloss. He was used to high maintenance – glossy, manicured women who picked at their food and obsessed about their appearance. So used to it in fact that it had become the norm. Being with her was like eating a sharp sorbet after a very cloying main meal.
‘You said this place is convenient for work,’ she said, between mouthfuls. ‘What is it that you do?’
‘I’m a lawyer,’ he said. ‘I travel a lot, but I’m based in London. This hotel is close to my office.’
She frowned.
‘Why the need for a hotel then, if you live in the city? Don’t you keep a house here?’
He thought of his beautiful new house, supposed to be finished a week ago to a stunningly high spec. His irritation at the delay seemed to have dissipated a little in her company.
‘I have a house, bought it a few months ago, in Highgate.’
He didn’t miss the brief widening of her eyes. Highgate was one of the most exclusive and beautiful suburbs of the city.
‘Lucky you,’ she said.
‘I would be, if I could move into the damn place,’ he said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s been gutted and refurbished from scratch,’ he said. ‘The whole thing needed stripping back. So redecorating, floors laid, kitchen and bathroom installation, everything. I’ve been away because of work so I’ve missed the worst of the disruption. It was meant to be finished a week ago. That’s why I’m staying here, because my building team have overrun.’
‘Do you have a project manager?’
He shook his head.
‘I’m in control of it myself.’
‘That’s why it’s overrun then,’ she said. ‘It would be like me handing over the plans for a garden and just letting the project cruise along rudderless. Things just don’t get done sometimes if you’re not there to kick butt.’
The implication that the delay was down to him irked a little and he made himself ignore it. To be fair, she had a point. He might have total focused control over his work but leaving things to chance in any other area of his life was clearly also a bad move.
‘It should be finished in a day or two,’ he said. ‘And it’ll be great to have somewhere to stay that feels like home,’ he said. ‘When I’m in London at least.’
‘So you stay in hotels a lot then. For work?’
He thought he picked up a slight edge to her tone, but her face hadn’t changed.
He nodded.
‘I’m pretty good at living out of a suitcase. After a while it becomes second nature, luggage gets pared down, you start to use the same places in the same cities. It gets to be a way of life.’
‘Doesn’t it get lonely, being away like that?’
Something in that sentence touched him, and he paused for a moment to sip his drink and rationalise it. Loneliness was just a word. It meant focus and drive. It was a positive not a negative if you wanted success. And he could always find company if he wanted it, a non-committal brief encounter was easy to come by on the international hotel circuit.
‘It helps if you like your own company,’ he said. ‘Sometimes you come across the same work contacts. It varies. Sometimes you meet new people. It doesn’t have to be isolated if you don’t want it to be.’
She sat back a little in her seat, her gaze holding his, a hint of knowing in the grey-green eyes that he couldn’t fathom.
‘Like tonight, you mean. Like me.’
He nodded.
‘Yes. Room service or dinner with you. No contest.’
Her posture stiffened almost imperceptibly, as if some thought had occurred to her. The gaze didn’t waver and she tilted her chin as she looked at him, an almost judgemental look in her eyes. Then she looked down at her champagne flute and the moment was gone.
Izzy took a sip of her champagne. Serial hotel guest… lots of travel for work…doesn’t have to be isolated if you don’t want it to be.
She pushed her plate to one side.
Don’t get even. Get even better…
Curiosity needled at her. Hotels, girls, one-night-stands. Was this the way Joe had behaved when he was away supposedly working towards their future? Did he single out the best prospect and ask her to dinner? Was that how it had started? Was she seeing that dark mirror image of her own life?
She wanted, needed to see more. This had nothing to do with revenge, this was about understanding. For the first time she had a flash of the type of woman who inhabited Joe’s alternative fun life, that foil to herself – the type of woman who held things together at home. An image of her mother flashed unbidden into her mind, the person she’d vowed never to become. Fifties cupcake housewife living in the wrong decade. Izzy might have bucked that trend with her traditionally male-dominated work, but she’d fallen right into the same trap in her relationship.
This was her chance. Her opportunity to flout the rules and be the other woman for once instead of the homemaker. Exactly what was the fun she was missing out on? Her heart picked up speed in anticipation of where this thought process might lead.
‘It must be difficult to keep a relationship going when you’re travelling a lot,’ she said, keeping her voice carefully neutral.
Oliver finished his main course and pushed the plate to one side.
‘I imagine it would be,’ he said. ‘I don’t do them.’
She stared at him.
‘Not at all?’
‘Not in the long-term sense.’ He took a sip of his drink. ‘My work comes first, it always has. I need that focus and I can never predict the hours I’ll be working or where I’ll need to be. It wouldn’t be fair to drag another person along on that ride.’
Nothing detracted from the need for irreversible success, that aim which never quite felt within reach. Allowing a relationship to distract him from work would be unheard of, would go against every instinct he’d learned growing up.
‘Relationships are not all they are cracked up to be,’ he said.
She gave a rueful laugh.
‘I’ll drink to that.’ She raised her drink and he nodded and picked his own glass up in response.
‘Relationships, relationships,’ he said. ‘All that grief, all that input.’
‘It’s not a one-way street,’ she said. ‘You’re meant to get something back.’
‘Doesn’t sound like you did,’ he countered, but she didn’t reply, just met his gaze with her grey-green eyes.
‘Relationships sap the energy from what can be a perfect meeting of the physical,’ he said.
