That would be a hiccuping sniffle if the last twenty-four hours would be any indication.
She wandered over to the sign—and the two men standing behind it, next to an ice-filled cooler. “Two…deux bière, s'il vous plaît.”
They laughed, and one dug into the cooler while the other gave her a lazy wink. “You are American, yes?”
“Yes.” She blushed. “I’m sorry, my French is non-existent.”
“That’s okay. Our English is…very existent.”
“Oh, okay. Thank you.” She handed over her carefully counted out money. “Keep the change.”
He flashed her another bright white smile and handed her two bottles of lemonade as well. “For the car ride.”
“The car—?” Her question was cut off as Logan’s arm slid around her shoulders.
With his free hand, he was flipping the rental car keys flipping around his index finger.
She grinned. “Right. Hey, you. I got us some drinks.”
Logan kissed her gently on the temple. “Perfect.”
An unexpected warmth flooded through her. Yes, it was. Not at all what she expected to be doing today, but piling in a car with Logan, heading off on an adventure? She couldn’t think of a better silver lining to the storm of being left at the altar.
* * *
As they drove away from the airport, Logan felt Tori turn into a completely different woman beside him. The high-stress, high-maintenance bride fell away, piece by piece, and when they pulled up at the resort a half-hour later, it was his best friend who bounded out of the car and greeted the valet and the doorman with a cheerful smile.
He passed off the keys, then carried their suitcases through the lobby to the check-in desk.
“Welcome to Le Soleil de Miralinda, how may I help you?” the clerk asked in a light French accent.
“I’m Victoria Fletcher and this is Logan Dwyer. We have a reservation. I called about it yesterday.”
Logan had called, too. Privately. He’d given them his credit card number and asked them to give her whatever accommodations they could to make the change in plans more comfortable. The manager he’d spoken to had promised Ms. Fletcher would get a complimentary upgrade, and nobody would mention the H-word, she promised.
Now, the clerk nodded in acknowledgment to Tori’s introduction, and just as promised, didn’t say anything about the sudden change in the guest names or accommodations. “Yes, we have a two-bedroom suite ready for you, Ms. Fletcher.” He handed over a map and pointed out their rooms, which were actually in a standalone villa on the edge of the ocean.
Sweet upgrade.
“The restaurants are here, and here, and the bar is in this main building, just around the corner. It’s open until midnight each night, sometimes later, depending on how many guests are still awake. Breakfast is served to your rooms and included in your rate. The rest of the day is yours to do with as you wish. Our chefs are excellent, of course, but we can also recommend a number of smaller cafes in town if you’d prefer something more casual.”
Tori glanced at Logan, and he nodded. “Casual sounds good for tonight, anyway.”
The clerk gave them two recommendations, then handed over their room keys and they headed through the main building and stepped out into a luxuriously landscaped courtyard. In one direction a few larger buildings stood, and in the other, a series of villas. That’s where their rooms were. On the way, they passed a couple swimming pools. The party one with a swim-up bar, an infinity pool that overlooked the ocean and spilled down to another pool on a lower level. And just steps from their villa door, a sunken, secluded hot tub that made Logan think of late night drinks and lopsided smiles. Moonlight and damp strands of hair clinging to rosy cheeks.
“This place is fantastic,” Tori said, breaking into his suddenly inappropriate thoughts.
“Yeah,” he said, giving his head a shake. “Amazing.”
“We’ll have to try out that hot tub later,” she said as she slid her key into the lock.
Logan choked on a cough. “Mmm.”
“Not your thing?” She pushed the door open and gasped, saving him from answering the question. “Oh. My…Wow.”
Wow was right. The villa was small, but the view was out of this world. Full-length windows—no, full-length slider doors, he realized as they moved closer—led out to a verandah that overlooked a private-ish beach and the clearest turquoise water he’d ever laid eyes on.
And given how many private beaches he’d done an amphibious assault on, that was saying something. Although not being shot at definitely improved the view.
