A Bachelor At The Wedding

Just as often he had the impulse to send her packing, back to her regular job in operations. He knew by now that his attraction to her wasn’t wearing off as he’d expected. Quite the opposite. It was growing by the hour, building up speed and momentum. Like a boulder bouncing down a mountainside. Threatening to start an avalanche any minute now.

His regular assistant, Jerry Fields, was out on a medical leave and might not return to work for at least three months. Matt didn’t think he could last, working side by side with Stephanie all that time. After only a week, he was about to blow some crucial male fuse. Every time she gave him that small, inscrutable Mona Lisa smile, he had half a mind to jump her bones.

Impossible, of course. For one thing, he had an ironclad rule about romancing employees. He simply didn’t do it.

Stephanie Rossi was not the first to challenge his vow. Though no woman so far had ever tested his will-power as intensely. And she wasn’t even trying. But Matt was determined. He wouldn’t break down and give in. Not even for this girl, this very rare find. This dark-haired jewel.

Still, he couldn’t help watching her while she sat nearby, completely focused on her work, unaware of his secret scrutiny. Seated in an armchair across from his desk, her lovely features set in an expression of deep concentration, she reviewed a weekly summary of the hotel’s activity. He had a copy of the same report and should have been studying it, too. But his thoughts kept straying, his gaze kept wandering, feasting on the mere sight of her, though he could never get his fill.

He loved the color of her hair. In the late afternoon light that streamed through the large windows behind his desk, her smooth, dark mane was a rich shade of coffee, shimmering with red lights. So far, he’d only seen her wear it in this simple, conservative style, pulled back from her face and twisted in a loose knot just above her nape. A prim, professional look that suited her manner.

He imagined how it would look undone, falling down her back and across her shoulders in a silky cascade. How far would it reach? It looked quite long, rolled up in that complicated twist. It would certainly fall below her shoulders. Her bare shoulders, Matt decided. Her skin was flawless, smooth and fair, and the small pearl earrings she wore perfectly matched the radiant quality of her complexion.

His gaze slowly followed her profile, her high cheekbones, long, straight nose and wide, sensual mouth. Her thick lashes now shadowed her large dark eyes. Eyes that reflected warmth, intelligence and a touching innocence that Matt thought amazing to find in this city. A quality that unraveled him at times.

If it was true that eyes were the windows of the soul, then Stephanie Rossi possessed a beautiful spirit. Not that she was without a sense of humor. At times, she’d surprised him with her witty comebacks, sharp one-liners that effectively put him in line. Normally, he didn’t take any back talk from subordinates. But he did from her, her comments turning his moods into something more…reasonable.

She suddenly looked up at him, curiosity reflected in her shimmering gaze. A faint blush rose in her cheeks. She’d caught him looking at her and she felt self-conscious. He felt self-conscious, too. An unfamiliar reaction. He forced himself to maintain a blank expression.

“Looks like there’s been a small downturn in occupancy this week,” she said.

“Yes, I noticed.” He flipped a page on the report, not really aware of what he was reading.

She glanced at some notes she’d made in the margin of the page. “Gross receipts in room revenue and food service will be off about eight percent this week. But we should make up the difference quickly. There are two weddings booked for the weekend, big society affairs. We’ll have some overflow guests, I’m sure. And the International Association of Journalists is winding up their convention tonight with a banquet in the main ballroom. We’ve already scheduled extra staff at the front desk to get the conference attendees checked out quickly tomorrow.”

Matt nodded, his expression revealing neither approval nor disapproval. Secretly, he marveled at her ability to evaluate this thick package in moments. She also had a fantastic memory for detail. She knew what was happening on-site at any given moment and could anticipate the most improbable glitch. He already trusted her to watch over the daily events, freeing him to attend to larger issues.

Once again, Stephanie had it covered. Their meeting should be over. Yet, he couldn’t quite manage to excuse her. Once he did, she’d be gone. Out of his sight for two entire days. How would he distract himself for the entire weekend, waiting to see her again?

Oh, yes, he had a date. Scheduled to start later this evening, it would probably melt over into Saturday night as well, moving from the city to his house in East Hampton. Matt felt a muscle in his jaw tighten as he pretended to review the report once more. He tried to picture the woman he was presently dating—a stunning entertainment reporter, Jenna Malone. But he couldn’t quite keep the sexy blonde’s face in his mind’s eye….