He watched carefully for her response to that and noticed her shift almost imperceptibly in her seat.
‘You mean a fling.’
He shrugged.
‘If you want to call it that. It’s perfectly simple. You’ve obviously been messed around by some idiot who’s treated you badly. Doesn’t sound remotely like fun to me. The way I play it, things never get beyond the fun stage. You never discover the loathsome habits. You never even make it to your first argument. I don’t have time to deal with any of that.’
‘You don’t even date?’ she clarified.
He shook his head.
‘Why let things get that far?’
A tiny smile touched the corner of her mouth and his pulse began to climb.
‘That’s very interesting,’ she said.
‘Is it?’
She toyed with her glass. As he watched the slender fingers slowly and rhythmically turning the stem of it, heat began to tingle low in his abdomen.
‘I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been feeling a bit low,’ she said. ‘The break up came out of the blue, smacked me between the eyes.’ She looked up. ‘It’s all fine though, I have a planned strategy.’ She gave him another smile.
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Charlotte Phillips
HarperImpulse Contemporary Romance Novella1 cheating ex, 3 bottles of white wine, an emergency pep talk from the girls… and this seemed like a good idea at the time:Izzy Shaw’s Getting-Over-Him Action List1. eBay his entire collection of football memorabilia and spend all profits on treating myself to fabulous new wardrobe.2. Turn plans for ‘Loved-Up Mini-Break’ at exclusive boutique hotel into a weekend of spa pampering, me-time and shopping at Harvey Nics.3. Don’t get even, get even better. Have one night stand with drop-dead gorgeous stranger – Mr Tall, Dark & Handsome in the hotel lobby is just what I need!Your room or mine? Go on Izzy…
Your Room or Mine?
Charlotte Phillips
A division of HarperCollinsPublishers
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
Contents
Copyright (#u744cb9fc-bb51-54a1-9a00-6f81307e903a)
Dedication (#u112e3494-c45e-5707-90de-521905f0bdd6)
CHAPTER 1 (#ueea513a9-fc70-5281-9ff9-f7d67bcf1c5d)
CHAPTER 2 (#ue2140323-9609-5c4a-aafc-749238d8f48c)
CHAPTER 3 (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 4 (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 5 (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 6 (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 7 (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Charlotte Phillips (#litres_trial_promo)
About HarperImpulse (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
HarperImpulse an imprint of
HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
77–85 Fulham Palace Road
Hammersmith, London W6 8JB
www.harpercollins.co.uk
First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2013
Copyright © Charlotte Phillips 2013
Cover Photographs © shutterstock.com
Charlotte Phillips asserts the moral right
to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is
available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction.
The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are
the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is
entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International
and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.
By payment of the required fees, you have been granted
the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access
and read the text of this e-book on screen.
No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted,
downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or
stored in or introduced into any information storage and
retrieval system, in any form or by any means,
whether electronic or mechanical, now known or
hereinafter invented, without the express
written permission of HarperCollins.
Ebook Edition © May 2013
ISBN: 9780007532032
Version 2014-09-30
Digital eFirst: Automatically produced by Atomik ePublisher from Easypress.
For Fran, who is always in my corner. With love and thanks.
CHAPTER 1 (#u0df0c08e-f41e-5d83-95de-c93b7cf7f7df)
Izzy Shaw glanced around the hotel lobby full of loved-up couples revelling in the sumptuous luxury and wondered in what universe she’d thought a night here by herself could succeed where ice-cream, wine and support sessions with the girls had failed.
To pass the time as she queued for check-in, and to strengthen her resolve, she mentally ran through the list she’d made of Joe’s faults, which according to her friend Shauna should be referred to at moments of weakness.
1) Leaves boxer shorts on the floor.
2) Watches more than one show at once on TV resulting in infuriating flicking of remote control.
3) Obsessive preoccupation with major football events plus outrageous cash outlay on season ticket.
4) Leaves toilet door open.
5) Has one night stands while supposedly working away.
Of course, that last one was the only one that really counted. She’d put up with all the others for three years, none of them had been deal breakers.
She reached down for the handle of her overnight bag and moved up two spaces in the line. The couple in front of her were so closely entwined together that she could hardly tell where one person stopped and the other began. As she watched the girl nuzzled into her partner’s neck and Izzy averted her eyes and stared at the glossy marble floor.
Urgh! Get a room!
She supposed that’s exactly what they were doing. Just as she would have been, in that parallel universe where Joe hadn’t let her down.
A few nights in the company of her friends in the wake of her discovery of Joe’s betrayal had certainly filled her with temporary bravado. Opting to take this night away herself as a pamper break instead of just cutting her losses and cancelling had seemed like a great idea when she was buoyed up by wine and chocolate and pep talks.
‘It’ll just be a waste of a good room if you don’t go,’ Shauna had insisted. ‘You won’t get the money back now. It’s luxurious, it’s expensive and best of all it’s got the perfect access for Selfridges and Harvey Nicks. An evening in the spa, a gourmet dinner and then you shop until you drop. You’ll be over him within 24 hours.’
The moment six months ago when she’d booked this place flashed into her mind. Just great. Because what she really needed right now was a flashback to a time when Joe had been everything to her. She gritted her teeth hard. This was her Reinvention Mini-Break, her Get-Strong Mini-Break. It was NOT the planned Izzy-and-Joe’s Surprise Romantic Mini-Break. Plans could change.
