Simon jerked to attention as the elevator opened. An elderly couple walked out first, followed by a slim, dark-haired woman in a pale blue dress.
The woman walked with a brisk, light step to the desk, which had been cleared of everybody except for three businessmen carrying briefcases.
It came as a shock to Simon when he heard her say, "I'm Hilary Barlow. I believe you have a letter for me."
Simon thought his jaw must have dropped six inches. He didn't know what he'd been expecting, but it sure wasn't this refined-looking woman.
He studied her. Not too tall, around five foot four, as far as he could judge from there. Her dark brown hair was straight and smooth and swung just below her jaw line.
The dress had a flared skirt, but he got the impression she had slim hips and long legs for her height. He was intrigued by her face, which was in profile. She had well-defined cheekbones and a proud nose. Her tan suggested that she came from a state in the Sunbelt. Probably California, he guessed, judging by her voice on the phone
Her mouth was what caught his attention, though. It was a generous mouth, full lipped and provocative, an interesting contrast to her otherwise finely chiseled face.
Aware that he was staring, he hastily removed his gaze and was surprised to find his pulse quickening. It wasn't often that he was interested at first glance. In face, now that he came to think about it, it had been a hell of a long time since he'd been interested in anyone.
He looked back at her. Now that he'd seen her, he was even less happy with the prospect of his next move. But it had to be done. He squared his shoulders and moved forward, hoping his guidebook Thai stood up to the occasion.
Hilary stared at the clerk in confusion. His accent was strong, but he'd made himself quite clear. There was no letter waiting for her at the desk.
"Are you sure?" she insisted, looking around as if expecting to see it lying on the counter. "Weren't you the one who called me just now?"
The clerk shook his head, lifting his hands in a helpless gesture. "I not call you."
"Who did, then?" Hilary could feel a pulse at her throat beginning to throb. All this was becoming too much for her. Something was going on--something she didn't understand.
"Look," she said desperately. "Someone called my room and said that there was a letter with my name on it waiting for me here at the desk. Who else was working here? It was only a few minutes ago..." She broke off when a deep, husky voice spoke behind her.
"Can I be of help here?"
Hilary swung around, her breath catching as she stared up into cool blue eyes.
"Thank you," she said, captivated by his sensuous mouth and thick blond mustache. His hair, bleached even lighter by the sun, looked as if it hadn't seen a comb in several hours but somehow managed to make him look rugged more than untidy.
"It's all right, thought," she added, finding her voice. "I guess there's just been some kind of mistake."
She watched, fascinated, as he spoke in short sentences to the desk clerk. The man behind the counter broke out into a smile and answered rapidly, waving his hands around as he poured forth a stream of words.
Hilary's quick glance assured her that the blond man's body was every bit as impressive as his face. His light-weight shirt and pants outlined his lean figure, and she could guess at the solid muscle in the firm thighs and sunburned arms.
He probably had an ego to match, she told herself as she pulled her gaze away. Even so, she couldn't help the little just of her heart when he smiled down at her.
"There was some sort of mix-up," he told her. "The other clerk must have called you, but someone else picked up the letter, a Mr. Barton. I guess the clerk didn't read the hand-writing too well."
"Oh." Hilary gave a little breathless laugh. "Well, that at least explains something. With everything that's happened to me today, I've had enough of mysteries."
"Mysteries? That sounds interesting. How about joining me for a drink and telling me about it?"
Every instinct told her to politely refuse. She knew nothing about this man except that he was American and extremely attractive. And kind. He had come to her aid, after all.
But what if he'd done it just to pick her up? She almost laughed out loud at the absurd thought.
"Thank you," she said regretfully, "but I'm rather tired. It's been a long day. Thank you for sorting this out for me--I don't speak the language. I'm afraid that makes things a little awkward at times."
"You're here alone?"
He seemed determined to talk, and Hilary had to admit she felt flattered. Something about the way he looked at her made her feel attractive.
"Yes." She smiled up at him, liking the way his eyes crinkled at the edges when he returned the smile. They were nice eyes, very light blue, almost gray. Dangerous eyes.
She dropped her gaze quickly. Now, what had made her think that? Something warned her not to tell him the real reason for her visit. She might be tempted to go into the details of her discovery, and she wasn't ready to do that with a stranger.
"It's a wonderful city," she blurted out to cover her discomfort. "I'm looking forward to exploring it all. There's so much to see, what with the temples and museums and all those wonderful shops. I don't know where to start first." She told herself wildly to stop babbling. What did he care what she was doing?
But he did seem to care; he appeared fascinated, even. He was leaning against the counter, his elbow supporting him as he studied her face. Hilary shifted her weight, uncomfortable under that intense gaze.
"My name is Simon," he said, holding out his hand. "It's nice to meet another American. You sure you won't change your mind about that drink?"
"Hilary." She felt her mouth widening in a self-conscious smile at his easy assumption of a first-name basis. She took his hand, then wished she hadn't when his strong fingers closed around hers to send electric signals up her arm.
"Hilary," he repeated. "A pretty name--I like it."
The way his voice had caressed her name made it sound exotic. She could feel herself weakening and, with an effort, withdrew her hand from his grasp. "Thank you. I've enjoyed talking to you, Simon, but I really must go now."
"You're going to make me drink alone, huh?"
Some little demon deep inside her head made her say, "You don't have a wife to drink with?" Horrified, she clamped her mouth shut as warmth flooded her cheeks.
He gave her a slow grin that sent tingles down her back. "So that's what you're worrying about. I'm not married, Hilary. I swear."
"I don't--I didn't mean--"She took a wobbly breath and sidestepped around him. "Thanks again, Simon," she muttered. "Good night."
Her embarrassment was complete when the unfamiliar high heel of her sandal turned under her and almost sent her sprawling into the elevator doors. Knowing her must be staring after her; she waited until the door had closed behind her and then collapsed against the wall with a low groan.
Simon stared at the elevator. Something didn't add up. He had the feeling she was hiding something and yet ... what was someone like that doing working for a hood like Chambers? Either she was extremely clever with her cover, or Chambers' taste had improved considerably. Neither of which was likely.
He pushed away form the counter with an irritable sigh. He must be slipping. It wasn't often that he got turned down. He was just out of practice, he told himself.
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