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The concierge stared at her as if she were an alien. Her shoulders sagged. Why was she bothering?
‘Sorry,’ she mumbled and grabbed her bags, leaving the remains of the mess behind her as she took the stairs.
She was a few steps up when she realised the man from check-in was keeping pace next to her.
‘Thanks,’ she said, because he was wearing a suit and still he hadn’t hesitated to get soil under his nails on her behalf.
‘You’re welcome,’ he said. ‘You obviously know your way around pot plants.’ His voice was deep and smooth. A voice that could draw you in.
‘Not literally, unfortunately,’ she said.
He smiled and she offered a polite smile back.
‘I’m a gardener,’ she said, turning at the first landing. He stayed alongside her.
‘Really? You don’t look like a gardener.’
‘What does a gardener look like?’
He shrugged.
‘Sweaty, old jeans, grimy hands, crack of butt on show.’
She laughed.
‘Yeah well, it is my day off,’ she said.
He smiled a delicious lop-sided smile that lifted the left corner of his mouth and crinkled the warm hazel eyes at the corners. A smile that had meaning beyond politeness.
Izzy looked away as her heart gave a skip of triumph, such a long-forgotten sensation that it nearly brought her to a standstill.
He was flirting with her.
When had she last flirted with anyone? Three years of pouring herself into work, building her business up from scratch. Joe doing the same, working all hours, both of them with their shared future in mind. A deposit on a house perhaps, a bit further down the line. The first cautious steps towards proper visible commitment. More than just that denoted by length of time.
Correction: what she’d thought was their shared future in mind.
Turned out putting in the hard work for Joe had been too much like…well, like hard work. Her heart froze again towards him, a cold hardening in her chest that made her throat contract and her eyes tingle.
She flashed a smile at the man walking next to her along the ornate galleried landing. Why not respond? What was there to stop her? It was so nice just to be found attractive – something that had been called into question deep inside her since she’d discovered Joe’s betrayal.
It hadn’t helped that she’d discovered the full horror of Joe’s infidelity after a particularly long hard day working on the McNulty garden. There had been soil in her unkempt hair, dirt under her fingernails and across one cheek, and Joe hadn’t missed the chance to build his defence on exactly that. Then again, did she think she might somehow have felt better about him playing away if she’d been dressed up to the nines with her hair and make-up done? Idiot. She was too work-obsessed, he’d said, she never made any effort to look good for him anymore, she’d stopped being fun. All comments designed to make him feel better about his behaviour by making her feel worse.
Human nature. That didn’t stop it from hurting.
And so a bit of harmless attention from a man who looked like an off-duty aftershave model with his open-necked white shirt, perfect suit, tousled hair and lop-sided smile was just the thing to kick off the Make-Izzy-Strong Reinvention Mini-Break.
‘I’m this way,’ she smiled at him, coming to a stop and tilting her chin at the sign on the wall listing room numbers. He inclined his head almost imperceptibly, the hazel eyes holding her own for just a beat too long. Her stomach, now awakened, wasn’t about to quit and gave a slow and delicious flip.
‘Oliver Forbes,’ he said, holding out his right hand. Easy for him, he had minimal luggage.
She looked from his hand to his face. The smile was still there. She shifted her case from one hand to the other and shook hands briefly with him.
‘Izzy,’ she said. ‘Thanks again for before.’
Oliver Forbes watched from the corner of his eye as she held her head high and lugged her own bags down the passage, key card poised in her hand.
Her unease in the lobby had been almost palpable, drawing in his attention until the rest of the bustle around him seemed to pale into the background. Her finger-drumming impatience at the bureaucracies of check-in, the blush of embarrassment as she cleared up after knocking the plant flying that managed to highlight her porcelain skin so prettily. She was clearly desperate to escape to her room.
He wasn’t usually given to noticing such detail.
Then again, he’d been knocked off-centre by the tedium of taking a hotel stay when what he’d wanted, what he’d expected was the work to have been finished on his new house in Highgate by the moment he chose to move into it. Turned out his travel and business commitments had lulled his supposedly impeccable team of contractors into a false sense of security over the urgency of the work. Not good enough. Heads would roll.