People could change too.
She reached the front of the line. She carried her bag to the Receptionist and forced a smile across the high marble counter.
‘I have a booking in the name of ‘Shaw’,’ she said.
The receptionist pressed buttons, nodded efficiently.
‘I have a table booked in the restaurant for tonight,’ the receptionist said. ‘And a His and Hers Spa Treatment.’
She’d forgotten about that. The lobby seemed suddenly too warm.
‘Can I change the Spa treatment?’ she said, trying to keep her voice as muted as possible. There was zero privacy at the crowded check-in desk. ‘Something a bit more…’ she groped for the right description and failed. ‘For one?’ she said.
The receptionist glanced up, clearly taking in the fact that she was alone. The warmth of a blush crept upwards from her neck. She might as well have stood on the counter and announced to the room that she was unexpectedly single.
‘I’m afraid the His-and-Hers Treatment is part of the Romantic Getaway Package,’ the receptionist said, not bothering to lower her voice. ‘I can cancel it of course, but I can’t swap it for anything else.’
Izzy stared at her.
‘Of course, you’re welcome to book additional treatments as you like, they will be charged individually. If you’d care to ring down to the Spa when you’ve checked in, they can give you a list.’
‘Fine,’ Izzy said. ‘Please can I just get checked in?’
‘And would you like me to cancel the His-and-Hers…’ she glanced at the screen ‘…Massage?’
‘Cancel it!’ Izzy snapped. ‘Just cancel it. Not a problem.’
She felt eyes upon her and glanced sideways. A few feet away a man was being checked in by the other receptionist. Standing out, like her, singleton among cosy couples. Thick dark hair, lightly tousled. Strong jaw. Dark suit so sharply cut it had to be crushingly expensive. Broad shoulders and a chiselled handsome face that had the receptionist fawning over him. Izzy registered the ghost of a smile on his lips as he looked at her, clearly listening in on every word.
Her heart, broken of course and so not working as it should, upped its pace in her chest because he really was gorgeous. In fact if her head, still channelling anger, hadn’t reminded her that Joe had used his nights away with work to bed random women, then her jaw might have hit the polished counter top as it dropped. Was this how he used to behave – eyeing up women at hotel receptions, picking the perfect candidate? She snapped her eyes away.
Think about the shopping, Izzy. Think about complimentary chocolates in the room with no need to worry anymore that they might go straight to your hips…
‘Would you like help with your luggage?’
‘No, thank you.’
She didn’t want help with her luggage or complimentary newspapers or to be stared at by other guests, especially drop-dead gorgeous ones with possibly dubious motives. She wanted to get to her room and pull herself together.
****
At last taking the keycard from the receptionist, she swung around, handbag hooked into one hand, holdall in the other, and crossed the lobby towards the stairs. A misjudged glance back, just a general glance of course, definitely NOT to see if Mr Dark-Tousled-Hair was still looking at her, and she somehow managed to catch her overstuffed holdall in the enormous plant stupidly located at the corner of the sweeping staircase. It promptly toppled off its ornate circular table and emptied itself onto the deep pile rug at her feet.
The buzz of noise in the lobby dropped a notch as people turned to look. Izzy’s face burned hotter than ever. What kind of moron had placed a plant there of all places?
Exasperated, she shoved her bags to one side and knelt down on the carpet to set about picking it up, feeling the eyes of everyone in the lobby burning into her back. Soil dusted her hands and collected beneath her fingernails.
A pair of hands appeared next to hers and helped her right the pot and ease the plant back into it. Big strong hands, a dark-stoned signet ring on the left little finger. Surely too expensive to belong to the scrawny concierge, who had looked about twelve. She glanced up, straight into the hazel eyes of the man from the check-in desk. His eyes crinkled softly at the corners as he smiled at her and her stomach gave a slow and traitorous backflip. She snapped her eyes back down to the black soil littering the carpet and rearranged her face into what she hoped was a neutral expression.
Scooping soil up between her hands, she thrust it back in the pot, pressing gently to reseat the plant. The schoolboy concierge joined them.
‘I’m really sorry,’ she told him. ‘I just caught it with my case and tipped it over.’
‘No problem, madam.’
‘It should be fine but still you might want to consider repotting it,’ she added automatically, the part of her that spent her entire working life around plants taking over. ‘It looks to me like it might be potbound – did you see there were mostly roots there rather than soil? And some of the leaves are turning yellow?’
The concierge stared at her as if she were an alien. Her shoulders sagged. Why was she bothering?
‘Sorry,’ she mumbled and grabbed her bags, leaving the remains of the mess behind her as she took the stairs.
She was a few steps up when she realised the man from check-in was keeping pace next to her.
‘Thanks,’ she said, because he was wearing a suit and still he hadn’t hesitated to get soil under his nails on her behalf.
‘You’re welcome,’ he said. ‘You obviously know your way around pot plants.’ His voice was deep and smooth. A voice that could draw you in.
‘Not literally, unfortunately,’ she said.
He smiled and she offered a polite smile back.
‘I’m a gardener,’ she said, turning at the first landing. He stayed alongside her.
‘Really? You don’t look like a gardener.’
‘What does a gardener look like?’
He shrugged.
‘Sweaty, old jeans, grimy hands, crack of butt on show.’
She laughed.
‘Yeah well, it is my day off,’ she said.
