Harlequin Desire January 2021--Box Set 1 of 2 Maisey Yates (sad books to read .txt) 📖

the bronze statue at the center of the garden. She struck her foot against the granite pedestal, fell to the ground and yelped like a dog.

She choked on a sob. Had she flown to Miami just to make a fool of herself?

Rhythmic applause, sharp and slow, rose up from deep in the garden. Nina scrambled to her feet and wiped away the blades of grass stuck to her cheek. When she was presentable, she scrutinized the shadows and saw, quite clearly, Grace Guzman staring back at her. Grace sat in a rattan chair, hair loosened from the bun she’d sported earlier. Besides her was a low table with a pitcher of red sangria and a couple of wineglasses. Say what you want, the woman had style.

“You’re quite the performance artist, Ms. Taylor.”

Off-duty Grace was even bitchier than on-duty Grace. How was that possible?

Nina pointed to the statue. “This thing is a hazard.”

“The goddess is not a hazard.”

“Goddess?”

“Aphrodite,” Grace said, as if it were obvious.

Nina examined Aphrodite. Hunched low to the ground, her demure pose struck Nina as unnatural—Aphrodite being the goddess of love and beauty and all. Shouldn’t she stand tall?

“Have a seat, Ms. Taylor,” Grace said. “That statue will be here long after you’ve gone.”

Those words put everything in perspective. This mansion had seen war, economic depression and ecologic catastrophe. Aphrodite was no stranger to drama.

Her chin held high, Nina hobbled over to the offered seat. Grace poured a glass of sangria and handed it over as if it were the cure for all things. Then she folded her hands on her lap and waited for Nina to explain herself. If there was a goddess in this garden, it wasn’t Aphrodite.

When Nina wasn’t forthcoming, Grace broke the silence. “I like to sit here in the early evenings. The guests are getting ready for dinner and the hotel tends to be quiet.”

The hotel was as quiet as could be expected with the street noise drilling through the wall of high shrubs. Nina raked her brain for something to say. “This is a beautiful garden. The lights are a nice touch.”

“We were supposed to host a wedding here tonight. It was canceled.”

“That’s awful.”

“The couple was eloping,” Grace said with a sigh. “Never a good sign.”

Nina disagreed. “Not every bride needs an entourage.”

“Yes, but for some it takes a village,” Grace said. “They need a nagging mother, a dozen bridesmaids and a minimum of fifty guests to get them to the altar. I know I did.”

“My mother is dead.”

The words spilled out without warning. Fragments of her mother’s obit surfaced in her memory. Estelle Taylor, star of A Raisin in the Sun and Porgy and Bess, died of pneumonia in New York City on July 3. She was sixty.

“I’m sorry to hear it, Ms. Taylor.”

“Oh, never mind.” Nina dabbed at the corner of her eyes. “It’s been a year. I don’t know why I brought it up.”

“Does it matter if it’s been a year or ten?” Grace asked.

“No.”

“Please don’t take this the wrong way,” Grace said, “but you look exhausted. Get some rest tonight.”

“I don’t have a room!” she reminded Grace. “I’m on a sofa bed in the study! How restful will that be?”

“You and Mr. Knight came up with this solution on your own.”

“I didn’t think it through,” Nina said.

“Had you let me do my job, I would have offered you accommodations at any one of our hotel partners.”

Had Grace done her job, she wouldn’t have given away Nina’s suite to JL Knight. But she was too exhausted to belabor the point. “Is that still an option?”

It was a holiday weekend, and she assumed most hotels were booked solid.

“It is. But you should know the sofa bed is very comfortable. It’s imported from Italy.” Grace stood to leave. “I’ll leave instructions with the front desk. Whatever you do, don’t delay.”

“Because of the holiday?”

“Because of the rain.”

As soon as Grace spoke the words, a gust a wind swirled through the garden trailing the scent of rain. A clap of thunder had Nina jumping to her feet.

* * *

Nina was out of breath when she made it back to the third floor, just narrowly escaping a downpour. She entered the suite through the sitting room. The doors to the balcony were wide-open and there he was, standing with his back to her. Without the added layer of a jacket, she could plainly see the contours of his muscles under his T-shirt, and it was impressive—not that she cared.

Nina drew a breath for courage and joined him on the balcony, leaning against the rail. He smiled down at her, and she noticed that his soft brown eyes were flecked with gold. How had she not noticed before?

“There you are, Goldilocks.”

Nina cringed, but only on the inside. On the outside, she remained cool. “I spoke to the manager. They can put me up at another hotel.”

“You’d head out in the rain?”

“I love rain.” It was Miami! Summer showers were part of the package.

“What do you love? Singing in it? Dancing in it?”

“None of the above.” The sound of it was enough.

“Hate to rain on your exit parade, but if anyone is leaving, it’s me.”

“I just think—”

“Stop thinking,” he said, interrupting, and yet his voice was gentle. “We agreed to make the best of this. Don’t flake on me now.”

Her gaze fell to his hands gripping the rail. In the movie, he’d gripped the steering wheel of his sports car in the same way. To take her mind off the soft color of his eyes, his gentle voice, firm grip and sculpted arms, Nina turned away and focused on the view. The palm trees swayed in the rain. Below, a cluster of tourists stood outside the hotel gates. Once dubbed the Playboy Mansion of the South, it was a Miami Beach tradition to pose on the stone steps—even in the pouring rain.

“Did I ever tell you about the time I worked here as a valet attendant?”

She had read about that online, but she couldn’t tell him