Page 31 of Christmas at Sturcombe Bay
“That takes a whole evening?”
“It takes as long as I want it to take.”
“Well, it’s very nice hair, so I guess it can take as long as it takes. Okay then, Wednesday?”
She rolled her eyes. “You don’t give up, do you?”
“I told you, I’m known for my persistence.”
She sighed. “Okay, if it’ll shut you up. Make it Thursday.”
“Good decision. I’ll pick you up at seven.” He winked, and sauntered away.
Jess shook her head in exasperation as she watched him stroll out of the front door, the set of his wide shoulders conveying pure arrogance. Dammit, why had she agreed to have dinner with him? He was exactly the type she didn’t wantanything to do with, but it seemed that she had some kind of stupid addiction to good-looking, arrogant men.
Somehow she was going to have to find a way to wean herself off them. Though letting Paul Channing wheedle her into agreeing to a date probably wasn’t the best way to go about it.
For a few moments she turned her attention back to the computer, noting that an elderly couple were due to arrive tomorrow. A note attached to the booking told her that they were another couple like Mr and Mrs Wright, regulars who had been coming for years to celebrate their anniversary, having spent their honeymoon here.
She loved that about this place, that little personal touch. Housekeeping would put fresh roses in their room, and there would be a complementary bottle of champagne with their dinner.
She glanced up as a man came through the front doors, then frowned slightly — he wasn’t their usual type of guest. Apparently on his own, he was wearing a smart charcoal-grey business suit, highly polished shoes and a pristine white shirt with a dark-blue striped tie.
It was hard to guess his age; she’d peg him at maybe around his middle forties. His hair was closely trimmed with not a hint of curl. Everything about him — including the slim leather briefcase he carried — proclaimed him to be a high-powered businessman. But what business could bring him here to sleepy Sturcombe?
He paused halfway across the hall and looked around as if wondering how he had found himself in a place which was probably not up to his usual standards.
Jess pinned a professional smile in place. “Good morning, sir. How can I help you?”
“I’d like a room.” His voice was crisp, no-nonsense.
“Certainly, sir. How long will you be staying?”
“Just one night.”
“That’s fine.” She clicked on the computer. “May I have your name?”
“Forsythe.”
“Thank you, Mr Forsythe. Room 11 is on the first floor, just at the top of the stairs, opposite the lift. Do you have any luggage?”
“Just one bag.”
“Would you like to have the porter take it up for you?”
“Yes, please.”
Ah, the first ‘please’ she’d got from him. She rang the bell for Eric the porter, and handed over his key card. “Have a pleasant stay.”
“What time is dinner served?”
“From six o’clock.”
He nodded briskly and took the key card. Jess watched him as he crossed the hall and climbed the stairs. For some reason she felt an uncomfortable sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach.
She didn’t think his arrival was going to bring good news.
Chapter Nine
