by Chant, Zoe
“I appreciate your candor, but I am resolved to make the purchase,” Scarlet replied, every bit as formally. “I have the money,” she added. “And the contract dictates...”
“It’s not about contracts,” Mal said.
Scarlet was surprised by how passionately he said it.
He took a deep swig of his beer and looked away over the big pool. A polar bear was paddling around in the deep end and several guests in human form were lounging on pool floats at the other end. An otter was frolicking cheerfully at the base of one of the falls.
“Three hundred and fifty million dollars would buy you an island just as good,” Mal said thoughtfully. “Something off of Mexico that doesn’t require as much air travel, maybe. There are some properties in the Bahamas that you could get for a song compared to this.”
“I think you grossly overestimate your powers of persuasion,” Scarlet said coolly. “Why would I shop for another resort when I’ve already built exactly what I wanted?”
Mal leaned forward and looked at her intensely. His brown eyes were flecked with gold, Scarlet realized, and it took a moment for his words to register: “Because your resort isn’t safe.”
Chapter 9
If Scarlet had not been his mate, and if he had not been half in love with her before he first set eyes on her, Mal was still sure this would have been a difficult conversation.
He was used to delivering bad news and had no qualms giving hard truths to people. It was second nature to steel himself against emotional investment before all such meetings.
But Scarlet...
It wasn’t just the threat of her sizzling power and it wasn’t just her beauty, though both of those complicated things more than he liked to admit. He wondered if she knew exactly what she did to his body when she tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear. The curve of her neck, the grace of her fingers, the line of her collarbone, just visible at the open neck of her blouse; it was enough to make him adjust his seat... and Mal never brought his libido to a negotiation.
It wasn’t even his desire that was making it so hard to speak.
It was the vulnerability he’d glimpsed behind those flinty green eyes, the aching longing he doubted anyone else saw. He wanted to be her safety... he had never desired anything in the world so much as to be someone she could trust. He desperately wished he could tell her what she wanted to hear.
Instead, she thought he was her enemy, and he was bringing her news that would break her heart.
Scarlet narrowed her eyes. “Is this the point in our negotiations where you start threatening me?”
“No,” he promised. “It’s out of my hands, I swear to you. This island... it was an unfortunate place to build. It was never meant to be developed and you can’t stay here much longer. I didn’t realize how close to the end it was, before I came and saw for myself.”
“I’m going to need more than a vague statement of doom to convince me cancel the purchase,” Scarlet told him flatly. Then she gave a devastating smile, shook her head, and added, “Though I have to admit, that’s a more creative angle than I was expecting.”
“It’s not creative,” Mal protested. “I promise. Just hear me out, because benea—”
“Scarlet, I’m sorry to bother you...”
They both looked around to find Breck, looking very sorry indeed to bother them. “The cruise ship is in early with our new guests,” he said apologetically. He looked at Mal warily, his tray clutched like he feared he’d have to use it as a shield.
More guests, Mal thought, his hands clenching around the beer. More innocent shifters.
Scarlet was standing. “We’ll have to continue this conversation later,” she said dismissively to Mal.
Mal stood as well. “Today,” he insisted. “It’s important, and we’re running out of time.”
For a moment, he thought she was going to refuse.
“Please,” he added as an afterthought.
She pursed her lips and said reluctantly, “I should be free later this afternoon, after four.”
Mal extended a hand. “At four,” he said firmly.
She eyed his hand a moment before gingerly taking it and Mal savored the feeling of hers in his own. “At four, Mr. Moore,” she agreed faintly, and there was that spark of uncertainty in her gaze that made him want to fold her into his arms and protect her from anything.
“Mal,” he corrected. “Call me Mal.”
She scowled and her eyes shuttered. “Mr. Moore,” she repeated coldly and her hand was simply not in his any longer.
Her low heels clicked away over the hard tiles with a sound that Mal was already able to distinguish from anyone else and he watched her go with a smile of amusement.
Did she feel it? Did she already know that she was his mate, that he was hers, completely and utterly? Was she being coy, or simply defensive?
Alice had sworn that Scarlet wasn’t a shifter; was it possible that she honestly didn’t know about the bond they had? Humans supposedly felt overwhelming attraction when they met their mate, but she certainly wasn’t human. Mal had seen warmth and interest in her eyes when they danced, but little of either since then. Was she denying their connection because she was angry with him, or was she truly not aware of it?
Mal realized that Breck was still standing there, watching him watch Scarlet walk away.
The waiter cleared his throat. “I owe you an apology,” he said stiffly.
Mal refrained from smiling. “If you feel it necessary, I will accept your apology.” Scarlet must have given him an earful. Mal sat back down.
But Breck didn’t simply take his statement and go. Instead, he crossed his arms and adapted a wide-legged stance that would have looked more natural on Wrench or Graham. “Look, we all know you want the resort. But you should know that you won’t get it without a fight. And we’re all going to take it very poorly if you hurt Scarlet.”
We would never hurt her, his dragon said with a hint of righteous anger. We will protect her. At all costs.
