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
