Larissa Learns to Breathe (5 page)

Tommy laughed, a big, unselfconscious sound. She blushed, aware that he was watching her.

“You're a fascinating woman,” he said. “Okay, I've got to get back to work. See you at dinner.”

Larissa waited until she heard the door close before sinking down on the edge of the tub. Earlier, she had almost thought—in the stone hut—that he had been about to kiss her. But that couldn't be right, could it? Especially after he'd pointed out her freckles, the ones she'd covered up so carefully many hours ago before the cab picked her up for LaGuardia airport. He was blunt that way, but still, most men wouldn't have mentioned her flaws, much less reached out and touched them—and yet his fingertip on her cheek had stirred feelings in her that she hadn't felt in a very long time.

She was just lonely, that was all. After being let go from Torrence Capital, she'd been too depressed to go out. And once she started the dog-walking business, she was too tired. She hadn't had a date in almost a year. Hadn't had a man in her bed in…could it be almost three years?

Larissa was thirty years old and heading on a path toward spinsterhood. But fate had intervened and deposited her here, on a beautiful island in middle of the ocean, where apparently the usual rules didn't apply. There was something different—special—about Cupid Island that went beyond the gorgeous period architecture and spare-no-expense renovations. The colors were brighter, the sun sunnier, the smells more tantalizing. The people she'd seen working all over the island seemed…happy.

“Ridiculous,” Larissa chastised herself. They were well paid, that was all, and smart enough to take advantage of Mr. Westermere's largesse while they could. Clearly, the man was crazy, summoning complete strangers to work on his estate. The salary he was paying Larissa was more than generous, and Amelia had hinted that the same was true for her.

After a long, luxurious shower, Larissa wrapped herself in one of the thick towels and unpacked. The sky outside the little cabin was turning purple with the twilight, and the candle she'd lit was scenting the room with lovely notes of amber and musk, and she was feeling a little…adventurous.

She considered the dresses laid out on Tommy's bed thoughtfully. Was it crazy to think that she might meet someone here on the island? Not among the staff, of course—that would be utterly inappropriate—but once the guests started arriving, perhaps she might make the acquaintance of someone interesting. Not to date, even, because there were probably rules about that. But at least she could get back into the habit of talking to men. Flirting a bit, even. She'd made no long-term commitments to Mr. Westermere—he asked only that she stay long enough to organize the housekeeping staff before deciding if she wanted a permanent position—so by this time next year, she could be anywhere. Back in New York, perhaps, or traveling, or interviewing for new jobs with an impressive title on her resume.

Larissa hung up the dresses one by one. Tommy said the staff dinners were meant to be a convenience for the staff as they worked extra shifts to complete the resort for its opening next week. Every guest bungalow had its own kitchen, and eventually they would cook for themselves as the resort dining room took over serving guests.

Most of the staff came straight from work, Tommy had said, so dress was informal. But Larissa figured that the department heads might as well make an effort, both to signal a commitment to their jobs and to acknowledge the graceful appointments of the dining room.

She considered and discarded a brightly patterned shirtdress, a linen shift, a sundress that tied behind the neck and flared out above the knees. Nothing seemed exactly right.

Then she remembered, again, the way that Tommy had looked at her when he traced her freckles with his fingertip. The way he'd tried so hard not to laugh as he helped her back into the boat. The feel of his hand around hers as he helped her down the beach path.

She picked up the sundress again. It was a gold-flecked green, a perfect match to Tommy's eyes when the sun shone on them. So what if it bared her shoulders and a little more of her legs than was strictly professional. She had a pair of strappy gold heels that would be perfect—shoes she'd packed on a whim, because they were too expensive to give away, purchased at a Bergdorf sale and never worn.

Outside the window, Bluebell barked mournfully, as if begging to come inside and help her choose what to wear. “Not a chance,” she said, but then she went to the window and looked down. The big shaggy beast seemed overjoyed to see her, putting his paws on the wall and barking a greeting.

