The Mighty Quinns: Rogan. Kate Hoffmann
Читать онлайн книгу.
Claudia prided herself on her ability to anticipate problems and deal with them before they turned into disasters. To him, she must look like an incompetent boob. “I hope this delay won’t cause too many problems with the itinerary.”
“I think, from now on, we need to keep the itinerary as flexible as possible.”
“But everything is planned. I want to make efficient use of our—”
He reached out and pressed a finger to her lips. “Loose. Easy. Go with the flow. I’ve got it all covered. Trust me.”
Claudia nodded silently. She wasn’t known for her flexibility. Every last minute of her day, her week, her life, was planned. She didn’t do anything unless it appeared in her date book. But she wasn’t beyond experiencing something new, moving out of her own comfort zone. Maybe this trip could be a learning experience for her as well as her clients.
They walked together to the baggage claim carousel and found her patients huddled in a group, deep in discussion. When they saw Claudia, they quickly pulled apart, shooting her nervous looks. Emma stepped forward, squaring her shoulders as she prepared to speak. “We’re tired and we’re hungry,” she said. She glanced around at her compatriots and then all nodded their agreement. “We want to go to a hotel and we want separate rooms.”
“And room service,” Eddie Findlay, Claudia’s agoraphobe, whispered. “I’m not eating in a public restaurant.”
“I’ll need a ground-floor room,” Leticia Macullum added. “If there’s a fire, I won’t be jumping from any windows.
“No lifts me for me,” Millie Zastrow added. “And I have to have a large room. With big windows. That open.”
“But, Millie, I thought we’d conquered your fear of lifts,” Claudia said. “Remember our coping mechanism? The counting game?”
“No lifts,” Millie insisted, crossing her arms in front of her.
“I’m sure we can accommodate all your requests,” Rogan said in a genial tone. “Let’s gather up your luggage. I’ll just go fetch the van and we’ll be off.”
Emma smiled in triumph. “Good. We’re all very exhausted from the trip.”
“Do you know how long it’s been since the establishment was fumigated? I—I have a problem with insects.”
Rogan turned to Marshall Block. “I’m not sure. But I’ll ask when we arrive.”
Claudia stood back and watched as Rogan got them all moving toward the exit. She knew he was an experienced guide. That was why she’d requested him. But she hadn’t expected him to be so patient and understanding. He seemed to sense the mood of the group and adjust his tone accordingly. Surprisingly, the entire group fell into line behind him.
Rogan only had to address a few of their concerns about the service record of his van before he managed to get everyone safely inside. As they drove to the hotel, Claudia studied his profile in the darkened interior. His rugged good looks would cause any red-blooded woman’s gaze to linger a bit longer.
His dark hair was shaggy and thick and she decided the only grooming he gave it was a quick comb-through with his fingers. His deep tan set off perfect teeth and eyes that were as blue as the sky on a clear day. Though she preferred a smooth-shaven man, the stubble did give him a rugged appearance. But it was his smile, so warm and engaging, that she found so attractive.
She let her gaze drift lower and made a careful catalog of his other physical attributes. He was tall and lanky, but she suspected that beneath the casual clothes, he had a beautiful body. Not soft and pale, like most of the academics she’d dated, but hard and muscled, like a man who spent most of his time in harsh conditions.
No one spoke on the way to the hotel, and the ride was mercifully short. When they got out of the van, Rogan helped carry the baggage inside, then gathered them all at the reception desk. “Let’s meet here at noon tomorrow. I’ll leave you all to get brekkie on your own. Just put it on your room tab and it will be covered for you.”
“What are we going to do tomorrow?” Leticia asked in a timid voice.
“I haven’t quite worked that out yet,” he said. “But it won’t involve any airplane flights.”
That seemed to bring a chorus of relieved sighs. Claudia cleared her throat and said to her patients, “Why don’t we plan on getting together for a group session tomorrow morning at eleven? We should discuss what happened today and—”
“I think it would be better if we left today in the past and started fresh in the morning,” Rogan interrupted. “No use dwelling on it. It’s important to keep moving forward.”
Claudia bit back a gasp. It was terribly presumptuous of him to countermand her authority at such an early point in the trip. But it would be unprofessional to make an issue out of it in front of the others. “Perhaps that would be best,” she said.
She didn’t want to start an argument now; she’d take Rogan aside later and quietly inform him of his error.
Her mind flashed an image of the two of them alone, but it wasn’t a congenial meeting of minds that she imagined. To her shock, the scene was intimate, the lights dimmed, the mood relaxed. Claudia shook herself out of the brief fantasy and looked over at Rogan, only to find him staring at her.
“Yes, we’ll meet in the lobby at noon,” she said. Her clients all nodded in agreement, then lined up to check in to their rooms. “I’ll leave you to take care of the details,” she said to Rogan.
She grabbed her bag and headed toward the comfortable sofas, but at the last moment she made a detour toward the hotel bar. Though she’d never been much of a drinker, right now she needed something to bolster her spirits. This trip would be the biggest challenge of her career. But it could also be her greatest success. It could open doors and position her as a new voice with a fresh approach. She could imagine any number of universities interested in her groundbreaking work—maybe even a few outside Australia.
And yet, here she was, ready to give it all up and get on a plane back to Sydney, with or without her group. If she really wanted this to work, she’d have to gather her resolve and fight through the frustrations. Besides, she couldn’t help but be a bit curious as to what Rogan Quinn might have planned for them all. Even if she didn’t have much confidence in her plan right now, he seemed to think it would work.
“Trust the expert,” she murmured to herself. After all, she’d put her career in his hands.
* * *
HE FOUND HER sitting in the bar at the hotel, nursing a martini with two olives. Rogan hadn’t paid much attention when Claudia had wandered off. But once he’d gotten all her patients checked in to their rooms, carried Leticia’s luggage up the stairs to her second-floor room and devised an escape route for her in case of fire, he’d realized that Claudia hadn’t yet checked in.
Rogan sat down on the stool beside her. “Whiskey,” he murmured to the bartender. “Neat.”
Claudia glanced over at him, her eyes bleary. It looked as if she’d been “venting” again, but her cheeks weren’t damp and her nose wasn’t red. Even now, completely exhausted and most likely drunk, she was beautiful—and probably completely unaware of it.
Her dark hair, constrained earlier by a neat clip, now fell in waves around her face, and her lipstick was smudged. She wore a tailored blazer and a white blouse that now seemed a bit wilted.
“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” she asked, reaching for her nearly empty glass.
“I was going to ask you the same thing. You look like hell.”
She held up her glass in a mock toast, then drained the tiny bit of vodka in the bottom. Then she popped the two olives into her mouth and considered his statement. “Great. Then I feel as good as I look.” Frowning, she held out her glass to the bartender and he dutifully prepared another and slid it across