Secrets Of Bella Terra by Christina Dodd

field, he waited for Brooke to return. She should have been back by now.
    Perhaps Francesca had detained her. Perhaps she’d been caught by a guest or a staff member. Most likely she was simply unwilling to cater to him and what she considered his unreasonable demands.
    But he was on an investigation. She might make him wait, but he could make good use of his time. Turning, he walked back toward the check-in area. He intended to look at the map of the guest cottages, pick out the one he wanted to use as a base, and pick up the key card. He would bring his bag in from his rental car—he didn’t trust it to the curious hands of any of the bell personnel—and at some point today, he’d get into his cottage and set up his technology.
    When he neared the concierge desk, a tall blonde with a bouncing ponytail, a carefully tended tan, and legs up to her ass turned toward him. She was the typical California beauty in the resort’s regulation dark golf shirt and light chinos. At the sight of him, her big blue eyes lit up and she bounded over like a tennis player retrieving a drop shot. “Hi, Rafe, it’s been a while.”
    “Hi . . .” He lifted an eyebrow at her, trying to decide whether she was one of those women who had seen the movie he’d made when he was a kid and pretended to know him, or if she was someone he had genuinely forgotten.
    Either was possible.
    “Jenna. Jenna Campbell.” She offered her hand and a wide, white beauty-queen smile. “Remember? We had calculus together, and I was awful, and you helped me with it? At the library? Remember? After school? You and me in the dusty old stacks?”
    “Of course.” He didn’t have a clue, but at least now he was pretty sure she was someone he’d forgotten. “You were on the pep squad, right?”
    She reared back in incredulity. “The pep squad?”
    Apparently he’d insulted her.
    “Our senior year, I was the
head cheerleader
.”
    For sure he’d insulted her.
    “I was the only one who could do a backflip all the way down the field. You know.” She half turned as if to prove her prowess by allowing him to view her ass.
    He didn’t object. It was a fine ass. But she seemed a little manic and way too impressed with herself.
    When he didn’t answer, she insisted, “I dated Eric Wright, the quarterback. Remember?”
    “I do remember.” Something about her stirred his demon, and he asked, “Did Eric ever come out of the closet?”
    “What?” The pleasant tone was gone, given over to the snap of an insulted female.
    Rafe didn’t care. “Did Eric ever come out of the closet?” he repeated.
    “You mean, like, out of the closet?”
    “Yes. Did he announce he was gay? I expected he would as soon as he got to college.”
    “No! Don’t be silly. He wasn’t gay; he was . . . Well, he wasn’t!”
    “Okay.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and tried to look peaceable. “I must have been wrong.”
    She smiled, all sharp, shiny white teeth. “Why are we talking about Eric? What have you been up to?”
    “Traveling.”
    “I love to travel! Where have you been?”
    “Here and there.” He waited for her to declare she loved here and there.
    She wasn’t as dumb as she pretended, or maybe she was too self-centered to notice his evasion. “I’m the manager of the spa here at Bella Terra. If you’d like a service—a hot-stone massage or a French body polish, let me know and I’ll see to it personally.”
    What was he supposed to say to that? Really, only two words would do, and the first ones that popped into his mind seemed inappropriate. So instead he said, “Thank you.”
    “That sounded provocative, didn’t it?” Like a cat in heat, she rubbed her shoulder against him and giggled.
    “Not at all.” He was starting to remember this chick; she’d been like a high-class groupie, making it clear she would do whatever it took to take possession of one of the Di Luca sons. Jenna was a social climber, his grandmother had declared, and none too