Undone by the Star

Undone by the Star

Stephanie Browning

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

A Sneak Peek at Outbid by the Boss

About the Author

Copyright Information

CHAPTER ONE

Hurriedly tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, Alexis Kirkwood dashed across the cobblestoned courtyard and ran up the back steps of The Sadler Hotel. As always, the moment she entered the hotel’s hushed interior, she straightened, breathed in its luxurious ambience, and felt a rush of pride. This was where she was meant to be.

“
Psst,
Alex.”

Barely breaking stride as she crossed the plush carpeting, Alex glanced over her shoulder. Her friend Kate was angling towards the dining room, a sheaf of luncheon menus under one arm and a gleaming silver tray under the other. Alex slowed. “I thought you were on nights?”

Kate fell in beside her and nodded wearily. “Double shift. I said I’d stay until six…
eid
your shirt’s out at the back,” she whispered as she spun off. “Wouldn’t want to blow your image….”

Alex had to laugh. It served her right for rushing. More than a dozen employees might be out with the flu, but it was business as usual at The Sadler. And, as head concierge at one of London’s most exclusive hotels, that included dressing the part, perfectly tailored suit, crisp white blouse and two-inch heels. Slipping behind one of the potted palms flanking the library, Alex dealt with the offending shirttail.

She was on her way towards the front of the lobby when the night manager flagged her down, his normally keen eyes red-rimmed with fatigue.

“Miss Kirkwood. A few details if I may?” He brought her up-to-date on a variety of scheduling and housekeeping issues, including the anticipated arrival of a high-profile guest who had never stayed with them before. “Unfortunately, we have a plumbing problem in the VIP suite and no one on site to deal with it…as yet. I know it’s not your job, Alex, but if you could watch out….”

“I’d be happy to.”

“Although you might want to start with the Right Honourables,” he added with a wry smile and a tilt of his head. “George is already out front with the car.”

One look told Alex everything else she needed to know. The Rt. Honourable Matheson Smith-Jones and his wife were in an alcove, one fuming, the other anxiously patting his pockets.

After bidding her colleague farewell, Alex threaded her way through the lobby towards them. Their capacity for mislaying theatre tickets and room keys was legendary, but Alex had known them for a very long time.

“Lovely to see you again,” said Alex as she reached the distraught couple. “Your driver is waiting, and…voilà!” she exclaimed, deftly plucking a small envelope from the elderly gentleman’s breast pocket, “…here are your tickets!”

He beamed. “Bravo, Miss Kirkwood!”

“Shall we go then?” asked Alex. She leaned over to secure the open handbag dangling from Penelope Smith-Jones’ arm, but the Rt. Honourable’s wife had a fresh target. A very large, dark-haired man wearing sunglasses and a hoodie was bearing down on them from beyond the elevators.

The older woman bristled with indignation.

So did Alex.

Dishevelled men strolling through the lobby were not unheard of, but this one was particularly unsettling. But why? What was it about him? Her eyes dropped to the scuffed work boots, automatically checking them for dirt, swept up the length of his jeans, tantalisingly snug, and then landed on the beat-up canvas hold-all in his left hand. Her gaze rose, drawn by the square jaw brushed with the perfect shadow of a beard. His mouth was full, lips mobile but firm. His eyes…well, it was probably a good thing they were hidden by sunglasses.

“Miss Kirkwood?” he asked hefting his bag as though it were as light as a feather. “I was told at the tradesman’s entrance that you were the one to see.”

Her brow creased. “But why would anyone send you…ah….” This must be the substitute plumber. Interesting. If this was the guy they sent to fix the toilets, she would have to spend a little more time in maintenance.

But with the Rt. Honourables hovering beside her, the hotel booked solid, and a non-flushing toilet in the VIP suite, she had to take charge. “You’re late,” she said.

“In that case…,” He slowly removed his dark glasses. “…I do apologize.”

Blue. His eyes were the most arresting shade of blue, aquamarine and crystal-clear, and they were now eying
her
with interest. Alex felt her pulse quicken; a wave of heat rose from her chest, and for a moment, the clock stopped.
Oh for heaven’s sakes
, she scolded herself, just because he was the most gorgeous handyman she’d ever seen, was no excuse. And blue eyes notwithstanding, he should have waited for her in the service area.

“Just so you know…you are here to fix the plumbing, not swan around the lobby.”

There was an instant of silence. “Yes, ma’am.”

This was bordering on farce, and she, Alexis Kirkwood, was in danger of being unprofessional. “Stay here,” she instructed the interloper. “And try to look invisible. You’re a plumber, not a movie star.”

His blue eyes sparkled, his mouth twitched, but he said not a word.

Satisfied, Alex swung her attention back to the Smith-Joneses. “The matinee has been sold out for weeks,” she said brightly as she eased the elderly couple outside and into their waiting car. “And the reviews have been fantastic.” She stepped back and handed the theatre tickets to their driver. “You will have them there on time, won’t you, George?”

“No worries, Miss Kirkwood. I’ll see them safe.”

“Right then.” With a brisk tug on her suit jacket, Alex spun round, took a deep breath and went back inside, only to find Cyril, the assistant manager, lying in wait.

“A word, if you please.”

Alex’s eyes automatically slid past him to the plumber.

He
waggled his fingers in her direction.

“Exactly,” said the assistant manager following her sight lines. “He tells me you told him to wait there. The ‘why’ is beyond me,” he huffed, “but do escort him upstairs.”

