Stranded with the Tycoon. Sophie Pembroke
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letting the conference staff take charge of her hotel booking. She really should have known better. Take responsibility. Take control. Words to live by, her grandfather had always said. Shame she was the only one in the family to listen.
As if to echo the thought, her phone buzzed in her pocket. Luce sighed as she reached in to dig it out, knowing without looking that it would be Tom. ‘And there are absolutely no free rooms in the hotel tonight?’ she asked the blonde, figuring it was worth one more shot. ‘Even the suites are booked?’ She could make the university reimburse her. They wanted her here at the conference—the least they could do was give her a decent room for the night.
‘Everything. Every room is booked. It’s Christmas, in case you hadn’t noticed. And now, if I can’t be of any further assistance...’ The blonde looked over Luce’s shoulder.
Glancing back herself, Luce saw a growing queue of people waiting to check in. Well, they were just going to have to wait. She wasn’t going to be intimidated by this fancy hotel with its marble floors, elegant golden Christmas tree, chandeliers and impatient businessmen. She’d had one hell of a day, and she was taking responsibility for making it better. ‘Actually, perhaps you could check if any of the other local hotels have a free room. Since you’ve lost my reservation.’
‘We haven’t—’ the blonde started, but Luce cut her off with a look. She sighed. ‘I’ll just check.’
While the blonde motioned to her colleague to come and assist with the check-in queue, Luce slid a finger across the touch screen of her phone to check her messages. Three texts and a voicemail. All in the last twenty minutes, while she’d been arguing with the receptionist. A light day, really.
She scrolled to the first text while the disgruntled businessman behind her checked in at the next computer. It was from Tom, of course.
Has Mum spoken to you about Christmas Eve? Can you do it?
Christmas Eve? Luce frowned. That meant the voicemail was probably from her mother, changing their festive plans for the sixth time that month.
The next text was from her sister Dolly.
Looking forward to Xmas Eve—especially chocolate pots!
That didn’t bode well. Christmas Day was planned and sorted and all due for delivery from the local supermarket on the twenty-third—apart from the turkey, which was safely stored in her freezer. Christmas Eve, however—that was a whole different proposition.
The final text was Tom again.
Mum says we have a go! Fantastic. See you then.
Luce sighed. Whatever Mum’s new plan was, apparently it was a done deal. ‘You’re the responsible one, Lucinda,’ her grandfather had always said. ‘The rest of them couldn’t take care of themselves for a minute out there in the real world. You and I know that. Which is why you’re going to have to do it for them.’
Apparently they needed looking after again. With a Christmas Eve dinner. And chocolate puddings. Presumably in addition to the three-course dinner she’d be expected to produce the following day. Perfect.
Luce clicked the phone off as the blonde came back. The voicemail from her mother, hopefully explaining everything, could wait until Luce had a bed for the night.
‘I’m sorry,’ the blonde said, without a hint of apology in her voice. ‘There’s some history conference in town, and with all the Christmas shoppers as well I’m afraid the local accommodation has been booked up for months.’
Of course it has, Luce wanted to say. I’m here for the damn conference. I booked my room months ago. I’ve just spent all morning discussing how to bring history into the future. I deserve a room.
But instead she clenched her jaw while she thought her way out of the problem.
‘Right, then,’ she said after a moment. ‘I’m going to go and sit over there and try calling some places myself.’ She motioned to the bar at the side of the lobby, where discreet twinkling fairy lights beckoned. This day would definitely be better with a gin and tonic. ‘In the meantime, if you have any cancellations, I’d appreciate it if you’d book the room under my name.’
‘Of course.’ The blonde nodded, but her tone said, You’ll be lucky.
Sighing, Luce turned away from the desk, only to find her path to a G&T barred by a broad chest in an expensive shirt. A nice chest. A wide, warm chest. The sort of chest you could bury your face in and forget about your day and let the owner of the chest solve your problems instead.
Not that she needed a man to fix her problems, of course. She was perfectly capable of doing that herself, thank you.
But it would be nice if one offered, just once.
Raising her gaze, she saw that the chest was topped by an almost unbelievably good-looking face. Dark hair brushed back from tanned skin. Golden-brown eyes that glowed above an amused mouth. A small scar marring his left eyebrow.
Hang on. That scar was familiar. She knew this man. And she should probably stop staring.
‘Is there a problem with your reservation, madam?’ he asked, and Luce blinked.
‘Um, only that it doesn’t seem to exist.’ She glanced back at the reception desk to discover that the blonde, rather than assisting the next guest in the queue, was practically hanging over the counter to get in on their conversation.
‘Daisy?’ The man raised his scarred eyebrow at the blonde.
Luce definitely recognised that expression. But from where? A conference? A lecture? Somebody’s ex? Hell, maybe even from TV? One of those reality shows about real life in a hotel? Except Luce didn’t usually have time to watch such programmes. But the subconscious was a funny thing. Maybe his image had been imprinted on her brain, somehow, in eerie preparation for this moment.
‘There’s no reservation in her name, sir, and the hotel’s fully booked tonight. I tried the usual places, of course, but everyone’s booked out.’
For the first time Daisy sounded helpful and efficient. Obviously this guy was someone who mattered. Or Daisy had a huge crush on him. Or, most likely, both. After all, Luce could tell from the way he stood—feet apart, just enough to anchor him firmly to the earth—that this was a man used to the world bending around him rather than the other way round. And really, even with the scar—especially with the scar, actually—what young, healthy, straight woman wouldn’t feel a certain ping of attraction to him?
Except Luce, of course. She had too many bigger things to worry about to waste time on attraction. Like where she was going to sleep that night. And who the hell he was.
Luce frowned. So annoying. Normally she was good at this stuff. Of course the man hadn’t given any indication that he recognised her, so maybe she was wrong. Or just less memorable than he was.
Suddenly Luce was rather glad she couldn’t put her finger on his identity. How much more embarrassing would it be to have to explain to him how he knew her while he stared at her blankly? Much better to get this whole interaction over with quickly. She’d probably figure out where she knew him from when she was on the train back to Cardiff on Thursday morning, by which time it wouldn’t matter anyway.
‘What about the King James Suite?’ he asked.
Luce was amused to see Daisy actually blush.
‘Well, I didn’t think... I mean...’