By the time it was Daniel's turn, she was almost childishly exultant, beaming at him as she asked, "And what can I do for you?"
The idea of her showing off for his benefit amused him. "Don't worry, Laura, I was already impressed with the way you dealt with this morning's disaster," he said, a smile playing at his lips as he leaned his tanned hands casually on the desk.
"I don't know what you mean!"
Her haughty tone made him laugh. It had been a while, and it felt good as he allowed the deep rumble to reverberate around the stone walls until she smiled cautiously back.
"That's better," he said. "It suits you to smile."
She immediately wiped all expression from her face. "So, what can I help you with?"
Reminding himself it was hardly in his best interests to goad her into being hostile again, he lowered himself into a chair.
"I'm going to need all the usual stuff—street maps, any brochures or leaflets you have of where to go and what to see in the area."
"Do you have any particular interests? Architecture, history, the countryside?"
"I just need one of everything you've got," he said wearily.
She glanced at him in puzzlement as she began to gather together a selection of leaflets. "That doesn't sound very relaxing."
Daniel shrugged. "I'm not here to relax, particularly." Registering her querying expression, he gave himself a mental kick for concentrating on the way she delicately bit her lip with even, white teeth as she focused on her task, instead of on what he was saying. "I . . . won't know what appeals until I've looked into the possibilities," he amended.
Watching her steady gaze, the way stray wisps of hair curled past her ear, her slender fingers on the pile of information she put together as they talked, Daniel recognised he might be about to make a monumental mistake, but he couldn't seem to help himself. The voice telling him he didn't need any complications was countered by his reasoning that if the owners were away, she was his only inside source.
"I wonder if you'd consider helping me sort through this lot—give me the full benefit of your knowledge and expertise," he said. "I haven't been to this area before."
She glanced at her watch. "I have a little time now. Or you could come back in the morning?"
"I was thinking more along the lines of a personal appointment. Over dinner."
She looked momentarily stunned, and there was a long pause as she seemed to weigh up his invitation. "I'm sorry, I can't tonight," she said, finally breaking the silence.
Daniel damped down a flicker of disappointment. "Don't tell me—you're washing your hair?" Way to go, Daniel. Sarcasm will get you everywhere.
"You have no idea what I have planned for tonight!" she retorted indignantly. When he cocked an eyebrow at her unintended suggestiveness, she flushed prettily and hurriedly added, "I've already accepted an invitation to dinner up at the house."
Daniel nodded and unfolded himself from his chair with a cat-like grace. He knew she was curious about him, and even though he told himself he shouldn't be whipping up her interest, as he left he tossed back over his shoulder, "Don't forget, Laura, curiosity killed the cat."
Chapter Five
"Thank you, Maria. That was delicious." Laura sat back, happily full after a plate of Maria's chicken stew.
"You're welcome. Any more trouble with Mr. Stone and his unwanted lady friend today?"
Laura chuckled and filled Maria in on the saga without going into too much detail—every guest was entitled to some privacy, after all. She also carefully left out his unexpected invitation to dinner . . . and the unnerving way her heartbeat had faltered this afternoon by the river at the sight of him in frayed shorts and baggy tee shirt, his bare feet jammed into battered running shoes, his tanned legs taut with toned muscle.
When she'd finished her edited account of the day, Maria patted her cheek. "You've done a fine job, as always. So, have you found out any more about him yet? Other than his poor taste in women, that is?"
"Not really." Laura frowned. "Why do you ask?"
Maria shrugged. "No reason. I was just wondering. As Paulo said, he doesn't seem like our usual sort of guest—not like someone on holiday."
"He certainly doesn't seem to be here to relax," Laura agreed, remembering Daniel's request for all the brochures and bits of information she could lay hands on. She had to admit she was curious about that, but that was all it was—idle curiosity. The man was entitled to make whatever requests he liked—within reason.
"Mother thinks he's a travel reporter," Teresa called across from the sink, where she was up to her elbows in bubbles.
"Teresa!" Maria's voice was unusually sharp.
Laura couldn't hide her surprise. "Honestly, Maria? What makes you think that?"
The older woman twisted her napkin nervously. "I don't know. But I do know he's not a tourist. All those questions he asked Paulo when he booked . . . it made us wonder."
Laura's eyes widened with realisation. "Would it bother you if he was a travel writer? Are you worried he might write about the Quinta?"
Maria shook her head dismissively. "Why would that worry me? It's beautiful here! We've put our souls into the place." She got up from the table, clearly anxious to end the conversation. "Besides, he could be anybody. A writer, a holidaymaker, a travelling salesman for all we know. Who can tell?"
"He could be a gigolo!" Teresa said gleefully.
"Goodness, girl, where do you learn expressions like that?" Maria scolded.
Smiling, Laura finished her coffee and got up to go. "If it'll make you feel any better, I'll try to find out more about him."
Maria shrugged. "If you're curious, you go ahead, but it doesn't worry me."
Laura nodded and left, but she knew Maria wasn't telling the truth. Daniel