“I have no desire to harm Scarlet,” Mal said. “And I’m sorry for the resort. I can only promise that I am not doing anything vindictively.”
Breck gave a scowl that didn’t suit his laughing features. “This is our home,” he said fiercely. “We’re not just leaving so you can make an easy buck.”
Mal stared. “You think this is about money?” He gave a helpless chuckle. “If this was about money, I would not have offered Scarlet a buyout worth many times the value of the entire island.”
“You offered her a buyout?” Breck looked confused.
“Several now,” Mal said. “Worth millions more than your purchase offer. Didn’t she tell you? She could have left the resort and bought a new place twice the size, with more amenities, or retired you all as millionaires and lived a life of luxury on some beach sipping tequila.”
“Millions more?” Breck’s look of confusion had turned to suspicion.
“All of my offers were very generous,” Mal assured him. “And completely fair. No strings, no hidden agendas.”
“Well you and Beehag have got some kind of agenda,” Breck said, clearly not convinced. “Or you wouldn’t be here, and you wouldn’t have trotted those so-called businessmen through here like a slap in the face.”
Mal winced. He’d begun things by trying to convince Benedict Beehag that a sale was necessary, and finding buyers he wouldn’t mind watching slide into the ocean. He had hoped it would help scare Scarlet off, but she was made of sterner stuff... and once she had Jenny’s help in identifying the protections set out in her contract, he realized that even an unsavory sale of the island wasn’t going to convince her to break the lease.
“I can promise you that Benedict Beehag has no interest in the island whatsoever,” Mal said honestly. He’d been working independently since Benedict had come whining back from one of the purchase attempts about how dangerous everything was and how crazy Scarlet was. He was currently spending his inheritance at breakneck sp
eed through Europe with all the tail and alcohol that money could buy.
“Then why not just accept the purchase?” Breck said. “Why not just leave us in peace?”
For all of the worldliness that Breck pretended to have, he was painfully innocent.
“There are bigger things at stake,” Mal said, carefully vague. He didn’t want to send rumors through the staff before he was able to tell Scarlet the details himself. “Congratulations, by the way.”
Breck was eyeing Mal’s empty beer bottle, clearly just keeping himself from sweeping to collect it out of habit. “Congratulations for what, now?”
“Your recent nuptials,” Mal reminded him. “It made waves in shifter society.”
Breck gave a helpless smile. “Thank you,” he said, and he rubbed his left wrist self-consciously.
“I’m pleased that my gift got to the right people,” Mal couldn’t help adding. “Eventually.”
It didn’t take Breck long to figure out what he was talking about; he was naive, but not stupid. “You gave the engagement bracelets to Darla and Liam?” Breck said in astonishment. “They were from you?”
“More accurately, they were from her father, who commissioned me to make them before his death.”
“Why?” Breck asked avidly.
“Her father wanted her to be happy. He hoped that they would help show her the way to her own heart.” Mal did not have to add that Darla’s father had been desperately unhappy with his own marriage; Breck had met Darla’s mother. “How are you liking the fringe benefits of my gift?”
Breck tried unsuccessfully to smother his grin. “It can be very entertaining.”
Mal couldn’t help but chuckle. “Of all the people on this island, I imagine you would be the one who could get the most enjoyment out of it.”
Breck’s curiosity had clearly overcome his dislike. “Did you know? When you sent these, did you know that Darla and I were mates?”
“No,” Mal said with a brisk shake of his head. “I had no idea. But I knew that Liam wasn’t, and I knew that Darla would somehow get to where she needed to be to meet her destiny.”
“You actually believe in destiny?” Breck sounded dubious.
Mal was quiet, thoughtful. “We’re all called to be in certain places, to face certain tasks. Sometimes it’s not clear to us when or where or what, but shifters in particular are tuned to patterns in the world.” He eyed Breck. “Would you have chosen to fall in love with Darla, if you’d been given a choice in the matter?”
Breck looked taken aback. “Of course not,” he said, deeply reluctant. “She was promised to another. She was out of my league. She broke all my rules.”
“And yet now, with her...?”
“There’s no other life without her, no possible path. I never dreamed I could be so happy.”
Mal nodded. “I have a theory that our animal selves can see our best possible outcome, instinctively. They recognize the pieces that take us there, even if we don’t understand all the rules and can’t see the full pattern.”
Breck studied him. “But you think you do. Understand the rules. See the whole picture.” His voice was full of challenge.
“More than most people, maybe,” Mal said, thinking of Scarlet. He hadn’t seen Scarlet coming.
We have always known that our destiny was at this island, his dragon assured him confidently.
But Mal’s vision of that destiny had been glorious battle, victory over a terrible threat to the world. It hadn’t involved a woman with eyes that looked straight into his soul, or the ferocious desire that rose in him every time he caught sight of her. His whole understanding of his fate had been turned on its head.
He finished the last swig of his beer and handed the bottle to Breck, who put it on his tray with a practiced flair.
“Shifting Sands might surprise you,” the waiter said in unexpected echo to his own thoughts. “It might even teach you something about yourself. It has a habit of doing that.”
Mal thought it just might.