He smiled a delicious lop-sided smile that lifted the left corner of his mouth and crinkled the warm hazel eyes at the corners. A smile that had meaning beyond politeness.
Izzy looked away as her heart gave a skip of triumph, such a long-forgotten sensation that it nearly brought her to a standstill.
He was flirting with her.
When had she last flirted with anyone? Three years of pouring herself into work, building her business up from scratch. Joe doing the same, working all hours, both of them with their shared future in mind. A deposit on a house perhaps, a bit further down the line. The first cautious steps towards proper visible commitment. More than just that denoted by length of time.
Correction: what she’d thought was their shared future in mind.
Turned out putting in the hard work for Joe had been too much like…well, like hard work. Her heart froze again towards him, a cold hardening in her chest that made her throat contract and her eyes tingle.
She flashed a smile at the man walking next to her along the ornate galleried landing. Why not respond? What was there to stop her? It was so nice just to be found attractive – something that had been called into question deep inside her since she’d discovered Joe’s betrayal.
It hadn’t helped that she’d discovered the full horror of Joe’s infidelity after a particularly long hard day working on the McNulty garden. There had been soil in her unkempt hair, dirt under her fingernails and across one cheek, and Joe hadn’t missed the chance to build his defence on exactly that. Then again, did she think she might somehow have felt better about him playing away if she’d been dressed up to the nines with her hair and make-up done? Idiot. She was too work-obsessed, he’d said, she never made any effort to look good for him anymore, she’d stopped being fun. All comments designed to make him feel better about his behaviour by making her feel worse.
Human nature. That didn’t stop it from hurting.
And so a bit of harmless attention from a man who looked like an off-duty aftershave model with his open-necked white shirt, perfect suit, tousled hair and lop-sided smile was just the thing to kick off the Make-Izzy-Strong Reinvention Mini-Break.
‘I’m this way,’ she smiled at him, coming to a stop and tilting her chin at the sign on the wall listing room numbers. He inclined his head almost imperceptibly, the hazel eyes holding her own for just a beat too long. Her stomach, now awakened, wasn’t about to quit and gave a slow and delicious flip.
‘Oliver Forbes,’ he said, holding out his right hand. Easy for him, he had minimal luggage.
She looked from his hand to his face. The smile was still there. She shifted her case from one hand to the other and shook hands briefly with him.
‘Izzy,’ she said. ‘Thanks again for before.’
Oliver Forbes watched from the corner of his eye as she held her head high and lugged her own bags down the passage, key card poised in her hand.
Her unease in the lobby had been almost palpable, drawing in his attention until the rest of the bustle around him seemed to pale into the background. Her finger-drumming impatience at the bureaucracies of check-in, the blush of embarrassment as she cleared up after knocking the plant flying that managed to highlight her porcelain skin so prettily. She was clearly desperate to escape to her room.
He wasn’t usually given to noticing such detail.
Then again, he’d been knocked off-centre by the tedium of taking a hotel stay when what he’d wanted, what he’d expected was the work to have been finished on his new house in Highgate by the moment he chose to move into it. Turned out his travel and business commitments had lulled his supposedly impeccable team of contractors into a false sense of security over the urgency of the work. Not good enough. Heads would roll.
In the meantime, since he faced a few more days without his private refuge, a face like hers with its blush touching the smooth cheekbones and its tiny spray of golden freckles on her nose, was a welcome distraction.
Gardener? Really?
He took in her appearance as she walked away. Softly curving figure, long legs, healthy-looking rather than skinny. Honey coloured hair gathered loosely at the nape of her neck, touched gold at the ends by the sun. Lightly sun-kissed cheeks and nose beneath minimal make-up. No jewellery, no nail varnish, no accessories. Suddenly her stated profession seemed more plausible.
He wondered what she was doing, checking in alone to her booking for two. He’d barely registered anything his own receptionist had said, it had been far more interesting to listen to Izzy’s discomfort at check-in. Damsels in Distress – his particular weakness.
Because where there was fluster, there was always a way in.
****
Izzy slid the door key card into the slot and pushed the panelled door open, still enjoying the afterglow of his attention. The smile on her face faded on her lips as she leaned back against the closing door and drew in a long breath.
‘Oh hell,’ she muttered out loud.
So the Spa Treatment wasn’t an end to it. In the course of the joint brainwave with her friends to turn the intended surprise night away with Joe into a Get-Over-Him Mini-Break for herself, she had failed to remember that she’d booked the hotel’s Romantic Getaway Package for two.
It wasn’t called that for nothing.
Was there anything in this room that wasn’t his-and-hers? Her eyes took in matching white fluffy bathrobes and waffle slippers, two crystal flutes stood next to the complimentary champagne. And as she walked into the adjoining bathroom she was greeted by Jack-n-Jill sinks.
She stared at her own dismayed face in the ornate scrolled mirror above them. How the hell was she meant to stop thinking about Joe when this whole place was a made-for-two luxury nightmare that mocked her from every angle?
CHAPTER 2 (#u0df0c08e-f41e-5d83-95de-c93b7cf7f7df)
IZZY SHAW’S GET-OVER-THE-BASTARD ACTION LIST
1) Enlist friends for supportive esteem-building summit meetings.
2) Stock up on wine and ice cream and eat/drink without regard for calorie counting.
3) Calculate budget for Joe’s intended birthday and Christmas gifts and spend said amount on treating self to new clothes.
