His Accidental Heir

“Rafe, I need you in the Antilles Suite today.” Maresa Delphine handed her younger brother a gallon jug of bubble bath. “I have a guest checking in who needs a hot bath on arrival, but he isn’t sure what time he’ll get here.”

Her twenty-one-year-old sibling—who’d recently suffered a traumatic brain injury in a car accident—didn’t reach to take the jug. Instead, his hazel eyes tracked the movements of a friendly barmaid currently serving a guest a Blackbeard’s Revenge specialty drink on the patio just outside the lobby. The Carib Grand Hotel’s floor-to-ceiling windows allowed for views of the tiki bar on Barefoot Beach and the glittering Caribbean Sea beyond. Inside the hotel, the afternoon activity had picked up since Maresa’s mad dash to the island’s sundries shop for the bath products. All of her runners had been busy fulfilling other duties for guests, so she’d made the trip herself. She had no idea what her newest runner—her recovering brother who still needed to work in a monitored environment—had been doing at that hour. He hadn’t answered his radio and he needed to get with the program if he wanted to remain employed. Not to mention, Maria might be blamed for his slipups. She was supporting her family, and couldn’t afford to lose her job as concierge for this exclusive hotel on a private island off Saint Thomas.

And she really, really needed him to remain employed where she could watch over him. Where he was eligible for better insurance benefits that could give him the long-term follow-up care he would need for years. She knew she held Rafe to a higher standard so that no one on staff could view his employment as a conflict of interest. Sure, the hotel director had approved his application, but she had promised to carefully supervise her brother during his three-month trial period.

“Rafe.” She gently nudged her sibling with the heavy container of rose-scented bubbles, remembering his counselor’s advice about helping him stay on task when he got distracted. “I have some croissants from the bakery to share with you on your next break. But for now, I really need help. Can you please take this to the Antilles Suite? I’d like you to turn on the hot water and add this for a bubble bath as soon as I text you.”

Their demanding guest could stride through the lobby doors any moment. Mr. Holmes had phoned this morning, unsure of his arrival time, but insistent on having a hot bath waiting for him. That was just the first item on a long list of requests.

She checked her slim watch, a gift from her last employer, the Parisian hotel where she’d had the job of her dreams. As much as Maresa loved her former position, she couldn’t keep it after her mother’s car accident that had caused Rafe’s head injury almost a year ago. Going forward, her place was here in Charlotte Amalie to help with her brother.

She refused to let him fail at the Carib Grand Hotel. Her mother’s poor health meant she couldn’t supervise him at home, for one thing. So having him work close to Maresa all day was ideal.

“I’ll go to the Antilles Suite.” Rafe tucked the bubble bath under one arm and continued to study the barmaid, a sweet girl named Nancy who’d been really kind to him when Maresa introduced them. “You will call me on the phone when I need to turn on the water.”

Maresa touched Rafe’s cheek to capture his full attention, her fingers grazing the jagged scar that wrapped beneath his left ear. Her mother had suffered an MS flare-up behind the wheel one night last year, sending her car into a telephone pole during a moment of temporary paralysis. Rafe had gone through the windshield since his seatbelt was unbuckled; he’d been trying to retrieve his phone that had slid into the backseat. Afterward, Maresa had been deeply involved in his recovery and care since their mother had been battling her own health issues. Their father had always been useless, a deadbeat American businessman who worked in the cruise industry and used to visit often, wooing Maresa’s mother with promises about coming to live with him in Wisconsin when he saved up enough money to bring them. That had never happened, and he’d checked out on them by the time Maresa was ten, moving to Europe for his job. Yet then, as now, Maresa didn’t mind adapting her life to help Rafe. Her brother’s injuries could have been fatal that day. Instead, he was a happy part of her world. Yes, he would forever cope with bouts of confusion, memory loss and irritability along with the learning disabilities the accident had brought with it. Throughout it all, though, Rafe was always... Rafe. The brother she adored. He’d been her biggest supporter after her former fiancé broke things off with her a week before their wedding two years ago, encouraging her to go to Paris and “be my superstar.”

He was there for her then, after that humiliating experience. She would be there for him now.

“Rafe? Go to the Antilles Suite and I’ll text you when it’s time to turn on the hot water.” She repeated the instructions for him now, knowing it would be kinder to transfer him to the maintenance team or landscaping staff where he could do the same kinds of things every day. But who would watch out for him there? “Be sure to add the bubbles. Okay?”

Drawing in a breath, she took comfort from the soothing scent of white tuberoses and orchids in the arrangement on her granite podium.

“A bubble bath.” Rafe grinned, his eyes clearing. “Can do.” He ambled off toward the elevator, whistling.

