Marc pocketed the business card, but knew he wouldn’t need it. Then he thanked Rick and waved good-bye as the cab shuttled the man to a less extravagant destination.

At the front desk, Marc’s credit card took a beating, but he gladly plunked down the money for a deluxe suite with the honeymoon package, then hurried to his room on the seventeenth floor to freshen up. He didn’t care if it was two in the morning. If he waited any longer to apologize to Allie, his head might explode.

Looking as dapper as possible in his sleep-deprived, travel-weary state, he took the elevator to the first floor and approached room 123. Then he knocked on the door, arming himself with a repentant grin and a single rose he’d borrowed from a floral arrangement in the lobby.

When the door swung open, Marc’s smile fell.

“Yeah?” A chiseled young man stood there, looking like he’d stepped off a J.Crew billboard. He was naked with nothing but a sheet wrapped around his waist. He rubbed his eyes and scanned Marc’s tuxedo. “We didn’t order anything.”

Marc’s face heated while raw jealousy surged through his veins. In the span of two seconds, he couldn’t hear his own thoughts over the pounding pulse in his ears. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded.

The man drew back. “Who the hell are you?”

“Where’s Allie?”

“Who?”

“My fiancée, that’s who!”

A classic oh, shit! expression passed over the guy’s features as he darted a glance into the room. “She told me her name was Mandy. And she didn’t say anything about having a fiancé.”

Marc pointed into the darkness. “Just put on your clothes and get lost. I’ll take it from here.”

The guy propped one hand on the doorframe, blocking the way. “Listen, buddy, I can sympathize, but it’s obvious she doesn’t want to be with you. Why don’t you quit embarrassing yourself and go drink it off or something?”

Drink it off? Who did this punk think he was?

“Drink this off, you son of a bitch!” Marc dropped his rose and pushed up both jacket sleeves, gearing up to knock this cocky bastard into next week.

Too bad sheer exhaustion had slowed his reflexes. The last thing Marc saw before losing consciousness was a ham-sized fist connecting with his face.

Chapter 19

When Marc came to, he was flat on his back in the hallway with a curly-haired blonde kneeling over him. She wore a fluffy white bathrobe and a worried expression.

“I don’t know this guy,” the woman said to someone standing behind her.

“Well, he said you’re his fiancée,” came a man’s response.

“I don’t care what he said.” The woman tightened her robe’s belt tie and frowned at the man. “I’ve never seen him before in my life.”

Marc pushed to his elbows, groaning when the slight change in altitude made his head throb. One of his eyelids had begun to swell shut, so he turned the good one toward the couple staring at him.

They were strangers.

Understanding dawned, bringing with it sweet relief. Allie hadn’t moved on with another man. Marc sniffed a dry laugh at his own stupidity—and that of Beau’s hacker.

“Sorry,” he said in a voice roughened by the fall. “I had the wrong room.”

The woman smiled triumphantly at her partner. “See? Told you.”

Cringing, the man inspected his knuckles. “Guess I should have just closed the door and called security instead of whaling on you like that. Sorry, man.”

“No hard feelings.” Marc wasn’t a stranger to black eyes and busted lips. “I’m glad you didn’t call security. I can’t afford to get kicked out of here.” At least not until he found Allie and won her forgiveness; then the hotel staff was free to toss him into the street. He pushed himself up to a sitting position while the hallway spun around him.

“Whoa, there.” The man steadied Marc’s shoulder. “Take it easy before you pass out again.”

“How long was I unconscious?”

“Not long—a few seconds, tops. I think you hit your head when you fell.”

That explained the pounding at the back of his skull. Marc closed his eyes, but that made the spinning worse. “I’m fine. I need to get back to my room.”

“Let me get dressed and I’ll help you,” the man said. “It’s the least I can do, since I kicked your ass, and all.”

Laughing, Marc agreed, and they slogged arm in arm to the seventeenth floor. Once inside his suite, the guy helped Marc to the king-sized bed before returning downstairs.

While Marc iced the back of his head, he considered his next move.

He could call Beau and ask his hacker friend to give it another whirl, but that didn’t seem worth the effort since the original information had been wrong anyway. At this hour, it didn’t seem wise to walk through the bars or casinos looking for Allie. She’d almost certainly be asleep, especially considering the schedule she kept at the bakery—early to bed, early to rise.

