Barbara Daly - You Call This Romance!?

Faith had to wrench her gaze away from his mouth in order to glance at the card. His lower lip was so full and curved so sensuously he should have been wearing a fig leaf over it. “‘Cabot Drennan,’” she murmured, “‘Publicist to the Stars.’ Oh, my goodness, what an exciting job. Well, Cabot…” Mr. Wycoff said to go straight for first names, unless you were talking to him. “There’s nothing I enjoy more than planning honeymoons. In fact, honeymoons are my specialty.” That wasn’t quite the truth, but it was the direction she intended to go in and she’d been doing a lot of research on her own time—and quite a bit more on Mr. Wycoff’s. “What sort of location were you thinking of?” Her own dream honeymoon havens began flitting through her mind.

“Someplace with good light and a dependable electrical system.”

She blinked. “And an air of romance, I would imagine,” she said hopefully. “Have you considered the Cayman Islands?” It would be so efficient to send this client honeymooning right along with the Muldens.

“How’s the phone system there?”

Faith slid her gaze down from his close-cropped head of black hair to his chocolate-brown eyes. “Well, I’ve been online with many of the hotels there this week, but I don’t suppose that makes me an authority on the subject. There’s Rio de Janeiro,” she said, warming to her task. “What could be more romantic?”

“Too far.”

“Mexico, then. It’s closer to L.A., if your client is concerned about being too far from home, and the coastal towns have some lovely resorts with absolutely private bungalows, perfect for a…”

“Privacy is the last thing she wants.”

Odder and odder. “Has she considered a cruise?”

“You’re trapped on a cruise.” A muscle twitched tensely in his cheek.

“She’s already trapped, in a manner of speaking,” Faith said earnestly. “Once she promises to have and to hold, in sickness or in…”

His face reddened with impatience. “I didn’t come here for a lecture on family values.”

“How about the coast of Maine?”

“Too cold. She’ll have goose bumps in the photos.”

“Oh. Of course. She’ll want to take a lot of pictures for her memory book.”

He heaved a deep sigh. “She’s an up-and-coming young actress.” For a moment his eyes shifted left and he seemed uncomfortable. “I’ll be taking a crew along to make a video of the honeymoon.”

“A video? You’re going to film this woman’s honeymoon?”

“Yes.”

Faith straightened, locked her knees tightly together and pursed her lips. “Well. I’m very sorry,” she said, “but we at Wycoff Worldwide wouldn’t consider being a party to that kind of film. I’m afraid you will have to look elsewhere for travel assistance.”

He half rose from the chair. As big as he was, it scared Faith a little, but she stiffened her backbone. Standards were standards, and she was not going to make the arrangements for a porn flick.

“I don’t intend to film that part of the honeymoon, for God’s sake,” he said in a deep growl that thinned out his sexy lower lip until it was nearly normal.

“In that case,” she squeaked, “we at Wycoff are happy to assist you.”

He sat down again, his lower lip relaxed, and Faith was faced with a whole new issue, most of it going on below the waistband of her flowered silk skirt.

“Look—” He stared at her left breast.

Feel free to touch the display. But he wasn’t actually looking at her breast. He was looking at the rectangular silver pin just above her left breast, the one with her name on it.

“—Faith, this is a fairly simple thing I’m asking you to do. I want you to make the arrangements for a honeymoon in an accessible location with top-flight technological services—” he halted for a moment, looking thoughtful “—and dependable beauticians and manicurists—” he paused again “—and it has to be a well-known honeymoon spot.” His glower returned.

Faith swiveled her chair a little to face him more fully, just as she’d learned to do in People Skills, the only course in the Travel Agent program she hadn’t daydreamed her way through. But the instructor hadn’t mentioned what to do if, when her knees brushed the client’s, it sent a shot of electricity through her entire body. As though he’d felt it too, his gaze briefly melted over her.

“I’m sure I can make your dreams come true,” she murmured. “I mean, her dreams.”

He snorted. “But can you make the reservations?”

Faith took a deep breath, gave herself the condensed version of her sister Hope’s lecture on presenting herself positively and said, “Of course. First we’ll find the location of her dreams. That may take a little research.”

“Time is money. You never have enough of either one.”

He had a way with words. “Tomorrow,” she said. “By tomorrow I’ll be able to offer you a choice of desirable locations and we’ll proceed from there.”

“Today would be better.”

Today she had to get the Cayman Islands organized to receive the Muldens. “I’ll do my best,” she promised.

“I was thinking Reno.”

She stared at him blankly. “It’s certainly well-known as a spot for quick marriages,” she said. “Is this a quick marriage? Oh, dear,” she said at once, “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I was just thinking how many truly romantic places there were and wondering…”

“The hotel is your problem, not the romance.” If anything, he looked even grimmer and less romantic than he had before. “The thing about Reno,” he went on, “is it’s close and it’s got all those hokey round beds and pink rooms and AC current.”

“It does have those advantages.” She felt deeply disappointed in him. A publicist who looked like a romantic fantasy should be able to rise above Reno, or even Niagara Falls. Not that Reno wasn’t a lot of fun and the Falls weren’t fantastic, but you only got one honeymoon, and it ought to be…

“I sense you don’t approve.”

Faith jolted in her chair. “My job is to send her where she wants to go,” she assured him, “not to approve or disapprove.”

“So make it Reno,” he said. “Tippy will be crazy about Reno.”

“Tippy?” Faith said, and then it hit her. “You’re not talking about Tippy Temple.”

For a moment he looked uncomfortable. “Yes. You’ve heard of her?”

“I saw her interview on the Scott Trent Show and liked her so much I rented her movie.” Faith felt breathless as she lapsed into a reverie about the romantic film she’d watched last weekend.

“Her first big movie, I think,” she said. “A Kiss to Build a Dream On. She may not have been the lead, but she was the star as far as I’m concerned.” She sighed. “She’s beautiful, and so sweet. Oh, the way she gave up Josh Barnett to the heroine, what’s-her-name, was the most touching, the most heroic act. I’m so happy she’s found her true love in real life.” She focused her gaze on Cabot. “May I ask, would it be too personal a question, who she’s marrying?”

In the silence, she watched a variety of expressions cross Cabot’s face. His eyes widened, then narrowed as he chewed on his lower lip, and at last he settled for lines of grim resignation.

“Me,” he said.

THERE IT WAS. He’d made his decision, sitting across from the cutest little woman he’d ever met, looking into her gray eyes and realizing it was time to fish or cut bait.

Maybe he wasn’t so much cutting bait as cutting off the light of sudden attraction he’d seen and recognized in those eyes, and responded to in a big way. Cute little persons weren’t on his agenda right now. Little stars who deserved to be big stars were. When he had a stable of successful clients, he’d be free to look for the kind of woman he’d like to spend the rest of his life with, the kind of woman…