“Well, darn.” She glanced wistfully toward the flowers. “I’m dying to know who her admirer is.”
“Merrilee doesn’t have any ideas?”
“Not a clue.” Danielle hugged herself. “It’s so romantic.”
That it was, and a tiny kernel of jealousy sat like a stone in her stomach. Harold respected and desired her, but there wasn’t any romance—no romantic gestures, no soft words that made her melt.
Of course, the truth was she didn’t want those things. A romance needed two participants, and while she respected Harold—and even loved him in a friendly sort of way—she couldn’t fathom getting all mushy about him.
But with Michael…well,thatshe could imagine just fine.
The thought came unbidden, and she cringed. The man had managed to work his way under her skin. She hadn’t expected that, not while she’d been sitting in her brightly lit office in Dallas arranging the vacation. She shivered. She hadn’t expected it at all.
“Will you let me know if you figure out who the man was?” Danielle asked.
She nodded absently. “Sure. Yeah. No problem.”
“Did you want to talk to me? Or leave a note for Merrilee?”
“A note?” She frowned. “No. No thanks. I’m…I’ll figure it out.”
Danielle smiled, then went to a cabinet on the far side of the room, opened the wood paneled doors, and pulled out a cell phone. She passed it to Kyra. “Here.”
“What’s this for?”
“Intimate Fantasy doesn’t have phones in the guest rooms. So we check these out to guests from time to time.” She shrugged. “You don’t have to use it. It’s just that a lot of folks feel better after talking their fantasy through with a friend. It’s not unusual at all. We have more people phoning a friend than the contestants onWho Wants To Be A Millionaire?”
Kyra nibbled on her lip, staring at the phone in the palm of her hand. The only one she could call was Mona, and Kyra knew exactly what her friend would say:You turned down a wild night with a quintessential fantasy man? Are you nuts?
No, Mona wouldn’t be any help at all. But instead of giving the phone back, she surprised herself by tucking it into her tote bag. “Thanks.”
“No problem. And Kyra,” Danielle added, “remember what Merrilee says. Fantasies aren’t a science. In the end, your fantasy is what you make it.”
