nerve-racking if the wedding was taking place on home ground. Here they would be surrounded by Ernie’s nearest and dearest, all eagerly awaiting the impression the Burney family would make. Her stomach gave a churn of unease at the thought.
‘What name is it?’
The blonde receptionist ran a manicured fingernail down her computer screen.
‘Burney,’ Emma said. ‘I’m part of the Burney-Harford wedding party.’
Adam had made a block reservation.
Dan strode through the door, fresh from parking the car. He rested one hand on the desk and ran the other through his dark hair, spiking it more than ever. His blue eyes crinkled as he smiled his gorgeous lopsided smile—the one that had melted half the female hearts in London.
The manicured fingernail came to an instant standstill and the receptionist’s jaw practically fell open as she gazed at him.
‘Mr and Mrs Burney?’ she asked.
Emma sighed.
‘No, that would be my parents.’ Mercifully they weren’t here yet. ‘It will be under Miss.’
The girl handed over keys—proper old-fashioned ones—and a wad of check-in paperwork.
Emma gave Dan an expectant look.
He smiled at her.
‘Great venue.’
‘What about you?’ she said.
‘What about me?’
‘Your booking,’ she whispered.
In her peripheral vision she picked up the interested change in the receptionist’s posture. She’d seen it a hundred times before. She took in her appearance. Blonde hair— check. Sleekly made-up face— check. Eager smile— check. She knew exactly what would come next.
She waited for Dan to confirm loudly that he had a separate booking—ergo, he was free and single, and in possession of a hotel room and a shedload of charm. Instead he held her own gaze steadily, as if his radar no longer picked up pretty blondes. Not a hint of a flirt or smoulder. Not so much as a glance in the girl’s direction.
‘Didn’t make one,’ he said cheerfully.
Emma stared at him incredulously for a moment, before realising that the receptionist was watching them with an interest that was way beyond polite. She walked away into the corner and when he didn’t immediately follow gave him an impatient come-on beckoning gesture. He sauntered over. The receptionist made a poor attempt not to watch the laconic grace of his movements.
‘What do you mean, you didn’t make a booking? You had your invitation—where did you think you were going to sleep? On the lawn?’
He shrugged. ‘I never got round to booking a room and then, when you asked me to step in as your date, I didn’t need to. I’ll be staying in your room, won’t I?’ He put an arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. ‘All part of the façade, right?’
She was rendered momentarily speechless by a wave of spicy aftershave and the sudden closeness of him, and then his assumption about their sleeping arrangements slammed into her brain.
‘You can’t stay in my room,’ she squeaked.
‘The whole weekend takes place at this hotel. It’s hardly going to give a loved-up impression if we sneak off to separate rooms at the end of the night, is it?’
‘In the Burney family we’d fit right in,’ she said, thinking of her parents, who’d had separate bedrooms since she was in her late teens.
He ignored her and turned his head sideways to read the number on the key fob in her hand.
‘Eighteen,’ he said, heading for the stairs. ‘First floor.’
She stumbled after him, her mind reeling. The thought of their sleeping arrangements hadn’t entered her head. This was the first time they’d faked their relationship for longer than a couple of hours. She’d simply assumed he would have a separate booking.
An image of her vanity case full of embarrassing toiletries danced through her mind, swiftly followed by the fact that her hair looked like a fright wig when she woke up. She gave herself a fast mental slap, because she absolutely did not care whether she looked attractive or not, and any attempt to
‘What name is it?’
The blonde receptionist ran a manicured fingernail down her computer screen.
‘Burney,’ Emma said. ‘I’m part of the Burney-Harford wedding party.’
Adam had made a block reservation.
Dan strode through the door, fresh from parking the car. He rested one hand on the desk and ran the other through his dark hair, spiking it more than ever. His blue eyes crinkled as he smiled his gorgeous lopsided smile—the one that had melted half the female hearts in London.
The manicured fingernail came to an instant standstill and the receptionist’s jaw practically fell open as she gazed at him.
‘Mr and Mrs Burney?’ she asked.
Emma sighed.
‘No, that would be my parents.’ Mercifully they weren’t here yet. ‘It will be under Miss.’
The girl handed over keys—proper old-fashioned ones—and a wad of check-in paperwork.
Emma gave Dan an expectant look.
He smiled at her.
‘Great venue.’
‘What about you?’ she said.
‘What about me?’
‘Your booking,’ she whispered.
In her peripheral vision she picked up the interested change in the receptionist’s posture. She’d seen it a hundred times before. She took in her appearance. Blonde hair— check. Sleekly made-up face— check. Eager smile— check. She knew exactly what would come next.
She waited for Dan to confirm loudly that he had a separate booking—ergo, he was free and single, and in possession of a hotel room and a shedload of charm. Instead he held her own gaze steadily, as if his radar no longer picked up pretty blondes. Not a hint of a flirt or smoulder. Not so much as a glance in the girl’s direction.
‘Didn’t make one,’ he said cheerfully.
Emma stared at him incredulously for a moment, before realising that the receptionist was watching them with an interest that was way beyond polite. She walked away into the corner and when he didn’t immediately follow gave him an impatient come-on beckoning gesture. He sauntered over. The receptionist made a poor attempt not to watch the laconic grace of his movements.
‘What do you mean, you didn’t make a booking? You had your invitation—where did you think you were going to sleep? On the lawn?’
He shrugged. ‘I never got round to booking a room and then, when you asked me to step in as your date, I didn’t need to. I’ll be staying in your room, won’t I?’ He put an arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. ‘All part of the façade, right?’
She was rendered momentarily speechless by a wave of spicy aftershave and the sudden closeness of him, and then his assumption about their sleeping arrangements slammed into her brain.
‘You can’t stay in my room,’ she squeaked.
‘The whole weekend takes place at this hotel. It’s hardly going to give a loved-up impression if we sneak off to separate rooms at the end of the night, is it?’
‘In the Burney family we’d fit right in,’ she said, thinking of her parents, who’d had separate bedrooms since she was in her late teens.
He ignored her and turned his head sideways to read the number on the key fob in her hand.
‘Eighteen,’ he said, heading for the stairs. ‘First floor.’
She stumbled after him, her mind reeling. The thought of their sleeping arrangements hadn’t entered her head. This was the first time they’d faked their relationship for longer than a couple of hours. She’d simply assumed he would have a separate booking.
An image of her vanity case full of embarrassing toiletries danced through her mind, swiftly followed by the fact that her hair looked like a fright wig when she woke up. She gave herself a fast mental slap, because she absolutely did not care whether she looked attractive or not, and any attempt to
Similar Books
