Garden of the Moongate

• Chapter One
  
• Chapter Two
  
• Chapter Three
  
• Chapter Four
  
• Chapter Five
  
• Chapter Six
  
• Chapter Seven
  
• Chapter Eight
  
• Chapter Nine
  
• Chapter Ten
  
• Chapter Eleven
  
• Chapter Twelve
  

"Aren't You Hungry?" She Whispered, Afraid of His Passion.


He lifted his head slightly, an indulgent smile softening the sensuous curve of his lower lip. "Only for you, Allendre," he muttered huskily. "You're delicious. The most delicious, softest girl I've ever known, and I can't seem to keep my hands off you. Forget about lunch."


"But, Ric…"


His hands tangled in her thick golden hair, holding her fast as his mouth descended on hers again. "Touch me," he commanded roughly before his kiss became hard and possessive, a demand she could not resist…

DONNA VITEK firmly believes that "I would probably have never learned to enjoy writing as much as I do" without the helpful influence of her husband, Richard. The Vitek family lives in Winston-Salem, North Carolina.

Dear Reader,

Silhouette Romances is an exciting new publishing series, dedicated to bringing you the very best in contemporary romantic fiction from the very finest writers. Our stories and our heroines will give you all you want from romantic fiction.

Also,
you
play an important part in our future plans for Silhouette Romances. We welcome any suggestions or comments on our books, which should be sent to the address below.

So enjoy this book and all the wonderful romances from Silhouette. They're for
you
!

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Silhouette Books

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Copyright © 1982 by Donna Vitek

First printing 1982

ISBN 0 340 32072 9

For Anne Gisonny

As Allendre Corey unnecessarily smoothed the shimmering blond strands of her shoulder-length hair and moved forward to perch herself on the edge of her seat, her cousin, Lynn, shook her head and laughed softly.

Restlessly tapping her toes against the carpet, Allendre turned to the older girl with a questioning frown. "What's funny?"

Lynn's lips twitched as she tried to control her amusement. "You just look like you might sprout wings and fly away by yourself if they don't let you on that plane soon. Why so nervous?"

Shrugging, Allendre flicked an imaginary piece of lint from the skirt of her white linen suit. "I'm more excited than nervous, I guess. I never expected to be sent on an assignment this soon. Rookies at Meredith's Travel Guides usually spend at least a year proofreading copy and trotting messages back and forth between editors before they're sent out the first time. I've only been there six months, though."

"I guess they simply realized you're a very capable young woman," Lynn suggested earnestly. "They must have, since they're trusting you with this delicate assignment."

"Well, I'm not sure they sent me because they trust me," Allendre responded wryly. "Actually, Mr. Meredith seemed a little nervous about giving me the job, but since everyone else was busy, he didn't have much choice. Besides, he said I look so young that no one at the hotel will ever suspect I'm there to check out the complaints he's been getting about it."

"My cousin, the spy," Lynn teased, then stroked her cheek thoughtfully. "Seriously, though, isn't Shannon House supposed to be one of the finest old hotels in Bermuda? I'm certain I've heard of it."

"I'm sure you have. During the twenties, I think it was something of a mecca for all the 'best people.' And since the forties,
Meredith's Guide to Bermuda
has always listed it as a super deluxe hotel, a rare honor, believe me. Mr. Meredith's stayed there several times himself and thought the service and the atmosphere were superb. That's why he's so disturbed about all the complaints he's been receiving about it recently. Apparently the service isn't all that great anymore, and there have actually been a few letters from former guests who swear they were overcharged when they checked out."

"You mean they think somebody deliberately padded their bills?" Lynn asked, frowning confusedly. "But why would anyone risk the reputation of a fine old hotel just to get a few extra dollars? It doesn't make sense… unless Shannon House has been sold and the new owner only cares about making a big profit."

"No, it hasn't been sold. Mr. Meredith checked that out right away, but it's still owned by the same family who built it and the man who has managed it for the past thirty-five years is still there, so nothing should have changed."

"But it has."

"Apparently. That's what I'm going to find out. If the service has gotten slipshod, then Mr. Meredith will have to lower the rating for it in his next Guide to Bermuda."

"Wow, that's a pretty awesome responsibility for you, isn't it??"

"Now you know why I'm nervous," Allendre retorted wryly, needlessly adjusting the collar of her lilac blouse, then glancing at her wristwatch. "But I suppose it'll be easy enough to discover if the service there is less than top-quality. Mr. Meredith gave me a checklist of what he considers to be the marks of a super deluxe hotel—personalized service, a calm, classy atmosphere. You know, 'the guest is always right' attitude."

"And they won't know who you are, right? You'll just act like any other guest?" Lynn's dark brown eyes sparkled gleefully. "Ooh, that sounds so exciting. What a great job you have! I'd love to get paid for basking in the sunshine. Instead, I was silly enough to go into teaching. A classroom full of rioting third graders sure sounds pathetic compared to an exotic sandy beach and beautiful blue waters."

"Nonsense. You know you wouldn't give up teaching for anything," Allendre challenged. "You love all those rioting third graders, and don't try to tell me otherwise." Glancing at her watch again, she jumped abruptly to her feet. "I think I'll check my luggage at the ticket counter."

"But you have nearly an hour before your plane leaves."

"I know, but I'm too nervous to sit still," Allendre admitted, smiling sheepishly. "Watch my tote bag, will you? I'll be right back."

Two suitcases in tow, Allendre joined the line waiting at the airline ticket counter, and as she inched forward slowly during the following ten minutes, she pulled her bags along with her. At last she hoisted them up on a low platform to be checked, then handed her ticket to the young man behind the counter.

His eyes roved over her in blatant appreciation and he smiled as he assigned her a seat in the first-class section. "An unusual first name, Miss Corey," he remarked flirtatiously. "I bet a lot of people call you Allie."

Allendre grimaced comically. "Almost everyone. Unfortunately, I hate it; probably because in grammar school Allie became Alley Oop, Alley Cat, Alleyway, and anything else the boys could think of to pester me with."

Laughing, the young man handed back her ticket envelope with a flourish. "Have a nice flight,
Allendre
. Wish I was going to Bermuda with you."

"I'm sure your wife would enjoy the trip, too," she retorted wryly, staring at the gold wedding band he wore on his left hand. Stepping back, away from the counter, she trod on the toes of the person behind her, then stiffened as hard hands gripped her upper arms to move her forward again before she could even begin to utter an apology.

"Make you a deal," a deep voice growled close to her ear. "You don't walk on my feet and I won't walk on yours."

Spinning around, Allendre felt her cheeks burn as she tilted her head back and met the gray-blue eyes of the young man towering over her. Though she smiled apologetically, his dark lean face remained expressionless. "I'm terribly sorry," she murmured as his cool gaze roamed rather impersonally over her. "I didn't mean to…"

"Apology accepted," he said brusquely, bending down to pick up the briefcase on the floor behind him. The muscles of his shoulders rippled beneath the fabric of his gray pin-striped suit, and when he straightened again and found her watching him closely, something like impatience flickered across his face. "The line is backing up, so if you're finished…"