In a Bind. Stephanie BondЧитать онлайн книгу.
on his neck. And he was still wearing the silk tie that had bound her wrists, now neatly reknotted at his shirt collar. Zoe took a step backward to clear her head.
“I’m moving to another hotel,” she announced.
His face creased in disappointment. “Please don’t. It’s a big resort, our paths probably won’t even cross. Are you a regular guest?”
“No,” she said, then gave him a wry frown. “No offense, but it’s a little beyond my normal budget. But a co-worker and I are here for—” she swallowed the real reason “—a treat.”
“Ah,” he said. “A prewedding treat?”
She nodded, awash with shame.
“Then a treat you shall have,” he said with a wink. He turned back to the reservations desk. “Please arrange for Ms. Smythe and—” He looked back to Zoe. “What is your friend’s name?”
“Erica Winston.”
He nodded to the clerk. “Please arrange for Ms. Smythe and Ms. Winston to have complimentary use of our spa during their stay.”
“Very good, sir,” the woman responded.
“That’s not necessary,” Zoe said, feeling flushed all over again.
“It’s my pleasure,” Colin said, his green eyes reflecting something akin to regret. “Enjoy your stay, Zoe.” Then, with a little salute, he strode away.
She watched his broad back receding, feeling shaky, as if she had just averted disaster. She exhaled slowly and hugged herself for extra assurance that she wasn’t coming apart at the seams. Everything was fine, she told herself. The man seemed content to forget about their impromptu encounter and, in fact, seemed eager to offer inducements for her to forget, too. It was probably just another in a long line of hookups for him, she realized. He wouldn’t understand that for her, the incident had been a lapse of monumental proportions, one that would be harder to forget knowing that he, too, was staying at the resort.
On the other hand, what explanation could she give to Erica for changing hotels? They’d both been looking forward to this getaway. And now, with unlimited use of the spa…
No, she’d stay put, at least until Erica left in two days. Then she’d take stock of the situation. Like Colin said, the resort was a big place—he and she might never cross paths.
With her mind still clicking away, it was clear that the nap she had promised herself was not to be. Instead she shouldered her bag and exited the hotel, blinking in the bright sunshine. Knowing how brutal the Australian sun could be, she smeared on sunscreen and purchased a wide-brim hat at the first shop she came to. It was fall in the States, but spring had sprung here on the lower side of the equator, and it was surprisingly warm considering the proximity of the bay waters.
Zoe wandered the streets looking for eclectic jewelry stores, as she did at each travel destination, searching for beads, stones and other materials for her jewelry-making hobby. Australia was known for its amazing opals and she’d decided they would be perfect accent stones for the silver link bracelets she was making as gifts for her bridesmaids.
The task also put her mind back where it belonged—on her future, on her wedding—while she soaked up the atmosphere of the harbor city. The tang of salt rode the air, along with the sounds of the accents of the people strolling by, going about their day.
Zoe loved to catch hints of their conversation—the way the words seemed to roll together with a buoyant rhythm that told anyone listening that Australians were generally a happy and upbeat people. Greetings among friends were exuberant, backslapping events with raised voices and broad smiles. The common phrase of “no worries” summed up the people’s sunny attitude.
She walked into shops and browsed bins of trinkets. Intrigued by colorful Aboriginal clay beads, she purchased several to make something for herself at a later date. The selection of opal jewelry was extensive, as were the range of hues of the distinctive stones—from pale and milky to dark and vibrant, each alight with fiery specks of color. When she didn’t find any loose stones, however, she gave up the search for another day. Conceding to her growling stomach, Zoe bought a fish sandwich at a concession stand near Circular Quay and walked to the pier surrounding Sydney Cove to have lunch.
Sydney Harbour was one of the greatest tourist attractions in the country, although the locals also hung out there, obviously drawn to the cobalt-blue water and the buzz of activity. The famous whitewinged Sydney Opera House was in easy viewing and walking distance to her right—she had endured the long lines and toured it on a previous trip to Sydney. The Harbour Bridge ascended to her left. If she squinted, she could make out the slow-moving train of ants on the arch, high above traffic and the harbor, that were actually people braving the famous Sydney Bridge Climb.
Along the Circular Quay pier, upscale restaurants and shops amiably shared space with street vendors and picnic tables. Fat pigeons and gulls flocked at the feet of diners, poised to dive on falling crumbs. Boats of all sizes were docked at the marina—runabouts, sailboats and ferries. But many of the slips were empty on this sunny, breezy day, further evidenced by the bobbing dots on the near and far horizons.
Leaning against a white railing and slowly chewing the sandwich, Zoe detected a subtle change in her senses as they became more keen. Everything around her seemed to be in sharper focus, more vivid, more apparent. Boat horns sounded a symphony as they entered and left the harbor. Water lapped against the pier in a whispering caress. Children’s screams of laughter pierced the air.
She could blame some of the insular wooziness on jet lag and lack of sleep, but deep down, as much as she was trying to push it out of her mind, the incident on the plane with Colin Cannon had heightened her self-awareness. The birds were singing, and so was her skin where he’d touched her. The surf was pounding, and so was her pulse when she remembered the way he’d looked at her. The sky soared overhead, and so did her imagination when she dared to think about what it might be like to spend an entire night in his arms…under his tutelage.
This sense of wonder at the pure intensity that could exist between two people—she’d never felt anything like it before. It was as if a veil had been lifted from her eyes, and she couldn’t believe she’d lived this long and not known. She wasn’t a sheltered person—at least she’d never thought so. She stared at her engagement ring and acknowledged the truth—since she’d met Kevin, she’d systematically tucked in all the edges of her adventurous spirit, preparing to settle down, to raise a family, to grow old. The evolution was a natural part of growing up, wasn’t it? And it had happened so slowly, she hadn’t even noticed.
Which was why she felt so blindsided by her encounter with Colin Cannon. The incident was like catching lightning in a bottle, she decided—coming into contact with the right person at the right time, when both of them were in the right mood. Pent-up…unfulfilled…searching. Odds were that it would never happen again, not with him, not with anyone. It was a fluke.
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