by Toni Blake
This produced the first hint of a grin she’d seen from him in a few minutes, even if this one came out looking colder. “I don’t doubt that. But I’m still not selling my motel.”
Their gazes remained locked. Though now she found herself trying to somehow see behind his eyes, understand what he was about. Because this didn’t add up.
She lowered her chin slightly, truly wanting to know the answer when she asked, “Why? Why on earth would any sane man hold on to a dying old motel when selling it will make you rich? What am I missing here?”
Once again, Reece Donovan leaned a little closer, and this time every molecule of her body tightened a bit more as he calmly, deeply replied, “None of your business.”
But her unbidden response didn’t matter. This was just another typical work day for her. So Camille paused to regroup, take a deep breath. And then she answered just as calmly. “Fine. I’d like a room.”
He balked. “You’re not serious.”
Yet she was. “Look, I flew down here from our corporate offices in Atlanta to meet with you, and I could use a little rest before I fly back.”
His eyes bolted open wide. “You flew here? For this? A phone call would have been cheaper.”
“Regardless,” she said, resisting the urge to roll her eyes, “I have to spend the night somewhere. So I’d like to check in.”
Reece shot her a glance she’d have deemed critical if she’d cared.
But she didn’t. Starting now. Starting now, this guy had zero effect on her, like every other property owner she’d had to strategize her way around over the years.
“I think the resorts up the road might be more your style,” he said. “You know, the resorts like the one you want to build here.”
“Probably so,” she agreed, “but . . . maybe I’d like to see what’s so special about this place.”
“I never said anything was special,” he pointed out, “only that I’m not selling.” He narrowed his gaze on her. “Seems to me more like you just want to stick around and get under my skin.”
He was right, more or less. But she ignored the accusation, along with the fact that it made her think about his skin. “I’d like a room,” she repeated, “and from the look of the parking lot, I’d think you would welcome the business.”
As before, the man across from her shifted his weight from one foot to the other, but then he got more agreeable. “You’re right,” he replied. “You want a room, Cami? You got it. I’m more than happy to take your money in return for the annoyance.”
And as she handed over her credit card a few seconds later, their fingers brushing during the exchange, two notable things struck her. That Reece Donovan’s business was so archaic he didn’t even use a computer to manage it. And that—oh crap—an undeniable ripple fluttered up her arm at the touch.
But what does it matter? Soon enough she’d secure his signature, obtaining the property for Vanderhook, and then she’d never see him again.
CAMILLE unloaded her small roller bag from the trunk of her rental car and pulled it behind her across the blacktop toward the slightly cracked sidewalk that led to her room. Reece was right—the Happy Crab wouldn’t be her first choice in accommodations. But she wasn’t going back to Atlanta until she figured out how to procure this property from him. She’d never failed in a negotiation and she had no intention of messing up her perfect record now. Occasionally someone played hardball. It only meant she had to stick around a little while, until she beat them at the game.
Given the entire lack of cars in the parking lot other than her own, she was mildly surprised to see an old man ambling up the walk at the other end of the long, narrow, one-story building, but she didn’t give him much thought, instead taking in more details about the place than she’d noticed a few minutes ago.
Its tidiness showed her that Reece took good care of the place. The red-and-white color scheme suited the retro feel of the establishment. And though the white paint was beginning to crack and peel in one spot, being baked in relentless Florida sun tended to do that, and given the dearth of customers, she couldn’t blame the guy for not wanting to put the money into new paint. Soon enough the building would be bulldozed anyway.
When she reached door number 11, she lifted the old-fashioned key Reece Donovan had given her—and for the first time noticed it was attached to a red plastic keychain shaped like a crab and sporting the same happy face as the big sign out front. It made her smile a little in spite of herself.
When she attempted to slide the key in the lock, however, it stuck. So she pulled it out and tried again, this time getting it in all the way, but it still wouldn’t turn.
“Pardon me, miss—can I help with that? All the locks are due for some lubrication—just haven’t got to it yet.”
She looked up to see the older gentleman she’d spotted a minute ago, now realizing that he carried a bucket. His gray hair could have used a trim, his beard was a little spotty, and his dirty shorts and golf shirt made him the least tidy thing she’d seen here so far—but his eyes were kind and she felt instantly at ease with him. “Are you the maintenance man?” she asked.
He hesitated only slightly. “Somethin’ like that. I help Reece out. He’s been real good to me.” He pointed to the key still jammed in the lock. “May I?”
“Sure.”
She stood back from the door and watched as the man lowered his bucket to the concrete and stepped in, jiggling the key a bit, then using his other hand to turn the doorknob—and the lock clicked open.
Withdrawing the key, he pressed it back into her hand. “There ya go, miss. Hope you enjoy your stay. It’s a real nice place for sure. And now that Reece has a guest, I’ll put a little graphite in this lock next thing and it’ll work like a charm for ya.”
Something in his manner warmed her heart, even if his sweet nature left her feeling a little melancholy in a way she couldn’t quite understand. “Thank you very much, Mr. . . .”
“Name’s Riley, miss,” he said, retrieving his bucket.
“Thank you, Mr. Riley.”
