Nothing but the Best Page 2

  Sooner than she would have wanted, he was back by her window. "The jack is back in its bracket and I put the old tire in the wel but you should get it fixed right away. This is bad country to be driving around in without a spare."

  "Of course." Cil a hesitated, wanting to be more forthcoming and knowing it wasn't smart. "You've been unbelievably nice. How can I thank you?"

  He shrugged. "Don't worry about it. I'm happy I was here to help." His eyes locked on hers and the seconds stretched out. "So, anyway, you're al set," he said final y, as though he real y wanted to say something else. "You okay to drive? Do you want me to fol ow you for a while?"

  "Um…" she said helplessly. Offering money seemed tacky. What she real y wanted was to see him again, but she knew nothing about him, not who he was, not where he was going. You've done well so far, she told herself. Don't screw up.

  As though he were reading her thoughts, he smiled faintly. "The way I look at it, what goes around comes around. It's your turn next. Keep an eye out and when you get a chance to do something good for someone, do it." He looked in her lap. "And you might want to put the tire iron back in your trunk after I leave."

  He gave her a wave and walked back to his car. The last thing she saw was the red of his tail ights fading slowly into the gathering darkness.

  * * *

  "CHECKING IN, name of Rand Mitchel ." Rand slid his credit card on the marble counter. A blond desk clerk, made up to within an inch of her life, beamed at him. "Welcome to the Carrington Palms Hot Springs Resort, sir. And how are you this evening?"

  Considering he was going on his twenty-fifth hour without sleep, not too bad, Rand thought. "A little jetlagged, but otherwise okay." Milan suddenly seemed a long time ago, but not very far away. With its curved marble archways and pil ars, and cool tile on the floor, the lobby of the resort would have fit right in in Italy. To one side, an archway led into the vast glass-roofed central atrium of the resort, with its fountains and flora. If you didn't look up too high, you'd think you were outdoors, with the minivil as in the courtyard, the French doors and balconies up on the wal .

  "Wel , you've come to the right place if you want to relax," the clerk told him. "We've got a world-class golf course designed by Jack Nicklaus and ten outdoor mineral hot springs for you to relax in when you're done. And, of course, Palm Springs is only another half hour up the highway, if you want to get out and see the sights."

  He'd already seen the best the desert had to offer, Rand reflected, flashing on the stranded motorist he'd stopped to help. He'd glimpsed her fighting with the tire as he'd driven past. Tired as he'd been, he couldn't help thinking about his mother or one of his sisters stuck on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. Once he'd done that, stopping to help was a no-brainer.

  Then he'd walked up and seen her triangular, tilty-eyed face, looking out at him from her absurd little roadster like a fox peeking out of a thicket. And suddenly being the chivalrous gent hadn't seemed like a hardship at al . The only thing that had been a hardship had been making himself drive away.

  He shook his head faintly. Rand Mitchel liked women. A lot. He liked the way they looked, the way they felt, the way they thought, their sometimes quirky behavior and insecurities. He dated the same way he played in a local basketbal league before he'd moved to Europe—with casual enjoyment, adeptness and no particular commitment. Serious wasn't for him; it never had been.

  Done deal, he reminded himself as the clerk handed him his room folio. His mystery woman was probably a rich wife headed off to her estate in Palm Springs. Meanwhile, he had a date with a shower and a bed.

  "Okay, we've got you in a room overlooking the San Jacinto Mountains. It's a lovely view and very quiet."

  "Sounds great. How late does room service run?"

  "Dinner until eleven and a limited menu overnight." She paused and gave him a smile of invitation. "If there's anything I can do to help you, anything at al , don't hesitate to ask."

  Just what he needed, a hot fling with an employee. "Thanks for the offer," he told her, "but I think I'm al set for now."

  "Al right then," she said, with a hint of regret. "Enjoy your stay, sir."

  "I intend to."

  2

  CILLA LAY ON HER STOMACH on the poolside chaise lounge and dealt the cards for yet another game of solitaire, stifling a sigh. She'd woken late, savoring the sensation of a day without appointments. Her first stop had been the spa, for a massage and facial, then a manicure and pedicure.

