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Chapter 1
DELIA
I look around the resort cabin I've booked for the next fourteen days, and sigh in relief.
I can finally take it easy.
This whole drive--ninety minutes, over fortunately well-maintained roads--to Love Lake from the airport, I've been marveling at the air quality. It's so clearhere in the mountains. Clear and blue-green, and I could feel my shoulders relaxing already.
I hadn't wanted to come. Well, okay, yes, I'd wanted to be here or I wouldn't have planned this vacation, but when it came time to leave Philadelphia, I didn't want to. I felt pressured to stay and spend time with my mother, who has been at loose ends since I broke off my engagement four months ago. I felt compelled to stay and finish writing my next book, the sixth in a series of successful Regency romances. It's going badly, and I don't know why.
But both my mom and my sister Gillian practically pushed me out of the car at the airport this morning. "Go! Relax!" Mom admonished me, shaking me gently by the upper arms. "You're winched to the eyebrows. Go let off steam for two weeks, and come back refreshed."
"Have fun!" Julia chimed in, straightening the scarf around my neck. "Drink a margarita for me! I'm a boring mother of three, I never get out and go dancing or flirt with hot pool boys or anything. I have to live vicariously through you."
I'd rolled my eyes. "You know I don't do tequila."
"You dance, though." She'd blown me a kiss. "And when you get back, let's go for coffee while the munchkins are at school. I need adult conversation."
I'd blown one back. "Deal. I'll let you know when I get there."
Well, now I'm here. Guess I'd better send a quick text. I whip out my phone, double-checking to make sure I actually have service...yep, four bars. I send a message to our mother-daughter group chat that I've arrived and the cabin is everything I could have hoped for.
It really is. The outside is rustic, but the interior is finely finished, with honey-toned wood and soft white walls, accented by touches of warm gray and lively coral. The view of the lake from the front porch is stunning, blue waters reflecting the summer-green trees and clear sky.
On the kitchen table is a file folder with the title LAKEVIEW BLISS CABIN. It's a collection of information that the occupant might need: walking and driving directions to the main resort hotel and its amenities, walking directions to the lake. Menus for the hotel restaurants and bar, as well as their hours and instructions on calling for room service. A list of services available at the hotel spa. A collection of menus from local restaurants, and a list of other businesses, like boat and fishing-gear rentals, a clothing boutique, a market selling fresh produce, an art gallery. Instructions for the cabin's temperature controls. A notification that the private pool is maintained by a licensed local company and this cabin's weekly cleaning day is Thursday.
That's today.
Huh. I didn't remember choosing a cabin with a private pool. What I'd wanted was a less busy atmosphere, one that would help me envision the romance between my Regency rake and his eventual bride, the daughter of the impoverished younger brother of a viscount. I don't know quite why, but I'll get a chapter written and then go back to read it and find Lord Hugh annoying and Miss Hermione very boring, and every time I try fixing the situation I somehow make it worse.
I mean, I love what I do. And I really love these historical romances. So why am I struggling so much lately?
Maybe it's a late reaction to ditching Thomas. We'd been dating two years before he proposed, and I figured I'm not getting any younger, so I might as well say yes. We got along fine, and even if there wasn't a lot of passion between us, there was affection. Aside from my career, I've always been practical, and it seemed sensible to marry someone I liked rather than someone I passionately adored, when that passion might dissipate after time.
But then the wedding dress I'd ordered came in and I went to the bridal shop for a fitting. The dress was so gorgeous, so romantic, and I felt so beautiful in it. I felt like a dream come true.
Then I thought about making vows with Thomas and just burst into tears. I realized that I'd be making a terrible mistake and dooming us to a marriage with no passion. It was hard breaking the engagement, but it was the right thing to do.
I'm tired of being prudent and responsible while waiting for my life to start. I'm ready for some fun.
I might even be ready for a fling. A short-term relationship that involves hot kisses and sexual tension and maybe even an orgasm or two.
And while I'm dreaming, I'll dream up a handsome, sexy, exciting man for myself to have this fling with. He'll be muscular, tan, cute, good with his hands...
I'm already considering going up to the main hotel for a hot-stone massage when I wander out the back door and catch my breath at the sight of the pristine aquamarine waters of the small pool, overshadowed by the mountains behind the cabin. It's lovely and inviting, and I suddenly can't wait to get out of my traveling clothes and into my swimsuit.
I change into my red polka-dot retro halter-top bikini and pull my long brown hair up into a messy bun. I stop in the kitchen for a glass of water with ice, but in the freezer is one of those prepackaged cocktail mixes, with a note taped on it. "We couldn't finish this before the end of vacation, so we thought we'd leave it for the next people to occupy the cabin. Enjoy!"
Well, would you look at that. The universe is already providing me a way to loosen up and have a little fun.
I bang the package of strawberry daiquiri on the counter a few times, to loosen up the contents, then pour it into a glass, grab a towel, and go out to the pool. The water is cool and refreshing, so I swim until I feel cool, then get out and lie on one of the luxurious loungers, relaxing in the early-summer sunshine with occasional sips of daiquiri.
And then I guess I doze off, because when I open my eyes again, my field of vision is filled with a handsome, muscular guy in shorts and t-shirt. Short blond hair. Blue eyes. Dimples, to boot. The epitome of a sexy pool boy.
I might have even dreamed him up.