Her relief lasted only a moment because just then a limousine pulled up in front of the hotel. She had a clear view out the windows overlooking the horseshoe driveway flanked by fountains and thick banks of birds-of-paradise. The doormen moved as a coordinated team toward the vehicle, prepared to open doors and handle baggage.

She straightened the orchid pinned on her pale blue linen jacket. If this was Mr. Holmes, she needed to stall him to give Rafe time to run that bath. The guest had been curt to the point of rudeness on the phone, requiring a suite with real grass—and it had to be ryegrass only—for his Maltese to relieve himself. The guest had also ordered a dog walker with three years’ worth of references and a groomer on-site, fresh lilacs in the room daily and specialty pies flown in from a shop in rural upstate New York for his bedtime snack each evening.

And that was just for starters. She couldn’t wait to see what he needed once he settled in for his two-week stay. These were the kinds of guests that could make or break a career. The vocal kind with many precise needs. All of which she would fulfill. It was the job she’d chosen because she took pride in her organizational skills, continually reordering her world throughout a chaotic childhood with an absentee father and a chronically ill mother. She took comfort in structuring what she could. And since there were only so many jobs on the island that could afford to pay her the kind of money she needed to support both her mother and her brother, Maresa had to succeed at the Carib Grand.

She calmed herself by squaring the single sheet of paper on her podium, lining up her pen beside it. She tapped open her list of restaurant phone numbers on her call screen so she could dial reservations at a moment’s notice. The small, routine movements helped her to feel in control, reminding her she could do this job well. When she looked up again—

Wow.

The sight of the tall, chiseled male unfolding himself from the limousine was enough to take her breath away. His strong, striking features practically called for a feminine hand to caress them. Fraternizing with guests was, of course, strictly against the rules and Maresa had never been tempted. But if ever she had an inkling to stray from that philosophy, the powerful shoulders encased in expensive designer silk were exactly the sort of attribute that would intrigue her. The man towered over everyone in the courtyard entrance, including Big Bill, the head doorman. Dressed in a charcoal suit tailored to his long, athletic frame, the dark-haired guest buttoned his jacket, hiding too much of the hard, muscled chest that she’d glimpsed as he’d stepped out of the vehicle. Straightening his tie, he peered through the window, his ice-blue gaze somehow landing on her.

Direct hit.

She felt the jolt of awareness right through the glass. This supremely masculine specimen couldn’t possibly be Mr. Holmes. Her brain didn’t reconcile the image of a man with that square jaw and sharp blade of a nose ordering lilacs for himself. Daily.

Relaxing a fraction, Maresa blew out a breath as the newcomer turned back toward the vehicle. Until a silky white Maltese dog stepped regally from the limousine into the man’s waiting arms.

* * *

In theory, Cameron McNeill liked dogs.

Big, slobbery working canines that thrived outdoors and could keep up with him on a distance run. The long-haired Maltese in his arms, on the other hand, was a prize-winning show animal with too many travel accessories to count. The retired purebred was on loan to Cam for his undercover assessment of a recently acquired McNeill Resorts property, however, and he needed Poppy’s cooperation for his stint as a demanding hotel guest. If he walked into the financially floundering Carib Grand Hotel as himself—an owner and vice president of McNeill Resorts—he would receive the most attentive service imaginable and learn absolutely nothing about the establishment’s underlying problems. But as Mr. Holmes, first-class pain in the ass, Cam would put the staff on their toes and see how they reacted.

After reviewing the Carib Grand’s performance reports for the past two months, Cameron knew something was off in the day-to-day operations. And since he’d personally recommended that the company buy the property in the first place, he wasn’t willing to wait for an overpriced operations review by an outside agency. Not that McNeill Resorts couldn’t afford it. It simply chafed his pride that he’d missed something in his initial research. Besides, his family had just learned of a long-hidden branch of relations living on a nearby island—his father’s sons by a secret mistress. Cam would use his time here to check out the other McNeills personally.

But for now? Business first.

“Welcome to the Carib Grand,” an aging doorman greeted him with a deferential nod and a friendly smile.

Cam forced a frown onto his face to keep from smiling back. That wasn’t as hard as he thought given the way Poppy’s foolishly long fur was plastering itself to his jacket when he walked too fast, her topknot and tail bobbing with his stride and tickling his chin. It wouldn’t come naturally to Cam to be the hard-to-please guest this week. He was a people-person to begin with, and appreciated those who worked for McNeill Resorts especially. But this was the fastest way he knew to find out what was going on at the hotel firsthand. He’d be damned if anyone on the board questioned his business acumen during a time when his aging grandfather was testing all his heirs for their commitment to his legacy.