She humoured him with a “Yes, sir.” Cyril’s angst was understandable. He wasn’t normally in charge of reception any more than she was responsible for repairs, but needs must, thought Alex, as she made a beeline for the man in question.

“Everything okay?” he asked as she approached.

“Follow me,” Alex ordered. She led the way to the hotel’s double bank of elevators. “We might as well go straight up from here.”

After the gentle buzz of the lobby, the intimate interior of the elevator was making Alex much too aware of the man beside her. She could see their reflection in the elevator’s highly-polished brass walls. Alex was proud of her height, but she liked the fact that he towered above her. And he smelled unexpectedly good, like freshly-laundered cotton.

Her eyes slid to his mouth to find him grinning at her reflection. “Shouldn’t we push the button?” he asked.

Mortified, Alex reached out and jammed the button for the fourth floor. Four times.

“That should do it.”

Her eyes shot to his and stayed.

It wasn’t too late to check his hands for callouses. Even a little dirt under the fingernails would be reassuring at this point. “I do hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Me, too.”

The elevator pinged.

They had arrived.

If Marc Daniels had had any doubts about returning to England, the last fifteen minutes had proved otherwise. This could be the best gig he’d ever had. Especially watching Miss Kirkwood in action.

Marc grinned; he’d had no idea being a plumber had so many perks…like having a woman walk ahead of you in a well-tailored skirt and jacket which flattered her shape in all the right places. The colour of the fabric was good, too. Reminded him of burnished steel. He liked the contrast of that strong metallic hue against the soft white skin of Miss Kirkwood’s slim wrists and elegant hands. It suited what he’d seen of her personality as well, rapier sharp with him, but courteous and kind with her elderly charges. He’d watched her shepherd them through the lobby, and the care she took matching her gait to theirs.

Now it was his turn. She led him down a silent corridor to a short hallway with a single door. The lock clicked when she swiped her card. All efficiency, she ushered him into one of the most elegant suites Marc had ever seen. And he’d been in quite a few.

“Here we are,” she said. “I trust you’re up for this?”

He certainly was. Whether or not he’d be able to fix the toilet was another matter.

She pointed toward a door to the right. “Over there,” she said. “I’ll be back to check on the repair as soon as possible.”

Marc’s gaze returned to the young woman. Not yet thirty, he guessed, and all done up for business. If he wasn’t on the job, he thought with deep amusement, he might be tempted to trail his fingers over that lovely skin and muss her hair until she….

“You may have all the time in the world,” Miss Kirkwood snapped, “but a rather important guest will be checking into this suite in less than…” she checked her watch, “…an hour.”

That brought him up short. This wasn’t a game for her, amusing though it was for him. He really ought to come clean, and tell her who he was. But damn it all, he’d enjoyed being in the company of a woman who didn’t know what he did for a living, who treated him like a regular guy with a regular job. Well, not exactly, he smiled, remembering their exchange in the elevator. She’d obviously picked up on the same vibes he had. Unfortunately, once he revealed his true identity, those feelings would likely evaporate as quickly as they’d come, and if they didn’t, it would play out in the usual fashion. They all wanted him to be the perfect, heroic guy he portrayed on the big screen, not the rather introspective, history buff he was in real life.

Although, Marc had to admit, as he eyed the delectable Miss Kirkwood, there was something he couldn’t quite put his finger on that suggested she might be more interested in who he was, not what he did. The thought sent a shot of warmth through his veins.

At least it did until she raised her left arm and imperiously pointed her forefinger in the direction of the bathroom. “Anytime.”

Fine, thought Marc, if that’s the way she wanted to play it, then so be it. He’d jerry-rigged enough toilets in his day; why not this one? Raising his own hand in mock salute, he was searching for an appropriately sarcastic response when the toilet suddenly flushed. They stared at each other in mutual horror as the door to the bathroom swung open, and out walked what could only have been the real plumber, tools and all.

He took one look at the two of them and his jaw dropped.

“Miss Kirkwood!” he blurted, hoisting the back of his work pants up a notch with his free hand. “I didn’t know you were…toilet’s fixed. Needed a new flapper is all.” He lumbered to a stop, took in Marc’s presence and frowned. “Who would you be, then?”

Before Marc could answer, Alex had stepped forward, effectively shielding him from the other man’s view. “Bert!” she addressed the plumber. “We didn’t think you were available today. You know what it’s like when we’ve got a full house. All bust and no flush. I’m afraid, I had to call for a…last-minute replacement.”

“That so,” said Bert craning his neck for a closer look at Marc. “Well, he certainly don’t look the part.”

“He doesn’t, does he...?”

She’s in full damage control, thought Marc in admiration. She knows something’s amiss, and she’s already moving to correct it.

“Do me a favour, Bert…” she was saying as she eased the plumber towards the door of the suite, “we’re obviously short-staffed…why don’t you sign on for the rest of the day and I’ll okay your per diem.”

“Right you are, Miss Kirkwood,” said Bert. “Bound to be something needs doing around here.” And off he went with Miss Kirkwood’s blessing.

Marc was not so lucky.

The woman who rounded on him was a blaze of fury. The golden flecks in her brown eyes flashed like molten lava as she advanced towards him. “Tell me you’re a con man,” she demanded. “Or even better, tell me you’re a jewel thief masquerading as an incompetent plumber. Or even a freelance journalist, I could forgive that; we get them all the time. Just as long as you do not tell me,” she exclaimed, underscoring every word with a punch of her forefinger, “that you are the very important guest we’ve been expecting. Because then, I will have to regret this day for the rest of my life!”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why will you regret this day for the rest of your life?” he asked.