He noticed Stephanie discreetly check her watch. It was almost six. Late to be kept working on a Friday night. Maybe she had a date, too? The thought of her rushing off to meet some boyfriend—some undeserving, immature punk, he was sure—irritated him. Though he knew he had no right whatsoever.

“Who’ll be on-site tonight for the conference banquet? Tom Daley?” he asked brusquely, naming the head of the banquet department.

“No, I don’t think Tom’s around tonight. His younger boy, Scott, is in a school play.”

Leave it to Stephanie to learn such a small, personal detail. He’d known Daley for five years and could hardly recall that the man had children. She not only knew the kid’s name, but probably knew the name of play and Scott’s role in it.

Matt ran his hand carelessly through his thick, dark hair. He rose abruptly from his chair and walked around to the front of his desk, where Stephanie sat. He sensed her watching him, waiting to see what he would do next. He sensed her tension. Yet she sat totally composed. She wasn’t afraid of him, he realized. She already knew his bark was worse than his bite. Especially where she was concerned.

“Well, someone ought to hang around tonight. Reporters are notorious gossips. We don’t want them bad-mouthing Harding Hotels from here to Timbuktu.”

“Good point. I’ll find someone from Food and Beverage to stand by.” She glanced at her watch again. “It’s late. I’d better get to work on that. Anything else?”

She suddenly rose from her seat and looked up at him. She was standing quite close. Too close for comfort.

He felt an almost overwhelming urge to reach up and touch her cheek, to pull her into his arms. He breathed in the scent she wore, light but spicy and intriguing, an essence that drew him even closer. She stared directly at him; her warm dark gaze made him forget what he was about to say.

He quickly moved away and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand.

“You should have thought of this banquet issue before, Stephanie. Now you face the problem of finding someone to cover at the last minute.”

She stood in the center of the room, standing very straight with her chin raised at an elegant, courageous tilt. She could take the heat; he’d grant her that. It wasn’t really her fault. It was Tom Daley’s. But of course, Stephanie didn’t shift the blame. She wasn’t the type.

“No problem. If I can’t find anyone from the banquet department, I’ll do it myself,” she said simply.

He pursed his lips. That wasn’t what he’d wanted at all, having her work late on a Friday night, cramping her social life…or was it? God, this woman was driving him crazy. And unlike so many others, she wasn’t even trying.

“It’s Friday night. I’m sure you have plans.”

He hadn’t meant to turn the conversation in a personal direction. The question had just slipped out. Her eyes widened in surprise.

“Yes, I do have plans,” she admitted, slowly, “but I suppose I can…rearrange them in order to stay a bit longer.”

Meet her boyfriend later, she meant. That image was even more vexing. He moved behind his desk and sat down hard in his chair. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“I don’t mind, really.”

Her gaze met his again and he felt his temperature rise. She felt it, too. He was sure of it. He could tell by the way she suddenly looked away and stared down at the carpeting, a faint flush rising on her cheeks. She had the face of a Renaissance beauty, a perfect image from a fifteenth-century masterpiece.

He swallowed hard. He had to get her out of his office. Immediately.

The beep of the intercom interrupted his thoughts. He pressed a button and curtly addressed his secretary. “Yes, what is it?”

“A call for Ms. Rossi, on line three. They said it’s an emergency.”

“For me?” Stephanie’s composed expression turned to alarm. “I can take it in my office.”

“No, go ahead—” he insisted. He handed over the phone receiver and pressed the blinking button on the console.

“Hello?” Stephanie greeted the caller. Her expression at first looked quite concerned, then within moments, relaxed and almost amused.

“Yes, Nana,” he heard her say. “No, it’s all right. He isn’t mad….” She glanced up at him, a small smile playing about her lips, as if they shared a private joke. He smiled back, feeling warm all over.

Stephanie finished the conversation quickly and handed back the phone. “Sorry about that.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Nothing serious.” He could see that she was trying hard not to smile, but finally she couldn’t help herself. “You don’t know my family. Their idea of an emergency is running out of sun-dried tomatoes. Or maybe if one of my sisters can’t make it out to Brooklyn for Sunday dinner.”

Matt laughed. He couldn’t help himself. “You have dinner together every Sunday?”

“More or less. You could set your watch by the antipasto platter. It hits the table at one forty-five, precisely. Right after my parents get back from twelve o’clock mass.”

She was making fun of her family, but she didn’t know what it was to grow up without any feelings of warmth and belonging. His fondest memories of mealtimes were sharing dinner with the servants, down in the kitchen.

“It sounds…very nice. Very traditional.”