  Lying around on a chaise by the pool was the perfect way to spend the rest of the afternoon, just enjoying the sun. Relaxation, that was the theme for her weekend.

  Being bored wasn't.

  It made her feel inadequate. If she'd been Paige, she'd have been quite content to lie there and contemplate the universe. If she'd been Trish or Thea, books would have been company enough. But she was herself and she needed something more. Not scheduled meetings and swank party something mores, but company, conversation, fun. Solitaire wasn't cutting it.

  She needed a man.

  Like that gorgeous specimen who'd changed her tire, for example. If he were lying here beside her, that would be just perfect. They could laugh together, have a few drinks, do some dancing. Maybe even give each other a run through in bed, considering that here it was April and she'd yet to have sex in the new year. Playing hard was the perfect antidote to working hard.

  In retrospect, she felt sil y for having been so cautious with him, especial y when he'd turned out to be such a good guy. Not that she'd talked with him much, of course. In that sense, he'd been the perfect fantasy: tal , dark and handsome, a blank slate for her to color as she would. He'd be her kind of guy, the kind of guy who could make her laugh, who was just a bit unpredictable, who knew what he wanted and was ready to go after it.

  Especial y in bed.

  Now there was a thought, much more interesting than cards. She closed her eyes, imagining how he would be. Sexy in that take charge, I've-got-to-have-you-now way. Fabulous body, that went without saying, and hands to die for. Hands that would know just how to touch her, hands that would make her shiver and moan.

  Cil a sighed and opened her eyes. She wasn't quite ready to go on the prowl, even if she was on a mini-getaway, but the thought of sex—good sex

  —made her weak.

  Oh, wel . She sighed again and put the red queen on the black king. Woman on top, her favorite position.

  The waitress stopped at her chaise. "Can I get anything for you?"

  What the hel , Cil a thought, it was close to cocktail hour, just a couple of time zones over. She looked out toward the palm-shaded bar across the pool and considered her options. The bartender set a margarita down on the bar. Now there was an idea, something frosty and tangy tart to cut the heat. She'd have a drink and then she'd go mingle a bit and see what kind of entertainment she could scare up. "I'l have a margarita on the rocks,"

  she began, watching the guy at the bar pick up his drink. "Ask the bartender to please use a lot of lime and add a shot of—"

  Cil a broke off, eyes widening. The guy with the margarita had turned toward her enough that she saw his profile, and then his ful face. What were the chances, she asked herself as the corners of her mouth began to tug up. It couldn't possibly be her Samaritan from the night before, showing up here of al places. It couldn't be.

  It was.

  "Scratch that order," she told the waitress. "I'l go to the bar myself."

  He wore turquoise trunks, his blue-green Hawaiian shirt hanging open over them. As near as she could tel , she'd been right the night before: his body was prime stuff, washboard abs, sinewy legs, pecs that suggested he had more than a passing acquaintance with a weight room. But it was his face that captivated her.

  He stared out toward the green of the golf course, nodding to the music as the breeze stirred his hair. He wore it long enough on top to be hip, short enough in the back to be tidy. The five o'clock shadow from the day before was gone, which was
a pity. The gorgeous lines of cheekbone and jaw were not. Dark glasses hid his eyes.

  Cil a sat up and scooped up her deck of cards. She was done with solitaire, she thought, finger-combing her hair and rising to tie on her sarong.

  The game she wanted to play now was deuces.

  * * *

  RAND STARED OUT at the arc of mountains that rose high and sudden beyond the resort. He'd seen a lot of Europe in the past few months, but when it came to drama, the desert had it hands down. He stifled a yawn. By dint of heroic struggle, he'd managed to stay awake the night before until about eight o'clock, then nodded off into dreams of his roadside maiden in distress, dreams in which he'd jacked up her car—and she'd jacked him up. None of which prevented him, predictably, from waking at a ridiculous hour. Even taking time to work out and linger over breakfast had stil seen him on the golf course before eight. He'd practiced his driving a bit to get the rust off and then took on the ful eighteen-hole course.

