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His face relaxed, and he reached for her. “Carla, couldn’t you see—”
She sidestepped him easily. “You bet I saw,” she shot back angrily. “You almost had me fooled, Philip Garrison. For a while there I actually believed we could have shared a wonderful vacation. But it’s not going to work.” Her voice was taut with irritation. With unnecessary roughness, she dumped the packages into his arms. “Not even for a few days could either of us manage to forget what you are. Good-bye, Philip.” She spun and ran across the street, waving her hand, hoping to attract a pulmonía driver. At least she could be grateful that Philip didn’t make an effort to follow her. But that was little comfort…very little.
A pulmonía shot past her, and Carla stamped her foot childishly. She wished she had paid closer attention to the Spanish phrase Philip had called to get the driver’s attention.
Already she felt the perspiration breaking out across her face as she walked along the edge of the street. The late-morning sun could be torturous. Another driver approached, and Carla stepped off the curb and shouted something in Spanish, not sure what she’d said. With her luck, she mused wryly, it was probably something to do with Cookie Monster. But whatever it was worked, because the driver immediately pulled to the curb.
“Hotel El Cid,” she mumbled, hot and miserable.
“Sí, señorita, the man already say.”
Man? Tossing a look over her shoulder, Carla found Philip standing on the other side of the street, studying her. He’d gotten the driver for her. If she hadn’t been so blasted uncomfortable, she’d have told him exactly what he could do with his driver. As it was, all Carla wanted to do was escape. The sooner, the better.
—
Her room was refreshingly cool when she returned. She threw herself across the bed and stared at the ceiling. Tears might have helped release some of her frustration, but she was too mad to cry.
After fifteen minutes, the hotel room gave her a bad case of claustrophobia. From her suitcase, Carla pulled the book she’d been reading on the airplane and opened the sliding glass door to the small balcony. A thorough inspection of the pool area revealed that Philip was nowhere in sight. Stuffing her book into her beach bag, Carla quickly changed into her swimsuit, slipping a cotton top over that, and put on the straw hat. Not for anything was she going to allow Philip Garrison to ruin this vacation.
—
Carla was fortunate to find a vacant chaise longue. The pool was busy with the early-afternoon crowd. Several vacationers were in the water, eating lunch at the counter that was built up against the pool’s edge. Smiling briefly, Carla recalled her first glimpse of the submerged stools and wondered what this type of meal did to the theory of not swimming after eating.
Spreading out her towel, Carla raised the back of the lounger so that she could sit up comfortably and read. Her sunglasses had a tendency to slip down the bridge of her nose, and without much thought she pushed them back up. Philip’s glasses did that occasionally. Angrily, she wiped his image from her mind and viciously turned the page of her suspense novel, nearly ripping it from the book.
An older man who was lying beside her stood, stretched, and strolled lackadaisically toward the bar, seeking something cool to drink. He was barely out of sight when a familiar voice spoke in her ear.
“Is this seat taken?”
Carla’s fingers gripped the page, but she didn’t so much as acknowledge his presence. Without lifting her eyes from her book, she replied, “Yes, it is.”
“That’s fine, I’ll just sit on the edge of the pool and chat,” he replied casually.
Clenching her jaw so tight her teeth hurt, Carla turned a page, having no idea of what she had just read. “I’d appreciate it very much if you didn’t.”
Forcefully, Philip expelled his breath. “How long are you going to be unreasonable like this? All I’m asking is that you hear me out.”
“How long?” Carla repeated mockingly. “You haven’t got that much time. Never, as far as I’m concerned.”
“Do you mean it?” The question was issued so low, Carla had to strain to hear him.
Idly, she turned the next page. “Yes, I meant it,” she replied.
“Okay.” He took the towel, swung it around his neck, and strolled away.
Carla felt a deep sense of disappointment settle over her. The least he could have done was argue with her! One would assume that after yesterday she meant more to him than that. But apparently not.
Without being obvious, she glanced quickly around the pool area and discovered that Philip was nowhere in sight. Ten minutes later she did another survey. Nothing.
Tucking the book inside her beach bag, Carla settled back in her seat, joined her hands over her stomach, and closed her eyes. A splash of water against her leg was more refreshing than irritating. But the cupful of water that landed on her upper thigh was a shock.
Gasping, she opened her eyes and sat up to brush the offending wetness away.
“Did I get water on you?” came the innocent question. “Please accept my apology.”
“Philip Garrison, that was a rotten thing to do!” Inside she was singing. So he hadn’t left.
“So was that last, untruthful remark.”
