Michael took his seat, rested his ankle on his knee, and watched her work. Who would have thought it, he mused, the cool, pampered princess, up to her elbows in details. Swinging from phone to computer and back like a veteran soldier flanking the enemy.

Depending on the topic, her voice was warm, chilly, brisk, or persuasive. And she never missed a beat.

Actually, her heart missed quite a few—every time she looked over and saw him sitting there. Black denim and worn boots and dark windblown hair. Eyes that watched everything.

“Michael, you don’t—”

Before she could finish, even begin to nudge him along, a skinny man with a quick smile poked his head in the door. “Sorry. Laura?”

“Mark, I’ve been paging you for an hour.”

“I know. I was trapped, I swear it. I’m on my way to deal with conference registration setup. But there’s a small crisis in the Gold Ballroom. They want you.”

“Of course they do.” She rose. “Michael, I need to see what this is about.”

“Let’s go.”

“Don’t you have something to do?” He made her nervous, matching her pace as she strode back into the lobby.

“I’m having fun watching you. A guy’s entitled to an hour off now and again.”

As they climbed a flight of wide carpeted steps, he looked around curiously. “I’ve never been in here before. Hell of a place.”

“I didn’t realize. I wish I could show you around, but . . .” She shrugged her shoulders. “You can take a tour on your own, but I wouldn’t recommend using the elevators. We’ve got about eight hundred checking in today and they’ll be jammed.”

“Jammed into an elevator with women who write romance.” He shook his head. “I can think of worse things.”

The second-floor meeting-room level was as spacious as the lobby, as elegantly appointed, and nearly as crowded. Enormous chandeliers were brilliantly lit, shooting light onto brass and silver, dripping it on pots of flowering begonias in snowy white and blood red. Along one wall, heavy drapes were open to a spectacular view of the bay.

Laura marched toward a bank of six doors topped with an ornate brass plate identifying the Gold Ballroom.

“You have to admire the Templetons.”

“What?”

“They know how to build a hotel.”