“Happy to help,” he assured her, and as she wheeled her suitcase into the room, she found herself feeling just as curious about him, in ways, as she was about his employer.
The room was much like she would have expected: clean, simple but friendly, a softer pastel beach décor than the exterior of the building. The one surprise was the window in the rear of the room that looked out on the bay.
She’d known a natural bay edged the rear of the property—it was a key component of Windchime’s interest, although the waterfront area would probably be reconfigured to suit the resort’s needs. But she hadn’t expected a room with a view, the small window revealing a planked dock with a few sizable boats tied up to it. The white sails and riggings against a blue, cloud-dotted sky were like a painting come to life.
Were the boats connected to the Happy Crab in any way? Did Reece own one of them? All of them? Seemed unlikely.
But what did she care anyway? Soon they’d all be relocated elsewhere so that progress could march forward in Coral Cove, and she’d be on the road to some other waterside destination to secure the next sale for Vanderhook and Windchime.
The digital clock next to the king size bed informed her it was just past three. Her first order of business: take a shower, put on more comfortable clothes, and start getting Reece Donovan to like her. At this stage of the game, it would be necessary to piece together a plan based on the individual seller, but the one thing she sensed already was that he would need to like her before she’d get anywhere.
And despite her qualms about getting too comfy with a property owner, she had to concede that it was time to bring things down to his level—if he didn’t like her formality, she would have to cease being so formal, that simple. So changing into some shorts and a more weather-appropriate top seemed in order. And as it was already over eighty degrees on this spring day, a cool shower sounded nice.
Stripping off her clothes, she
tossed her jacket and skirt on the bed, then let her bra and panties drop in a heap next to the pumps she’d taken off. Stepping into the small bathroom naked, she retrieved a pastel green towel from the rack above the toilet to have handy for afterward, then she pushed back the shower curtain—and let out a blood curdling scream at the sight of the monster in her bathtub!
She nearly tripped, stumbling backward as the huge, scaly creature with tiny legs began scrambling around the old porcelain tub. As it scrambled, she screamed some more, even though she couldn’t see much of it as she clumsily retreated farther—she could only make out part of its horrible head and a humongous tail now whipping about, slamming into the wall this way and that.
What the hell was it? And God, what if it got out and chased her?
Her first instinct was to flee the room.
But I’m naked.
She still held the towel, so she threw it around her as she moved toward the door.
But I’m still naked.
Then—ugh—she heard the thing scrambling some more! It was clearly on the verge of exiting the tub—so she screamed again, only slightly aware that she’d begun hopping from foot to foot as if it might suddenly be slithering around on the floor beneath her—even though it was in the next room.
But then again, if there was something like that in there, how did she know there wasn’t another one out here, under the bed or something? Oh Lord.
She hopped some more and whimpered.
The bed. Get on the bed.
She leapt up on it, the towel still loosely circling her body, held together in front by one tightly-clenched fist.
That was when the door to her room burst open and Reece Donovan rushed in.
And—uh oh—she was still naked.
. . . And this, as we shall see, led to mischief.
J. M. Barrie, Peter and Wendy
Chapter 2
REECE BALKED, taking in the sight before him. If he’d been drinking, he’d think he was seeing things. But since he was completely sober, he had no choice but to conclude that the stiff, starched, manipulative woman who’d tried to wheedle him out of his motel a few minutes ago was now standing on a bed in Room 11 wearing nothing but a towel and looking a little crazy.
“What the hell’s going on in here? Were you screaming? What happened?”
Stark terror shone in her blue eyes as she pointed toward the bathroom. “It’s in there!” she said. Which wasn’t exactly the helpful explanation he’d been hoping for.
He just blinked his confusion. “What’s in where?”
She shook her head nervously, her eyes still filled with fright. “I don’t know what the hell it is, but it’s in my tub! It’s—it’s . . . a dinosaur or something!”
Reece narrowed his eyes. He was pretty sure there wasn’t a dinosaur in her tub. But he strode into the bathroom, glanced down, and—oh, now he understood.
Riley had finished some plumbing work in this room earlier—that was why Reece had given it to her; he’d known nothing would leak or dribble. And apparently Riley had had some company while he worked.
Stepping back out of the bathroom, Reece glanced toward the panicked, naked woman on the bed and gave her a quick grin. “That’s not a dinosaur. It’s just Fifi.”
The naked woman squinted down at him. “Fifi?”
“My giant iguana.”
Now it was she who blinked and looked confused. “Your giant what?”
“I-gua-na,” he said, enunciating each syllable in case she was hard of hearing or something.
She continued to appear horrified. “You have an iguana? They come that big? Why would you have such a thing?”
He didn’t bother hiding his amusement. She didn’t seem nearly as tough as she’d claimed back in his office, or even as tough as she’d actually seemed. “Yep. And that’s why it’s called a giant iguana—because it’s giant. And she’s a pet.”
Despite the clear answers he’d given, she still looked completely perplexed, her mouth open in the shape of a perfect “o.” “A pet,” she repeated dryly.
“Uh huh.”
“Strange pet.”
