marble-tiled foyer, where more flowers rioted from tubs and urns.
The reception desk was immediately ahead of her, but, glancing up, she saw that the second-floor rooms all opened onto a curving balcony that swept around the upper floor. The ceiling of the reception area was open to an airy atrium, and although there didn’t appear to be a lift a staircase hugged the outer wall.
A pretty West Indian girl was in charge of the reception desk, and as there were few people about at the moment she watched Rachel’s approach with a critical eye. Rachel doubted there was any aspect of her appearance that had gone unnoticed, but she was used to ignoring that kind of attention.
‘Hi, there, welcome to the Tamarisk,’ the girl said, her smile as practised as her manner. ‘You have a reservation, Ms—er—’
‘Claiborne,’ said Rachel pleasantly. ‘Yes, it was just made a few days ago.’
‘Of course.’
The girl’s voice had the slow, attractive drawl of the islands that Rachel had already noticed at the airport. And while she brought up Rachel’s booking on the computer, Rachel took the time to examine her surroundings more fully.
The hotel was small, it was true, but it was very attractive. Not least because of the white stone pillars that supported the balcony, and the airy brightness of its public rooms. There was a pleasant scent of spices and sweetness. The air outside had been close and humid, but here the layout of the foyer allowed a cross breeze that cooled her skin.
‘Here we are, Ms Claiborne.’
The girl—her name-tag read Rosa—had evidently found what she was looking for. Rescuing a pen from the drawer in front of her, she pushed a registration form towards Rachel.
‘If you just fill this in,’ she said, her dark eyes assessing. ‘Then I’ll get Toby to show you to your room.’
‘Thanks.’
Rachel rested the backpack she’d carried instead of a handbag on the counter and picked up the pen. This part was familiar to her. She’d stayed in plenty of hotels before, albeit not in such exotic surroundings. She couldn’t suppress a momentary twinge of excitement. Whatever else, this was an experience she wouldn’t forget.
She was checking to see that she’d supplied all the necessary information when she became aware of a sudden quickening in the air. Someone else had entered the foyer, and judging by the way the receptionist straightened her spine and adjusted her cleavage it was someone she wanted to impress.
A man, then, thought Rachel cynically. She doubted Rosa would make such an effort for a member of her own sex. Unable to resist, she peeked beneath her arm and saw tan loafers and taut muscular calves clad in black denim.
Definitely a man, she conceded, straightening. Women were such clichés. Didn’t they realise their reactions were so obvious to a man?
‘Hi, Matt.’
Matt!
Was that a coincidence? Rachel couldn’t help herself. She swung round to see who had garnered so much excitement in the building. And found herself confronted by a tall dark man, with a lean muscular frame and broad shoulders.
She supposed he was attractive in a hard athletic sort of way. She was trying to be detached about it, but for once it wasn’t easy. The short-sleeved black shirt that matched his pants was coming loose from his waistband in places. So sexy. And she could see the dusky tattoo of some predatory winged beast etched around his upper arm.
He was olive-skinned and clean-shaven, although she doubted he would ever be able to erase the dark shadow on his jawline. His hair was thick and straight, and just a little too long for her liking. But he evidently ticked all the boxes so far as Rosa was concerned.
‘Hey, Mr Brody’s been phoning here all day, looking for you,’ she said, her expression undeniably seductive. ‘He’s definitely on your case. I’d give him a ring, if I was you.’
‘Would you, now?’
Rachel’s stomach plunged. Despite being convinced now that this was the man she was looking for, his voice caused a primal leap of her senses. It was deep, dark, like black molasses soaked in treacle. Well, that was probably a contradiction, but she couldn’t deny its sensual appeal.
Which bothered her quite a bit. She wasn’t used to having this kind of response to a man—any man. And if this was the man her mother had apparently flown out here to meet, it was all the more disturbing.
But it couldn’t be this man. Surely. He had to be at least ten years younger than Sara Claiborne and a sexy hunk besides. If he was, and her mother had succeeded in attracting his attention, she couldn’t help acknowledging that Ralph Claiborne simply wasn’t in his league.
She wondered what he was doing here. Was her mother staying here, too? At this hotel? She could hardly ask him. She simply wasn’t capable of making such a leap. No, somehow she was going to have to get to know this man. Would it be beyond her capabilities to gain his trust?
Her lips compressed resignedly.
Probably.
Chapter Two
THE man had noticed her now.
Well, he could hardly help it, she supposed, seeing as how she was standing staring at him as if she’d never seen a man before. And because of this she felt hot colour filling her cheeks. Although she turned quickly back to the desk, she was sure he must have seen it.
Rosa was completing her reservation with one eye on what she was doing and the other on the man who was approaching the desk. She pulled open another drawer and extracted a small folder containing a key card. Then, picking up the bell beside her, she gave it a peremptory ring.
‘Are you checking in?’
Rachel started. The molasses-dark voice was speaking to her now, and she swallowed convulsively before turning in his direction.
‘I—oh, yes.’ What it had to do with him she couldn’t imagine, but she wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. She licked her lips. ‘Are you?’
His smile was wide, but faintly ironic, and the explanation was clear when Rosa piped up again.
‘Mr Brody owns the hotel,’ she said, her voice full of amused disdain. Then, as a young West Indian man appeared, she held out the key card towards him. ‘Toby, will show you to your room, Ms Claiborne.’ Another practised smile. ‘I hope you enjoy your stay.’
‘Claiborne?’
Before Rachel could move away, the man—Matt Brody—spoke. He’d come to stand beside her at the reception desk, and she was suddenly aware of the heat of his body and the clean male scent of his skin. He was taller than she was, easily six feet three or four, she estimated, and it was quite a novelty to meet a man who made her feel small.
But what was more unsettling was the fact that she was so aware of him. Of every little thing about him, actually, and that was definitely a new experience for her. A new experience, and one she didn’t quite know how to handle. She’d never considered herself odd in any way because she was still a virgin at thirty. But suddenly the ramifications of her inexperience were beating a frantic path to her door.
But she wasn’t here to learn about her own inadequacies, she chided herself. Or to observe his appearance—she drew the line at ‘admire’—she added, as he crossed his arms over his midriff and regarded her with keen, assessing eyes. Green eyes, she saw, not dark as she’d first imagined, with long straight lashes that any woman would have died for.
‘Your name’s Claiborne?’
He repeated the question, and Rachel had to drag her eyes away from his fascinating tattoo to acknowledge his enquiry. ‘Um—that’s right,’ she said. And then, with more daring than she’d given herself credit for, ‘Does the name mean something to you?’
He