He gave him a grim nod, being too strung-out to speak. And it wasn’t this guy’s fault his temper was frayed. It was all—
He didn’t get to finish the thought. He was too surprised to do anything but gawp.
And he never gawped.
Before him was a festive table. A festive table with a pair of nude stilettos attached to dainty ankles and slender calves poking out beneath its deep red tablecloth.
What the devil?
* * *
Within minutes of meeting the little girl, Sophia found herself lying on her back beneath the beautifully laid table staring at its underside, while Miss McGregor flashed a torch at it.
‘Isn’t it pretty?’ The little girl rolled the r as she waved her hand at the star constellation the torch projected.
‘It is...and clever... Is this what you’ve been doing all this time? You know Ms Archer has been quite worried about you.’
The girl gave a dramatic frown, her eyes, dark in the low light, now appeared both serious and disappointed at once. Here it came—the excuse. There always was one with children and Sophia had a sneaky suspicion she was going to be reeled in regardless.
‘She never lets me look at the stars. She says it’s a waste of my noggin.’ She prodded her forehead with one forefinger as she stared Sophia down. ‘That I should be learning my maths and reading.’
‘Well, I’m sure Ms Archer just wants what’s best for you.’
She looked back to the lit-up stars. ‘I’m going to be an astronaut; I don’t need maths...or the books she wants me to read.’
Sophia gave a soft laugh. ‘Maths will certainly help you if that’s what you want to be when you grow up.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
She sighed heavily, her bottom lip jutting out. ‘Maybe I will try a little—’
‘What on earth?’ The heavy booming voice took over the girl’s and her eyes widened as she switched off the torch.
‘Uh-oh, Daddy’s mad.’
Daddy’s mad... Oh, no.
Sophia imagined the scene from Mr McGregor’s eyes and felt the heat radiate out from her middle, her cheeks burning bright. All he would see were her calves and her shoes, like something out of The Wizard of Oz... Only her shoes weren’t red; they were nude and attached to her. No witch, just a blushing hotel manager about to face the music.
Not that there
was anything to be apologetic or embarrassed about. She’d found his daughter and really he ought to be grateful for that, not—
‘Lily, come out here this minute.’
‘I’m sorry,’ the little girl whispered to Sophia, her hair a bobbing mass of dark ringlets as she clambered onto her knees and crawled out backward. She made it look so simple, almost graceful, and Sophia ought to do the same.
She really ought to.
Really, really ought to.
But there was something vulnerable about being caught lying on your back beneath a table, the oddity of the situation leaving her quite incapable of thinking straight.
‘What do you think you’re doing, running out on Ms Archer like that?’
Sophia couldn’t make out the girl’s response, just a short, sharp sniff. The next thing she knew, the tablecloth was being flicked up and the most dramatic pair of grey eyes speared her. ‘Ms Lambert, I presume?’