He shrugged. “Different strokes.” Then he glanced back into the bathroom. Fifi was agitated, hissing and swishing her tail. No wonder, with all that screaming. He spoke in a soothing voice to say, “It’s all right, girl, everything’s okay. Nobody’s gonna hurt you.” After which he glanced back to Cami—a name which, frankly, he thought suited her much more than Camille. Especially when she was naked. “You scared her,” he accused.
Cami’s eyes flew wide. “I scared her?” Then she shook her head. “What on earth is it doing in my room?”
This woman was earning no points by calling Fifi “it.” “She must have gotten locked in when some work was being done in here this morning,” he explained. “Happens occasionally and I have to go looking for her. Sorry about that.” Though it was hard to keep a straight face for the last part since he wasn’t really sorry at all. For a normal guest, he’d have been sorry—but for this one, he actually thought it was pretty damn funny. As long as Fifi didn’t end up too traumatized.
“You don’t look very sorry,” Cami pointed out.
“I’m as sorry as I can be,” he told her, which was the truth. He just couldn’t be very sorry at the moment. Then he raised his eyebrows to add, “You can come down off the bed now.”
At which point she started to appear a little more . . . aware of things. Like maybe that she’d blown her tough-business-woman cover. And like maybe that she wasn’t wearing any clothes.
The towel covered way more than any bikini, but it was still sexy as hell. And part of him didn’t want to think a piranha like her could be sexy—but on the other hand, sexy was sexy and what guy was immune to it?
Back in the office, he’d known she was an attractive, confident woman with a pretty face and a shapely body. But now he was seeing . . . more of her. And not just skin. Now he was seeing that she was . . . human. And human plus attractive . . . somehow he couldn’t stop seeing the sexiness now. Even if he thought she’d blown the Fifi thing out of proportion.
As she stepped toward the edge of the bed and he held out his hand to help her down, his gaze dropped to the creamy round curves swelling from the top edge of the terrycloth and he couldn’t help thinking his seafoam green guest towels had never looked quite so hot before.
After reaching the floor, she clearly realized where he was looking and drew back her hand with a gasp.
He flinched at the move. “You’re naked,” he said in his defense. “I can’t help it.”
“But you burst in without even knocking,” she accused.
“You screamed. Don’t scream if you don’t want somebody to burst in.”
She let out a small harrumph, apparently conceding the point—or at least unable to invent a comeback.
“I thought there was actually something wrong,” he went on, suddenly feeling a little indignant. Given the racket she’d made, he’d been envisioning something like an intruder, or fire.
“Something was wrong,” she insisted.
“Yeah,” he said, not trying to hide his sarcasm, “my dinosaur was in your bathtub.” He took a couple of steps back in that direction, glancing toward the iguana to say softly, “Come on, Fifi Girl. Come on outta there and let’s go.” Then he made the little kissy sound she often responded to and watched as she began to climb slowly out of the tub, calmer now than when he’d first arrived. “Good girl.”
Cami took a few tense steps back, wariness filling her gaze, as Fifi followed him out into the room.
“She’s harmless,” he promised. “For a dinosaur.” He quirked an amused grin her way.
She didn’t smile back.
He returned his glance to Fifi—admittedly a slow mover—as she followed him toward the door, then spoke to her in a playful voice. “She thought you were a dinosaur, Feefe.” Then he looked to Cami and lifted his hands into monsterlike claws and said, “Rawr!”
She flinched.
And he let out a laugh.
And she made a mean face at him, which he just ignored.
“A shame there wasn’t a dinosaur in your tub,” he mused. “I’d be rich.”
“You could be rich anyway if you’d just sell me your—”
“Stop,” he said, holding up one hand, palm facing her. “Not gonna happen.”
And to his pleasant surprise, she actually stayed quiet. Probably worn out from the big dinosaur scare.
As he and Fifi reached the door, he looked back a final time to say, “Have a nice night, Cami.”
“My name is Camille,” she pointed out once again.
But he only shrugged. “You say tomato,” he replied, then cheerfully whistled the tomato-tomahto song as he waited for Fifi to amble out behind him before shutting the door and walking away.
REECE stood behind the check-in desk, taking a quick look at the weather app on his phone. Sunny and clear. Then he peered out the plate glass window toward the beach across the road.
All those people having fun on their vacation right now, within his very eyesight? Not a one of them was staying at the Happy Crab. And the fact was, other than a few friends, he was mostly alone in the world.
Despite those things, however, he remained laid-back, easygoing—he chose to focus on the good in life instead of the bad. He was a pretty carefree guy most of the time, even when there were plenty of reasons he could be otherwise.
But the one thing he needed in order to keep being carefree was this motel. It was just a part of him. And he didn’t care if anyone understood that or not—he only wanted his life to stay the way it was. Why was that so hard for this chick to understand?
He glanced absently in the direction of Room 11. Was she taking that shower right now?
Hell, she was probably afraid she’d pick up dinosaur germs from the tub.
But if she was in there . . . was her body as gorgeous without a towel wrapped around it as it had looked? Was she running a fresh bar of tiny motel soap over those silky curves? Were there lots of suds? Reece liked lots of suds.
