Around a bend in the path he found the source of the Wi-Fi signal. A house of gray stone sat in the middle of a garden, with a small patio facing him. And—he actually stopped walking and took a deep breath—the most heavenly smell drifted from the open windows.
Led by his nose, he walked right up to the edge of the patio. It smelled of chocolate and coffee, and made him realize he hadn’t eaten lunch, nor anything else today other than a wholly inadequate roll from an airport kiosk, washed down with a bottle of warm water. Oh God, what he wouldn’t give for a good cup of coffee right now, and if it came with a slice of chocolate cake—
The door opened with a bang, and a woman stalked out toward him. A very attractive woman, with light brown curls bouncing around her head and a mesmerizing sway to her hips. Archer started to smile, but it fell off his face as she drew near. “Whoa!”
“This is private property,” she said acidly in an unmistakably American accent.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” He took a step backward and kept his eyes on the large meat cleaver she was pointing at him. “There’s no sign marking the boundary of the hotel grounds.”
She seemed to bristle. “You’re staying at the hotel?”
“What the hell is going on up there?” She waved her free hand at the road. “A dozen trucks a day go up and down that road.”
“Just a wedding.” He kept his voice calm and unthreatening. She was holding the cleaver like she knew how to use it.
“A wedding. It’s not even supposed to be open!” She shook her head, and curls spilled over her face. She swiped them back, and shaded her eyes to peer up the hill. Unthinkingly Archer gave her another quick once-over. A long white apron hid most of her, but her fitted shirt showed off a nice pair of breasts. On her feet she wore clogs, but her legs to the knee were bare. Cleaver aside, she was damn fine.
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