the fine crystal into the restaurant. It had begun to empty out, but a number of patrons lingered over drinks to enjoy the Old World atmosphere.
Alice Potter was leaning forward on stiff arms as she gazed out the window at the twinkle of the patio lights and the dark sky beyond. She looked up with surprise when Kyle set the champagne flute in front of her.
“Miss Potter,” he said. “Your first night here deserves to be toasted with champagne. May I join you?”
Her fingers fluttered to her hair, worn shoulder-length in a rather shapeless brown bob. “Of course. But could we go outside to the patio? I was just thinking that I’d like to sit under the stars.”
He picked up the flutes. “Lead the way.”
She rose, hesitant as she reached for her handbag. “I haven’t paid the—”
“It’s taken care of.”
“Oh. Thank you. Thank you so much.” She seemed uncertain about accepting. “I suppose you can do that, charge it to the house, when you are the house.”
“Yes,” he said slowly. So she knew who he was. “Although I’m not really the house. Merely the overseer.” He caught the handle of the patio door with two fingers just as she reached for it, too. Their fingertips pressed.
She yanked her hand away. A waiter stepped in, holding the door open and smoothly relieving Kyle of the glasses.
There was an open table at the periphery, where sage and lavender swayed in the breeze. Kyle held out a chair for Alice.
She glanced at him with a shy smile as he seated himself. “You’re so mannerly.”
“I learned to be,” he admitted. “That’s not how I grew up.”
“Oh?”
He shrugged off her questioning look, not willing to go there. “You’re a long way from home.”
She sipped her champagne, quite the lady herself. “That’s the idea.” She turned her head toward the cooling breeze rolling in off the mountains. “I wanted to be as far away as I could manage. In an unfamiliar place.”
“You’ve never been to the Southwest before?”
“Not since a high-school class trip to Mazatlán. I haven’t been very adventurous. But I’m going to make up for that.” She made a face, and he liked her wry honesty, even the humility.
“During dinner,” she continued, “I was working on a list.”
His interest deepened. “May I see it?”
“Oh, no, it’s embarrassing.”
“Come on,” he coaxed.
Her cheeks were pink, her eyes large and velvety dark, dominating her oval face. She was almost pretty. “It’s nothing. Only a standard list of things to do and places to go while I’m here.”
“Then it can’t be embarrassing.”
“That depends. You don’t think it’s embarrassing for a thirty-four-year-old woman to admit that she has about as much experience as a potted plant?”
Kyle grinned. “I doubt that’s true.”
She returned the grin, erasing every trace of exhaustion and sadness from her expression. “Nearly.”
He wanted to touch her. Instead, he put his elbows on the table and folded his hands against his chin, holding her gaze while he dug a thumbnail into his bottom lip. “Read me something off the list.”
After a moment, she looked away, blushing even more. “I’ll find an innocuous item.” She pulled the pocket notebook from her bag and flipped the pages where her scrawled handwriting looped.
She saw him peeking and shielded the list from view. She cleared her throat. “Here’s one—see a rattlesnake.”
He raised his eyebrows. “At least you don’t want to pet it.”
“It’s silly, I know. But I’ve never seen a rattlesnake. We don’t have them in Maine.”
“What else is on the list?”
“Get a picture taken with a saguaro cactus,” she read. “That’s not very exciting, is it?”
“Don’t pet the cactus, either.”
She rolled her eyes, but her shoulders relaxed and she took another drink of champagne. Pages turned. “Hmm.” Her smile was almost flirtatious. “I can cross off this one.” She searched in her purse for a pen.
“What is it?”
She clicked the pen. “Drinks on the patio with a handsome stranger.”
“You’re making that up.”
“No, really. See?” She held up the book, showing him the line she’d drawn through number fourteen.
“I was number fourteen?”
“Well after the rattlesnake.” Her eyes met his. “I was working up to the really good ones.”
Warmth seeped into his face. He was glad he’d already loosened his tie. “What’s number fifteen? Maybe we can knock that one off, too.”
She turned the page. “Meet a cowboy.”
Kyle frowned. “Your fantasies aren’t very evolved.”
“That kinda feels like an insult, but I know what you mean.” She laughed. “I suppose I’m a slow starter. Except, well, they’re not fantasies, are they? Fantasies are…”
“Kiss a cowboy?” he suggested, knowing he shouldn’t. Her face turned even redder and she thrust the notebook back into her purse. He’d thought a drink with Alice Potter would be harmless, a mild conversation about resort amenities and the weather forecast. He’d thought he was doing it to make her feel better.
Not to make himself feel human.
Human? Try feeling like a man.
She was not a stunner, not sophisticated or smooth. Nothing like Jenna. But she was clever and gentle. She brought out his protective instincts.
“Why did you come here?” he asked. “This resort, specifically.”
She was concentrating on her champagne, taking tiny sip after tiny sip. “Is this a customer survey?”
“Curiosity. You’re different from our usual guest.”
Her head came up. “Meaning I’m not seventy years old and wealthy?”
“And you’re…single. We’re not known as a singles resort, even though I’ve tried to expand our market.” He was striving to sound professional, which had never been a problem before.
“It’s not a spectacular story,” Alice said. “I just needed to get away from home. One day I was surfing the Internet, looking for interesting places I’d never been to, when I landed on a site that specializes in vacation-home exchanges. Long story short, I swapped two weeks with a condo owner. He’s staying at my cottage in Maine.” She toyed with the stem of her glass, her head bent to one side so her neck was exposed.
Kyle’s eyes lingered. “I see. So you’re in one of the condos.” Master of stating the obvious.
No wonder she’d made the seventy-year-old comment. The Prince Montez chain had plunged into the thriving vacation-condo market as an adjunct to their luxury resort hotels. While the condos were technically under Kyle’s command, that wasn’t an area where he needed to spend a lot of his time. Other than the occasional turnover of ownership or HOA—Home Owner’s Association—tussle, their management was a matter of maintaining the status quo.
“I don’t get over to the condos very often,” he said.
That meant