“Dogs don't like me,” she said. “You need to find another friend. Besides, I'll be out of here tomorrow.”

Another bark. Almost as if the dog was disagreeing with her.

Larissa shook her head and closed the window. It was getting chilly, and she needed to hurry if she wanted to make it to dinner.

She was about to plug in her flatiron when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Already her damp hair was curling into corkscrews; it had to be something about the salt air. Larissa frowned: it was going to take extra work and gobs of product to get it to behave.

Except…

Tommy had liked it curly.
You should always wear your hair like that
, he'd said, and then he'd run his fingers through it, sending the most delicious shivers through her.

She set the flatiron back down on the marble counter. Just this once, she thought, she wouldn't be the boss of her hair. Larissa Lawson was off the clock.

CHAPTER SIX

Tommy snapped a chip in half, and then in half again, dropping the tortilla crumbs onto his plate. His chicken mole was practically untouched, even though it was a signature dish prepared by head chef Chloe Davies.

“What's the matter with you, man?” Gordon asked, raising his beer glass in a mock toast. “You've been uptight all night.”

“Nothing,” Tommy said quickly. “Just thinking about the delivery for tomorrow.”

“Relax, man, it'll get here and the job'll get done. Still a week until opening day. It's going to be fine.”

“Yeah,” Tommy agreed, forcing himself to take a bite.

Dinner was in full swing, and the strains of music performed by the Amor Trio, as they'd started calling themselves, wafted across the outdoor patio. With fires burning in both outdoor fireplaces, and a few outdoor heaters tucked discreetly here and there among the diners, Cupid Island Resort would be able to offer al fresco dining year round. Tonight, Chloe had opted to serve outside because the main dining room would be receiving its final finishing touches tomorrow morning.

The Amor Trio consisted of a groundskeeper on the string bass, a desk clerk on the trumpet, and the resort nurse playing acoustic guitar and occasionally breaking into a few bars of song. They were more enthusiastic than they were talented, but that was all right. Soon enough there would be performances by musicians brought in from Miami and New Orleans and New York. Tommy found that he was cherishing these final meals with the coworkers who'd come to be his friends.

But that didn't prevent him from scanning the path every few minutes to see if Larissa had arrived yet. Hell, for all he knew, she'd decided to stay back at his cabin; it had been a long day, and she had to be exhausted from travel. Right now, in fact, she might be splayed across his bed, those crazy curls of her fanned out around her head, her lips curved in a small smile as she dreamed. Maybe she still had the towel from her shower wrapped around her, and as she shifted in her sleep it might fall away, revealing acres of silky thighs and—

“Who's
that
?” Gordon asked, his voice awestruck.

Tommy whipped his head around and there she was…as if she'd walked straight out of his daydream. Larissa stood at the edge of the patio, looking around uncertainly. She was wearing a short shimmery green dress with a sweater buttoned over it, and her hair cascaded around her shoulders in a riot of curls. She'd put on eye makeup and lipstick the shade of coral, and as he watched her, she licked her lips nervously and he thought he might fall out of his chair.

“Excuse me,” he said roughly, and pushed back from the table.

CHAPTER SEVEN

This had been yet another terrible mistake. When, oh when, was Larissa going to learn to read the corporate culture and adapt?
Be an agent of change
, that ridiculously overpaid consultant had told her. Now Larissa wished she'd reached out and wrapped her hands around his scrawny throat and strangled him until he gave up the secrets as to
how
she was supposed to be an agent of change. How, for instance, was she supposed to know that she would be the only person in a skirt and heels at this, her very first exposure to the people she was going to work with? There was Amelia, looking beachy and accessible in a pair of dark jeans, espadrilles and a gauzy cotton tunic and dangly silver earrings.
That
outfit said “competent, but knows how to have fun, too.”

And what exactly did Larissa's outfit say?
Doesn't know how to dress herself,
perhaps—she'd grabbed a cardigan on the way out the door to ward off the chill, but it clashed with the dress, and now she yanked it off and tried to stuff it in her purse.
Trying much too hard
, shouted her skirt, which, on second thought, was more suitable for a junior high school cotillion, while the shoes piped up with
she's really not as easy as we look.