4) eBay his collection of football programmes and add profit to own treat-budget.
5) Make list of all Joe’s faults for reference at weak moments.
6) Block him on Facebook and delete all texts and messages from him before responding.
7) Book up girls’ nights out for the next couple of months.
8) Take a night away for me-time, pampering and contemplation.
9) Don’t get even, get even better. Have a no-strings one night stand.
Izzy leaned back against the smooth tiled wall and closed her eyes to soak up every ounce of relaxation that hot steam had to offer. Tension in her shoulders ingrained from the endless bending and stretching that came with her job slowly began to loosen its grip. It was early evening now and she had the basement pool area and steam room almost to herself as people drifted away to get ready to go out or have dinner. No rush for that. Her appetite hadn’t been up to much these last few weeks, she’d rather stay here a bit longer.
When door opened and Oliver Forbes climbed into the steam room, she took an unintentional deep breath, filling her lungs with steam and launching a spectacular coughing fit.
He stared at her through the hot mist, one hand on the door.
‘Are you OK?’ he asked doubtfully.
She turned away, her eyes and nose streaming, one hand plastered over her mouth, the other flapping at him.
‘Fine,’ she croaked in between hacking.
He sat down on the opposite bench and raised one foot. As she gradually got her cough under control she was grateful for the steam, which she hoped might hide her undoubtedly tomato-red face.
She offered his concerned expression an I’m-perfectly-alright smile and he nodded and closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the tiles. Hah! The perfect opportunity to steal a proper sneaky look at him in his dark blue swim shorts. He had the most toned abs she’d ever seen. Broad shoulders, lean and fit body, legs roped with muscle. His dark hair was damply tousled from the steam and he had a light tan. She imagined him on some extreme sports holiday abroad, leaping off a cliff in the sunshine.
He opened his eyes unexpectedly and she snapped her gaze away and examined her fingernails.
‘How’s the stay going?’ he asked. ‘Making good use of the spa?’
She knew just from his pointed tone of voice and the smile that lurked on his lips that he’d overheard at check-in.
‘Trying to,’ she said. ‘It’s all such a treat, especially the whirlpool bath and steam room. I get a lot of back pain in my job.’
She raised eyebrows at his cheeky grin.
‘What now?’
‘I was imagining you with a shovel.’
‘What can I say, I give good garden,’ she said. ‘What about you? Are you here for the leisure complex too?’
‘Not really,’ he said. ‘Not that the gym and spa aren’t a nice bonus. This is a bit of an unscheduled stay. It’s in a good location for me for work.’
‘How long are you staying?’
He shrugged.
‘As long as I need to.’
So he was clearly not on the budget break. Why was she even surprised? Everything about him oozed cash – the clothes he’d worn at check-in, the expensive leather overnight bag, the way he spoke.
‘You?’ he asked.
‘It’s a treat break,’ she said. ‘You know, one of those packages you can book. Dinner, bed and breakfast with use of the spa thrown in.’
He was looking at her politely and she supposed he’d never had to look for the deal price in his life.
‘So just the one night, ‘she added.
‘Better make it count, then,’ he said and the way he held her eyes a moment too long made it feel like he wasn’t just talking about the spa and the gourmet restaurant. Her stomach felt suddenly melty, not helped by the fact she was hitting the edge of her heat tolerance.
‘I am,’ she said. ‘I’ve tried out every facility in the spa, well, the free ones anyway, and I’ve still got dinner to go. Then tomorrow I hit the shops.’ She stood up. ‘I need to cool down. Excuse me.’
She stood eyes closed under the aromatherapy shower, letting it cool her skin, then walked around the pool to the lounger where she’d left her bag and towel. Oliver Forbes with his perfect body was still in the steam room. Instead of lying back on the towel she picked it up and automatically wrapped it around her. Confidence in the way she looked wasn’t her strong point right now. If Joe was washed up drowning on a beach she’d throw a bucket of water over him, but that didn’t diminish the little seeds of doubt he’d planted in her mind when he’d tried to shift some of the blame for his behaviour her way. OK so she knew she was carrying a few extra pounds, mainly around the hips, but she’d been so sure of Joe’s love she hadn’t given it a second thought before.
Oliver Forbes emerged from the steam room and stood under the shower. She watched as the water cascaded over his body, knowing she shouldn’t be staring but unable to tear her eyes away. Joe hadn’t been keen on exercise beyond playing a bit of football with his mates. What might it feel like to be with someone that fit? He grabbed a towel from a row of hooks, then skirted the pool and headed towards her.
‘You mind?’ he indicated the lounger next to her. There was a roomful of them to choose from and he wanted that one? Her heart gave a tiny skip.
She shrugged and he sat down, rubbing his hair with a corner of the towel.
‘Drink?’ he asked, reaching for the phone on the table between loungers.
She looked up at him. A drink? A flurry of excited butterflies zipped briefly through her stomach before common sense bashed them into submission. A drink did not mean he was hitting on her, and even if he was she couldn’t be less interested. Someone like him would never look twice at her, he was obviously just being polite.
Her own package deal danced through her mind. Outside its remit, you were practically charged for drawing breath in this place. Why not take him up on the drink, it meant nothing.
‘I’d love coffee,’ she said.
He gave the order over the phone and sat back.
‘I can’t remember the last time I went swimming,’ she said, pulling her own towel a little closer around her.