In the meantime, since he faced a few more days without his private refuge, a face like hers with its blush touching the smooth cheekbones and its tiny spray of golden freckles on her nose, was a welcome distraction.
Gardener? Really?
He took in her appearance as she walked away. Softly curving figure, long legs, healthy-looking rather than skinny. Honey coloured hair gathered loosely at the nape of her neck, touched gold at the ends by the sun. Lightly sun-kissed cheeks and nose beneath minimal make-up. No jewellery, no nail varnish, no accessories. Suddenly her stated profession seemed more plausible.
He wondered what she was doing, checking in alone to her booking for two. He’d barely registered anything his own receptionist had said, it had been far more interesting to listen to Izzy’s discomfort at check-in. Damsels in Distress – his particular weakness.
Because where there was fluster, there was always a way in.
****
Izzy slid the door key card into the slot and pushed the panelled door open, still enjoying the afterglow of his attention. The smile on her face faded on her lips as she leaned back against the closing door and drew in a long breath.
‘Oh hell,’ she muttered out loud.
So the Spa Treatment wasn’t an end to it. In the course of the joint brainwave with her friends to turn the intended surprise night away with Joe into a Get-Over-Him Mini-Break for herself, she had failed to remember that she’d booked the hotel’s Romantic Getaway Package for two.
It wasn’t called that for nothing.
Was there anything in this room that wasn’t his-and-hers? Her eyes took in matching white fluffy bathrobes and waffle slippers, two crystal flutes stood next to the complimentary champagne. And as she walked into the adjoining bathroom she was greeted by Jack-n-Jill sinks.
She stared at her own dismayed face in the ornate scrolled mirror above them. How the hell was she meant to stop thinking about Joe when this whole place was a made-for-two luxury nightmare that mocked her from every angle?
CHAPTER 2 (#u0df0c08e-f41e-5d83-95de-c93b7cf7f7df)
IZZY SHAW’S GET-OVER-THE-BASTARD ACTION LIST
1) Enlist friends for supportive esteem-building summit meetings.
2) Stock up on wine and ice cream and eat/drink without regard for calorie counting.
3) Calculate budget for Joe’s intended birthday and Christmas gifts and spend said amount on treating self to new clothes.
4) eBay his collection of football programmes and add profit to own treat-budget.
5) Make list of all Joe’s faults for reference at weak moments.
6) Block him on Facebook and delete all texts and messages from him before responding.
7) Book up girls’ nights out for the next couple of months.
8) Take a night away for me-time, pampering and contemplation.
9) Don’t get even, get even better. Have a no-strings one night stand.
Izzy leaned back against the smooth tiled wall and closed her eyes to soak up every ounce of relaxation that hot steam had to offer. Tension in her shoulders ingrained from the endless bending and stretching that came with her job slowly began to loosen its grip. It was early evening now and she had the basement pool area and steam room almost to herself as people drifted away to get ready to go out or have dinner. No rush for that. Her appetite hadn’t been up to much these last few weeks, she’d rather stay here a bit longer.
When door opened and Oliver Forbes climbed into the steam room, she took an unintentional deep breath, filling her lungs with steam and launching a spectacular coughing fit.
He stared at her through the hot mist, one hand on the door.
‘Are you OK?’ he asked doubtfully.
She turned away, her eyes and nose streaming, one hand plastered over her mouth, the other flapping at him.
‘Fine,’ she croaked in between hacking.
He sat down on the opposite bench and raised one foot. As she gradually got her cough under control she was grateful for the steam, which she hoped might hide her undoubtedly tomato-red face.
She offered his concerned expression an I’m-perfectly-alright smile and he nodded and closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the tiles. Hah! The perfect opportunity to steal a proper sneaky look at him in his dark blue swim shorts. He had the most toned abs she’d ever seen. Broad shoulders, lean and fit body, legs roped with muscle. His dark hair was damply tousled from the steam and he had a light tan. She imagined him on some extreme sports holiday abroad, leaping off a cliff in the sunshine.
He opened his eyes unexpectedly and she snapped her gaze away and examined her fingernails.
‘How’s the stay going?’ he asked. ‘Making good use of the spa?’