His gaze darted to the bedside phone. Maybe he should try calling the front desk. Could the solution be that easy?

Marc dialed the check-in station and waited for an answer before asking, “Can you connect me with Allie Mauvais’s room?”

“Just one moment,” came the reply. “I’m sorry. That room has issued a DND request.”

“DND?”

“Do not disturb.”

Marc uttered a curse under his breath. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy. He decided not to leave a message. Allie wouldn’t return his call, not after the way he’d behaved at the cemetery.

Back to the drawing board.

After a few minutes of brainstorming, he decided to wait until six in the morning, then grab some coffee and sit in the lobby to watch for her. All the elevators in the complex emptied into the lobby, so sooner or later she’d have to cross his path. It wasn’t the best idea, but he couldn’t come up with anything better. Tossing his impromptu cold pack into the ice bucket, he reclined on the bed to rest his eyes for a few moments.

* * *

When Marc opened his eyes again, sunlight streamed through his windows so brightly he cringed and raised a hand to block the assault. The thick haze of slumber began to clear, and he bolted upright in panic.

Oh, shit! How long had he slept?

His head ratcheted toward the alarm clock, where a red digital display told him it was almost noon—a full six hours later than he’d planned to camp out in the lobby.

“Son of a bitch.”

Marc sank against his pillow while mentally smacking himself. He should have played it safe and set the alarm. Allie could be anywhere by now, maybe even off the resort.

So much for that idea.

Still cursing his own name, he sprung out of bed. Marc didn’t have a plan, but since he wouldn’t find Allie in his suite, he freshened up and headed downstairs to explore the resort. His head didn’t hurt anymore, so at least one thing had worked in his favor today.

He began his search at the indoor restaurants and gift shops, then scoped out the casinos and swimming pools. He struck out everywhere. By the time he reached the athletic complex, he began to lose hope of ever tracking her down in this mini-metropolis. What if she’d taken a tour of the Hoover Dam? Or gone shopping on the strip? The possibilities were endless.

Marc plopped down on a lobby sofa and cradled his head in both hands. Why was the universe making this so difficult? Hadn’t he demonstrated enough faith to prove that he deserved another chance with Allie? He expelled a frustrated breath and glance down at his feet.

That’s when he noticed that Rick’s business card had fallen from his pocket. There on the pristine marble tile, a cartoon nutria grinned up at Marc and gave him an idea.

A crazy idea. An utterly ridiculous idea.

But the more he thought about it, the more he found himself smiling. If this didn’t get Allie back in his arms before her vacation ended, nothing would.

* * *

Allie yawned and stretched, blinking awake gradually to the hum of an air conditioner instead of the screeching of an alarm clock. It was a nice change. The sun was visible as a faint halo of light along the edges of her room-darkening shades. She lifted her head only enough to check the clock, then lay down again, smiling. The last time she’d slept until noon was the summer vacation before senior year.

I could get used to this, she thought. Wonder if Devyn’s up.

She sniffed the air and noticed a light aroma of roasted coffee beans mingled with something sweet—pancakes or waffles. Allie rolled out of bed, tugged down her polka-dot nightgown, and shuffled into the living area, where last night’s room service tray had been replaced by a cart bearing fresh fruit, whipped cream, and a stack of Belgian waffles.

“Nice spread,” Allie said to her sister, who lounged by the window, sipping coffee.

Devyn lifted her mug. “Good afternoon, Sleeping Beauty. It’s about time you graced the world with your presence.”

“Don’t blame me,” Allie said. “Someone kept me up until the wee hours of the morning watching Under the Tuscan Sun.”

Dev sighed dreamily and pressed a hand to her chest. “I love that movie. I think our next vacation should be to Italy.”

“Then start saving your pennies.” Allie snuck a peek at the room service invoice. Ouch. “For as much as they cost, these waffles had better make me see God.”

Dev pointed at the cart. “Use an extra dollop of that sweet cream and you’ll hear angels, too.”

While Allie scarfed down a plate of fruit-topped waffles—which really were worth every penny—Devyn fanned out an assortment of tourist pamphlets.