‘You don’t belong to a gym?’
That meant he did, presumably. Who was she kidding, of course he did. You didn’t get abs like that from sitting around watching TV. He clearly put in a lot of work.
She shook her head.
‘My working hours are long,’ she said. ‘Sometimes I’m so tired by the time I get home the last thing I’d want to do is more exercise.’
‘I thought your job was more about potting plants,’ he said, a grin touching his lips. ‘I didn’t realise it could be so physically demanding.’
She raised an eyebrow.
‘It’s not standing with a basket picking flowers,’ she said. ‘There’s a lot of heavy work involved. You have to be prepared to get your hands dirty.’
He reached across suddenly and paused, hand outstretched.
‘May I?’
She stared. What exactly was he playing at?
She watched in surprise as he took one of her hands in his, no impulse kicked in to pull it away despite the sudden hot feeling in her stomach. He uncurled her fingers to see the palm and turned her hand to see her fingernails.
‘This doesn’t look like the hand of a heavyweight gardener,’ he said.
She took her hand away and held both of them up.
‘Yeah well, it’s amazing what a bit of hand cream can do. Sometimes at the end of a working day they look like shovels.’
‘So gym, spa treatments and swimming is a welcome break then. Is this something you do often?’
Because she really looked like a gym bunny. Not.
‘Not often. I’m treating myself.’
‘And you prefer to do that alone?’
Her self-consciousness about staying here alone resurfaced and she squashed it back down.
‘It wasn’t supposed to be a solitary thing,’ she said.
‘No?’
For a moment she considered fobbing him off, but she was used to being the subject of gossip now. Why bother making up some story for someone she didn’t know and didn’t care about?
‘I booked the room for a romantic night away with my boyfriend.’ She looked him boldly in the eye. Nothing to be embarrassed about. ‘This hotel offers themed breaks – dinner, spa, breakfast, one price and it’s all included. Ex-boyfriend now,’ she added, pasting on an I-couldn’t-care-less smile, to prove she was absolutely fine with that.
‘You came alone on your own romantic night away?’ He sounded amused. ‘You didn’t cancel?’
She couldn’t blame him. It did sound a bit insane spoken out loud. She squared her shoulders.
‘It seemed a shame to waste it,’ she said. ‘It was a non-refundable payment. So I figured I’d turn it into a Reinvention Break instead.’
She mumbled the last part and he leaned in close enough for her to see the tiny droplets of water that still clung to his skin and hair. A light frown touched his eyebrows.
‘Reinvention? Of what?’
She looked straight at him. He was a total stranger, what the hell did she care what he thought?
‘Of me,’ she said.
Oliver leaned back in his lounger as their coffee arrived, watching her, all obstinate bravado protesting that she didn’t care.
‘Odd choice of word, ‘reinvention’’, he said, when the waiter had gone. ‘Implies that you need to change. Which in turn implies that you’re somehow responsible for whatever went wrong.’
‘I’m not!’ she snapped.
He looked at her over his coffee cup.
‘Call it something else then. Not reinvention. I haven’t seen anything about you yet that I’d change.’
As he heard her light intake of breath and saw a touch of blush rise high on her cheekbones, he wondered when she’d last received a compliment. Long-term complacent relationship? A breeding ground for lack of appreciation. All he had to do was take advantage of that.
There was something very appealing about her at close quarters. Put aside for a moment the fact that she was pretty, albeit in a dishevelled outdoorsy sort of way. There was an air of defiance about her that he liked. Whatever the ex-boyfriend had done, she wasn’t sitting at home crying into her pillow was she? She’d kicked him into touch and had turned her romantic break into a treat. He couldn’t help but admire that fighting spirit.
‘How about I call it my Freedom Break instead then,’ she said. ‘Shopping and spa relaxation. Just what I need.’
‘Perfect,’ he said. ‘And tonight?’
He held her gaze intently with his own. She didn’t drop her eyes. Encouraging.
‘A luxury meal in the restaurant,’ she said.
‘Alone?’
‘I’m quite happy with my own company.’
‘Understandable.’ He paused, then added in another compliment. ‘I like it too.’ He paused to gauge the effect and when she smiled softly he zoomed in.
‘How about having dinner with me? The place is full of couples. We can keep each other company.’
There was a sudden loud clatter as she dropped her cup into the saucer from a height and then tried to cover up her mistake by fiddling with the spoon. He watched, enjoying putting her on edge.
‘Don’t you have some kind of other plans?’ she said, not looking up, furiously stirring the remains of her coffee.
He leaned back against the lounger and took a sip of his own drink.
‘Nope. Dinner alone for me too. And I’d much prefer your company to my own.’ He waited and then added in extra encouragement . ‘It would be my treat of course.’ He paused. ‘Unless you want some time alone to – you know – get over things.’
That finally seemed to galvanise her into action. The implication that she was here to lick her wounds, that she might spend the evening crying into her pillow and enjoying the martyrdom of sitting alone in the sumptuous restaurant among the loved-up couples.
She put her coffee cup down on the table, no clatter this time, and sat back taking in the surroundings. A pause this long was not a good sign. Win some, lose some. Not that he ever lost out on a dinner date, or more, when he put his mind to it. For some reason the thought of missing out on this one brought a disappointed stab in his chest. Must be the thought of being stuck here overnight with no entertainment when he should be settling into his newly-finished luxury pad.