Larissa was about to turn and make a dash back to Tommy's place when she felt a hand on her arm.

She spun around and found herself face to face with him.

“Hey,” he said, grinning. “Glad you could make it.”

“I, um. I should probably go say hello to Amelia,” she mumbled. “I mean, wow, music! How…festive.”

Great. She sounded like an idiot. Tommy's smile slipped and he took a step back. “Just a few of the guys on the crew, having a little fun. Don't worry, the caliber of performer will be completely professional once the resort opens.”

“Oh, no, they sound fine. I mean they sound good.” Larissa wanted to smack her forehead with her palm; the truth was that she was so focused on what she was wearing that she hadn't paid any attention to the sound of jazz music and the conversations at the tables. “Is there a bar? Can I get a drink?”

“Absolutely. Right this way,” Tommy said, taking her hand and leading her around the edge of the tables. She was aware of people staring at her.

Sure, she was the new girl, their curiosity was natural. Except that their gazes felt like lasers and she just wanted to hide behind a pillar. Amelia made it look so easy—she was talking and laughing as though she'd known the people seated at her table for ages. Amelia was an extrovert; Larissa had watched her engage customers at the Chelsea Market on a wide variety of topics. She could discuss the proper technique for poaching salmon or washing mushrooms, or remember the details of regular customers' lives, engaging them about their health and their children and their interests. Larissa, on the other hand, had hoped that dog walking would shield her from the face-to-face interactions that were not her forte.

And look how that had turned out. She couldn't even make conversation with creatures whose IQ hovered in the low digits.

“What would you like?” Tommy asked. They had arrived at the unmanned outdoor bar. Tommy went behind the counter and held up a wine glass. “Something light? Something bold, with a little substance…like me?”

She managed a faint smile at his attempt at a joke. Tommy probably felt like he was stuck with her, since he'd been the employee who had spent the most time with her so far.

“Whatever's open,” she said. “But I'll have a double.”

He raised his eyebrow at her. “You're not an experienced drinker, are you? Typically we don't refer to a ‘double' when pouring wine.”

“I knew that,” she snapped. Larissa drank plenty—at weddings and family holidays and out at happy hour with her friends, and on dates. Well, it had been a while since she'd been on a happy hour or a date, it was true, but right now a great big lovely nerve-calming drink seemed like just the thing.

Tommy made no further comment but filled the wine glass with a golden libation. “Try this,” he said. “It's a nice chardonnay.”

She took a sip. It
was
nice. A little bit tart, a little bit toasty. Light and sophisticated. So the surfer-turned-cabana-boy was a wine expert. Huh—he was full of surprises. “Thank you for letting me use your cabin,” she said stiffly. “It is very nice.”

“Thanks. Want to get something to eat before these guys clear out all the food?”

“In a bit. Um…you really don't have to babysit me. I can just sit over here and…” And what? Be a wallflower, standing out like a sore thumb with her poufy dress? “You know, on second thought, I'll just go sit at Amelia's table. Looks like a couple of people left.”

“I'll join you.”

As they made their way through the dining tables, people greeted Tommy. Guys high-fived him; women waved flirtatiously. Everyone looked at her with curiosity.

“Do you want me to introduce you?” he asked, raising his voice to be heard over the conversation.

Larissa knew she should say yes—after all, she would be working closely with many of these people—but she couldn't bear for their first impression of her to be of an overdressed woman teetering on heels when everyone else was in flip flops and sneakers and work boots. “I'll see many of them at the staff meeting in the morning,” she said, between sips. Drinking from her wine glass kept her hands occupied so she didn't have to make eye contact with all these strangers. “I'll just meet them then.”

As they approached Amelia's table, a man with a handlebar moustache and paint-splattered coveralls looked like he was headed for the seat that had opened up next to her. Larissa practically sprinted toward it and slid into the chair just as he reached for it.