The Carib Grand lobby was welcoming, as he recalled from his tour six months ago when the property had been briefly shut down. The two wings of the hotel flanked the reception area to either side with restaurants stacked overhead. But the lobby itself drew visitors in with floor-to-ceiling windows so the sparkling Caribbean beckoned at all times. Huge hanging baskets of exotic flowers framed the view without impeding it.

The scent of bougainvillea drifted in through the door behind him. Poppy tilted her nose in the air and took a seat on his forearm, a queen on her throne.

The front desk attendant—only one—was busy with another guest. Cameron’s bellhop, a young guy with a long ponytail of dreadlocks, must have noticed the front desk was busy at the same time as him, because he gestured to the concierge’s tall granite counter where a stunning brunette smiled.

“Ms. Delphine can help you check in, sir,” the bellhop informed him while whisking his luggage onto a waiting cart. “Would you like me to walk the dog while you get settled?”

Nothing would please him more than to off-load Poppy and the miles of snow-white pet hair threading around his suit buttons. Cameron was pretty sure there was a cloud of fur floating just beneath his nose.

“Her name is Poppy,” Cameron snapped at the helpful soul, unable to take his eyes off the very appealing concierge, who’d snagged his attention through the window the second he’d stepped out of the limo. “And I’ve requested a dog walker with references.”

The bellhop gave a nod and backed away, no doubt glad to leave a surly guest in the hands of the bronze-skinned beauty sidling out from her counter to welcome Cameron. She seemed to have that mix of ethnicities common in the Caribbean. The burnished tint of her skin set off wide, tawny gold eyes. A natural curl and kink in her dusky brown hair ended in sun-blond tips. Perfect posture and a well-fitted linen suit made her look every inch a professional, yet her long legs drew his eye even though her skirt hit just above her knees. Even if he’d been visiting the property as her boss, he wouldn’t have acted on the flash of attraction, of course. But it was a damn shame that he’d be at odds with this enticing female for the next two weeks. The concierge position was the linchpin in the hotel staff, though, and his mission to rattle cages began with her.

“Welcome, Mr. Holmes.” He was impressed that she’d greeted him by name. “I’m Maresa. We’re so glad to see you and Poppy, too.”

He’d spoken to a Maresa Delphine on the phone earlier, purposely issuing a string of demands on short notice to see how she’d fare. She didn’t look nervous. Yet. He’d need to challenge her, to prod at all facets of the management and staff to pinpoint the weak links. The hotel wasn’t necessarily losing money, but it was only a matter of time before earnings followed the decline in performance reviews.

“Poppy will be glad to meet her walker.” He came straight to the point, ignoring the eager bob of the dog’s head as Maresa offered admiring words to the pooch. Cameron could imagine what the wag of the tail was doing to the back of his jacket. “Do you have the references ready?”

“Of course.” Maresa straightened with a sunny smile. She had a hint of an accent he couldn’t place. “They’re right here at my desk.”

Cameron’s gaze dipped to her slim hips as she turned. He’d taken a hiatus from dating for fun over the last few months, thinking he ought to find himself a wife to fulfill his grandfather’s dictate that McNeill Resorts would only go to the grandsons who were stable and wed. But he’d botched that, too, impulsively issuing a marriage proposal to the first woman his matchmaker suggested in order to have the business settled.

Now? Apparently the months without sex were conspiring against him. He ground his teeth against a surge of ill-timed desire.

“Here you go.” The concierge turned with a sheet of paper in hand and passed it to him, her honey-colored gaze as potent as any caress. “I took the liberty of checking all the references myself, but I’ve included the numbers in case you’d like to talk to any of them directly.”

“That’s why I asked,” he replied tightly, tugging the paper harder than necessary.

He could have sworn Poppy slanted him a dirty look over one fluffy white shoulder. Her nails definitely flexed into his forearm right through the sleeve of his suit before she fixed her coal-black eyes on Maresa Delphine.

Not that he blamed Poppy. He’d rather be staring at Maresa than scowling over dog walker references. Being the boss wasn’t always a rocking-good time. Yet he’d rather ruffle feathers today and fix the core problems than have the staff jump though the hoops of an extended performance review.

Cameron slid the paper into his jacket pocket. “I’ll check these after I have the chance to clean up. If you can have someone show us to our room.”

He hurried her on purpose, curious if the room extras were ready to go. The bath wasn’t a tough request, but the flowers had most likely needed to be flown in. If he hadn’t been specifically looking for it, he might have missed the smallest hesitation on her part.

“Certainly.” She lifted a tablet from the granite countertop where she worked. “If you can just sign here to approve the information you provided over the phone, I’ll escort you myself.”

That wasn’t protocol. Did Ms. Delphine expect additional tips this way? Cam remembered reading that the concierge had been with the company since the reopening under McNeill ownership two months ago.