Then she looked at him, a tiny smile playing about her full lips, and his heart turned over softly.
‘Dinner is thrown into my booking,’ she said. ‘It’s a package deal. Spa treatments, dinner, bed and breakfast. So maybe you’d like to have dinner with me?’
He stared at her, momentarily wrong-footed. Had she really just counter-offered him on dinner? There was a hint of challenge in her eyes that made his mouth leech of moisture, as if he’d sunk his teeth into one of the hotel’s fluffy towels.
‘Sod the thrown-in dinner,’ he said. ‘You’ll get the package-deal dinner menu, nothing worth having. Have dinner with me and choose what you like.’
****
Izzy pawed through the contents of her overnight bag and laid out the only possibility on the bed.
If she’d known she’d be having dinner with male model material, she would have packed something a bit more alluring than the maxi skirt, top and cardigan. She’d planned on eating early to avoid any pitying stares, followed by a likely return to the spa with a stack of magazines. At least she’d packed matching underwear instead of any greying old cotton.
Not that her underwear should matter. Because this was just dinner – right?
She looked at her reflection in the scroll-edged upright mirror. Her hair had behaved itself for once, the unruly waves lying softly over one shoulder.
Did she really think a man like him, on his own for the night in a luxury hotel, would ask a girl he didn’t know to dinner with nothing more in mind than eating a meal? Her stomach gave a slow and delicious flip at the thought and she pressed her hands hard against it to make it stop. Rubbish. Why the hell was she reading any more into it than just dinner? And wasn’t it irrelevant anyway? What mattered was the alternative – sitting alone in the restaurant at a table for two surrounded by couples playing footsie.
Whether he expected something in return or not, she didn’t have to give it. She could have dinner with him, enjoy an evening of flirting and then walk away with her self-esteem happily boosted.
Unless she wanted more.
Item nine on her GET-OVER-THE-BASTARD LIST pranced through her mind. Don’t get even, get even better…
She sat down hard on the bed. Where had that come from? By the time they reached the end of compiling the list, she and Shauna had been pretty drunk. A one-night-stand had been added as more of a laugh than anything, because of course they both knew that Izzy Shaw didn’t do that kind of thing.
She shook her head lightly to clear it. Dinner didn’t have to lead anywhere. She was safe, dependable play-by-the-rules Izzy. Impetuous flings with strangers were not part of that remit.
Because of course that remit had really worked for her in the past. Not.
The fluttering in her stomach was back with a vengeance.
****
A tiny heart-shaped chocolate made up the centrepiece of each place setting in the candlelit dining room, soft piano played in the background and the set menu was a special romance-themed selection.
Oliver stared at the pink embossed menu, eyebrows raised.
‘Romantic Getaway Three Course Menu For Two…’ he read.
Her cheeks felt a little too warm and she didn’t look up. Instead she picked up her heart-shaped chocolate and dropped it into her purse. After a pause, she added his chocolate too. With no need to diet ever again, she could scoff them at leisure.
‘Like I said, it’s a package deal break. Dinner, bed and breakfast for one all-in price.’
Oliver beckoned the waiter and issued swift orders for a bottle of champagne and the standard menu while she tried to control the mad squiggling in her stomach.
‘Like I said, sod the knocked-down package break.’ The waiter returned and handed her the full restaurant menu. ‘Choose whatever you like.’
****
Oliver watched her as she tucked into the main course of roasted sea bass with celeriac and truffle with obvious enjoyment. She’d finished every bite of the starter, too. He liked her uninhibited delight in the food. And he liked her relaxed outfit. She wore her hair loose, and just a touch of makeup highlighted the grey-green eyes and long eyelashes. Her lips looked peachily softer than ever with a touch of gloss. He was used to high maintenance – glossy, manicured women who picked at their food and obsessed about their appearance. So used to it in fact that it had become the norm. Being with her was like eating a sharp sorbet after a very cloying main meal.
‘You said this place is convenient for work,’ she said, between mouthfuls. ‘What is it that you do?’
‘I’m a lawyer,’ he said. ‘I travel a lot, but I’m based in London. This hotel is close to my office.’
She frowned.
‘Why the need for a hotel then, if you live in the city? Don’t you keep a house here?’
He thought of his beautiful new house, supposed to be finished a week ago to a stunningly high spec. His irritation at the delay seemed to have dissipated a little in her company.
‘I have a house, bought it a few months ago, in Highgate.’
He didn’t miss the brief widening of her eyes. Highgate was one of the most exclusive and beautiful suburbs of the city.
‘Lucky you,’ she said.
‘I would be, if I could move into the damn place,’ he said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s been gutted and refurbished from scratch,’ he said. ‘The whole thing needed stripping back. So redecorating, floors laid, kitchen and bathroom installation, everything. I’ve been away because of work so I’ve missed the worst of the disruption. It was meant to be finished a week ago. That’s why I’m staying here, because my building team have overrun.’
‘Do you have a project manager?’
He shook his head.
‘I’m in control of it myself.’
‘That’s why it’s overrun then,’ she said. ‘It would be like me handing over the plans for a garden and just letting the project cruise along rudderless. Things just don’t get done sometimes if you’re not there to kick butt.’
The implication that the delay was down to him irked a little and he made himself ignore it. To be fair, she had a point. He might have total focused control over his work but leaving things to chance in any other area of his life was clearly also a bad move.
