Christmas at the Cove. Rachel Brimble
push the door when it swung abruptly open. Upon sight of the woman’s long blond hair and hourglass figure trussed up in a fur-collared winter coat, he stepped back and waved his hand to the side in a theatrical gesture of gallantry. She barely glanced at him as she continued to coo and chatter into the cell phone glued to her ear, but he saw enough of her pretty features to cause his entire body to freeze and his grin to vanish.
Her soft floral scent whispered beneath his nostrils and her mumbled “thank you” seeped into his ears, burrowing deep into his mind. She hurried away along the street. Scott stared after her, his heart a granite rock in the center of his chest. That hair. That figure.
He swallowed. The short length of her coat showcased stocking-covered, shapely calves that he’d never forgotten. He couldn’t be mistaken. It was her.
He released his held breath and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. Not now. Not after all this time...
THE CHRISTIE HOTEL was wonderfully, quintessentially English. As a lifelong lover of all things Agatha Christie, Carrie had fallen in love the moment she walked into the Art Deco lobby earlier that evening. Unable to resist her producer’s habit of people-watching, she’d happily taken the key from the receptionist, dumped her case—after a little squeal of nostalgic satisfaction at the bedroom’s decor—and hurried back downstairs.
Now, as she stood in the hotel’s lobby, she released her held breath on an appreciative sigh. A gorgeous ruby-red carpet stretched out in front of her, leading to the closed beveled-glass, creamy-white doors of the bar at the far end. On either side of her, dual chairs were placed around low tables where people sat and chatted over a glass of wine or brandy. Plinths holding huge floral cascades of every imaginable color boosted the décor, the gilded mirrors reflecting the light in prisms around the vast space.
When her gaze travelled the height and breadth of the gloriously lit Christmas tree in the very center of the lobby, all thoughts of the dreaded task of tracking down Scott momentarily vanished. As she wandered closer, Carrie delighted in the exquisite 1930s ornaments and trinkets overflowing from its branches. She smiled, wishing for a sleek satin evening gown, and strolled toward the bar.
Despite being a habitual single-bottle-of-beer kind of girl, tonight she’d order a dry martini, just for the hell of it.
She slid onto a vacant barstool. The bartender, dressed in a black tuxedo, white dress shirt and bow tie, was young, good-looking and currently serving an elderly couple at the end of the bar. Carrie couldn’t wipe her smile as she stared around the room. The subtle light emanating from old-fashioned lanterns cast the intimate space in a soft amber glow; the dark wood paneling, bar and stools added warmth and security. The open-topped, pristine-white piano in the far corner was the cherry to her visual cake. Heavenly.
“Can I help you, ma’am?”
The bartender’s gaze darted in quick time from her face to the V of her sweater, but Carrie shook off the threat of annoyance, determined to wallow in the beauty surrounding her awhile longer. She forced a friendly smile. “Hi. Could I have a dry martini, please?”
His green eyes glinted with flirtation. “Coming right up.”
While he mixed her drink, Carrie swiveled around on her seat, her imagination on perpetual overdrive. Each and every person relaxing in the bar served as a potential character in a future TV project.
“One martini, as requested.”
She dragged her gaze from a man nearing eighty, and the woman on his arm who looked barely out of college, to face the bartender. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He grinned and the glint in his eyes grew brighter.
Carrie lifted the elegant cocktail glass and took a delicate sip. “Mmm...that’s lovely. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. So...” He planted his hands on the bar and leaned closer. “Are you in the Cove visiting family for the holidays?”
She slowly replaced her glass on its coaster as wariness skittered over her skin. The less people knew about her, the easier her escape from Templeton would be. She cleared her throat and concentrated on the olive in her drink. “I’m hoping to catch up with an acquaintance. I don’t plan on being here for Christmas.”
“I see.”
She met his eyes and he lifted an eyebrow, his intense gaze roaming over her face. “Does this acquaintance know you’re here?”
She shook her head. “It’s a surprise.”
“A man, by any chance?”
Is that really any of your business? Carrie nodded. “Uh-huh.”
Disappointment flickered across his face. “Damn, that’s my hopes dashed, then.”
Carrie laughed and wiggled her left hand, showing him her wedding band, hoping the bartender would change the subject. No such luck.
“Ah, okay. Is the person you’re visiting anyone I might know?”
The lighter tone of his voice indicated his cooling flirtation as he wandered a few feet away and took some discarded glasses from the bar to stack in the washer. Feeling suddenly indecisive, Carrie studied his profile as he concentrated on his task. Her intention had been to spend an hour soaking up the nostalgic atmosphere and then head to bed so she was as refreshed as possible in the morning to start her task of finding Scott. However, putting out feelers on who he was today could prove useful.
Deciding this was too good an opportunity to waste, she sipped her drink and contemplated her next move. She guessed the bartender to be in his early twenties, probably five or six years younger than Scott. The likelihood they hung out in the same bar or place was highly probable. She hesitated. Of course, there could be trouble if the bartender saw Scott before Carrie did. Scott’s knowing she was in town and asking questions about him could easily start things off on completely the wrong foot.
She inhaled a long breath and took a leap of faith. “His name’s Scott.”
“Scott who?”
“Walker.”
Interest piqued in his gaze and he gave a slow, knowing smile. “Right.”
A flash of irritation rippled through her and Carrie quickly quashed it. How could she get mad at the implication she was a woman chasing after a past lover if in reality that’s exactly what she was? She lowered her glass. “Do you know him?”
He slammed the washer door and flicked a switch. The muted rush of running water flowed between them. He smiled and stood directly in front of her. “You know, there isn’t a woman this side of Templeton who doesn’t keep tabs on Scott. You’ll have to fight to get to the front of the queue. Not that I’ve known the guy to ever get involved with a married woman.”
Carrie glared. “And neither would I have an affair.”
The barman at least had the decency to blush. “Right. Sorry.”
“I assume you’re telling me our mutual friend likes the ladies...as long as they’re single, right?”
He grinned. “I think it’s more of a case of the ladies liking Scott, but the guy’s only human and he doesn’t turn down a good time.”
Carrie fought a scowl as her stomach knotted with unmistakable disappointment. So Scott was the man she really hoped he wouldn’t be...a man who loved them and left them. A man who most likely hadn’t lingered over their week together as she had. How could she have thought anything other than sex was on his mind during the passionate, frenzied, entirely erotic time they spent together? How could she have been so stupid to even contemplate the possibility there could have been more between them?
She swallowed. “How well do you know him?”
He