Chapter 10
Scarlet checked in the new guests personally, as she usually did. It was the usual mix: dilettantes who spent money like water, couples who were celebrating anniversaries or honeymoons, middle class people who had carefully saved up for the vacation of a lifetime. She confirmed the rules with each of them, gathered signatures for all the various forms, and gave them keys.
Usually, this was one of her favorite things to do. It was pleasant to meet new people, to see the shining anticipation in their faces, to watch how they reacted to the amenities and activities she described to them. They took deep breaths of the island air and marveled at the smells and delighted in the architecture and Scarlet felt a sense of deep accomplishment and pride.
But today she could not help but think of Mal’s statement: Your resort isn’t safe.
What did he mean by that? Was this just lawyer talk? He seemed sincere. Insufferably smug, yes, but when he’d talked to her, he seemed genuinely concerned.
Concerned and... interested.
His eyes haunted her, so warm and fearless.
Their conversations on the phone had prepared her for someone cool and logical. But Mal—Mr. Moore—had an expressive face and Scarlet had caught a dozen emotions there in the space of a conversation. She found this very unnerving.
That, and she had expected someone old. Jenny said he’d been practicing law since the sixties, which meant he had to be at least eighty.
“Which room number?”
“Eighty...” Scarlet said, distracted. She shook herself. “I mean, that will be 215 in the hotel. You have a lovely view from that floor.”
The guest smiled gratefully and Scarlet made herself concentrate on the transaction and show her the map. “My staff has already delivered your luggage, no need to worry.”
“Thank you so much!”
Scarlet shut down the computer after the guest took their over-sized purse and left the courtyard and stared at her dark reflection in the screen for a moment. It wasn’t like she should judge Mal for looking younger than he was. She closed the laptop firmly.
The resort outside the courtyard was filled with the noises of new guests, people exclaiming over the beauty and thoughtfulness of the layout, loudly asking for directions, greeting the people they’d gotten to know on the plane. Some of them went directly for the bar, where there was already happy chatter despite the early hour.
Your resort isn’t safe.
Scarlet scowled over her domain. Mr. Moore had some explaining to do.
She stalked to the spa, where several guests were already gathered around the board that described the various services available.
“Oh, I’m definitely up for a massage,” a young woman was saying.
“But what kind?” the older woman with her asked eagerly. “I don’t even know what some of these are!”
Scarlet slipped past them to catch Lydia settling clean sheets over the massage tables.
“I wanted to give you heads up about a guest with a coconut allergy, a Mrs. Orainda Santaga.”
Lydia finished tucking the corners under and went to write down the allergy on her scheduling sheet. “Thank you, Scarlet. Did we get many guests from the cruise ship?”
“About a dozen,” Scarlet said.
“Oh good, we should be set for hands in the spa for today without calling Laura in.” Lydia suddenly looked very cagey, an unnatural look for her, and added, “She wasn’t feeling well earlier today, poor thing.”
Scarlet, who already knew about Laura’s pregnant condition but was letting everyone think she didn’t, had to keep an amused smile from her face with effort as Lydia bustled to find an alternate oil for the woman with the coconut allergy.
She caught sight of her reflection in one of the many mirrors and gave her serene face some thoughtful consideration.
Was she looking dated? Her clothing was the type generally called timeless, but maybe it was past time to try something new. And her hair, was it too s
evere? She touched the bun that always pulled her bright hair back from her face and wondered if it seemed uninviting.
A scowl reflected back at her. She didn’t want to look inviting and she was certainly not going to change her look because some stuck-up, big-shot lawyer from the city had come to her resort and danced with her.
Scarlet was furious with herself.
She rolled her shoulders back firmly and went to the kitchen to deliver the coconut allergy warning to Chef personally as well.
She hated Mal Moore, she reminded herself. He was her enemy.
Chapter 11
There was a young cat on Scarlet’s windowsill, grooming itself with one green eye firmly on Mal.
Mal had never considered that Scarlet would be the kind of person to have a pet and the creature was rather confounding.
He should probably attempt to win it over; the best way to exert influence was sometimes sideways. He stood on the far side of Scarlet’s desk trying to figure out how to achieve this goal. “Nice, kitty,” he attempted. “Come.”
The cat continued to twist itself in an impressive display of flexibility and run its tongue over its short, plush fur vigorously. It clearly had no intention of obeying.
It is very... small, his dragon observed. What purpose does it serve? Is she raising it to eat?
Don’t eat it, Mal said firmly. He was sure that would not improve his relationship with Scarlet.
He went around the desk to stand near it, since it was clearly not well-trained. Food was not the worst idea that his dragon had ever had. Perhaps it could be tempted with a treat. “What do cats eat?” He knew a little about dogs, but his exposure to cats was limited to media, and limited was the appropriate word for it.
His dragon gave a mental shrug. Mice?
Mal was strongly dubious that Scarlet would allow roaming mice at the resort. Unless they were guests.
The cat appeared to have finished its licking and now stared up at him, unblinking. After a moment of contemplation, it gave a trilling half-purr. Mal extended a hand to pet it and, alarmingly, it fell over on its side and rolled to its back.