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Mr Hampton. Ben Hampton. The memory fell into place just as Daisy’s words registered.
Luce winced. Apparently her day wasn’t improving after all.
* * *
Ben Hampton couldn’t keep from smirking when he saw his potential suite-mate roll her eyes to heaven and turn folded arms and an accusing stare on him. This was going to be fun.
Five minutes earlier he’d been about to head out for the evening when he’d seen the brunette holding up the reservations queue in the lobby. His first instinct had been to intervene, to get things moving again. Being one half of the ‘sons’ in the Hampton & Sons hotel chain meant that he fixed things wherever he saw them. He kept the guests happy, the staff working hard and the hotel ticking over, wherever he happened to be staying at the time. That was his job: keep things moving. Including himself. But of course staff evaluation was also important, his brother Seb would have said, and this had looked like the perfect opportunity to observe how the Royal Court’s reception staff dealt with a difficult guest.
So he’d stayed back, trying not to look as if he was loitering behind the ostentatious golden Christmas tree in the lobby, and watched. He’d heard the woman give her name as Lucinda Myles and a jolt of recognition had stabbed through him. Lucinda Myles. Luce. They’d teased her about that, hadn’t they? Such an absurd nickname for someone so uptight. Ben knew from six months of dating her university roommate that Luce Myles had been the twenty-year-old most likely to be doing extra course reading on a Friday night, while the rest of them were in the pub. And he’d been able to tell from three metres away that she was still the most tightly wound person he’d ever met.
Luce had vibrated with irritation and impatience, just as she had whenever he and the girlfriend had emerged from their bed at noon on a weekday. Ben frowned. What had her name been, anyway? The girlfriend? Molly? Mandy? Hell, it had been eight years ago—even if six months was something of a relationship record for him. Was he supposed to remember the name of every girl he’d ever dated? But Luce Myles...that wholly inaccurate name had stuck with him down the years.
Casually, he’d turned his head to get a better look at her. Dark hair, clipped at the back of her head, had revealed the creamy curve of her neck down to her collarbone, shoulders, tense under her sweater. The heel of her boot had been tapping against the marble as she waited for Daisy to finish calling around for a room Ben knew wouldn’t exist. She’d been knotted so tight she might have snapped at any moment, and he’d wondered why—passing acquaintance aside—he was even vaguely interested in her. Yes, he liked a woman who knew what she wanted, but usually she wanted a good time—and him. Lucinda Myles didn’t look as if she’d gained any conception of what a good time was in the last decade, let alone a desire to have one.
In fact, he’d realised with a jolt, he knew exactly what she looked like. That permanent frown etched in her forehead, the frustration around her eyes—they were familiar. He’d seen them on his mother’s face often enough.
But that hadn’t explained his sudden interest. He’d studied her closer and eventually decided it was her clothes. Despite the ‘stay away’ vibes her demeanour gave out, her clothes were just begging to be touched. Straight velvet skirt in the darkest plum, a navy sweater that looked so soft it had to be cashmere. Even her sensible brown boots were suede. She certainly hadn’t dressed like that at university. Ben appreciated fine fabrics, and the sight had made his fingers itch to touch them.
He’d wondered what she had on underneath.
A woman couldn’t wear clothes that strokeable if she didn’t have something of a sensual nature under them. Even if she didn’t know it was there yet. Maybe Lucinda Myles had an inner sensuality just begging to be let out after all these years. Ben had thought he might like to help her with that. For old times’ sake.
Daisy had returned to report on the utter lack of available hotel rooms in the local area, and Luce had moved away—which simply didn’t fit in with Ben’s plans. So he’d stepped forward and suggested the King James Suite, which had had the added bonus of enabling him to watch Luce’s face when she realised who she’d be sharing with.
Except her reaction wasn’t quite what he’d been expecting.
There’d been no sign that she recognised him, for a start, which was a bit of a blow to the ego. He liked to think he was a fairly memorable guy. But then, he’d grown up in eight years. Changed just as she had. Would he have recognised her without hearing her name? Probably not. So he could forgive her that. No, the cutting part was that instead of flushing red or widening her eyes, like Daisy did, or even giving him a glimpse through her armour of tension and irritation like any other woman would have, Lucinda Myles had winced.