‘It should be finished in a day or two,’ he said. ‘And it’ll be great to have somewhere to stay that feels like home,’ he said. ‘When I’m in London at least.’
‘So you stay in hotels a lot then. For work?’
He thought he picked up a slight edge to her tone, but her face hadn’t changed.
He nodded.
‘I’m pretty good at living out of a suitcase. After a while it becomes second nature, luggage gets pared down, you start to use the same places in the same cities. It gets to be a way of life.’
‘Doesn’t it get lonely, being away like that?’
Something in that sentence touched him, and he paused for a moment to sip his drink and rationalise it. Loneliness was just a word. It meant focus and drive. It was a positive not a negative if you wanted success. And he could always find company if he wanted it, a non-committal brief encounter was easy to come by on the international hotel circuit.
‘It helps if you like your own company,’ he said. ‘Sometimes you come across the same work contacts. It varies. Sometimes you meet new people. It doesn’t have to be isolated if you don’t want it to be.’
She sat back a little in her seat, her gaze holding his, a hint of knowing in the grey-green eyes that he couldn’t fathom.
‘Like tonight, you mean. Like me.’
He nodded.
‘Yes. Room service or dinner with you. No contest.’
Her posture stiffened almost imperceptibly, as if some thought had occurred to her. The gaze didn’t waver and she tilted her chin as she looked at him, an almost judgemental look in her eyes. Then she looked down at her champagne flute and the moment was gone.
Izzy took a sip of her champagne. Serial hotel guest… lots of travel for work…doesn’t have to be isolated if you don’t want it to be.
She pushed her plate to one side.
Don’t get even. Get even better…
Curiosity needled at her. Hotels, girls, one-night-stands. Was this the way Joe had behaved when he was away supposedly working towards their future? Did he single out the best prospect and ask her to dinner? Was that how it had started? Was she seeing that dark mirror image of her own life?
She wanted, needed to see more. This had nothing to do with revenge, this was about understanding. For the first time she had a flash of the type of woman who inhabited Joe’s alternative fun life, that foil to herself – the type of woman who held things together at home. An image of her mother flashed unbidden into her mind, the person she’d vowed never to become. Fifties cupcake housewife living in the wrong decade. Izzy might have bucked that trend with her traditionally male-dominated work, but she’d fallen right into the same trap in her relationship.
This was her chance. Her opportunity to flout the rules and be the other woman for once instead of the homemaker. Exactly what was the fun she was missing out on? Her heart picked up speed in anticipation of where this thought process might lead.
‘It must be difficult to keep a relationship going when you’re travelling a lot,’ she said, keeping her voice carefully neutral.
Oliver finished his main course and pushed the plate to one side.
‘I imagine it would be,’ he said. ‘I don’t do them.’
She stared at him.
‘Not at all?’
‘Not in the long-term sense.’ He took a sip of his drink. ‘My work comes first, it always has. I need that focus and I can never predict the hours I’ll be working or where I’ll need to be. It wouldn’t be fair to drag another person along on that ride.’
Nothing detracted from the need for irreversible success, that aim which never quite felt within reach. Allowing a relationship to distract him from work would be unheard of, would go against every instinct he’d learned growing up.
‘Relationships are not all they are cracked up to be,’ he said.
She gave a rueful laugh.
‘I’ll drink to that.’ She raised her drink and he nodded and picked his own glass up in response.
‘Relationships, relationships,’ he said. ‘All that grief, all that input.’
‘It’s not a one-way street,’ she said. ‘You’re meant to get something back.’
‘Doesn’t sound like you did,’ he countered, but she didn’t reply, just met his gaze with her grey-green eyes.
‘Relationships sap the energy from what can be a perfect meeting of the physical,’ he said.
He watched carefully for her response to that and noticed her shift almost imperceptibly in her seat.
‘You mean a fling.’
He shrugged.
‘If you want to call it that. It’s perfectly simple. You’ve obviously been messed around by some idiot who’s treated you badly. Doesn’t sound remotely like fun to me. The way I play it, things never get beyond the fun stage. You never discover the loathsome habits. You never even make it to your first argument. I don’t have time to deal with any of that.’
‘You don’t even date?’ she clarified.
He shook his head.
‘Why let things get that far?’
A tiny smile touched the corner of her mouth and his pulse began to climb.
‘That’s very interesting,’ she said.
‘Is it?’
She toyed with her glass. As he watched the slender fingers slowly and rhythmically turning the stem of it, heat began to tingle low in his abdomen.
‘I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been feeling a bit low,’ she said. ‘The break up came out of the blue, smacked me between the eyes.’ She looked up. ‘It’s all fine though, I have a planned strategy.’ She gave him another smile.
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Charlotte Phillips
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 28.04.2024
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О книге: HarperImpulse Contemporary Romance Novella1 cheating ex, 3 bottles of white wine, an emergency pep talk from the girls… and this seemed like a good idea at the time:Izzy Shaw’s Getting-Over-Him Action List1. eBay his entire collection of football memorabilia and spend all profits on treating myself to fabulous new wardrobe.2. Turn plans for ‘Loved-Up Mini-Break’ at exclusive boutique hotel into a weekend of spa pampering, me-time and shopping at Harvey Nics.3. Don’t get even, get even better. Have one night stand with drop-dead gorgeous stranger – Mr Tall, Dark & Handsome in the hotel lobby is just what I need!Your room or mine? Go on Izzy…