  Al things considered, he figured he'd more than made up for sitting on a plane for fourteen hours. His muscles felt pleasantly tired. Raising the margarita, he took a swal ow and thought again about the woman at the side of the road. He wondered where she was, what she was doing now.

  He wondered if she'd given him even a thought once he was gone.

  "So how are the margaritas?"

  He looked up.

  It was as though his mind had conjured her up. Al tropical color and silky bare skin, she stood before him, fragrant and frisky, eyes alight with the promise of fun.

  And al his hormones started doing the happy dance.

  Her lips curved. "The polite thing would be to invite me to sit down."

  "Absolutely," he said, snapping out of it and gesturing to the stool next to him. It wasn't often that he was at a loss for words. Then again, it wasn't often just looking at a woman could make him feel sucker punched. He watched her order a drink from the bartender who had appeared immediately in that magical way they did for beautiful women. "I guess you got to where you were going."

  "Thanks to you," she agreed, turning back to him. Her smile was sunbeam bright, her hair a hundred shades of blond and golden brown as it shifted with every shake of her head. She wore it chin length so that it focused attention on her face, on that ful mouth, those green eyes with their mischievous tilt. A faint whisper of her scent drifted across to him. He wondered if her skin was as smooth as it looked.

  "You know, if I'd guessed you were headed to the resort, I could just have given you a ride."

  "Bad planning on my part."

  "Don't worry about it," he said, just enjoying watching her. "I suppose if you weren't ready to get out of a car with me nearby, you probably wouldn't have gotten into one, either."

  "I had your best interests at heart. What if I'd have turned out to be some wacko and there you were, stuck with me at the side of the road? You were safer with me in the car."

  "You did have a tire iron," he recal ed.

  "Exactly."

  "In that case, I guess I owe you one."

  "It was the least I could do." Laughter bubbled in her voice. The bartender set down Cil a's drink and she held it up for a toast. "To good deeds and good Samaritans. Thank you again for stopping. You were very chivalrous. Your mama raised you right."

  The margarita tasted tart and cool on his tongue, the tequila a faint bite underneath. "She'l be happy to hear it. You could write and tel her so. It'l make her day."

  "I'l write your mother if you write mine and tel her what a cautious citizen I was," she bargained. "She's forever wailing that I'm not careful enough and I don't have the sense God gave a goat."

  Rand considered her. "You look smarter than a goat."

  "Thank you." She inclined her head.

  "Better looking, too."

  Her laugh was husky with delight. "I like to think so."

  Her bikini reminded him of a dish of sherbet, al bright pink and lime-green and orange. The top of it was one of those twisted bands that seemed to stay in place magical y. The whys and hows, of course, were far less interesting than what was beneath.

  "So what are you doing here?" she asked, watching him.

  "I was heading to Vegas and made a wrong turn at Albuquerque," he said blandly.

  "What a disappointment."

  "Not even remotely."

  She stared at him for a beat, then blinked. "Wel , just in case, I do have a deck of cards. I'l be the house and we can play a few hands," she offered.

  "You're too kind."

  "You can give me al your money and it'l feel just like being there."

  "That would be much too kind."

  "That's the way I am." The amusement was back.

  "So what are you doing here, meeting friends?"

  "Flying solo." She glanced around. "Where are your friends, Vegas?"

  The palm fronds cast patterned shadows over her shoulders. Rand dragged his gaze away from her skin. "No friends."

  "Not any?" She raised an eyebrow. "But you seem like such a nice person. I'l be your friend," she decided. "Didn't you tel me I owed a favor to the next person who needed one?"

  "Generous of you," he said dryly.

  "Isn't it just. Of course, I can afford to be generous. I'm here playing hooky from the world for a couple of days."

  "Hooky works for me."

  "Real y?" She leaned toward him and lowered her voice like a coconspirator. "Want to play hooky together?"

  "Only if you promise not to talk about anything remotely serious."

  "No politics?"

  "Nope."

