He'd never been inside Templeton Monterey. Though Michael had grown up just up the coast, it wasn't so odd. He'd never had a need for a hotel in the area, and if he had, Templeton would have been beyond his touch.
He'd been to the resort. After all, his mother had worked there. So he knew what to expect
. Then again, he mused as he passed the uniformed doorman, you usually got more than you expected from Templeton.
The lobby was enormous, sprawling, with conversation and waiting areas tucked away behind potted palms and greenery to offer the cozy and the private. The bar, long and wide with generous chairs and gleaming tables, was up a short flight of stairs and separated by a trio of brass rails.
Those who wanted a little lift could enjoy their cocktail and watch the people come and go.
There were plenty of them, Michael noted.
They were six deep at check-in, flooding the long mahogany counter while clerks hustled to assign rooms. Two waitresses worked the waiting crowd and passed out glasses of fizzing water.
The noise was huge.
Wherever they stood, sat, or wandered, they talked. Primarily women, he observed, some of them dressed for business, others drooping from travel. And all, he thought, studying the heaped luggage carts, with enough suitcases for a six-month stay.
As he maneuvered out of the way, two women streaked toward each other over the shining tile and met with squeals and embraces. Several others were eyeing him. Not that he particularly minded being ogled, but being so completely outnumbered, he chose discretion as the better part of valor and contemplated retreat.
Then he saw her, and there might not have been another woman in the room. She carried a clipboard tucked atop a fat file. Her hair was pinned up, smoothed somehow into a neat, professional twist. She wore a simple black suit that even one with a fashion-impaired eye could see was painfully expensive.
For his own pleasure, he let his gaze wander down to her legs. And gave thanks to whatever sadist had convinced women to wear those skinny high heels.
Though she was deep in conversation with the conference chair and frantically sorting out details in her head, Laura felt a flush of heat, a tingle at her back.
She shifted, struggled to ignore it, and at last glanced over her shoulder.
In the midst of all those women—many of whom where rolling their eyes behind his back—he stood with his thumbs tucked in the front pocket of his jeans. Smiling at her.
"Ms. Templeton? Laura?"
"Hmm? Oh, yes, Melissa, I'm going to check on that right away."
The conference chair was as busy, as harried, as Laura. She was also as human, and she felt a quick tug as she looked across the room. "My, my." Grinning, she blew out a breath. "You sure do grow them fine in Monterey."
"Apparently. If you'll excuse me a minute." Tucking her clipboard under her arm, she hurried toward Michael. "Welcome to bedlam. Did you come by to see Byron?"
"I had no idea corporate executives were so sexy." He lifted a hand, flicked it over a glittering heart pin on her lapel. "Cute."
"All the staff are wearing them. It's a romance writers' convention."
"No kidding?" Intrigued, he surveyed the crowd, met several pairs of equally intrigued female eyes. "These women write those books with all that steam?"
"Romance novels are an enormous industry that accounts for more than forty percent of the paperback market and provides enjoyment and entertainment for millions while focusing on love, commitment, and hope."
She reached around to rub the back of her neck. "Don't get me started. 1 used to read because I liked a story. Now I've become an advocate. Byron's in the penthouse. The elevators—"
"I didn't come to see Byron, though I might swing by. I came to see you."
"Oh." She turned her wrist to glance at her watch. "I'm awfully pressed just now. Is it important?''
"I went by your shop first. Quite a place." It had impressed him, as the hotel impressed him with its style and charm. "You had a crowd there too."
"Yes, we're doing well." She tried to imagine him taking a turn around Pretenses. Not quite the bull in the china shop, she decided. More like the wolf among the lambs. "Did anything catch your eye?"
"The dress in the front window had its points." His eyes slid down her. "Would have had more with a woman in it. I don't know much about doodads and glitters. Kate fast-talked me into some blue horse."
"Ah, the aquamarine mare. It's lovely."