She knew just from his pointed tone of voice and the smile that lurked on his lips that he’d overheard at check-in.
‘Trying to,’ she said. ‘It’s all such a treat, especially the whirlpool bath and steam room. I get a lot of back pain in my job.’
She raised eyebrows at his cheeky grin.
‘What now?’
‘I was imagining you with a shovel.’
‘What can I say, I give good garden,’ she said. ‘What about you? Are you here for the leisure complex too?’
‘Not really,’ he said. ‘Not that the gym and spa aren’t a nice bonus. This is a bit of an unscheduled stay. It’s in a good location for me for work.’
‘How long are you staying?’
He shrugged.
‘As long as I need to.’
So he was clearly not on the budget break. Why was she even surprised? Everything about him oozed cash – the clothes he’d worn at check-in, the expensive leather overnight bag, the way he spoke.
‘You?’ he asked.
‘It’s a treat break,’ she said. ‘You know, one of those packages you can book. Dinner, bed and breakfast with use of the spa thrown in.’
He was looking at her politely and she supposed he’d never had to look for the deal price in his life.
‘So just the one night, ‘she added.
‘Better make it count, then,’ he said and the way he held her eyes a moment too long made it feel like he wasn’t just talking about the spa and the gourmet restaurant. Her stomach felt suddenly melty, not helped by the fact she was hitting the edge of her heat tolerance.
‘I am,’ she said. ‘I’ve tried out every facility in the spa, well, the free ones anyway, and I’ve still got dinner to go. Then tomorrow I hit the shops.’ She stood up. ‘I need to cool down. Excuse me.’
She stood eyes closed under the aromatherapy shower, letting it cool her skin, then walked around the pool to the lounger where she’d left her bag and towel. Oliver Forbes with his perfect body was still in the steam room. Instead of lying back on the towel she picked it up and automatically wrapped it around her. Confidence in the way she looked wasn’t her strong point right now. If Joe was washed up drowning on a beach she’d throw a bucket of water over him, but that didn’t diminish the little seeds of doubt he’d planted in her mind when he’d tried to shift some of the blame for his behaviour her way. OK so she knew she was carrying a few extra pounds, mainly around the hips, but she’d been so sure of Joe’s love she hadn’t given it a second thought before.
Oliver Forbes emerged from the steam room and stood under the shower. She watched as the water cascaded over his body, knowing she shouldn’t be staring but unable to tear her eyes away. Joe hadn’t been keen on exercise beyond playing a bit of football with his mates. What might it feel like to be with someone that fit? He grabbed a towel from a row of hooks, then skirted the pool and headed towards her.
‘You mind?’ he indicated the lounger next to her. There was a roomful of them to choose from and he wanted that one? Her heart gave a tiny skip.
She shrugged and he sat down, rubbing his hair with a corner of the towel.
‘Drink?’ he asked, reaching for the phone on the table between loungers.
She looked up at him. A drink? A flurry of excited butterflies zipped briefly through her stomach before common sense bashed them into submission. A drink did not mean he was hitting on her, and even if he was she couldn’t be less interested. Someone like him would never look twice at her, he was obviously just being polite.
Her own package deal danced through her mind. Outside its remit, you were practically charged for drawing breath in this place. Why not take him up on the drink, it meant nothing.
‘I’d love coffee,’ she said.
He gave the order over the phone and sat back.
‘I can’t remember the last time I went swimming,’ she said, pulling her own towel a little closer around her.
‘You don’t belong to a gym?’
That meant he did, presumably. Who was she kidding, of course he did. You didn’t get abs like that from sitting around watching TV. He clearly put in a lot of work.
She shook her head.
‘My working hours are long,’ she said. ‘Sometimes I’m so tired by the time I get home the last thing I’d want to do is more exercise.’
‘I thought your job was more about potting plants,’ he said, a grin touching his lips. ‘I didn’t realise it could be so physically demanding.’
She raised an eyebrow.
‘It’s not standing with a basket picking flowers,’ she said. ‘There’s a lot of heavy work involved. You have to be prepared to get your hands dirty.’
He reached across suddenly and paused, hand outstretched.