  "No economy?"

  He shook his head.

  "No 'So, what do you do?'"

  "Absolutely not. You start down that road, I'l go find someone else's tire to change."

  "Oh, now I get it," she nodded wisely, "that was your pickup move."

  "You know it. I wait around the highway for gorgeous babes to have blowouts that they can't change. It's the ultimate icebreaker."

  "You are smooth."

  "Oh, I can ratchet up a jack with the best of 'em," he assured her.

  Her eyes were bright with amusement. "I thought you looked like a man who knew his way around a lug nut."

  "Just handy with tools."

  She raised her glass. "Wel , here's to being handy."

  They grinned at each other. He'd forgotten the pleasure of banter with a clever woman, not to mention a sexy little dish like her. It had definitely been too long. "My name's Rand, by the way."

  She raised an eyebrow. "Your parents wanted you to be a mapmaker?"

  "Positive reinforcement," he agreed. "What's your name?"

  She hesitated an instant. "Danni."

  "Let me guess, your parents wanted a boy? Doesn't look like it was too successful to me."

  "Au contraire. I was quite the tomboy growing up," she informed him.

  He looked down to where her long, tanned legs peeked out of the wraparound sarong. "I bet you climbed trees with the best of them."

  "You'd better believe it," she returned. "Played softbal , too. I had a mean curvebal ."

  "I'l remember to watch for that." He didn't know about curvebal s, but she was definitely curvy enough in al the right places. "So have you been hanging out around the pool al morning?"

  "Of course. Like I said, I'm playing hooky. How about you?"

  "Did a quick run, played a round of golf." Didn't get down to the pool nearly soon enough.

  She shook her head pityingly. "No wonder you were yawning. I'd be tired, too."

  "Are you kidding? I'm just getting revved up. A dip in the water and I'l be good to go."

  Invitation replaced amusement in those green eyes. "And here I thought you were pretty good already."

  "Stick around. You ain't seen nothin' yet."

  * * *

  A JAZZ TUNE COURTESY OF A PIANIST nearby, floated out into the evening. Cil a sat in the terrace bar of the restaurant's fusion restaurant, waiting for Rand. She wasn't usual y the one
to wait, but when they'd parted ways to go dress for dinner, she'd found herself in a minimalist mood. Slipping into her pale gold silk shift and sandals took only a moment. The sun had taken care of her need for bronzer. Al she had to do was darken her eyes a bit, slick on some lip gloss and presto, she was ready. Staying on the grounds had seemed easiest. Neither of them had felt like dealing with the drive into Palm Springs. She couldn't quite put her finger on the point at which dinner together had become a given. As to what might happen after that, wel , the long, lazy afternoon of flirting and playing like otters in the pool made that seem like a given, also.

  Cil a turned her head to look at the arched entrance just as Rand came through. He stood for a moment, searching the room for her and she caught her breath. She'd watched that face for hours at poolside, but somehow the time they'd spent apart had rendered the impact of him fresh. The afternoon sun had touched his skin with gold. Against the breezy white linen of his shirt, his hair was dark, his eyes a luminous silver. When he caught sight of her, the power of it sang through her. For a moment, he just stood, watching. Then he began to walk toward her.

  And unaccountably, the breath began to clog up in her lungs.

  He took his time moving across the room, as though he were savoring the spectacle. When he reached her side, he raised her fingers to his lips.

  "You're lovely," he said simply, brushing his lips over her knuckles.

  And Cil a could only stare.

  She'd been prepared for banter, for something cocky or ironic. She should have known he wouldn't be so predictable. A man who knew what he wanted and went after it.

  "I think our table is waiting," she said.

  * * *

  CILLA FOLLOWED Rand off the floor in the nightclub and back to their booth, leaning back against him for a moment in mock exhaustion. Drinks to dinner, dinner to dancing. Like silent conspirators, they'd stretched the evening out, neither of them ready to see it end. With the passing hours, they moved into each other's space, as casual touches that held nothing casual within them became commonplace. But they had yet to bridge that critical gap between possibility and certainty.